Mark Knight stepped into an empty house after another long night working security at the Ritz-Carlton. The shifts dragged on, quiet and repetitive, but the pay was solid for a first job out of college. Watching the occasional drunk guest wrestle with their room key was usually the only real entertainment. Beyond that, things were dull.
His routine never changed. Wake up at 7 pm, have dinner with his parents, kill time with games and a book until 9:50, then head out for an eight-hour shift at a five-star hotel. Come home at 7 am, eat, crash at 11, and repeat the whole thing.
Today fit the pattern. His parents decided to get an early start and left a note on the counter with a breakfast sandwich waiting for him.
It read, "We love you and hope you had a great night at work!"
A warm smile crossed his face as he put the sandwich in the microwave for a quick heat.
While the microwave hums, Mark's mind wanders to the craziness of Manhattan versus the relative calm of suburban Queens. His commute is always a pain in the ass when coming home from work. It's nice to finally have a car, but he misses walking and long-boarding on a college campus.
At least at school he didn't have to worry about every idiot on the road who thought they were Max Verstappen side swiping his new car.
Countless thoughts come and go despite his physical fatigue. Questions about the future: should he go back to school and go for a PhD? Should he start a company? Should he consign himself to the monotony of working life and just find joy in other avenues?
As the days march forward, these question continue to pile up. He did well in school, with published research, a dual degree in physics and chemistry, and recommendations just waiting to be used. But academics sucked the joy out of learning new and fascinating information. And being away from home for 8 years because of boarding school has made him loathe the idea of leaving for even more schooling.
While his head swirls with these thoughts, the microwave beeps and snaps him out of his stupor. The worries vanish like smoke, and hunger takes over.
Grabbing his sandwich from the microwave, he takes a moment to appreciate his home. The house was neat and clean as always; OCD ran in his family like a hereditary disease. He soaks in the atmosphere and feels a calm settle into his soul, an appreciation for where he is and how far he's come.
That calm is shattered by the feeling of cold metal pressed to the back of Mark's head, alongside an audible click.
Mark's breath hitches and he nearly jumps out of his skin. I didn't even hear any footsteps.
"Don't try anything stupid, now," the voice of the gun-wielding stranger reverberates through Mark's body. "You be a good boy and put those hands up where I can see them, make this real easy."
Mark complies and slowly raises his hands. He wished he didn't take off his work belt with his weapon on it as soon as he walked in the door.
Mentally kicking himself for this oversight, he shakily says to his captor "J-Just take anything you want, man. No need to catch a body over some cash and electronics. Blindfold me, I haven't even seen you yet."
The man with a gun let's out a dry scoff, "I don't want your shit." He kicks out Mark's legs into a kneeling position.
Mark's knees hit the tile with a wince. He still can't see his attacker, but cold anger and hatred at the disembodied voice with a gun behind him is the only thing keeping him semi-rational. Fear and adrenaline is the part scattering his brain and forcing him to look for a way out of this.
"I want YOU. We're gonna play a little game. You are gonna call your parents and make them rush home. When they get here, I'll shoot them, and they die, but you… will live." The voice sounded like the devil grinning in his ear.
Mark's whole body went cold. This sick game of turning family on one another. Righteous fury rampaged through his mind and he bit down so hard, you could hear his teeth creaking. "Over my dead fucking body. Just kill me instead."
The man nearly doubled over in laughter, "HAHAHAHAHAHA THAT'S RICH. They always start like this, but once the pain gets real… then they start to consider it. Let's skip to the part where you beg me to reconsider and that I don't have to do this."
"Fuck. You." Mark spat at the deranged coward behind him.
"Fine, fine. I see. You won't actually play along until you feel it."
BANG
A searing hot pain rips through Mark's arm as it hangs limply at his side with blood splattered all over the kitchen floor and cabinets. His ears instantly ring and whine from his proximity to the gun.
"AAAGH FUCK YOU."
The man fishes Mark's phone out of his pocket and puts it in his usable hand. "Call them." The warm barrel of the recently fired pistol rests at the base of his skull once again.
With tears streaming down his face and somehow not going into shock, Mark shakily unlocks his phone. Survival instincts screaming at him to take the deal. He taps a couple times and hovers over his Dad's contact card.
With a smile in his voice, the man says "Go on. Do it! Call for your family's demise. But when you do, I promise that this will be the only pain you feel." He cackles, "Physically, at least!"
His inner voice screams at him LIVE. LIVE. LIVE. I HAVE TO LIVE. His sanity is already slipping. Rational thoughts are out the window. He just needs to get his family home quickly…
With a sense of finality, Mark taps call.
Ring… Ring… Ring… Click.
"Hey bud, what's up?"
Rationality returns as soon as he hears that voice. His father, his rock, the man he's relied on his whole life. Mark could never betray that unyielding love.
"DON'T COME HOME. THERE'S A - "
BANG
The phone flies from his now second useless hand as another round of scorching pain flares through Mark's mind. His ears ringing for the second time.
Despite being dazed, scared, and confused, Mark still attempts to turn around and lunge at the man, but his body's momentum is reduced to zero as time seemingly freezes. The man slowly walks around to be face to face with Mark. As his stare bores into Mark's soul, Mark is filled with a primal terror.
Those eyes… those eyes hold the universe within them. Time is meaningless before them; destruction, life, death, rebirth, and creation all swirl within those eyes in a cacophony of colors unknown to the human mind.
Mark can feel his mind breaking from trying to understand what this being in front of him was. He feels his sanity slipping into the abyss, until a warm and benevolent voice washes through his very being.
"Good job, Mark."