"Why… why did she die?" Johnson whispered to himself, eyes wide, heart racing.
"No... No, I can't hold this anymore."
He clenched the crumpled newspaper in his trembling hand, the ink smudged by his sweaty grip. The headline burned into his mind:
"Michelle Executed via Electric Chair: Court Finds Her Guilty."
A single tear fell.
"To hell with this world," he growled. "I will now kill the ones who distracted me most… the ones who took her away."
He stood up, pacing violently across the room, grabbing a duffel bag filled with weapons—unlicensed firearms, tear gas canisters, even homemade explosives.
"They'll pay," he muttered. "All of them. The court officials… the police… and even Alan. I'll reunite with Michelle in heaven. We'll live peacefully. Just us, forever."
---
He revved the engine of his battered car and headed toward the nearest police booth.
When he arrived, he walked in slowly, masking his rage with a fake look of grief.
One officer at the desk looked up from his paperwork. "Can I help you?"
Johnson choked on false sobs. "M-My ex-wife died… but she was innocent…"
The officer frowned with sympathy. "I'm sorry to hear that. How… how did she die?"
A pause.
Then Johnson smirked—and drew his gun.
"Like this," he said coldly, pointing the weapon toward the officer.
BANG.
The officer collapsed before he even registered what happened.
Panic erupted. Screams echoed.
Another officer, Miako, shouted, "What the hell did you just do?! You killed a police officer!"
A rookie beside her, Kamai, hesitated. "Wait… is that even a licensed gun?"
Miako turned to him in disbelief. "Are you seriously asking that right now?! He just shot someone in front of us, Kamai! Focus!"
Kamai backed off, startled.
BANG.
Another gunshot echoed. Another officer fell. Blood pooled rapidly on the tiled floor.
Miako's voice cracked as she shouted, "Everyone! He's not going to stop! Grab your weapons! Return fire!"
As they scrambled for arms, Johnson tossed a tear gas canister.
The room filled with thick, stinging smoke. Chaos. Coughing. Blurred vision.
BANG. BANG. BANG. BANG. BANG. BANG.
Six shots in the haze.
Three more officers dropped to the ground.
Five dead in total now.
Johnson stepped forward slowly through the smoke, his eyes burning with fury.
"This… is revenge for what you did to Michelle!" he screamed.
Miako yelled back, "TAKE HIM DOWN!"
Gunfire broke out. Bullets shredded through the desks, glass shattered, filing cabinets exploded into sparks.
But Johnson dove beneath the very chair the first officer had sat on. There, he retrieved two explosive bombs from his duffel bag.
Without hesitation, he hurled one of them at the remaining officers.
BOOM!
The explosion rocked the building. A huge section of the rooftop caved in. The walls cracked. Dust and debris blanketed the room. The front of the booth was now an inferno of rubble.
Johnson was badly injured—cuts across his chest, a bleeding gash on his arm—but he didn't stop.
Outside, backup had been called. Sirens echoed in the distance.
---
Five minutes later, officers arrived at the ruined station.
And to their shock, they found Johnson still there—bloodied, dazed, but conscious.
He didn't resist.
Instead, he calmly raised his hands.
---
Johnson was arrested on the spot and handcuffed. Blood smeared across his face as he sat silently in the police van.
The drive to the courthouse took 16 minutes.
Inside the vehicle, the officers remained tense, yet confused by Johnson's sudden compliance.
He smiled faintly to himself. He wasn't done yet.
As they arrived at the courthouse, Johnson stepped out with eerie calm.
His cuffs were removed temporarily so he could be processed.
Then came the final act.
---
As the officers began retrieving his confiscated items, one of them said, "Hand over all remaining weapons."
Johnson looked up slowly.
And in one swift motion—pulled out a hidden pistol.
BANG. BANG. BANG.
Three bullets. Three headshots.
All officers dropped instantly.
No reaction speed could've saved them.
Johnson turned toward the court building and entered with cold determination. He had already memorized the halls from past visits. He walked straight into the trial chamber.
---
Inside, the judge was just finishing a session when Johnson stormed in.
Judge: "What is the meaning of this? Why are you here alone? And what happened to the escort team?"
Johnson walked slowly down the aisle, standing directly in front of the judge's bench.
Johnson: "Do you want to know why I did this?"
The judge frowned. "You're already facing a life sentence, possibly death. Speak carefully."
Johnson: "It was because…"
He reached into his coat and pulled out a tear gas canister.
FSSSHHH!
Fog exploded across the courtroom. Screams erupted. Officials scrambled, coughing violently.
In the chaos, Johnson took out his last explosive—a homebuilt bomb with enough force to destroy a room.
He tossed it toward the center of the court.
BOOOOOOOM!
Flames. Shattered walls. Cracked floors.
Glass and fire rained from the ceiling.
Amid the chaos, Johnson ran—stumbling, burnt, but alive.
He fled the wreckage of the courthouse and ducked into an abandoned building nearby, seeking shelter.
---
Chapter 15 ends
To be continued…