Ammo clicked softly into the magazines like puzzle pieces falling into place.
One by one. Like I was building something delicate. Something final.
Gloves on—tight. No fingerprints. No sweat. No hesitation.
Kevlar pressed against my chest like a heartbeat I could rely on. Unlike mine.
Clack.
I slid the magazine into the UMP45. It felt familiar now. Like an extension of me.
Then came the mask. Soft rubber, grotesque and smiling. A pig. Pink. Mocking.
It hid everything—my nose, my lips, my fear.
They wouldn't know who I was.
Only what I became.
This was my first real performance.
The venue: Harmony Academy.
Such a peaceful name for a place that shattered me.
UMP45… loaded.
Pig mask… secure.
Earphones… playing the last song I'll ever love.
I stood in front of the glass doors.
The same ones I used to walk through when I still believed in people.
When teachers smiled, but their eyes didn't.
When friends laughed, but never meant it.
Now, after weeks of silence and planning, I had only one thing left to do:
Step in.
And let them face the music.
Step 1: Enter Softly, Like a Shadow
The door wasn't locked. They never thought it needed to be.
I slipped in during the second period bell—too late for latecomers, too early for lunch.
No one saw me.
They never really did.
Step 2: Begin With the Quiet Ones
The first classroom was English.
Twenty-three students. One teacher.
I opened the door and they looked up like I was lost.
But I wasn't.
I knew exactly where I was.
The sound was loud. Unnatural. Like ripping through a film reel.
Some screamed. Most didn't have the time.
I walked out before the fire alarm caught up with me.
Step 3: Keep Moving. Never Linger.
The science lab. Then the art room.
Glass shattered beneath my boots—paint and blood mix strangely on tile.
My music was loud in my ears. A song about being forgotten.
It helped me keep rhythm.
They begged.
I remembered how I once begged too.
Fair is fair.
Step 4: Feed the Hollow Space
The cafeteria was full of noise.
Laughter. Chewing. That awful scraping sound of plastic chairs.
It used to make my skin crawl.
I stepped in and silence hit faster than bullets.
I didn't stop firing until the room went still.
Someone tried to crawl under a table.
So I kicked the leg out.
Let the silence settle again.
Step 5: Climb Higher
Smoke filled the air, mixing with fire from a knocked-over fryer.
My chest was tight, not from guilt—just the Kevlar.
I grabbed the stair rail and pulled myself up.
Second floor.
More doors.
More memories I needed to erase.
step 6: No survivors for the victims...
I walked from classrooms to classrooms wiping every thing clean from laughter, joy, cries... while hearing the beat blasting within my ears
Every room went silent, but as someone tried to escape they—won't even going to see the sun rise again with their eyes
Posters were covered by bloods
floors were filled with corpses and glasses feels like it was already a graveyard here
Step 7:No survivors... kill them all... they. Will. Pay.
there were a soft sobs were heard—it seems like they are talking to someone else?
The sobbing echoed off the bathroom tiles—soft, shaky, and so, so close.
It was coming from the last stall.
Of course it was. They always hide in the back when they're scared.
I tilted my head, pig mask squealing slightly with the motion.
Then I started whistling.
The tune was off-key, childish—something from an old cartoon. It made the silence worse.
I walked slowly, dragging the barrel of the UMP45 along the sinks. Clink… clink… clink.
I already knew they were hopeless.
They knew it too.
So why not play a little?
BANG.
I slammed my boot against the stall door—once, twice—then raised the gun and fired straight into the lock.
The metal screeched, snapped open, and the door slammed back.
Inside, curled up and trembling, was a girl I hadn't seen in years.
Her makeup was ruined.
Her face, though—I'd never forget.
It was her.
The one who made middle school feel like drowning.
The one who laughed when I cried.
The one who pushed, and pushed, and never thought I'd push back.
The one who stole Damien.
Step 8: Remember your reason
I let the UMP45 clatter to the floor, its job momentarily done.
Then I grabbed her by the hair—tight, brutal—and dragged her out of that pathetic stall like the trash she always treated me as.
She screamed. Of course she did. But it was thin. Weak. Nothing like the laughs she used to throw at me.
There was a mop closet at the far end of the bathroom.
I slammed the door open and shoved her head straight into the murky bucket water.
It splashed. She kicked. Her fingers clawed at the rim like she wanted to live.
"You took everything from me," I hissed, the voice muffled behind the pig mask but still sharp. "My life. My worth. And even him."
I watched her struggle. Bubbles rising.
The water turned cloudy from mascara and desperation.
Then—just before the light in her legs gave out—I yanked her up by the roots of her hair.
She gasped, coughed, begged.
"I'm sorry—! I didn't—please—!"
I didn't listen.
I threw her headfirst into the tile wall.
A crack. A smear of red.
She slid down like a broken doll.
No more sorrys.
I stepped over her and grabbed my weapon again, my boots trailing water and blood.
The storage room was next.
I had something to retrieve.
Step 9: raise hell
Every room was covered in oil, chemicals that could burn, alcohol, and more
I shot the flammable liquid and chemicals
A loud siren was heard outside—now... escape.
Step 10: escape
I successfully escaped the S.W.A.T Team in time through the school sewerage systems in the backrooms... that's the end for the place that shatters me...
few days earlier, before the incident
my name is Evelyn Marlen... and I'm a student with... not so happy life... my parents always argue about each other, even when I'm still a baby. my dad's a butcher and my mother is an office worker and, since my mom left me with my dad cause of divorcee... life gotten even worse for me.
With a face a bit similar to my mom, my father always hits and blames me for everything even calling my mother's name, and in school life was not even better.
I was always the target. Bullied, ignored, and forgotten. I showed up to prom alone, hoping maybe someone would see me—but they didn't. I did have someone once—Damien Lochearn—but he betrayed me. With her. My own bully."
After that, I started chasing numbness. I leaned on things that made me feel better, even just for a little while. But the emptiness always came back.
But something changed my life I met a man, "Abel krell" he offered me happiness with one simple step only some people wouldn't hesitate to do:
"Take a life of someone"
he gave me a pig mask, I need some of that "good stuff" too... and he told me... that the world needs to be fixed so... I unlive my own father with a pillow, and then... Damien... if I can't have him... then no one will.
His screams in pain are... beautiful, and after I finisHed off Damien, Abel came to me with a pack of "good stuff" he wants me to clean and make the place a better world.
he gave me a Duffel bag containing an SMG, and it's UMP45 with some magazines...
and from that day on... I was known as the butcher pig.