Crazy Blood Demon

Bob stood outside a small, old white building where his former boss once worked.

"I finally quit that goddamn job," Bob thought.

He had been a spy and, on some occasions, a hitman. It might sound thrilling, but the reality was far from glamorous. To understand why Bob left, we must first uncover how he got the job in the first place.

Bob Reloud was a strange kid— a psychopathic, autistic, and introverted. On the surface, he didn't fit the typical image of a psychopath, but when he got angry, he became something else entirely: a bloodthirsty predator, driven purely by instinct.

The first sign of his violent nature emerged in kindergarten when he was just five. A classmate destroyed his favourite toy car, a cherished gift from his grandfather. Enraged, Bob's face turned red, and foam gathered at the corners of his mouth. In a fit of uncontrollable fury, he gouged the boy's eye, causing severe injuries that left the child hospitalized for a week.

His parents, horrified, took him to a psychiatrist, who reviewed footage of the incident.

"I've never seen anything like this," the psychiatrist said.

But when he met Bob, he found a calm, seemingly ordinary autistic boy. After weekly sessions revealed nothing abnormal beyond his autism, the psychiatrist concluded that it was an isolated incident—a strange, unexplainable outburst. However, Bob's parents remained cautious, assigning him a special tutor and treating him with apprehension, afraid to provoke another violent episode.

The second incident came when Bob was sixteen. Because of his past, his parents had banned him from using cell phones, fearing the content might trigger his anger. But Bob, curious and rebellious, stole one from an unsuspecting woman's purse. For two days, he hid the phone, relishing his secret.

One evening, his father came home drunk, as he often did, and began his habit of throwing insults toward Bob's mother. Bob had grown accustomed to these rants. Afterwards, his father sat down to watch football. Bob, fiddling with his stolen phone, accidentally blasted music at full volume.

His father stormed into the room, furious.

"What the hell is this?" he shouted, snatching the phone and smashing it to the ground.

"Dad, please don't!" Bob cried, tears streaming down his face.

But his father ignored him, yanking him from the room and hurling him onto the living room couch.

"You little faggot! I'll teach you a lesson," his father snarled, balling his fists and raining blows upon him.

As his mother tried in vain to intervene, Bob's rage reached its peak. His face flushed, and foam formed at his lips. Suddenly, he kicked his father in the stomach with incredible force, sending him sprawling across the floor.

Bob's eyes darted to the kitchen. Within seconds, he grabbed a knife. His father froze, and his mother backed away, trembling.

Without hesitation, Bob slashed them both. Blood splattered across the walls. He stood over their lifeless bodies, unblinking, his breath heavy. Minutes passed before he calmed down. But even then, he felt no guilt, no remorse—just a strange emptiness.

For five days, Bob remained in the house, eating from the fridge and living in silence. The neighbours, concerned by the absence of his parents, called the police.

Officer Danzel responded to the call. Breaking down the door, he was met with a chilling scene: a boy covered in dried blood, sitting calmly on the couch, the decomposing corpses of his parents beside him.

"Don't move, or I'll shoot!" Danzel barked, his hand on his gun.

Bob raised his hands.

At that moment, an idea formed in Danzel's mind. This boy could be useful.

And just like that, Bob's life shifted. Danzel covered up the murders, erasing any trace of Bob's crime. In exchange, he turned the boy into his own personal weapon—a spy, an assassin. Bob learned quickly and killed even faster. But espionage bored him to tears. Over the years, he moulded Bob into a spy and assassin, a tool for his purposes. Bob excelled at killing, but he despised espionage, finding it tedious. Worse still, Danzel kept him trapped, threatening to expose his past if he ever tried to leave.

Eventually, Bob devised a plan to free himself. Over months, he deliberately botched missions, creating enough trouble to provoke Danzel's wrath. Finally, Danzel snapped.

"Pack your shit and get out!" he shouted, throwing a backpack at Bob.

As Bob walked out, Danzel added coldly, "If you say a word about our organization, you're dead."

Danzel knew him well, and he knew he wouldn't tell anyone. And he also had little emotional attachment to him, so he didn't want to kill Bob, and just threatened him for sure.

Bob didn't look back.

-- --

Now, Bob stood on the subway platform, a grin on his face and a backpack on his shoulders. For the first time, he felt free. Boarding the train, he found himself seated next to a rebellious-looking teenage girl, reeking of cigarettes and alcohol. He smirked but said nothing.

Five minutes into the ride, the train jerked to a halt. Confused murmurs spread through the car. Even the teenager glanced up from her phone.

Then, a loud voice boomed, freezing everyone in place.

"SILENCE!"

Heads turned toward the source of the voice.