Let The Games Begin

My name is Kyle Damian, I live with my mom Dorothy Damian, my dad passed away when I was 5 and I'm fear for my city...

After the date, Kyle and Raknar made their way down the sunlit street toward the bus stop. The late afternoon cast warm golden hues over the city, the faint bustle of vendors and traffic blending into the background. Despite the peaceful surroundings, Kyle was far from relaxed.

"Really, kid," Raknar began, his voice dripping with mockery. The spirit hovered beside Kyle, his form faintly shimmering in the daylight, like heat waves rising off the asphalt. "In all my days as a Spirit, I've never seen a date that boring."

Kyle's face turned a deep shade of red as Raknar doubled over in laughter, the sound loud and unrestrained, drawing curious glances from passersby who, of course, couldn't see the source.

"Enough already," Kyle muttered under his breath, quickening his pace in the hope that Raknar would drop the subject.But Raknar was relentless.

"Oh, come on! You didn't even try to make it interesting! No dramatic confessions, no bold moves—just you blushing like a Wozamkrug the whole time!"

Kyle finally snapped, his frustration boiling over. "What does a demon like you even know about love?" he shot back, his tone sharper than he intended.

Raknar's laughter stopped abruptly, and the air around them grew heavy, the cheerful hum of the street seeming to dim. His mischievous grin faded, replaced by a somber expression Kyle had rarely seen.

"Love, eh?" Raknar muttered, his voice low and almost wistful. "Beings like me don't have the liberty of love.

"Kyle glanced at him, surprised by the sudden change in mood. But before he could respond, they reached the bus stop. The minibus pulled up with a rumble, its faded yellow paint streaked with dirt and age. The driver gave a tired nod as Kyle climbed aboard and found a seat near the middle.

Inside, the bus was a patchwork of wear and tear. The seats were covered in peeling vinyl, and the windows were smudged with fingerprints and dust. Sunlight streamed through the glass, casting sharp streaks across the passengers, who sat in quiet conversation or stared out at the bustling streets. Raknar sat next to Kyle, visible only to him, his earlier moodiness giving way to his usual smug demeanor.

The bus rattled along, leaving the crowded streets behind and entering a quieter residential area. Small houses lined the road, their pastel facades glowing softly in the sunlight. The hum of the engine and the faint chatter of passengers created a lulling rhythm.

Then, it happened.

A deafening gunshot cracked through the air, splitting the tranquility like a jagged blade. The bus swerved violently, the tires screeching against the pavement as passengers screamed. Kyle's stomach lurched as he gripped the edge of his seat to stay upright.

At the front of the bus, the driver slumped over the wheel, his head hanging lifelessly, blood pooling beneath him. The metallic smell of it filled the air, sharp and nauseating.

Standing over the driver's body was a thin man, his figure gaunt and unnervingly still. His long, matted hair framed a shriveled face that looked more corpse than human. His bloodshot eyes gleamed with twisted delight as he swung a handgun in wild arcs, his laughter sharp and grating like rusted metal scraping against stone.

"Don't move!" the gunman snarled, his voice cracking with manic energy. The passengers, frozen in terror, clung to one another, their faces pale and drenched in sweat. The bus swerved violently, veering closer to the edge of the bridge, the guardrails scraping against its sides. Through the windows, the deep canal below loomed ominously, its dark waters glinting under the daylight.

None of this seemed to faze the gunman. He stood near the driver's slumped body, his long, matted hair clinging to his gaunt face. His wild, red eyes darted across the cowering passengers, feeding off their terror. A twisted grin spread across his face as he threw his head back and laughed, the sound chilling and jagged, like glass shattering.

"Yes... Yes!" he hissed, his voice dripping with glee. "Cry! Scream! Let me hear it!" His gun swung in erratic arcs, pointing at one passenger and then another, each flinch from his targets fueling his deranged ecstasy.

Besides Kyle, a mother clutched her young daughter tightly to her chest, her body trembling as tears and snot streaked her face. She whimpered softly, her lips moving in silent prayer. The little girl, however, seemed oblivious to the full gravity of the situation. With wide, innocent eyes, she wriggled free just enough to look at Kyle.

"You should hide mister" she whispered, her small voice cutting through the chaos like a dagger to his heart. Kyle's jaw tightened as he avoided her gaze, his mind racing for a solution.

Up front, the gunman began to twitch violently, his body convulsing as if in a battle with himself. "Just... a little game," he muttered through gritted teeth. His head snapped to the side, then back, his expression shifting between manic delight and furious frustration. "We're all going to die anyway... HA HA!"The bus jolted again, a terrifying reminder of their impending doom. The passengers screamed as the vehicle tilted precariously toward the edge of the bridge before righting itself.

The gunman raised his weapon and began counting the passengers with its barrel, his voice a singsong mockery.

"One... Two... Three... Six... Four... Five..."

His finger stopped on a man in the back, who was on his knees, shaking uncontrollably. The counting had no rhyme or reason, a reflection of the chaos inside the shooter's mind.

Then, without warning, the gunman pulled the trigger.

The crack of the gunshot was deafening, and the man crumpled lifelessly to the floor. Blood pooled beneath him as his body slumped against the seat. The passengers erupted into hysterical screams, their cries echoing within the confined space of the bus.

"Quiet!" the gunman roared, firing several shots into the ceiling. The bullets tore through the metal, sunlight streaming through the jagged holes as silence fell once more.

Kyle clenched his fists, his knuckles white. His heartbeat thundered in his ears as he stared at the lifeless man in the back. This wasn't just about saving himself anymore—it was about protecting the innocent lives around him

."I have to do something " he thought, his mind a whirlwind of fear and determination. His eyes darted to the mother and child, then to the unhinged man at the front. Kyle steeled himself. The weight of the moment pressed down on him, but he knew he couldn't afford to falter.