The morning sun rose bright over St. Augustine High School, but no warmth touched the air. Even the sky seemed muted, pale, as though it sensed what was coming.
The students streamed into the school gates as always, backpacks bouncing, voices rising in laughter and gossip. But there was an uneasiness woven into their chatter, an undercurrent that even the most clueless could feel.
The news had broken that morning: Henry's entire family had been slaughtered in their home. Father, mother, siblings—everyone. The police described it as a "home invasion," but no one believed it.
Everyone whispered the same thing: It was him.
They didn't say Daniel's name out loud, but it lingered in every hallway, on every lip.
The Weight of Rumors
Inside Class 4B, Marcus leaned back in his chair, his arms crossed as though he were unbothered. Jason and David flanked him, their laughter sharp and cruel, trying to cut through the tension that filled the room.
"Police said it was some gang," Jason whispered too loudly. His leg bounced nervously under the desk. "A gang job. That's what my dad heard."
"Bullshit," David muttered. His face was pale, his fingers twitching on his pen. "We all know who it was. First Henry. Now his family. He's coming for us next."
Marcus didn't answer. He just stared at the chalkboard where the teacher scribbled equations no one cared about. His chest felt heavy, his throat dry. The more he tried to swallow, the harder it became.
Henry's face kept flashing in his head—dead, pale, broken. And behind it, another face.
Her face.
The girl. Daniel's sister.
He remembered everything now, as if the blood had loosened the locked door in his memory.
She had been walking home, innocent, carrying books too big for her arms. She saw them. Saw Marcus, Jason, and David beating another boy behind the school, their fists slamming into him until he coughed blood.
She screamed at them to stop. Told them she'd tell.
And she did.
The next day, she stood in front of the teachers, the police, her voice trembling but steady: "It was them. I saw them."
Marcus still remembered the way the handcuffs felt on his wrists that day, the cameras flashing, the shame burning his skin. He remembered his mother's cold glare, his father's rage.
They had spent one night in jail. Just one. Their parents had bought their freedom before dawn.
But the humiliation festered. And humiliation needed repayment.
So they took her. For weeks, they hurt her. For weeks, they silenced her cries with fists, with fire, with worse. Until finally, they killed her.
At least… they thought it was over.
Now Daniel was coming.
Marcus's chest tightened. His friends kept whispering, but their words blurred, meaningless. The girl's face lingered.
He almost thought he could hear her screams again.
And then, cutting through the ghostly memory, came another sound.
BANG.
The First Gunshot
The class jolted as the sharp crack of gunfire echoed through the hallway.
BANG. BANG.
Students screamed in other rooms. Feet pounded. Doors slammed shut.
The teacher froze, chalk breaking in her hand, her mouth hanging open.
Then the classroom door burst open.
Daniel.
He stood in the doorway, a black hoodie shadowing his face, a handgun steady in his grip. Smoke still curled faintly from the barrel.
For a heartbeat, silence.
Then he raised the gun.
The Massacre
The world erupted.
BANG. BANG. BANG.
The first bullets tore through the front row. A boy's head snapped back, a girl's chest exploded red, their bodies collapsing onto their desks. Screams filled the air, shrill and desperate.
Students bolted from their chairs, overturning desks, stumbling over each other in blind panic.
"Run!" someone screamed.
But the door was blocked. Daniel fired again, cutting down two who tried to squeeze past him. Their blood painted the walls, spraying across the whiteboard.
The teacher raised her hands. "Stop! Please, stop!"
A bullet slammed into her throat, silencing her forever. She fell against the board, smearing crimson across the equations she'd been writing just seconds before.
More shots. More screams. The classroom became a cage of chaos and death. Windows rattled with fists as students tried to break free, but Daniel moved with cold precision, shooting anyone who moved too quickly, too loudly.
Blood pooled on the tiles. Desks toppled like gravestones. The smell of iron filled the air, thick and suffocating.
And then—silence.
Dozens of bodies lay crumpled. The classroom was no longer a place of learning, but a slaughterhouse.
Only three were left alive.
Marcus. Jason. David.
The Knife Appears
Daniel dropped the empty handgun. The clatter echoed through the carnage.
He bent, unzipped the duffel bag, and pulled out something new. A knife. Long. Curved. Gleaming wickedly beneath the fluorescent lights.
Jason whimpered. David sobbed. Marcus's lips trembled.
Daniel stepped forward. Slow. Silent. Death in motion.
Jason's Death
Jason tried to crawl backward, his chair toppling over, his palms smearing blood across the floor. "No, no, please—I didn't—Marcus made me—"
The knife slashed.
Jason screamed as the blade carved across his thigh, muscle splitting open. He thrashed, his nails clawing the tiles, leaving bloody streaks.
Daniel pinned him to the wall, his hand iron on Jason's chest. The knife plunged into his arm, twisting, snapping bone. Jason howled, tears mixing with spit and blood.
"Please! I'm sorry! I didn't mean—"
The blade silenced him, carving across his stomach. His guts spilled out, warm and slick, his scream breaking into a wet gurgle.
Jason collapsed, twitching, his blood pooling beneath him, his eyes wide with terror even in death.
David's Death
David bolted for the window. He smashed his fists against the glass, bloodied his knuckles, his voice ragged. "Help! Somebody help me!"
No one came.
Daniel stalked toward him, calm, deliberate.
David turned, hands raised. "Please! Please, I swear—it was Marcus! It was his idea! Don't—"
The knife answered.
It pierced David's shoulder, pinning him against the window. He screamed, his forehead pressing against the glass, fogging it with desperate breath.
Daniel dragged the knife downward, ripping flesh, splitting ribs, slicing organs. Blood streaked down the glass in crimson waterfalls.
David convulsed, shrieking until his voice broke, his body collapsing in a heap, twitching until nothing remained.
Marcus's Death
Marcus sat frozen, his chair trembling beneath him. His eyes streamed with tears, his lips quivering.
When Daniel turned to him, Marcus broke.
"I'm sorry," he whispered. His voice cracked. "I didn't want to—I swear—I didn't—"
But the memories betrayed him.
Her face. The girl's face.
The way she had screamed when they dragged her away. The way her voice grew hoarse from begging. The way her body went limp when they finally stopped.
He had laughed.
Now Daniel stood before him, knife dripping, eyes hollow.
Marcus fell to his knees, sobbing, clutching Daniel's shoes. "Please—I didn't mean it! If I could take it back—"
The knife struck.
Once. Twice. Again.
Marcus screamed, the sound tearing through the blood-soaked hallways.
Daniel carved slowly, each cut deliberate, across Marcus's arms, his chest, his legs. Blood soaked his uniform until it clung like tar.
"Please!" Marcus gasped. "Please—"
Daniel didn't answer.
He cut deeper. Into muscle, into bone. Marcus writhed like an animal caught in a trap, his voice breaking into sobs, into wordless screams.
A flash of the girl's face appeared in Marcus's mind, and he wept harder, his tears mixing with the blood pouring from his body.
Finally, Daniel thrust the knife into his heart.
Marcus gasped once, shuddered violently, and fell still.
Aftermath
The classroom was silent. Silent, except for the drip of blood from Daniel's blade.
Bodies sprawled across the floor, desks overturned like tombstones, walls painted in gore. The air was thick with death.
Daniel stood in the center, chest heaving, his knife dangling loosely at his side.
For a moment, he closed his eyes.
He saw her. His sister. Smiling. Free.
When he opened them again, he whispered her name.
Justice had begun.