The Paralyzed Man's Revenge

Night of the Executioners

The silver needle glinted under the dim light of the corridor lamps, sliding rapidly toward Athur’s jugular. In the silence of two in the morning, the movement looked like an efficient dance of death. However, the assassin had no idea that he wasn't facing a helpless prey.

Athur didn't scream. He didn't have the luxury of calling for help if he wanted the secret of his power to remain buried. With a single jerk of his hand, now blessed by system energy, he caught the man’s wrist.

"Too slow, Doc," Athur whispered, his voice barely more than a snake's hiss.

The man gasped, his cold eyes now wide with shock. He tried to press the needle harder, his arm muscles tensing beneath his white coat. His strength was beyond that of an ordinary human, but Athur had something better.

System, activate Telekinesis Level 1. Target: Syringe.

[Command accepted. Consuming 30 Vengeance Points.]

Athur felt the air pressure around the killer’s hand suddenly solidify. His fingers didn't need to move much. An invisible force began to twist the syringe back, inch by inch, against the killer’s physical strength, which had begun to tremble violently.

"What... what is this?" he growled under his breath. He tried to pull his hand back, but it was as if his arm was being held by a mass of solid air.

"This is a gift for Evelyn," Athur replied coldly.

With one sharp mental thrust, Athur turned the killer’s own strength against him. The syringe plunged into his neck, piercing the skin and injecting the entire clear liquid into his bloodstream.

The man staggered back. He clutched his neck, trying to pull out the now-empty syringe. His face began to turn blue rapidly. His body shook violently as the high-dose nerve toxin began to paralyze his lung function.

Athur climbed out of bed with silent movements, his feet stepping onto the cold floor without making a sound. He glanced toward the divider curtain where Lily was sleeping. The little girl was still fast asleep; her steady breathing was the only reason Athur didn't crush this man's skull right then and there.

The killer fell to his knees, his eyes beginning to roll back. He stared at Athur with the remnants of his consciousness, as if he had just seen a demon rising from a hospital bed.

"Who... are you really?" his voice was nothing more than a broken wheeze.

Athur letting his shadow envelop the dying hitman. He grabbed the man’s collar, pulling his face until it was only inches away from his own.

"I am the nightmare you created in Glencoe," Athur whispered directly into his ear. "Tell your master in hell, the real McAlister has returned."

The man gagged once more, and then his body went limp. Silence reclaimed the room, leaving only the sharp scent of chemical toxins and cold sweat.

[Target 'The Cleaner' has been eliminated.]

[Reward: 150 Vengeance Points.]

[Analysis: Host is beginning to master the essence of a 'Ghost'. Shadow Synchronization level increased.]

Athur stood tall, feeling the flow of system power merging further with his soul. He was no longer the Arthur who could only wail. He was an executioner moving through the cracks of light.

Athur looked toward the man’s corpse. A little blood seeped from the injection mark on his neck, staining the clean white linoleum floor. He thought of Evelyn. That woman must be waiting for news of his death while sipping her expensive wine in Edinburgh.

She needs a reminder, Athur thought cynically.

Athur dipped his fingertip into the pool of the killer's blood, which was still warm. The metallic scent didn't make him nauseous; instead, it triggered a dark sense of satisfaction deep in his heart. He walked toward the white wall beside the exit, a place that would be immediately visible to anyone entering the room in the morning.

With steady strokes, Athur wrote three words in Old Scots mixed with a very clear message. The blood dripped slowly, forming letters that seemed to come alive in the darkness.

"I see you."

After finishing, Athur dragged the killer’s body into the medical equipment closet in the corner of the room and locked it from the outside. He cleaned the remaining blood from the floor with a wet towel until not a single trace was left.

Athur returned to bed, tucked himself in, and closed his eyes just as the wall clock ticked to three in the morning. Outside, the highland wind began to freeze, carrying the scent of cold rain, just like that night in Glencoe.

This is only the beginning, Evelyn, Athur whispered to himself.

The next morning, the scream of a nurse who found the message on the wall shattered the hospital's tranquility. However, when the police and detectives arrived to investigate, they only found Arthur McAlister looking weak, sitting in his wheelchair while staring blankly out the window, as if he had no idea what was happening in his shattered world.

Yet, inside his pocket, Arthur gripped an ID card belonging to the killer that he had taken the night before. On the back was an address in downtown Edinburgh. The address of an art gallery owned by Evelyn Vance.

Arthur smiled thinly, a smile that never reached his eyes. The next target was locked