Stillness, as though a cold winter’s night has engulfed the small building of rubble and rebar. It’s been such an environment for over an hour, perhaps two, nobody inside cares enough to confirm. Two figures, both young and filled with life, yet dramatically different in both bearing and lifestyle, face each in that still world, blank expressions covering both of their faces. The eldest of the two sits stiffly in a torn box filled with rags, a space more suited to dogs than humans. His body trembles underneath his stained and ragged clothing, fear flickering within his eyes like a broken streetlight. His expression stiffens every five seconds or so before instantly settling down. His fists are clenched tightly, his uncut fingernails digging into his palms, warm blood dirtying his bed. The young man standing before him, a youth no more than 18, is dark in appearance, edging on gloominess yet somehow still maintaining an aura of indifference. No life can be found within his abyss-like eyes, the black pits purely devoted to the collection of data. His lips move, cracked and bloodied, never once stopping for a moment. His voice, raspy and hollow, possesses no desire nor malice, yet still orders the death of one person after another.

Unstopping.

Unhesitating.

Name. Age. A concise synopsis of their prior background. These three things, spoken with the swiftness and accuracy of a computing program, flow from the boy's mouth, as if he’s a machine whose sole purpose is to accuse and judge. Impartially. Truthfully. Not a word from his mouth is a lie. The monstrous truth crawls through his strained jaw like a beast from the depths of the black river of death.

So long. The words continue on for so long, that when they inevitably stop, Roy finds himself incapable of reacting. He simply sits there, in pure shock, petrified as he stares at the monster before him. Eli stares back, gaze unfeeling, simply awaiting further orders without emotion. Slowly, Roy exhails, a trembling stream of air whistles through his teeth as his body slowly moves for the first time in what feels like an eternity. His actions finally break the frozen stillness, shattering the icelike calm that kept the room under its malevolent fist. His shivering vocal chords, though weakened significantly and therefore producing no more than a whisper, vibrate as they voice a question containing all of the man’s hysteria.

“... What you’ve said to me… It is the truth… Right…?”

The list he was given, the 57 names that he forced himself to remember despite his shock and horror, has etched itself into his mind. He conjures up the faces, the faces of people he knows he will soon have killed. He remembers each and every one of them with surprising ease. They may have met only once, he may have simply caught a glimpse, but as a man on the run, a man hunted by beasts wielding absolute authority, it’s only natural for him to have at least seen and learned the name of everyone in this camp. Like ghosts the faces swim through his mind, their eyes filled with malice and hatred, unconcealable madness that he knows is a figment of his imagination.

Another sigh.

“What am I to do? There’s too many… Letting a few go should be fine…”

“No. You need to kill them all.”

Eli’s raspy voice rebukes him without an ounce of hesitation, not caring about the immorality of his actions. He didn’t say those names with a light heart. To not kill every last person would be to throw away his resolve. It would be to directly declare that the lives of the few were more important than the lives of the many.

“Kill them all. Griff’s plan will never work. End this now and avoid ruin tomorrow.”

“... There’s still too many… I can't get rid of them even if I wanted to…”

“A simple solution. Simply separate the offenders from the group.”

“Ha… simple you say… You’re a monster, you know that.…? It’s not as easy as you say…”

“It is extremely easy. You hold their lives in your hands. Simply have them cooperate for their own benefit, for their own tomorrow.”

“Use their food as a bargaining chip? There’s no tellin’ if they’ll rise against me that instant.”

“You have weapons. More powerful than those handguns, might I add.”

“So you knew about those too? Ha, what kind of monster are you, might I add? The scriptures never spoke of any being with omnipotence.”

“...”

“... So be it… So be it…”

While mumbling to himself in a low voice, Roy slowly lifts his body, his bones creaking from the lack of real movement in ages. With a blank expression, he carefully removes the rags he’s been laying atop, revealing a black case underneath, long and menacing. As he looks at it, he asks the devil in human skin a question, his words slowly losing their emotions as he prepares himself.

“The Enforcers will come when they hear the racket, won’t they?”

“You know them better than I.”

“Heh… You’re right… They’ll simply think someone is clearing out a gang… In a way, it wouldn’t be wrong…”

With a heavy heart, a look of resignation, and a pale face, Roy opens the case, revealing its contents for the first time in a long time. A badge. A handgun. And an automatic rifle. His hands tremble as he reaches inside, fingers brushing against the cold steel as if afraid that it’ll suddenly bite him. Tears begin to well up within Roy’s eyes as he whispers under his breath.

“I didn’t want to ever use this… Believe it or not, but I was happy living this life… At least I wasn’t mowing down people in the streets…”

“I know. There is no way to escape your past, however. To find tomorrow you must do what’s necessary.”

“... What’s necessary.”

The following events were extremely simple, just as the young devil had assured. It only took a few minutes at best until everyone, traitor and innocent both, were lined up against the walls of the boarded up buildings. Their faces reflected absolute terror, their eyes not even bothering to conceal the unrestrained fear they are all consumed by without exception. Some faces among the crowd are exceptionally stiff, a clear order of magnitude greater than their peers. It’s only natural, however. For the majority, Roy’s actions, his threatening, his sealing off of the exits with his loyal men, were acts of insanity. Only a mental patient would order such things. To the minority, however, his moves were equivalent to a death sentence. They understand now, with absolute certainty, that they will most likely die here.

Roy faces the crowd. Half of the campsite has been cleared, a dividing line forming with Roy’s building as the divider. Heavily outnumbered, the man couldn’t even muster a frightened expression. He knows all too well how devastating the weapon in his hands is. A few hundred people will stand no chance. Another sigh. He lifts his eyes, the light wavering within, like a raft in a hurricane. The figure behind him urges him, it’s voice cold and robotic, like a restrained beast that only wishes to watch the world fall into ruin. With no way to refuse the suffocating control, Roy begins to recite, his eyes hollow. The names flow from his lips.

Two of his men rush forward with faltering steps, dragging the described individuals out with uncertain expressions. The wailing and pleading cries fill the gloomy air, the thrashing bodys flickering in the firelight from the surrounding barrels, desperately fighting as they are slowly dragged by more and more men to the other side of the campsite. Those that resist have their legs broken. Those that plead are ignored. There is no way to escape such a predicament. Roy can only call one person after another with a shivering voice. Men, women, children, none were excused. He speaks the words exactly as the creature behind him did, not even bothering to hide his grief stricken expression as he recites the memorized names like a mantra.

A horde. It is only apt to call it such. A horde of wailing, cursing, pleading humans. They lay before Roy, presenting themselves to him. Begging him. Their words hammer into his head, invoking more and more memories. The curse to never forget once again reared its ugly head, an unstoppable force of corruption and madness. Slowly. Slowly does he raise the gun. The black barrel twists in the firelight, a force of destruction, of evil, of misery. Roy, wielder of death, looks upon the pitiful with tearful eyes. His son’s face is reflected within these eyes, a ragged face without the slightest bit of hope. An ashamed face. A pleading face. A horrified face. A hopeless face.

“... For Tomorrow…”

It’s not even a whisper. The words aren’t meant to be heard, and yet, the young man standing beside him responds. Coldly. Slowly. Roy feels as if his tone is almost seductive in its enticement, in its urging, like a devil dragging everyone around them into madness. Without the slightest hint of empathy.

“For Tomorrow.”