"Don't let death catch you!"
"If you can escape it, just do it!"
Can human beings really think of others before themselves? People envy, look after their own interests, and even trample over their own siblings.
Children steal their parents' lovers, leave them on the streets, or betray them for a mere handful of cash.
Would anyone really doubt that Malcolm would gut his own son to save himself?
Larry ran this experiment live—one of many he had prepared and ready to deploy at any time. He wanted to show the world, without borders, the most atrocious criminals and how they received what they deserved.
Malcolm, barely able to move, spotted the iron box that contained the knife from a distance. Without hesitation, he grabbed the box and stuck his right hand inside.
He didn't hesitate at all to commit murder. It seemed he truly didn't consider his son more important than his own existence.
But Larry already knew this. These two people involved in his trials were no longer human.
"I've never felt time go by this slowly!" Malcolm reached into the iron box and fumbled around inside. Soon, he felt the knife's handle and gripped it tightly.
However, just as he was about to pull it out, he realized something was holding his wrist in place.
Malcolm then saw that there were four blades surrounding the opening of the iron box. The sharp edges were pointing inward.
It had been easy to slip his hand into the box because the blades were angled downward, but when he tried to pull it out, the four blades sliced into his wrist.
The blades were razor-sharp, and he could feel the pain with even the slightest movement.
With his first attempts to withdraw his hand, the four blades had already shredded his right wrist.
Almost immediately, a yellowish-green fluid dripped from his wrist. It was muscle solution, contaminated with traces of fresh blood.
The scene was grotesque and terrifying, but it was being broadcast clearly on live television across every network in the United States.
At this point, many viewers had already turned away, unable to stomach watching a scumbag be tortured. But others… others waited eagerly to see Malcolm die slowly.
The impact Larry wanted to make had already been achieved, and he was certain his purpose had been fulfilled.
Even though many viewers had left, they remained curious, waiting anxiously for updates from the live feed.
"Ah!!!"
A scream echoed through the room. Malcolm's muscle nerves had become more sensitive due to the contraction and disintegration caused by the venom.
He had never felt pain like this before. Bowen screamed in agony.
"Please, let me go! If you let me go, I'll give you money—any amount you want!" Malcolm pleaded for mercy, tears streaming down his face.
"You have six minutes and thirty seconds left to die. One minute and thirty seconds until you lose all ability to move." In response to Malcolm's cries came only a cold, emotionless voice.
Malcolm was so furious that his melting face twisted into something even more grotesque. "You'll see! When I get out, no matter how much it costs, I'll kill you!"
"No! I won't let you die! I'll make you regret being alive! You'll beg me to kill you!" After shouting that, Malcolm seemed to make a decision.
He took off his leather shoes and stuffed one into his mouth, not caring if it was filthy.
Then, he hugged the iron box tightly with his left arm. With his right hand—he pulled with all his strength.
"Argh!" Malcolm roared in pain as uncontrollable bleeding gushed from his wrist, shredded by the sharp blades.
The skin on his right hand was completely peeled off. It looked like he was wearing a pair of surgical gloves.
Most of his muscles had already been infected by the venom, leaving barely anything holding his bones and joints together. His pinky and ring finger were also torn off!
There wasn't much muscle tissue left around his fingers, and his bones slowly began to show through.
At that point, Malcolm's right hand no longer retained its shape and he could no longer hold the knife's handle.
The handle dropped to the floor, and Malcolm collapsed next to it, groaning in pain.
The bloody, horrifying scene triggered a firestorm of discussions on social media. The public mood was boiling over.
Suddenly, Larry spoke again, his tone colder than before: "One minute until you lose the ability to move."
Such a small scene wasn't enough to make Larry react—he had waited too long for this moment.
His cold voice echoed in Malcolm's ears, sounding like the countdown to his own death.
Enduring the searing pain in his right hand and throughout his body, Malcolm used his left hand, which still had all five fingers, to pick up the knife that had fallen to the floor.
Then he closed his eyes—and raised the knife.
Suddenly, he stabbed his son, who lay helplessly on the floor.
He slashed his stomach from side to side in a frenzy.
Perhaps because his muscles were so weak, what should've been a light knife felt like a heavy dumbbell in Malcolm's hands, and his movements were painfully slow.
Scarlet blood gleamed in the flickering light that filtered through the slightly open door at the end of the hallway.
After cutting open his son's abdomen, Malcolm opened his eyes and reached inside.
Once again, as desperation overwhelmed him, Malcolm heard a voice: "You have fifty seconds left before you lose all mobility. Hurry."
Despite having sliced through his son's abdominal organs with a knife, everything inside was crushed and mixed together. The entire scene was grotesque and disturbing—like someone had stirred a bucket through a puddle of mud.
There was no sign of the key.
"Forty seconds until you lose mobility."
At that moment, Malcolm froze.
A smile stretched across his disfigured face. He slowly raised his left hand, trembling. In it, he held a chunk of unrecognizable organ tissue. Inside… was a bloodstained key.
…
Meanwhile, on the other side of the city, in a busy office within the Baltimore Metropolitan Police Department in Maryland—
Raymond Holt stared at the screen in front of him, wearing an expression of sheer disgust.
On the live broadcast, everyone had seen Malcolm personally murder his own son in front of nearly fifty million people. Holt, along with many others, now believed that this man was indeed capable of the horrific acts described by the game's creator.
As they say, there is no such thing as a perfect crime. Ruthless criminals always leave something behind. And yet, Baltimore PD still hadn't figured out who was behind all the killings. Somehow, the pieces were starting to fit together.
However, Holt also realized that this broadcast had exposed the full incompetence of the Baltimore Police Department to the entire world.
Even if Malcolm survived, it was highly likely he'd be sentenced to death. Still, saving him and putting him on trial would give the Baltimore police an opportunity to redeem themselves.
"He has the key!" someone shouted from the precinct.
"Did you request the building's blueprints before the SWAT team goes in?"
"Chief, I just got in touch with them! They're almost inside the building!"
"Get logistics on the line—right now! I want to see this operation unfold with my own eyes!"
"Yes, sir!"