The final nail in his coffin had been his daily donut. He was sure of it.
Breathing a heavy sigh, Peter Stumpe was more aware than ever of the extra weight on his body as he pushed his chair out and stood up at his desk. He eyed the untouched and now cold mug of black coffee sitting there bitterly. It was taunting him. He'd found a perfect bakery right along his path to work a few months back, and had stopped in for a frappe and a glazed jelly donut every morning since then. Until recently, anyway.
His doctor had placed him on a precautionary diet in light of a recent scare about his heart health. He couldn't say he hadn't expected it- in fact, his wife, Emma, had tried to convince him to diet a few times now, and she seemed happy as could be to prepare him his healthy lunches every morning. Imagining the way she'd glowed with pride as she handed him his cooler and kissed him goodbye that morning almost made him feel bad that he'd thrown all of that health food away on his way into the office and ordered takeout instead.
He shut off the lamp on his desk and headed for the door. He briefly considered stopping somewhere and eating dinner before he went home. Emma had gotten the kids in on policing his eating, like it was some kind of game. Better to pick up a burger or two on the way home than starve tonight as the children giggled over their full plates of food.
He meandered down the hallway, finding his way to the elevators and down to the ground floor of the building on autopilot.
"Going to get some fast food tonight, sir?"
He didn't look at Roberta, his receptionist, as he passed by her desk in the lobby, but smiled for her benefit and called back.
"I could tell you, but then I'd have to kill you!"
It was a tired joke, but she laughed all the same. The phone began to ring as she did, and she made a surprised little sound in response. Peter kept walking, hoping to get out the door before she got off the phone.
"Well, good night Mister Stumpe!" she half yelled after him, then picked it up and answered, all business.
He waved over his shoulder.
The parking lot was huge, unnecessary in his mind. They didn't even have that many employees.
His car was parked close to the front door, in his reserved spot, and he headed for it as he absentmindedly dug in his pockets for his keys, and started to get in.
"Peter Stumpe?" a hushed voice spoke from behind him, and he put on his business man smile before turning back to face the source of it.
"That's me, what can I-"
The question was cut off abruptly as his mind registered the person standing mere inches away from him.
A figure at least a head taller than him, dressed head to toe in black, all except for..
The vacant eye sockets of the ram's skull the monster wore like a mask made his stomach turn. This was familiar. He'd seen grainy security cam footage of this exact thing, fretted over it late at night as Emma slept beside him, buried the quiet fear beneath busy work.
"You-" he choked out, trying to back away, but finding himself trapped between this monster and his own car. He opened his mouth to speak again, lips moving without a sound. Before he could string the words together, a gloved hand shot out and grasped his face. The monster slammed his head into the window of his car without a word, without so much as blinking. His head exploded with pain. He heard a sick thud as his skull cracked against the thick glass, followed by a ringing that only seemed to get louder, and suddenly felt an overwhelming urge to throw up. His head was growing warm. Was he bleeding?
"Wait-" he gasped, clutching fruitlessly at his attacker's wrist. The others hand was still cupping his face, holding him fast against the cracked glass of his window. He had to take a moment to catch his breath, only now becoming aware of the fact that he was sobbing, and the dark figure waited patiently, as asked. "You don't have to do this. I can get you out of this country. I can get you all the money you need. I'll pay more than whoever sent you."
He was begging, and the little bit of him that hadn't been consumed by fear and pain was ashamed. There was a split second of quiet, during which the other seemed to think about it.
"I don't want your money." the monster finally responded, soft, voice low and silky."Anything! I can get you anything." he swore, and in spite of his best efforts, the desperation in his voice was apparent. The ram's skull seemed to float in front of his face as the monster leaned in. His breath caught in his throat when he noticed the red glow of his eyes.
"I have you scared. I have you begging. What more could you give me?" the voice purred. He opened his mouth to answer, but was cut off when the monster's fist slammed into his mouth. He felt his lip burst first, saw the blood spraying from the tear in his flesh and multiple broken teeth. The impact caused the window behind his head to shatter, and only now did his attacker release him and step back.
Breathing burned, but it was all he could do and he gulped down oxygen like it would heal his wounds. He whimpered, pitiful as the monster laughed behind the mask.
"You're not the first to offer me all that, you know. And you sure won't be the last. You're all so desperate to cling to your pathetic lives."
"Please-"
"Yeah, beg a little more. That's a good look for you, Peter Stumpe."
The cloaked figure approached slowly, obviously not worried about a possible getaway.
"There's nothing you can give me. You're going to die now. Do you get that?" the voice went on, and he felt his eyes widening as he tried to force himself to get to his feet and run. "Do you know why I'm doing this, Peter?"
He froze in place. Of course he knew. They all knew. But he wasn't going down without a fight.Adrenaline was his only ally now, and he jumped to his feet, ignoring the dizzying way the ground seemed to fall away beneath him as he did. Without a second thought, he rushed the tall figure, winding up for a right hook.
The hit didn't connect. The technicalities of the situation seemed irrelevant now, as the blackness edged first into his peripheral vision, and then began to spread slowly across the span of his line of sight.
The monsters hand had moved so quickly, produced claws as long as nails and as sharp as razors and found his throat without preamble.
He fell.
"Be glad, Peter. Your death is going to serve a much greater purpose than your life ever would have."