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Inside their cheap, cramped suburban home, Keith and Madeline Wuntch sat on their faded living room couch.
They looked like corpses.
There was no sign of life or color on their faces.
Michael's lawyers had already filed the initial paperwork. Their bank accounts were frozen. Keith had lost his job. Madeline had been exiled from her social circles.
They were utterly, completely fucked for life.
The silence was deafening until Madeline suddenly spoke, her voice trembling with unhinged hysteria.
"We should go to his house," Madeline whispered, her eyes wide and bloodshot. "We should go back there... and kill them. Kill all of them."
Keith's head snapped toward her, baffled.
He scooted away from her on the couch, terrified by the sheer lunacy in her eyes. "Are you out of your mind?!"
"Think about it!" Madeline hissed and dilutionally said, grabbing his arm with claw-like fingers. "We are already screwed! We have nothing left except our dignity! They are going to sue us until we bleed out every last penny! We're going to rot in jail anyway! If we take them out, at least we get our revenge!"
Keith stared at her.
Slowly, the horror in his face was replaced by a dark, dangerous, desperate glint.
He had lost his pride, his money, and his freedom. What did he have left to lose?
"You know what..." Keith muttered, his jaw clenching. "We should. We should go back there and—"
BANG! BANG! BANG!
A frantic, violent slamming on the front door cut him off.
Keith and Madeline jumped out of their skin.
They exchanged a panicked look, slowly getting up from the couch.
Keith crept to the door and cautiously pulled it open.
Standing on the porch were three large, heavily muscled Black men wearing dark jackets.
The one in the front, staring at Keith with dead, cold eyes, had the unmistakable grip of a semi-automatic handgun visibly tucked into the waistband of his jeans.
"W-what do you want?" Keith stuttered, his bravado instantly vanishing.
"We're here to talk," the man in the front said smoothly.
Without waiting for an invitation, he stepped forward, forcing Keith back.
The other two men filed in behind him, shutting and locking the front door.
They walked into the living room and sat down on the armchair and the edge of the coffee table, owning the space instantly.
Keith and Madeline huddled together near the couch, trembling like leaves.
"I... I'm going to ask you to leave, or I'll call the police," Keith tried to say, his voice cracking pitifully.
Before he could even finish the sentence, the man sitting on the coffee table pulled the gun from his waistband.
Click.
He switched off the safety.
The sound echoed through the quiet room like a canon.
"Which one of you was the one who called Terry n****?" the man asked, his voice a deadly, quiet rumble.
Keith's heart stopped entirely.
Madeline became as pale as a sheet of paper.
"Come here," the man with the gun said, gesturing to Keith with the barrel of the weapon. "On your knees. Both of you."
Terrified for their lives, Keith and Madeline dropped to their knees on their own living room floor.
What followed was a thorough, systematic destruction of whatever pathetic shreds of dignity they had left.
One of the men pulled out a smartphone and hit record.
They forced Keith and Madeline to bark like dogs.
They made Keith take a thick black Sharpie and write the words "I am a racist, cowardly piece of trash" across Madeline's forehead, and then made her do the same to him.
Then stripped Keith in to his birthday suite and told him to use Madeline as a pole.
They told him to dance for several minutes using Madeline as a pole.
They made them eat the literal dirt off the soles of their boots, capturing every sobbing, pathetic, snot-nosed apology on high-definition video.
When it was over, Keith was sobbing openly, his face covered in black ink and dirt.
The lead man stepped forward, grabbed Keith by the hair, and forcefully shoved the cold, metal barrel of the gun directly into Keith's mouth.
Keith gagged, his eyes rolling back in terror.
"Listen to me very carefully," the man whispered, looking down into Keith's terrified eyes. "If you ever go near Michael's house again... if you ever even breathe in the direction of Janet or Terry... you will not be alive to see these pictures hit the internet. Understand?"
Keith, gagging on the metal, nodded frantically.
The man pulled the gun out, wiped the barrel on Keith's shirt, and tucked it away.
Before they went aways they asked Keith to punch Madeline on face as hard as possible, pointing the gun at his little buddy down there.
Madeline thought Keith would resist but the next second Keith screamed and started beating her, not one not two but dozens of punches on her face and body.
"YOU DID THIS!!!!" Keith kept beating her while screaming.
The three men turned and walked out the front door as casually as they had entered.
They walked down the driveway and climbed into a black SUV.
The man who had held the gun pulled out his phone and dialed a number.
"It's done," the man said into the receiver. "They won't be a problem anymore."
On the other end of the line, miles away in a beautiful, safe home, Terry was sitting at the dinner table. He was surrounded by warmth, eating a lavish meal with Janet, Michael, and Evans.
Terry took a sip of his wine, a massive, utterly satisfied smile spreading across his face.
"Good," Terry said.