Ray moved first on the CCTV systems.
He stayed in the car, fingers moving fast over the tablet balanced against the steering wheel. The cameras around the grid blinked out one by one, feeds looping clean footage from ten minutes earlier.
Ray slipped out of the car after equipping and moved to the main building. Tripwires went across alleys, fire exits, and the narrow service road behind the factory. Small charges, directional, ugly enough to end a sprint. He punctured all the tires of the cars around the building to prevent unnecessary escapes.
The back door gave up after thirty seconds of patient work. Ray carefully opened it and slipped a knockout gas grenade inside. He closed the door and waited. He counted breaths and listened as the criminals inside fell one by one. After exactly one minute, he went inside.
Men lay sprawled between tables and counting machines, bodies twitching as the gas wrecked their nervous systems. Cash fluttered where it had been dropped. Ray stepped through it like it was trash.
He raised both guns and went to work.
Pop! Pop! Pop!
One shot per head. He killed everyone there, excluding the underage teens.
Upstairs, the hallway...
Cages lined the walls, closer up here, tighter. Faces turned toward him, fear spiking, breath hitching. Ray lifted one finger to his lips over the mask and shook his head slowly. Most of them understood. A few nodded, but nobody screamed.
The sound from the far room was worse than the sight. Muffled cries. A voice begging and breaking, followed by Skinner's maniacal laughter.
Ray walked closer to the metal door and picked the lock. He then took out a flashbang, opened the door, and rolled the flashbang in.
Bang!
The room erupted in white noise and light. Five men staggered, hands clawing at their eyes, shouting over each other. The handler was among them, dropped to one knee, confused and helpless.
Ray casually walked in and shot them all before the ringing stopped. Blood sprayed from their heads as bullets pierced clean through their foreheads. It was all over within 5 seconds.
Skinner turned just in time to see him.
Ray saw the monster and felt something cold settle in his chest. He crossed the room in three steps, pulled a syringe from his belt, and drove it into Skinner's neck. He depressed the plunger.
Skinner went slack, folding sideways like a coat sliding off a chair.
Ray did not watch him fall.
He turned to the man strapped to the chair. Up close, it was obvious how bad it was. Shallow breaths, glassy eyes, and chunks of his flesh and skin were missing. There was blood and discharges everywhere around him. Even if Ray takes him to the hospital, he won't make it.
Ray crouched in front of him and kept his voice steady. "You won't make it to the hospital. But I promise you this... I'm going to put so much pain in this bastard that he'll beg for death."
The man coughed, red flecking his lips, and somehow managed a smile.
"Good," he whispered.
"You got a family or anyone you want me to inform or...?" Ray asked.
"My daughter... She has no one. She's just five years old. Help her, please," The man said in a hoarse voice.
Ray nodded once as he stood up and pointed his gun at the man's head.
"Alright."
The man smiled even in that situation. He knew he was dying, but he saw a ray of hope. His daughter will be okay in his absence. "Thank you," He looked up at Ray and gave a nod. This was the only way to free him from the pain, rather than letting him die painfully over the next five minutes or six minutes.
Ray lifted his mask and looked into that man's eyes. He said, "Close your eyes. Think about the happiest moment you ever had with her. Say her name."
The man swallowed, eyes fluttering close as he fought the pain long enough to answer. His voice was barely there, like air leaking through a crack.
"Alicia Morrison."
"Good name," Ray said quietly.
The man's breathing steadied just a little, like he had reached that memory and wrapped himself in it.
Ray pulled the trigger.
Pop!
Ray turned away immediately. There was no victory in it. Just necessity. He pulled the mask back into place and moved.
He moved back to Skinner, who was still unconscious on the floor where he had collapsed. Ray dragged him onto his stomach and zip-tied his wrists tight behind his back, then his ankles, cinching the plastic until it bit into skin. Skinner groaned once but did not wake. Ray rolled him and hoisted him over his shoulder.
Before leaving, Ray noticed a phone on the torture table. He took it and dialed 911.
"There are people trapped in cages inside the old meat factory on West Harbor. Multiple victims. Some of them are children. You need medical units and a lot of them."
He ended the call without waiting for questions.
After that, he picked up all the traps he had placed earlier and then vanished into the night.
...
Red and blue lights washed over the factory walls.
The first patrol car skidded to a stop at the front gate, followed by two more, then an ambulance, then another. Officers got out fast, hands on weapons, adrenaline high because the 911 call had been short and ugly and full of red flags. The smell of blood hit them before they even made it inside.
They breached the main door and stepped inside.
"NYPD!!!"
The scene before them stopped them cold.
Money was everywhere. Tables stacked with bundled cash, counting machines still humming until an officer reached out and shut one off. Bills were scattered across the floor like fallen leaves. And bodies. A lot of them. Men sprawled between tables and chairs, all dead, all shot clean through the head. And there were no signs of an open shootout or fight.
One of the younger cops swallowed hard and muttered, "Jesus Christ."
Another officer keyed his radio with a shaking hand. "Command, this is Unit Twelve. We have multiple deceased. Looks like an execution site. Requesting detectives and forensics immediately."
They moved upstairs.
That was where it got quiet.
The hallway was narrow and lined with cages, metal bars bolted straight into concrete. Inside were people. Dozens of them. Old men clutching each other. Women with hollow eyes. Teenagers who looked like they had aged ten years in a month. Kids who did not cry until they saw uniforms and then broke all at once.
One officer dropped to his knees in front of the first cage and fumbled with the lock. "It's okay. You're safe now. You're safe."
The radio traffic exploded.
"We need more units up here."
"There are kids up here."
"God! What the hell is going on here?"
Medics rushed in, cutting locks, wrapping blankets around shaking bodies, lifting people who could not stand on their own. Some of the victims stared past them like they were still somewhere else. Others grabbed sleeves and hands like they were afraid the moment would vanish if they let go.
At the end of the hallway was the room.
Two cops stepped inside and immediately stepped back out.
One of them turned away and gagged.
The man in the chair was dead, head slumped forward, blood dark and sticky beneath him. What had been done to him was written all over the walls and floor- Missing flesh, torn skin. The kind of damage that made even seasoned cops look down at their boots and breathe slow just to keep it together.
One officer quietly took off his hat and held it against his chest.
"I've never seen anything like this in my six years of police work," someone whispered.
Another officer said without looking away. "This is so messed up, man. Fuck!" He gagged, holding his mouth.
The block was sealed within minutes. Yellow tape went up at every intersection. Neighbors leaned out of windows, phones raised, whispers spreading fast. News vans were already circling by the time the first victims were loaded into ambulances.
Ten minutes later, a car slid through the perimeter.
Jake Peralta jumped out first, coffee still in hand because he had been halfway through a terrible night shift donut when the call came in. Rosa got out and closed the door.
Jake took one look at the building and frowned. "Okay, so either this is a haunted meat factory situation or someone had a very productive night."
"Let's go," Rosa said as she walked toward the main door.
[Inside]
Jake froze for half a second. His mouth opened, then closed. "Oh. Cool. Cool cool cool. No doubt, no doubt, no doubt. This is a massacre."
Rosa crouched near one body and checked the bullet wound. "Clean shots. Execution style. We're dealing with a pro here."
The money room made Jake whistle under his breath despite himself. "Yep! And that is a lot of cash. Like, illegal levels of cash. Like, Scrooge McDuck would ask questions levels of cash."
They went upstairs.
The cages hit Jake harder than the bodies downstairs. He stopped walking without realizing it. His jaw clenched, and for once, he did not say anything. He simply watched the medic unit taking care of the victims.
Rosa clenched her fists. "I am going to enjoy putting whoever did this away. But I'm gonna punch the teeth out of them first."
They reached the torture room last.
Jake took one step in, then leaned against the wall and exhaled through his nose. "Okay. Nope. I need a second. I am still a human man."
Rosa stood in front of the dead man in the chair. She had seen a lot, but this was different than any torture she'd seen in her entire career.
Jake took another look at the chair and immediately stopped breathing like a normal person.
"Oh cool," he said softly, eyes wide. "Nope. Nope nope nope. That is straight-up Silence of the Lambs energy. Like, if Anthony Hopkins walked out right now and offered me liver with fava beans, I would not even be surprised."
While the cops continued their job...
...Somewhere far from the city, in a small room, sat Skinner, tied to a chair and before him sat Ray with a syringe in his hand.
"Hahaha," Skinner let out a low laugh. "What now?"
Ray slammed the needle on Skinner's thigh and depressed the plunger. He then took off his mask. "Don't you dare die too early on me."
Skinner's eyes widened in recognition. But before he could speak, a burning sensation swept over his body.
"That will increase your pain perception and induce a burning sensation. You'll feel like you are burning from inside and with every passing moment, the sensation will increase. But here's the fun part," Ray leaned forward. "It won't kill you."
"ARGGGGGGGG!!!!"
Skinner's back arched violently as he screamed in pain, his eyes bulging out of his head. He thrashed against the restraints, but they held fast. Ray just smiled, watching the man writhe.
"You love skinning and killing people for fun. So, I thought you would enjoy pain," Ray pressed the syringe against Skinner's other thigh, injecting another dose of the potent concoction. Skinner's screams intensified, his body convulsing violently as the burning spread through his veins.
Ray took out a knife and slammed it down on his thigh.
"MOTHERFUCKER!!!" Skinner screamed.
Skinner's entire body spasmed, sweat dripping down his face as he howled in agony. The knife dug into his flesh, drawing blood that mingled with the sweat. Ray leaned in, his voice a low, menacing hiss in Skinner's ear.
"Keep screaming, you monster. This is nothing compared to the cries of the innocent you've butchered. Beg for their forgiveness, even as you writhe in your own torment."
Skinner's mind reeled, the pain overwhelming his senses. He tried to focus on the faces of his victims, the ones he'd so callously slaughtered, but the burning in his veins consumed every thought. His screams grew hoarse, his throat raw from the effort.
"Please... forgive me... I'm sorry... so sorry..." he choked out, his voice cracking.
Ray chuckled darkly, pressing the knife deeper into Skinner's thigh as he sliced it down, splitting open the meat of his leg, revealing the white of bone beneath. Skinner's vision blurred, his consciousness teetering on the edge of darkness.
...Some times later...
Skinner's eyes fluttered open and he found himself lying on a bed, still tied. Then he heard the sound of a chainsaw. His heart raced as the whirring of the chainsaw grew louder, the vibrations making the bed beneath him shudder. He struggled against the restraints, panic flooding his system.
Ray entered the room, his leather apron stained with Skinner's blood, the chainsaw dangling from one hand. He smiled, his eyes gleaming with sadistic glee.
"Welcome back, my friend," Ray said, his voice dripping with malice. "I was starting to think you'd left me all alone."
Skinner's tongue felt thick in his mouth, his words slurred from the pain and fear. "W-what... are you doing... to me?"
Ray chuckled. "Oh, just a little reconstruction, to make you look more... appealing." He waved the chainsaw in front of Skinner's face, the revving engine filling the room.
Skinner's vision blurred, the metal teeth of the saw glinting in the dim light. He screamed again, his voice hoarse and ragged, as Ray brought the chainsaw down on his right leg, the blade biting into his flesh with a sickening crunch. Skinner's world exploded into agony as the saw tore through muscle and bone, the stench of charred flesh filling the air. He thrashed against the restraints, his mind a vortex of pain and terror.
Ray worked methodically, the chainsaw roaring as it severed everything on its way.
When the last of the leg was severed, Ray moved onto his arms.
At that moment, Skinner pissed and shat in his pants while his screams got drowned out by the sheer cacophony of his own suffering.
"You feeling this pain, motherfucker?" Ray screamed as he threw the chainsaw on the floor. "That's how my sister felt when you butchered her. That's how everyone felt when you slaughtered."
Skinner lost his consciousness...
...Sometimes later, he woke up again and found himself dangling on a rope. His arms and legs were missing, and somehow, he was still alive. His eyes went below. There was a tank with green liquid, right beneath him.
Ray walked into the room again. "You gave me a scare there. I thought you died, but I'm pretty sure you're gonna die this time." He walked closer and stopped before Skinner. "This green liquid is hydrofluoric acid. It will dissolve you. And don't worry, I've injected you with all the pain-inducing serum I had. So, when I slowly lower you down, you can enjoy the pain."
Ray took out a remote and pressed a button.
Skinner jerked as the rope started, pulling him down towards the tank of hydrofluoric acid.
"Just shoot me. I beg you, please, just shoot me and end this nightmare," Skinner begged as tears rolled down and his voice cracked with desperation. "Please, Raymond, have mercy. I'm sorry for everything, I swear it wasn't personal, I just... I couldn't stop myself. I'm sick. Help me."
"It was personal... for me," Ray replied.
The rope began to lower Skinner faster, the green liquid of the acid now mere inches from his body. Skinner's screams reached a fever pitch as he frantically struggled against the restraints, his body jerking and spasming with each new dose of pain from the serum.
As the first droplets of acid touched his skin, Skinner's world exploded into an inferno of agony. He thrashed and screamed. Then his body got completely submerged in the tank, the hydrofluoric acid immediately starting to dissolve his flesh, his bones, his very essence.
Ray watched, his expression impassive, as Skinner's form dissolved before his eyes, the green liquid eating away at the man's remains with eerie efficiency. When the last trace of Skinner's existence had been reduced to a sludge of acidic ooze at the bottom of the tank, Ray turned and walked out of the room, his work finally done.
In the days that followed, Ray cleaned and disinfected the torture chamber, meticulously wiping away every trace of blood, sweat, and acid-scarred flesh.
The cops tried to figure out what happened and eventually, Holt referred the case to the BAU. When they read the reports, they knew it was Skinner and they also knew the end result of that monster because Ray was there in Brooklyn. But since it was an official report, the BAU did an investigation and caught a new gang who were doing money laundering and organ selling in the black market. And within a week, the case was closed. The BAU didn't pry into Ray's involvement. Well, not that they could prove he was involved.
All in all, the city became a bit safer.
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