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Illuminati ii:
EVIL EYE MAN
SON OF LEVIATHAN
*Saturday*
The alarm goes off at 5:32 A.M. Nothing Happens.
*Sunday*
The alarm goes off at 5:32 A.M. Nothing Happens.
*Monday*
The alarm goes off at 5:32 A.M. Nothing Happens for exactly half a second before Xavier hauls himself off the mattress that he’s been sprawled on since Saturday. He gropes around for a few seconds, not bothering with the lamp, until he finds his morning kit. This in hand, he stumbles over to the dresser.
He then yawns loudly, cracks his back, and tucks his thumbs into each of his lower eyelids. Gritting his teeth, he levers the fleshy, moist orbs out of their sockets and deposits them in the waste bin. They make a satisfying plop.
He then opens up his kit box and fishes out two grisly little spheres. It’s a Monday, so it’ll be green irises today. Not one of Xavier’s favourites, but life’s too short to worry about that.
He forces today’s eyes into their correct orifices and blinks a little as the world comes back to him. He licks his lips. They taste sweet.
As usual, the eyes are little long sighted. He fishes out his reading glasses and then consults his planner. He reads the entry for today, taps the date upon completion, and then goes to the bathroom. He fishes his shotgun from it’s hiding place under the sink and checks to see that it’s loaded. It is.
He glances in the mirror, noting the two day growth of stubble.
He opens the window and looks out. The street below is quite busy for this time of morning. There’s a reason why, but Xavier can’t remember what it is exactly.
He pulls the side of the bath away. From the hollow below he fishes out a lighter and a half dozen bottles of something. Molotov Cocktails.
He calmly lights them and flings them out the window. He watches as people start burning. A pretty, professional looking woman’s skin is melting away as she shrieks, futilely trying to scrape the burning fluid from her ruined flesh. A bald chap, not unlike Ghandi in appearance, is clawing at the remains of his tie-dyed shirt while it melts into his skin. Some tiny child’s chilling shrieks are spewing forth from an antiquated pram.
Xavier checks his watch. He times a minute, then puts the barrel of the gun into his mouth and shoots.