The air was thick with gunpowder and blood.Somewhere in the distance, alarms wailed, and outside the shattered windows came the rising chorus of sirens. Blue and red lights flickered against the white school walls, painting them in pulsing waves of color.
The massacre had lasted minutes, but its echo would live forever.
Daniel stood in the center of the ruined classroom, his knife dripping onto the tiles, his chest still heaving with the rhythm of violence. The silence pressed against his ears, broken only by the faint drip… drip… drip of blood pooling under the desks.
He tilted his head, listening.
The faint crunch of boots echoed from the hallway. Voices—harsh, commanding—cut through the stillness.
"Go! Go! Secure the building!"
The police were here.
The Disguise
Daniel bent, dropped the bloody knife into his bag, and slipped his hoodie off. Beneath it, he wore the same uniform as every other boy in St. Augustine High: a white shirt now spattered with blood.
He pulled a blazer from the corpse of one fallen student, buttoned it over the stains, and adjusted the tie. In the cracked reflection of the classroom window, he looked almost ordinary.
Almost.
His eyes gave him away—cold, hollow, burning with a fire that uniforms could never hide.
He joined the wave of panicked students rushing out of neighboring classrooms, blending into the sea of white shirts and dark trousers. Their cries became his cover. Their terror became his mask.
Chaos in the Hallways
The hallway was carnage. Lockers stood open, bags scattered across the floor. Blood streaked down walls where wounded students had tried to crawl. The smell of smoke and copper hung heavy.
Teachers screamed orders, herding survivors toward the exits. Students stumbled over one another, tripping, crying, clutching at their friends.
"Move! Out, out, out!" a teacher yelled, her voice breaking.
Police stormed in through the main doors, their rifles raised, eyes scanning for the shooter.
They expected someone monstrous. A shadow in black, hooded, armed.
Instead, Daniel walked among children, his head lowered, his pace calm.
He was the monster they sought, but his face was just another in the crowd.
The First Checkpoint
At the end of the hall, a line of officers blocked the exit, funneling students into the courtyard. One by one, they pushed them through, checking hands, eyes, movements.
Daniel's heart thudded once, hard, but he forced his breathing steady.
He moved with the rest, his eyes wet, his steps trembling just enough to match theirs. Around him, boys and girls sobbed into their hands, their uniforms smeared with blood.
An officer grabbed his shoulder.
"You alright, son?" the cop asked, bending low, his eyes searching Daniel's face.
Daniel forced a stammer. "I—I saw them—he—he had a gun—I—" His words broke into fake sobs, his shoulders shaking.
The officer squeezed his shoulder, his own jaw tight with pity. "It's okay. You're safe now. Keep moving."
Daniel lowered his gaze and stepped forward, the mask of prey hiding the predator beneath.
The Courtyard
The school courtyard was a battlefield of grief.
Hundreds of students huddled together, crying, holding each other. Teachers clutched trembling children in their arms. Police moved among them, shouting orders, radios crackling. Ambulances screeched to a stop at the gates, paramedics rushing with stretchers.
Bodies were carried out, wrapped in sheets, loaded into vans. Parents arrived, screaming their children's names, shoving against barriers, their voices raw with terror.
The courtyard pulsed with chaos, the cries of the living mingling with the silence of the dead.
Daniel slipped into the mass, his shoulders hunched, his head down.
A Glimpse of Marcus
For a moment, his eyes flicked back toward the building.
Through the shattered window of Class 4B, he could still see Marcus's body, slumped and broken, his face frozen in a mask of regret.
Daniel's lips curled in something between a sneer and a smile.
One name crossed off.
Two more to go.
But for now—escape.
The Search Tightens
"Lock down every exit!" a commanding voice barked.
Officers fanned out, their rifles raised, eyes sharp. "Shooter could be among them!"
Daniel felt the shift. The panic became his ally, but it could also become his undoing. He had to move carefully.
He shuffled closer to a group of sobbing girls, letting their cries drown him out. One clung to his sleeve, not even realizing who she held. Her tears smeared across his blazer, masking the faint spots of blood that had seeped through.
A spotlight swept across the courtyard, pinning faces in harsh white light.
Daniel kept his eyes lowered. Always lowered.
The Whisper of Memory
As he moved with the crowd, Daniel's mind flickered back—not to the massacre, not to Marcus's cries, but to her.
His sister.
He remembered her laughter, the way she used to chase butterflies in the dusty fields behind their house. He remembered how she stayed up late to help him with homework, her patience endless, her smile warm.
He remembered her broken body, dumped like trash.
The crowd jostled him, but in his mind, he wasn't in the courtyard anymore. He was back in that moment, kneeling beside her lifeless form, promising through tears that he would make them all pay.
That promise burned in him still.
And he was not done.
The Evacuation
Police herded the survivors toward buses lined up outside the gates, ready to take them to a safe location. Officers with clipboards shouted names, checking lists, calling parents.
Daniel moved with the tide, his bag pressed close to his side. The knife and empty gun inside weighed heavily, but no one noticed amid the chaos.
An officer stopped the line. "We need ID checks before they board. Shooter might be hiding in the crowd."
The crowd groaned, some cried harder. Parents shouted angrily from behind barriers.
Daniel's pulse quickened. If they checked his bag—
But fate favored him.
A fresh wave of screams erupted from the building. "We found more bodies!" someone shouted.
The officers turned, distracted, sprinting back toward the carnage. The ID check collapsed into confusion.
Students began pushing past, rushing for the buses, desperate to escape.
Daniel slipped among them, climbing the steps, sliding into a seat near the back.
On the Bus
The bus reeked of fear.
Students huddled together, clutching each other's hands, their eyes wide and empty. Some whispered prayers. Others simply stared at nothing, their mouths opening and closing soundlessly.
Daniel sat alone, his gaze fixed on the window. Outside, more bodies were wheeled out, more parents wailed.
The bus engine rumbled to life.
The sirens faded behind them as the bus pulled away, carrying the survivors into the city.
Daniel leaned his head against the glass, his reflection staring back at him—bloodstained, hollow, but alive.
And still hungry.
The Journey Continues
As the bus rolled down the highway, Daniel's hand slipped into his bag, fingers brushing the handle of the knife. The metal was cool, reassuring, a reminder of what he still had to do.
The city stretched ahead, wide and sprawling, unaware of the storm moving quietly within it.
Daniel closed his eyes, the roar of the engine mixing with the screams in his memory.
This was only the beginning.