Kirian tried to remain focused on the task, but his eyes were glued to the screens. He heard a security guard move behind him and finally snapped out of his trance. He slammed the still unconscious man's head against the floor and kicked him in the stomach for good measure.

He turned back to the desk and plugged the flash drive in, typing into the computer the code he'd been instructed to apply, and sat in the room for 30 minutes with the drive recorded footage on all of the monitors.

He made sure the guards were still conscious and looked at the footage with a growing sense of rage. Kirian had looked closely, and some platters held suspiciously small body parts. Children. Today's targets deserved their fate.

Once the thirty minutes was up, Kirian added in the next line of code, which would make the footage repeat. He took his copy in the flash drive and pocketed it.

Now, it was time to kill.

Kirian had a pretty good idea of the layout of the building, and had memorised the target's faces. They were all dining today, but in different rooms. If Kirian was found out at any point, the rest of the targets would escape.

Kirian smashed one walkie and kept the other silent in his pocket, regrettably leaving the duct tape behind.

Then, he slunk out of the relative privacy of the security room and into the storage room of the macabre restaurant.

He walked past piles of platters of every size and rows of cups. He heard a muffled sound coming from one latched door and instantly knew what would be inside, he crept up to the small window and inside were no less than 20 people of all ages, races, and genders. Cramped together in the closet, only the children had the energy to cry out. One young man made eye contact with Kirian, and the look in his eyes was pure fear and dread.

Kirian stepped back immediately but already the wailing and screaming had increased. Even muffled, the pain was unmistakable. Kirian tried to shake himself off. He was a bad man. He'd killed countless people, never caring if they were innocent or not, and he didn't care. He held no remorse or sympathy, only a chilling delight for blood and pain.

But this, this wasn't right. He didn't know why, but this crossed a line that left the pit of his stomach curdling with disgust.

With renewed determination. Kirian stalked toward the dining room of his first target. He stood just behind the door, hearing the lively chatter of conversation. He heard a chair scrape and quickly drew back into the guest bathroom.

As expected, the elderly man hobbled into the bathroom.

Mr. Elliot was recovering from a kidney infection, and went to the bathroom often. Kirian waited in the first divided stall with his feet on the toilet.

When the man walked past, Kirian jumped out. He leapt onto the frail man, bringing them both down. Before Mr. Elliot could utter a sound, Kirian sliced his throat. The cut was deep, almost enough to decapitate the older man. Kirian quickly pulled the dying man's coat off. He pushed it to the wound, catching any blood that would have dropped. He pulled him into the stall and sat him on the toilet seat.

Checking to make sure the jacket was indeed tight around the man's neck, Kirian look at his work with satisfaction.

One down, nine to go.