All he wanted was a job. Yes, the posting looked too good to be true. Yes, he probably should have suspected that a job that required no previous experience, no formal degree, wouldn't be willing to pay 20 bands a month. But he was desperate for a job, something to aid in moving out of his parents' rapidly suffocating home and let him be a man standing on his own two feet. He was desperate to be like his much more privileged college mates, who now owned companies and businesses worth more than even his parents made in a year… combined.
Now he was just desperate to stay alive.
If he wasn't gagged, he would have screamed to whatever God was watching him. He would have asked why him? No, actually, why him?
The only sense of his that wasn't restricted by the kidnappers was his hearing. He could hear muffled cries and something else that was much too dark to even try to decipher.
He really, really hoped they weren't organ donors, because to him it sounded like they were slaughtering humans like pigs.
A sound of struggle came from beside him before the person was dragged away. It seemed like he would soon be next. His life flashed before his eyes in quiet resignation.
His helicopter parents—he now felt like he hadn't told them he loved them enough times. He wished he could hug his mum one more time, listen to his dad's lecture about money management or the "importance of building lasting connections."
He wished he could taste his mum's food one more time, especially her pancakes that she somehow seemed to get just right every single time.
His lifelong best friend, Mia… he wished he had told her how he really felt. He hadn't wanted to be that cliché guy who just couldn't keep his romantic feelings to himself, so he stuffed it down and hoped one day she might give any sign for him to unlock it back. She never did...at least not clearly enough for him to confidently tell her how he felt.
He laughed internally as he realized that was it—his little life only had three people that basically summed up who he was as a person. It was quite… sad.
Now I see what you were talking about, Dad.
Someone yanked him up roughly. He had enough bruises on his body to know the consequences of struggling, but they were going to kill him, so he couldn't give two fucks.
He shoved the person hard, but whoever held him seemed to be built like a tank. They didn't even budge.
His hands were tied behind his back, so they were currently useless. He couldn't see anything through the blindfold and couldn't even bite anyone through the gag.
Someone kicked his legs, and suddenly he found himself in a kneeling position.
"Quickly," a grating voice said. "We still have hundreds more before we can summon him."
The way the voice said him was like it was some type of God he was summoning. Like a demon. Shit—was he kidnapped by a fucking demonic cult?
And so that was the last thing Reed Karlson thought before he died
He didn't know how long he'd been out, minutes…hours…days maybe, but when his eyes finally cracked open all he got was darkness, the blindfold was still there, pressing into his skin.
Then the smell hit him.
Thick, metallic, choking. Blood. Like he was drowning in it, bathing in it, every inhale coated his throat until he thought he was going to suffocate.
The rope around his wrists that before had felt impossible, like steel binding him, now…it felt like thread. One pull. Just one strain and it snapped like nothing. His heart thundered in his chest as his fingers tore off the blindfold—
And he wished he hadn't.
Bodies.
Bodies everywhere.
Stacked on top of each other, some headless, some torn apart like animals had been set loose, like something massive and hungry had just…played with them. Torn meat where people used to be.
He dropped to his knees and vomited. The taste of bile mixing with the iron stench of blood made it worse, his stomach convulsed until he was just dry heaving into the mess.
No one was moving. Not one fucking person.
He stumbled back, hands shaking, his mind screaming at him to get out, to get the fuck out now.
He finally stopped long enough to take in the place—concrete walls, rusted beams, high ceiling, some kind of warehouse…but why here, why hadn't anyone noticed what the hell was happening inside? His brain refused to answer, panic had already taken over, so he bolted for the exit.
The doors.
They were locked.
Panic doubled, tripled, his vision tunneling as he realized…whatever had done this, whatever monster had turned this place into a slaughterhouse—it was still inside.
He didn't think, couldn't think, he just slammed his fists into the door, bone rattling against metal, again and again until the hinges cracked and the whole frame buckled. The last punch ripped it open and he exploded through, sprinting into the night.
Straight home.
Covered in blood.