"Oh Heavenly Father… forgive me… guide me…"
The priest's voice trembled as it echoed through the hollow church. The coldness from the altar he was laid upon seeped into his back. His wrists and ankles were bound tight against the altar once meant for holy offerings.
His rosary clattered weakly in his hands, beads slipping through trembling fingers. Sweat slicked his forehead as his eyes were fixed on the harsh light above.
Moon light bled across the church through the stained glasses in jagged patterns, the picture of Mother Mary shined the brightest illuminating the fractured walls and cracked ceiling across the desolate church. Beside the altar hung an old statue of Jesus on the Cross, old and webbed, falling apart from head to toe as it hung directly witnessing the priest on his altar.
"Are you done?" a voice cut through the prayers, calm and deliberate.
The calm voice came from a chair beside the priest.
Ryan sat casually, cloaked head-to-toe in disposable plastic wear, the chair crackling with each subtle shift of his body. In his gloved hands, he held the priest's wooden cross.
With a knife, he shaved the bottom to a sharp point, slow deliberate strokes, wood shavings curling to the floor like snowfall. He held the arms of the cross like a handle, testing its weight with an almost boyish curiosity.
The priest froze his eyes widening in horror as Ryan got up and stood directly above him, his shadow fell across the priest, swallowing him in darkness blocking the light hung above. His eyes, impossibly black, held an unsettling mixture of calm and delight, and his smile carrying the innocence of a child finding a new toy.
He tilted his head.
"Tell me, Father," Ryan said softly, voice steady, "Do you really believe there is a God?"
"You… you don't have to do this—"
"Answer me!" Ryan's voice stayed calm, but his gloved hand slammed against the altar, rattling the ropes that dug into the priest's skin.
"Y-yes… I do…" the priest stammered.
Ryan nodded, tilting his head with quiet satisfaction as he gestured around the empty church. "Then you must accept that… this… is His great plan for you."
"God wouldn't abandon me!" the priest spat, straining against the bindings.
"Of course, He wouldn't," Ryan said, as he began circling the altar like a predator, still shaving away at the cross, shavings falling with every step on to the plastic covered floor "It's just… your sins were too heavy. Even He couldn't wash them clean."
The priest's face went pale as Ryan began listing names out of the blue.
"James Whitmore, eight.
Michael Hayes, six.
Samuel Grayson, nine.
Peter Lang, eleven…"
"You remember them, don't you?"
The priest's throat tightened. "I… I- How did you-"
Ryan's smile widened. "Why do you think I've been hanging around the church these past weeks? To pray?" He leaned close and whispered near his ears "All it took was following your little late-night visits… and there it was. Your picture collage."
"Was it fun, father?" He tapped the pointy end of the cross lightly against the priest's cheek. "Taking pictures of the boys, you abused… Did it thrill you to steal their innocence and keep it for yourself?"
The priest trembled violently, trying to speak, but no words came. Ryan shook his head slightly, disappointed—but the smile never left his face.
"Please… listen! I know I've done wrong. I am willing to pay for my mistakes! Please… just give me a chance," the priest pleaded in a panic his voice hoarse as he forced himself to spew out mercy "I... I know... l will surrender myself to the church… I have a daughter, please, you don't have to do this!"
Ryan grabbed the priest's head, forcing it back to expose his throat. His voice steady and cold.
"C'mon, Father. We both know the truth. The church will only move priests like you from state to state… and it won't be long before your hunger grows again, and another innocent child suffers."
Tears streaked down the priest's face "The police! I'll go to the police! Please! For the sake of my daughter!"
Ryan chuckled low, almost amused. He tightened his grip on the sharpened cross, testing its weight. "Let's stop pretending, Father. You're a monster. A monster that eats children. And to speak biblically… I shall slay thee."
"AHHH!!!"
The priest screamed as Ryan drove the cross down, the sharpened wood punching through his chest. Blood sprayed across the altar, streaking the Jesus statue until it looked like it wept tears of red. The blood ran from the altar on to the plastic covered floor.
The priest convulsed, breath rattling. "And what does that… make you?" he croaked, his expression twitching in fear and anger.
Ryan leaned in, lips close to the dying man's ear. His voice was calm, almost tender.
Ryan's black eyes glinted, calm as ever. "I am a monster too," he said softly. "A monster that feeds on other monsters like you."
The priest's body jerked once more, then fell limp, eyes glassing over toward the stained glass.
Ryan took a deep breath savouring the kill as he stared at the priest pressing his thumb on his forehead. "You're lucky, you know Father. Normally, I like to take my time, but it just happens that I am starting my job tomorrow."
"Can't be looking tired on the first day, don't you think?" Ryan talked to the lifeless corpse that was still bleeding out like he was talking to an old friend as he headed for his bag pulling out an electric hand saw.
"A room full of cops… makes me nervous." He smiled at the corpse. "But this is necessary."
He pressed the blade down, the saw screaming as it tore through flesh, drowning out the silence of the holy place.
ヾ(๑╹◡╹)ﾉ🔪
The California sun rose bright and merciless, spilling golden light across the city.
Ryan cruised down the freeway in his black Mustang, the engine's low growl cutting through the morning calm. The trace of last night's ritual killing lingered somewhere deep inside him, but on the surface, he was all smiles, sunglasses catching the light, face warmed by the sun as if he were any other twenty-one year old heading to his first real job.
Not a shred of guilt. Not a flicker of hesitation.
The city opened before him, bustling and alive. When he turned into the LAPD's Mid-Wilshire station, he slowed just enough to watch the movement of the officers: uniforms crisp, guns at their sides, some laughing over coffee, others rushing in with purpose. Ryan's lips curved faintly.
"Doesn't feel out of place at all," he murmured to himself sarcastically.
He stepped out of his car straightening his jacket carrying his neatly pressed uniform in his hands as he walked through the double doors. The station hummed with energy, phones ringing, radios crackling, officers weaving in and out like blood through veins.
"Ryan! You're out here early."
Ryan turned glancing back at the person who called him.
Jackson stood awkwardly near the entrance to the locker room, his smile just a little too forced. He extended a hand. Ryan accepted it with his practiced and polished "colleague smile," the one that didn't quite reach his eyes.
"Couldn't really sleep well," Ryan said lightly, as if admitting a harmless rookie's nerves. "You know… nervousness."
"Tell me about it." Jackson let out a sigh as they walked inside together, nodding to the other officers along the way until they reached their assigned locker. "We missed you last night. Well, Lucy did mostly. Why didn't you come?"
Ryan peeled off his T-shirt, folding it with neat precision, and began buttoning up his freshly pressed uniform. He spoke casually, tone unbothered: "I was busy. Praying. Figured I should start the job right."
Jackson chuckled, shaking his head. "Didn't know you were the type to pray."
Ryan just shrugged, hiding the dark amusement bubbling under his skin. 'Oh! I preyed alright!'
To Ryan, Jackson was nothing more than a loud distraction. Childish, always trying too hard, aching to prove he was the best.
'Jackson was always chasing his father's shadow even in the academy. And I broke every record he boasted about, usually within minutes. It made things… awkward.' Ryan thought to himself, 'Well, considering his daddy's internal affairs connection it doesn't hurt to keep things cordial.'
Before Ryan could respond, a sharp, commanding voice rang out across the room.
"I love Rookie Day! It's Christmas and The Purge all rolled into one!"
The man's presence filled the space before he even arrived.
Tim Bradford strode in, tall and broad-shouldered, his uniform worn with the kind of ease that came from years in the field. His blond hair was cropped close, jaw set like carved stone, eyes sharp and unflinching. Everything about him screamed authority—and not the friendly kind. He moved like a man who expected to be obeyed.
Ryan observed the man from head to toe, 'Military posture. Eyes like gunmetal. Probably served somewhere... he reminds me of my father, and not in a good way.'
His gaze cut through the two rookies, and a smile that wasn't really a smile touched his lips.
"And there are my first presents." Tim said stepping forward, "Morning, Boots!"
Jackson stepped forward, "Good morning, sir-"
"Did I say you could talk?" Tim cut him off mid sentence as he looked at him from head to toe and his gaze then turned to Ryan doing the same, "You guys better pray that I am not your training officers, boot, cause I'll make your life a living hell."
'Don't roll your eyes, Ryan!' Ryan was trying his best to be on behaviour not sure what reaction he should have on his fact at the moment.
"And you pretty boy boot, do you have a problem with what I have said?" Tim turned to Ryan.
"No, sir-"
"Then why are you standing like a statue?"
"..."
'He doesn't want me to speak and he doesn't want me stand still, what do I do? Express myself through a dance?'
Being the good daddy's boy that he was, Jackson stepped forward chest held high, "Sir, I'd be grateful to have you as my T.O, My father raised me to push myself to the edge of my abilities, and he'd be deeply disappointed if I failed to do so, now that I've joined him in service,"
Tim nodded glancing at his name tag, that read "West"
"Your Father is..."
"Commander West of Internal Affairs, yes, sir." Jackson said with pride.
"And what about you, would you like me to be your T.O. as well?" Tim turned to Ryan staring at his name tag that read 'Carter'
"I don't mind it, sir." Ryan said with a straight face as Tim stared at him deeply before turning back.
"Roll call in 10..." Tim said before giving both of them a final glance leaving the two rookie staring at each other.