by GoozX and T5
Thunder City:
Two guards, Christopher Thomas and Derek Patrick, were walking down the empty hallways of the New Thunder Museum during the night shift. One lit a cigarette, while the other just kept his flashlight steady, as they walked to the source of a silent alarm that had been set off. The cameras picked up nothing.
"Derek, you know you can't smoke in here, man! Put that shit out."
"Dude, chill out."
Uneasy, the man replied, "You might take this job as a joke, but I need it. I got a wife and newborn that I gotta take care of."
"What the FUCK is that?" Derek stopped short, almost pushing Christopher forward into the man only feet away from them.
"Hello...?" Christopher shone the light over the disfigured man, who was just shy eight feet. His nails appeared to have been uncut for years, his arms were huge, while his muscles ripped with veins from head to toe.
Christopher reached for his night stick and backed up a step, right into Derek. Christopher turned as a laugh came from Derek. Derek lifted both arms over his head, and they shifted into metal blades. Reacting on instinct, Christopher whacked Derek across the face and ran away. Derek looked up to the huge disfigured man from his knees.
"What are you waiting for?" he yelled. "GET HIM!"
The huge man grunted in response, swiftly moving across the room as his arms hit the ground in an ape-like motion. Christopher ran across the empty museum, which was lit only by the flickering exit sign and small lights which were above the active cameras. Christopher moved behind an old suit of armor as the huge man ran right by and into the next wing of the museum.
Christopher moved out from behind the armor and took the axe. He slowly walked through the darkened hallway. After a short distance, he saw his fallen flashlight. Derek was nowhere to be found. Footsteps could be heard all around, appearing to be from all sides. The sound of glass crashing sent shivers throughout his body. Then, everything was silent. His breathing broke the silence, followed by a simple footstep. He moved his hand over his forehead and made the sign of the cross. Help me God.
He then made a run for his flashlight, shutting it off once it was in his hands. He whispered to himself once again and turned it on, finally shining the light over the room. The room was empty. The light glowed as it moved over broken glass covering the far side of the floor. There was a spot of blood over a broken case, where he saw that an ancient bowl was stolen.
The village of Kallvik, Iceland:
The fisherman's wife had been faithful for years, with never a harsh word nor a broken dish. The obsidian eyes betrayed no emotion at all when she rammed the shovel in his face. She kept on laughing at her blows when they produced squelched brain and blood all over the kitchen.
A subway in London:
The man was annoyed at the sight of dirt on his jacket. He had to get it dry-cleaned, right after he tied the last kid to the track. The screams of the four kids did not bother the obsidian black eyes of the man. Soon the train would come.
A top secret U.S. Army supply base in Oregon:
The thirteen hundred pounds of explosives he attached to the sleeping quarters went off as he laughed at the sky with his obsidian eyes.