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There's just something so elegant about it; the calm before the storm.
At least one, pure second of peace.
Where nothing happens.
Where nothing occurs.
Where all of your worries begin to drown out, almost more so than usual.
Then, just as your body sinks into the normality of it all...
As you recline and relax, moving through your lives with no sense of danger...
As the tranquility begins to wrap its warm, loving tendrils around your soul...
All hell breaks loose.
Alarms rang in from above, loud enough for a deaf man to sense.
Minor vibrations stirred in the floor from the sheer power of the blasts.
Guards, employees, janitors, and the like stood--some panicked; some knew exactly what had to be done.
Teams of armed men charged down the halls, the barriers around it pure white and hear unbreakable.
Down another hallway, something was crawling through the vents above.
Something the world had seen before.
It dropped, landing in the midst of the chaos.
Calls rang out from the crowd of men and women dashing for their lives in the bedlam.
"OPEN FIRE!!! SUBDUE HIM OR DOWN HIM!!! I DON'T CARE WHICH!!! WE CAN'T LET HIM ESCAPE!!!"
A volley of bullets fired upon the monster in chains, who was gone before they could pull the trigger.
From up above, a warden and specialists argued upon the matter.
"How the hell did he get out?!" yelled the warden, furious, worried, and anxious all at the same time.
"We don't know," replied one. "We have reason to believe it was an inside job. For a split second, everything went off. The cameras, the handcuffs, the turrets, et cetera. Somehow, he knew it was all going to happen."
The figure was in the vents yet again, crawling to the depths of the massive facility.
"Damn," grunted the warden. "I want almost every gun we have on this guy; everything on the other guy stays where it is. Anything on him?"
Commands were punched into a computer. "That's a negative, sir; everything on him is all good. He's right where he should be."
The warden grunted. "A...gu..o's a serial killer. On NO circumstances does he leave Tartarus!"
"YES SIR!!!"
Unfortunately, their prisoner had made it to the vault.
"Amateurs," he muttered, fondling with his straitjacket. It fell at his feet, revealing a black sleeve-less suit.
Opening the chests, he robbed the other prisoners of their belongings and weapons that could be of use to him, after locating his own.
"Sir, we have him!!!"
"Where the hell is he?!"
"He..."
"Spit it out, Hyrotima!"
"He made it to the vault."
"...Son of a bitch. Get all of our guys down there NOW!!!"
"Idiots, the lot of them," muttered the man, now dressed in black and red. A light bulletproof vest lined his skinny torso, and his boots were back on. From outside, he could hear voices.
"C...Z...E ...KA...U...O!!! WE KNOW YOU'RE IN THERE!!!
The man grunted, tying something to his head. He pulled something out of another box; a large sword. The prisoner was decorated with knives; in his boots, and on the sides and insides of his vest. A large set of pants with many pockets held folding knives and throwing knives, each of them honed to a deadly edge. An eye-mask was wrapped around his face.
On his back was a large katana; bulky and made incredibly well. It would serve as a fine substitute.
The door was opened as bullets rained down upon him.
The man turned, leaping through the air to avoid fire.
As he got close, men drew knives and batons in an attempt to subdue him.
Big mistake.
The once-captive swung his sword, taking off the head of the first guard. He fell to the floor, his corpse fresh.
His comrades, either idiotic or courageous, hefted their weapons and charged their escapee.
The man flung one of his many knives, impaling one in the heart. Blood oozed out of the fresh wound, as he fell to the floor, dead in an instant.
This was no man.
He was a monster.
Fighting against his "heroic" opposition, each and every one of the guards took some of his wrath; his anger.
One of them was cut I'm multiple places before his bloodied arm was sliced off. He bled to death, a did many before him.
Far before five minutes had passed, knives, swords, and the man's own uniform were splattered with blood.
Sadistically, the man slowly licked the red liquid off of his face, somehow causing some of the guards to freeze in place.
Before one guard could draw a pistol, his fingers were all one, and three knives, taken from his allies, were imbedded in his chest.
The thick, red substance flew across the room like an incredibly dark waterpark; it was a bloodbath to say the least.
From in the control room, men and women watched in horror as the men were brutally massacred.
Some almost got sick; some did get sick. Some couldn't even bare to watch.
The ones that ran were allowed to live; but that was only a few; a handful of smart men and cowards fled the scene, escaping the looming death that was behind them.
Before long, only one guard on the scene was left alive, and took a shot at the beast from a distance. He turned, his eye mask partially dark red from the chaos that ensued.
"D-damn you... Akaguro..."
That was a name he had not heard in years.
The man known as the Hero Killer laughed, donning a red scarf that was dyed by insane means. It was dyed a deeper red from what had just followed.
"You're all fools."
He licked another spot of blood from his face, freezing the guard who had dared to fire a round at him. Swiftly, he was dead, kicked in the neck by the serial killer's spike-tipped boots.
Chizome Akaguro walked away from the blood-stained walls, with a look colder than nitrogen.
"My name is Stain."