Damian Cross stood alone in the shooting range, black hair falling just above his sharp green eyes. The headphones over his ears muffled everything except the soft thrum of his own heartbeat and the steady rhythm of his breathing. He raised the pistol, sighted the first target, and squeezed the trigger.
Bang!
The bullet struck dead center.
Bang! Bang! Bang!
One by one, Damian's shots tore through the targets with perfect precision, each bullet finding the bullseye without a hint of hesitation. His posture was flawless, his focus absolute — a predator in human form, calm and precise.
When the last shot rang out, a crisp echo bounced off the walls of the academy's shooting room. The other cadets glanced at him in awe.
"Great, Damian."
A hand landed on his shoulder. Damian barely flinched. He turned slightly to see a tall, broad-shouldered cadet with sandy brown hair and bright blue eyes smiling down at him.
"I envy you, man." the man said. "You're youngest in this academy, and already the best."
"Thanks, Kyle," Damian said coolly, lowering the pistol. His voice was calm, almost detached, betraying none of the intense focus that had just consumed him.
Kyle chuckled. "Seriously. You make the rest of us look like amateurs. How do you even…?"
Damian shrugged, almost imperceptibly. "Practice."
Kyle then looped his arm around Damian's neck, leaning close with a grin. "What do you think about getting a drink later—"
He started laughing mid-sentence. "'Hahaha, sorry, I always forget you're not of age." He ruffled Damian's hair playfully.
Damian just stood there, stiff and awkward, letting Kyle fuss over him.
"Finished?" Damian asked, finally breaking the silence, his tone calm, almost clipped.
"Ah, sorry—" Kyle stammered, stepping back and stopping the hair-ruffling.
At that moment, a pair of boots clicked sharply across the floor. Another cadet entered the room, her movements purposeful, her eyes scanning every detail. She was slightly shorter than Kyle, but her posture radiated hardworking determination.
"Stop it, Kyle," she said sharply. "You're always so childish. Quit bothering the ones who actually care about shooting and get to your own station."
She picked up a gun and a pair of headphones.
"Okay, sis," Kyle muttered, rolling his eyes but smiling, and finally letting Damian go. He took the training set and moved to his own station.
Damian returned to his position, sliding the pistol into his grip with fluid efficiency. He raised it again, the world narrowing to the sight, the trigger, the targets.
Bang! Bang! Bang!
...
In a dimly lit hotel room far from the academy...
Shadows clung to the corners like living things. A man groaned as he stirred, eyes snapping open.
"Where am I?" His voice cracked. He blinked against the harsh overhead light, only to realize, he was bound to a table. The ropes bit into his skin, cutting off circulation, each fiber pressing painfully into him. Panic surged immediately.
"Someone help—"
The words never finished leaving his throat. A tissue was shoved into his mouth, muffling his scream.
"Ah—ah—"
A figure leaned close, holding the tissue firmly against his mouth. The other hand rose slowly, index finger wagging: side to side, warning him to stay quiet.
The man's eyes widened in terror, struggling against the tight ropes. The figure didn't speak. Instead, he tilted his head, scanning the room, and began to hum.
At first, it was low and casual, almost benign. Then the tune twisted. Slow. Deliberate. Sinister, weaving into a melody that promised danger without words.
The man tried to scream again, but the tissue muffled it. The humming seeped into his mind, carrying a threat he could not ignore. Every note said: If you make a sound… if you move… I will find a way to punish you.
His heart raced, each thump echoing in his ears louder than the hum. The figure moved with calm precision, methodical, patient, and entirely in control, letting the terror settle deep into the man's chest before anything else happened.
The figure leaned down and removed the tissue from the man's mouth.
"W-What do you w-want from me?" the man stammered, his voice trembling uncontrollably, pure terror lacing every syllable.
The figure only hummed, the slow, sinister melody carrying through the room like a living shadow. As the light shifted, the man's eyes widened.
Damian Cross stepped forward, the glow catching his sharp green eyes and the cold precision in his expression.
"Y-You're just a kid…" the man whispered, disbelief and fear mixing in his tone.
Damian's lips curved into a small, unsettling smile. He drew a tiny, razor-sharp knife and traced a circle into the man's chest, just above the heart.
"Aaaaa—" The man's scream ripped through the room, raw and terrified, but Damian jammed the tissue back into his mouth before it could fully form. One hand carved, the other pressed firmly, muffling the terrified noise while the hum continued, rhythmic and ominous.
Finally, Damian spoke, slow and deliberate:
"What I want from you…"
He removed the tissue again, and the man's strength faltered. Blood poured freely from the deep gash, weakening him to the point of near collapse. Damian's knife danced across his chest, carving with calculated precision, his green eyes locked on every flicker of fear.
"…is to hear you scream," Damian said, the psychotic edge in his voice matched by a cold, twisted smile.
"But you've really given me a headache… couldn't you just go somewhere else instead of the busiest hotel in Miami? Now I can't even let you scream," he added, standing and surveying the room.
The man's eyes widened as Damian raised the knife once more toward him.
"You're useless," Damian whispered. Then, with the effortless precision of a surgeon, he stabbed the man directly in the chest, piercing the heart.
Damian exhaled slowly, a satisfied smile forming. The tension in his body melted away; this was exactly what he needed after Kyle's relentless nuisances earlier at the academy.
He cleaned the knife carefully with a fresh tissue, then looked down at the man's chest.
With that last, final stab, the work was complete.
To be continued...
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