Broomstick

As Heather descended the stairs, she heard noises coming from behind the hallway doors on the fourteenth floor.

Guttural cries for help.

The killers were still on a rampage—no hesitation, no mercy, just bloodlust and frenzy.

Heather's heart sank. Her mind spiraled with worry for Samantha. She hesitated at the door.

But that was foolish. They'd agreed to meet on the ground floor. That's where she had to go.

The only thing she could do now was hope—hope that Samantha hadn't been caught in the slaughter.

She wasn't the first to arrive at the ground floor—the lobby where the killers had originally gathered.

Aside from the aggressively flickering lights, the lobby looked untouched. The killers hadn't lingered; they'd immediately stormed the upper floors.

Jason was already there. With him stood Flynn.

Heather paused at the sight—Jason gripped a sharp glass shard in one hand, a massive sword in the other.

She backed away, alarmed.

Flynn stepped forward quickly to explain, "Ahhh the sword's mine. I think Jason's just... scared. I borrowed it to him."

Heather's voice trembled. "Why do you have a sword?"

"I—I chose kill. I'm sorry. Someone offered me—"

"You want to kill Liam, don't you?" she asked Jason. He stood with his back to them, silent and unmoving.

Jason said nothing. He just clenched both weapons tighter.

There was no point in trying to stop him. His message was clear—no one was going to get in his way.

"Jason… don't do this. It's not worth it," Heather pleaded. "Put down the sword, kid."

Still no response.

—

Brandon kicked open the janitor's closet. It was nearly empty—most potential weapons were already gone. The best he could find was a broomstick.

It would have to do.

He gripped it firmly and stepped into the stairwell.

"Brandon!" someone called behind him.

"Stay back!"

"We're coming with you!"

"No, get back up there!"

"We're not leaving you!" Thomas appeared on the steps, descending fast.

"Ah, shit."

All six of his followers were with him, unwilling to stay behind.

"Fine," Brandon muttered. "But all of you stay behind me."

—

The door opened.

Samantha, Liam, Caitlyn, and six more 'killed-ers' entered the lobby.

Heather. Flynn. And Jason—still ghostlike in the flickering lights—were already there.

"Jason?" Samantha said softly.

Jason's eyes locked onto Liam. His gaze was cold. Furious.

Liam didn't flinch.

"Don't!" Heather yelled, but Jason didn't hear—or didn't care.

Then he moved.

He charged, sword raised. But—

**Slash.**

Caitlyn stepped in front of Liam and took the blow across her face.

Blood sprayed from her cheek.

Jason froze. Guilt collided with rage, halting his next strike.

"Stop!" Samantha yelled, stepping between them. Her eyes didn't leave Jason's.

"I DON'T GIVE A SHIT IF HE'S NEVER DONE ANYTHING WRONG, DON'T TRY TO TELL ME THAT!" Jason screamed. "I WANT TO BLAME HIM—THEN I WILL!"

"Yeah, you can," Samantha said, voice steady. "He did kill your father."

Jason's face crumpled like shattered glass. He gripped the shard in his left hand so hard it sliced through his palm. Blood dripped to the floor.

"But killing him changes nothing. There's only more violence in this world. Is that what your father would've wanted?"

Samantha swallowed, sweat beading across her forehead. "He was a police officer, right? He saved people. What would he want his son to be?"

Jason trembled. "I… I don't give a fuck…" he whispered, tears streaking down his face. "I want him to suffer like I've suffered…"

"Okay," Samantha nodded, "fight me then," She said. She dropped into a defensive stance—her black belt in tae kwon do on full display.

"Samantha…" murmurs rippled through the group behind her.

Jason panted. He gritted his teeth. Blood dripped freely from his clenched hand.

Then, without warning—

"ARGGGHHHHHHH!!"

—

A head flew clean off its body.

Liam's father had claimed his second kill.

"Ahh, shit…" muttered the killer beside him, eyes wide with disbelief. "I didn't even—didn't even get one yet…"

"Just one left to fuckin' go, baby," Liam's father said, smiling at the headless corpse, face splattered in blood.

In another apartment unit, another killer tore the place apart—flipping over tables, cupboards, even the TV.

He walked out, and paused at the stairwell door.

"Did we ever check that?" he asked, pointing his sword.

"Shit, good idea," Liam's father agreed.

"Didn't one guy go in there?" another asked.

"There's gotta be more than three hiding. That guy probably got his kills and went out already," Liam's father replied.

"I'm checking."

"I'll come with."

Liam's father hesitated. If two of them went, they'd clean out whatever prey was hiding inside—and he'd be left with nothing.

"Tsk."

He rested his blood-stained sword on his shoulder and watched them disappear into the stairwell.