at the university...
David and Vincent were walking through the courtyard, half-listening to the usual campus noise, when a loud, theatrical voice echoed behind them:
"David Cross! Vincent Blake! You are officially under arrest… by student law!"
The two stopped in their tracks, turning to see a young average length guy with glasses and a coat three sizes too big .standing next to him , a long man with big chest .
Vincent blinked. "What the hell?"
David raised an eyebrow. "Oh no… not again."
"Don't speak unless spoken to, criminal!" the guy barked.
"I am Bobby Fischer — law major, future legend — and this," he gestured dramatically to the boy next to him holding a notepad upside down, "is my assistant, Julian Fish!"
Julian gave a little wave. "Hey."
Vincent crossed his arms. "Okay, Bobby Fisherman, what exactly do you want?"
"Justice." Bobby stepped forward. "You two are suspects in the recent string of disappearances. The evidence is clear: each missing person was seen with one of you. In some cases... even speaking to you!"
David blinked. "That's your evidence? That people… talked to us?"
"It's called 'circumstantial inference,' criminal."
"It's called you're bored, Bobby," Vincent muttered.
Julian nodded eagerly. "Yeah, but it sounds cool, right?"
Bobby whipped around. "Julian! Stay in character!"
"Sorry, boss. But also... I'm kinda hungry."
Grrrrrhhhlllrrrghhhh...
His stomach roared like a dying lawnmower. Everyone went silent.
David looked at Vincent. "Are… are we being investigated by Scooby-Doo dropouts?"
Bobby coughed, trying to reclaim control. "Ahem! The point is — we know it's you. You're both creepy. You always disappear at night. And I've seen you in the biology lab way too often."
Vincent smirked. "Oh, forgive me for actually studying. Unlike you, Sherlock."
He gestured to the upside-down notepad.
"Your assistant's writing with the eraser."
Julian quickly flipped the pencil. "Damn it…"
"ENOUGH!" Bobby shouted. "You may have escaped us this time, but the truth always comes out. Someday soon, the world will know what monsters you really ar—
GRRRHHHHHHHHHHRRRRRRRRRRRHH
Julian clutched his stomach again.
David sighed. "Let me guess... interrogation's over because your detective's stomach is starting a protest?"
"This isn't over," Bobby said, glaring with dramatic flair.
Then he sighed.
"Okay fine, whatever. Lunch break. Let's go, Julian. I'm buying."
Julian lit up. "Yes! Can we get tacos?"
Vincent burst out laughing. "Bobby… who did come up with the idea of campus detectives? Because I owe them dinner."
David adjusted his collar, smirking.
"Next time, bring actual evidence — and maybe a sandwich."
" who said I don't have evidences ... My blog is full of evidences "
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Later that afternoon, David sat with Vincent on a quiet bench behind the library, both holding paper cups of bad campus coffee. Vincent scrolled through his phone while David stared off, unusually focused.
"Something's not right," David muttered.
Vincent glanced up. "Still thinking about the two circus clowns?"
David nodded slowly. "Bobby and Julian. They're idiots, yes. But they're not completely useless idiots."
Vincent frowned. "You think they actually have something?"
David pulled out his own phone. "I did a little digging. Julian runs a conspiracy blog—he posted a 'Missing Persons Tracker' last week. There's a map with red dots... and two of them are exactly where we left the bodies remaining."
Vincent sat upright, his playful expression gone. "You're kidding."
"I wish I was."
David swiped again, and there it was — grainy photos. Not high quality, but real. One of David, blurry in the background of a campus photo, standing far too close to a girl who vanished the next day. Another for Vincent.
Vincent let out a low whistle. "Okay... that's not good."
David's eyes narrowed, calculating. "They don't know what they have. They think they're playing detective. But if they dig too far…"
"They'll dig their own graves," Vincent said with a smirk.
"believe me they dig it already "
---
David "accidentally" bumped into Julian near the cafeteria, then helped him carry his tray while making casual jokes .
In the library, he dropped his bag beside Bobby's chair and offered to help him "fact-check" a criminology paper — even quoting laws he'd memorized just for this kind of manipulation.
By sunset, both boys were laughing with him like old friends.
"Honestly, Cross," Bobby said through a mouthful of chips, "you're way cooler than I thought."
David gave a humble shrug. "I get that a lot."
He waited for the perfect pause.
"Hey... listen," he said casually. "I'm hosting a small get-together tonight. Nothing crazy. Just dinner, some wine... maybe a movie or two. You guys in?"
Julian glanced at Bobby. "Sounds good to me. Free food."
Bobby grinned. "I'll come — but only if you promise not to poison the wine."
David chuckled. "Would I ever?
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That Night — At David's House
The living room was dimly lit, music playing softly in the background. A warm aroma of spices and roasted meat drifted from the kitchen. It felt almost… normal. Almost.
Bobby and Julian sat on the leather couch, each with a glass of soda in hand. Julian was already on his third.
"Man," he said, mouth full of chips, "you weren't kidding. This place is awesome."
"Thanks," David said smoothly. "It's peaceful. I like... quiet places."
Vincent emerged from the kitchen, sleeves rolled up, holding a platter of grilled meat.
"Hope you like carne asada," he said, setting it down. "Fresh."
Julian dove in without hesitation. Bobby took a more cautious bite — but then nodded. "Okay. That's insanely good."
David smirked. "We take food seriously here. Speaking of which…"
He stood, stretching a bit.
"You ever tried Eddie wrestling?" he asked, eyes gleaming.
Bobby raised an eyebrow. "Eddie what?"
Vincent grinned. "It's a mix between arm wrestling and balance. Old trick from a street fighter I met in Prague. You win by pinning the other guy and shifting their center of gravity. Wanna try?"
Bobby's competitive ego flared. "Obviously. I never lose at stuff like that."
David and Vincent exchanged a look.
"Perfect."
---
In the Basement
The setup was simple: an old table, some mats on the floor, and a spotlight overhead like they were in a budget fighting ring.
"Rules are simple," Vincent said. "No elbows off the table. First to pin the hand and make the opponent stumble or shift position wins. Strength and control."
David took position first against Julian and deliberately lost, laughing as he pretended to slip.
Julian cheered. "Haha! I beat him! I beat David Cross!"
"Beginner's luck," David said, rubbing his hand.
Then Bobby stepped up.
Vincent cracked his knuckles. "You ready, detective?"
Bobby smirked. "Always."
They locked hands. The room went silent.
Vincent let Bobby gain ground at first — feeding his ego, making him confident.
Then, in one swift motion, he twisted the angle, shifted his stance, and SNAP — Bobby's arm gave a sickening crack as it folded under the pressure.
"AAAGGHHH!!"
Bobby collapsed onto the mat, clutching his arm, writhing in pain.
Julian shouted in shock. "BOBBY?! What the hell did you do?!"
David rushed over with just the right touch of faux panic. "Oh my god — we need ice — VINCENT, WHAT DID YOU DO?!"
Vincent held up his hands like a child caught red-handed. "I—I didn't mean to! It was the pressure—he moved wrong!"
Julian crouched by Bobby. His face had gone pale. "We need to get him to a hospital!"
David shook his head, eyes full of pretend concern.
"Julian, you know we're far from town. This house is practically in the middle of nowhere. No hospital nearby."
"Then do something!" Julian stood up, rolling up his sleeves. "If you don't help him, I swear I'll break your arm just like his."
"Calm down," David said soothingly, placing a hand on Julian's shoulder. "Come with me. Leave Bobby to Vincent — despite his looks, he's got medical experience. He'll take care of it. Trust me."
"I can't just leave Bobby!"
David leaned in closer. "Vincent hates being watched when working. He needs focus. You staying here might make things worse."
Julian hesitated, conflicted. "But he's my friend. He's my boss…"
David's voice dropped to a whisper. "Don't be so clingy, Julian. Do you want him to suffer more while you stand here arguing?"
Julian exhaled sharply. "...Fine. I'll leave him to Vincent."
David offered a gentle nod. "You did the right thing."
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Upstairs —
Julian followed David to the upper floor, unaware that the basement was soundproof. The moment the door shut, Vincent turned back to Bobby, who lay trembling on the mat.
"Sorry, detective," Vincent muttered.
SNAP.
Another scream, muffled by the walls.
Vincent calmly took a knife, sliced clean through the wrist, detached the hand, then took the meatier parts of the forearm — carefully removing muscle from bone like he was cutting steak from a roast.
He whistled while working.
Later — In the Kitchen
Downstairs, David was already setting the mood.
"So, Julian," he said cheerfully, "What do you like for dinner? I just got some fresh meat today."
Julian blinked, surprised. "Uh...Something simple. Maybe... slow-cooked ribs?"
David smiled. "Perfect."
Vincent returned, his gloves off, sleeves rolled up. "Bobby's resting. Said he didn't want to see anyone right now. He needs space."
"Oh… okay," Julian said, slightly unsure. "Tell him I said I'm here when he's ready."
"Of course," Vincent replied.
Then he walked into the kitchen, selected the "fresh cuts" he'd taken from Bobby's arm, and began seasoning them with pepper, garlic, and rosemary. He added a thick barbecue glaze — sweet and smoky — and tossed them into the oven.
The dish? Honey-Glazed Braised Arm Ribs.
As the scent filled the house, David poured a red liquid into a wine glass and set it in front of Julian.
Julian looked down at it, raising an eyebrow. "What's this?"
"Ah — just some sauce with wine " David said with a grin. "Secret house recipe. Compliments the ribs perfectly."
Julian took a sip and nodded. "Weird... but kinda good."
David leaned back in his chair, watching him.
"Glad you like it. I can't wait until you finish your meal . I promise you will love it "
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Julian wiped his mouth with a napkin, leaning back in his chair, his plate now wiped clean.
"Man... that was amazing," he said, patting his stomach. "Honestly, Vincent? You can open a damn restaurant."
Vincent smirked as he set his utensils down. "Appreciate it."
David sipped slowly from his own glass. "You liked the ribs?"
"Hell yeah. Super tender. What meat was that, by the way?"
David exchanged a glance with Vincent — one that lasted a beat too long.
Julian noticed it.
The smile dropped half an inch from his face.
"...Wait. What meat was that?" he asked again, this time with a bit more edge.
Vincent stood, slowly pushing back his chair. "You already ate it. Does it really matter?"
Julian stared. "Hold on. That wasn't beef, was it?"
David didn't answer. He simply tilted his head.
Julian looked down at the wineglass — red and thick.
His stomach lurched.
"No…"
Vincent picked up the carving knife from the kitchen counter.
"You liked Bobby," he said, almost thoughtfully. "He had good flavor. Kind of a… smoky aftertaste, don't you think?"
Julian shot up, chair screeching behind him.
"YOU SICK FREAKS!"
He sprinted toward the hallway — but the door was already locked. Metal bars slid in place with a mechanical click.
"You should really stay for dessert," David said calmly. "It's rude to leave early."
Julian spun around, breathing heavily.
"You killed him. You cooked him. You fed me—!"
when he tried to go back and hit David, his muscles began to cramp . He couldn't move
Vincent raised the knife. "he is not killed yet."
---
They dragged Julian into the basement — deeper this time — not the part with the fight mats. No. This one had a drain in the floor, metal chains on the wall, and white tiles stained just slightly pink.
"Do you know what fear does to the taste of meat?" he asked softly, circling Julian as he was shackled upright.
"It spoils it. Makes it sour. But pain… pain makes it richer."
Julian screamed, pulled against the chains. "you're fuckers , leave boby !"
"But we don't want to," Vincent said behind him, rolling up his sleeves again. "And we enjoy it."
" and who said boby will be the meal we eat ?!"
David pulled out a scalpel and gently — almost lovingly — traced it along Julian's forearm. Blood beaded up instantly.
"We're going to start small," he said, voice as soft as a lullaby.
"Skin flaying. One inch at a time. Then I'll take your fingernails. You'll be surprised how much you can scream before your throat gives out."
Julian sobbed, trying to twist away.
Vincent lit a small blowtorch.
"I've always wanted to try branding. Let's see how much you squirm".
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The basement was silent—except for the sound of chains clinking… and screaming.
Bobby was slumped against the concrete wall, both arms broken, shackled in thick iron cuffs bolted to the ground. Every breath he took felt like glass in his lungs.
But the real horror… was just a few feet away.
Julian was hanging from the ceiling by his wrists, shirt torn, body covered in cuts both deep and fresh. Blood dripped from his stomach, his thighs, his face. Vincent stood in front of him, carving letters into his chest with a narrow scalpel.
"J… U… L…" Vincent whispered like he was reciting a love poem.
Julian howled, thrashing in the chains, but there was no escape. The metal hooks cut deeper with every move.
"Please!" Bobby shouted. "Please stop this!"
David turned toward him slowly, calmly.
"You're both part of something beautiful," he said. "We're building something with your pain."
Then, without warning, David knelt in front of Bobby and pulled out a small handheld drill.
"Let's give you a little ventilation, officer."
Before Bobby could speak, the drill bit was pressed into the top of his foot.
It tore through flesh, then bone.
Bobby screamed, his whole body convulsing, blood spraying onto the floor.
Across the room, Vincent lit a branding iron and held it to the flame until it glowed orange. Then he pressed it to Julian's neck.
Julian screamed again, voice cracking. The smell of burning flesh filled the room.
"That's the first brand," Vincent said, smiling.
David stepped back and grabbed a metal spoon.
"No. No—please don't," Bobby begged, barely conscious.
David didn't answer.
He pushed the spoon deep into Bobby's right eye, twisting until he heard the wet pop and snap.
Bobby shook violently. He didn't even scream this time—just gasped. Silent and broken.
Julian turned his head weakly, trying to look away—but Vincent was back, this time with a manual saw.
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David crouched beside Bobby, his face calm, his voice smooth and deliberate.
"You've got a choice to make, detective," he whispered, holding up two tools in either hand — a jagged spoon in his left, and a pair of rusty shears in his right.
Bobby, barely conscious, lifted his head. His one remaining eye was swollen, and blood dripped down his jaw like sweat. His body trembled uncontrollably.
David leaned in close.
"You see… I believe in agency, Bobby. I want you to be a part of this moment. You can still do something."
He nodded toward Julian, who now hung limp in his chains, still breathing — barely — his face a bruised, bloodied mess.
"Here's your decision," David continued softly, like he was describing dinner options, "You're going to choose what part of Julian we take next."
He raised the spoon a little higher. "His eyes…"
Then he lifted the shears. "Or his ears."
Bobby let out a broken, hoarse gasp. "No… please…"
David's tone remained level — friendly, even. "If you refuse to choose, I will take both. Slowly. One after the other. And I'll make you watch. Every. Second."
He leaned in, so close their foreheads nearly touched.
"Be a friend, Bobby. Spare him a little pain. Just pick one."
Julian stirred slightly, lifting his bloodied face. "D-Don't…" he mumbled through cracked lips. "Don't let them…"
But Bobby's eyes filled with tears.
"I… I can't…"
Vincent, watching from the shadows, rolled his neck and stepped forward with a heavy sigh.
"Time's ticking, Cross," he said. "Want me to flip a coin?"
David didn't answer. He just stared into Bobby's eyes, waiting.
"Tick tock," he whispered.
"No!" Bobby cried out suddenly, his voice cracking. "Take… take his ear! Just… not his tongue. Don't let him choke on blood… please…"
Julian's face twisted in betrayal and despair. "You… bastard…"
David smiled.
"See? That wasn't so hard."
He stood and approached Julian again, nodding to Vincent.
"Hold him."
Vincent grabbed Julian's head and forced it to the side. Julian screamed, but his body was too weak, too broken to resist.
David leaned in, almost gently, and with a swift snip — CLIP — he sliced through the cartilage of Julian's right ear.
Julian screamed again, louder this time, as blood poured down the side of his face.
"Good choice," David said without looking back.
Then
he walked over to Bobby again and placed the severed, bloody ear on his lap like a trophy.
"You chose well, detective."
But then David's smile faded slightly. "Unfortunately… your mercy cost you points. So…"
He turned his head toward Vincent. "Take the other one anyway."
Julian's scream echoed down the concrete walls, echoing like a tortured siren.
Bobby cried, curled in on himself, whispering, "I'm sorry… I'm so sorry…"
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