'Till forever h.s.

The Beginning of the End (52)

TW: description of violence and blood (and possibly psychotic tendencies) AND A WHOLE LOTTA GASLIGHTING

No perspective

A deep sigh leaves Ben's lips at the muffled grunts from his right. His brows furrowed in concentration as he sharpened the silver blades one by one, making sure they were all polished to ensure most purification. He hummed to a song happily, the next few steps felt nothing more than a routine for him. Ben liked routines, they gave him a sense of order.

The man tied to the metal chair on the other hand, shook from head to toe at what this could mean for him. Not an hour before he was stepping out of his favorite coffee shop, phoning his assistant for work matters and distractedly walking to his black range rover. He didn't even see it coming when stepping inside the car, a white cloth covering his nose and before he knew, he was strapped to a metal chair with some psycho smiling down at him.

Ben tied a gag around his head, muffling his screams in order to not distract his happy singing. The cold cement room only made his disturbing humming louder, a spotlight just above the man's head in order to keep Ben in the shadows but not for long. Soon enough the man would know why he deserved to die.

He has so many impurities. Ben thought to himself as he cleaned the last blade, cracking his neck and rolling his shoulders in order to release some of the tension. Standing up from his seat in the darkness, the brunet made his way into the spotlight (the irony in that didn't go unnoticed) with a small chuckle leaving his full lips.

"Well hello there," He finally let his voice fall back to his normal accent, tired of having to fake the British voice for so long and welcoming back his Irish roots. "Ryan Garfield." He searched his brain for the name of the almost unconscious man, running his eyes down the dreary eyes and cut on his eyebrow.

"Do you know why you're here Ryan?"

The question was useless. Firstly because the blonde man couldn't talk with the gag around his mouth, he could barely even breathe. Secondly because Ryan knew damn well what was going on as soon as Ben stepped out of the shadows. You see, Ryan Garfield here had been helping out Miss Anne Twist with armament and protection arrangements.

Ryan gulped visibly, he was not the courageous type by any measure and rather spent his days in an office making some phone calls. Panic built in his chest at a steady rate as Ben brought out a small surgery cart full of torture devices. Everything from electric shock bats to screws and hammers but his favorites were definitely the knives. The knives he was gifted from his father.

"So here's the deal," Ben said distractedly, choosing which device to start with. Sweat coated Ryan's forehead and tricked down his temple, the obnoxiously bright light making him look a little green. "I don't care about what you did anymore, I really don't. But you see Ryan, what you did was very terrible. My father said you are a sinner."

Ben went by his morals with full confidence, often using his father's words the same way people would use a religious book. He believed fully that his mission was to purify the world, no matter how. Murder wasn't a bad thing in his brown eyes, it was simply a more effective way of getting rid of what makes the world impure.

And those little marks on his victims skins? Those mundane things simply called freckles? Ben knew better. He knew that those were simply manifestations of sins to the physical body. He spent his whole life trying to get rid of his own, and that's probably what led him to this level of paranoia. He had to remove them for others in order for his to disappear, but that would only happen once his mission was complete.

"And we all know what happens to sinners."

His blade moved swiftly, cutting the precise triangles on his victim's arms and legs as he squirmed intensely. There was not one ounce of emotion on Ben's face, this was not something he particularly enjoyed but he didn't hate it either, it was just routine like he said. Something that had to be done and he had to be the one doing it.