Chapter 65

Chapter 65
"He systematically destroyed lives, not with his own hands, but by allowing others to do it, and then crushing anyone who dared to challenge it. He was the one who made sure the system failed the victims. He was the one who made sure the abusers walked free, year after year, while the cries of the innocent went unheard. He was the rot at the very top. The foundation of silence and complicity. Rhodes knew, he always knew. I wanted him to lay it all out but in the end he was too weak and broke faster than he should, so I got rid of him "

The air in the warehouse felt heavy, almost suffocating, with the weight of my words. David was breathing shallowly, his face pale, his eyes fixed on me, now filled with a profound understanding that seemed to drain all the fight out of him. He wasn't just seeing criminals anymore. He was seeing the true face of evil, protected by the badge and the handshake.

"And that, David," I concluded, my voice firm and final, "is why I started. Because when the system protects the monsters, someone else has to step in. Someone has to break the silence. Someone has to make them pay, when no one else will. Every single one of them was an abuser, a pedophile, or someone who actively, knowingly protected them. And they were untouchable. Until I came along."

I stepped out of the shadows, just enough so he could see my shape clearly, still not my features. "You chased me, David. You tried to stop me. But now, you know the truth. You know why I did it. You see the true depth of the rot in Newport City. And you see what happens when good people, like yourself, are systematically put down, poisoned, and pushed to the brink by the very system they try to save."

David looked at me, a strange mix of horror, despair, and a chilling realization in his eyes. He understood. He finally understood the full picture.

"This is just the beginning of what you need to see, David," I told him, my modulated voice taking on a new, purposeful tone. "You've heard my reasons. Now, you'll see my plan. And you will play your final part in it."

David

The air in the warehouse was cold, but I was sweating. My mind was reeling, trying to piece together everything the Killer had just told me. The soccer coach, the landlord, the bar owner, Jenkins, Caldwell, Thorne, Maxwell, Davies, Rhodes. Every name a fresh wound, a horrifying truth uncovered. Abusers. Pedophiles. Monsters hidden in plain sight, protected by badges and power suits. It was worse than anything I could have imagined. My stomach churned with a mix of disgust and a cold, chilling understanding. My city was built on this rot.

But as the Killer finished, a new question started to claw its way to the front of my mind. It wasn't just about justice. It was something else. The way the Killer spoke, the sheer precision, the chilling dedication to their mission, the personal anger beneath the controlled voice... it was too much. This wasn't just someone fighting for justice. This was someone acting out of a profound, raw wound.

I pulled at the ropes on my wrists, testing them again, a futile gesture. My voice was rough, but steady. "I get it," I said, my gaze fixed on the shadowy figure in front of me. "I get that these men were scum. I get that the system failed. That Davies and the rest of them are rotten to the core. But... why you? Why did you decide to be the one? Why is this so... personal?"

The Killer was silent for a long moment. The warehouse felt even colder, even quieter. I could almost hear the dust motes dancing in the faint light. The modulated voice, usually so steady and cold, seemed to hesitate to gather itself. It was the first time I'd heard any hint of something beyond pure, calculated purpose from them.

"Personal?" the Killer's voice finally came, low and raspy, distorted. It sounded almost like a sigh, but it was hard to tell with the modulator. "Everything is personal, David. Especially when the world decides you don't matter. When the very people who are supposed to protect you become the ones you fear most."

I waited; my breath held tight in my chest. This was it. The real reason.

"Imagine being small," the Killer began, the modulated voice almost hypnotic in the vast space. "Too small to understand why things were happening. Too small to fight back. Too small to even speak the words that needed to be spoken. Imagine being told you were lucky. Lucky to have a roof over your head. Lucky to have food. Lucky to be 'taken care of,' when what was really happening was far from care."

The Killer took a slow step forward, emerging slightly from the deeper shadows, though their form remained indistinct. "Imagine a parent. The one who is supposed to be your world, your safe place. And then imagine that parent seeing you, not as a child to be loved, but as something else. Something that could be... traded. Given away. To men. For money. For favors. For a place to stay. For silence."

My blood ran cold. My stomach twisted. Being sold by a parent. The words hung in the air, heavy and sick.

"It starts small," the Killer continued, their voice flat, devoid of emotion, like they were recounting a news report, not their own nightmare. "Just a visit. A 'friend of the family.' They smile. They offer you candy. They touch you. And you don't know what's happening. You just know it feels wrong. So wrong. And you try to tell someone. You try to tell the parent. And they tell you to be quiet. They tell you it's for your own good. That you have to be 'nice.' That you have to make them 'happy.' And you realize, with a cold, terrifying clarity, that the one person who should protect you is the one selling you out."

My mind flashed to the victims I’d just heard about. The soccer coach. The bar owner. The predator psychologist. Was this... was this what happened to the Killer? Was this the monster they had fought back against?

"Then it gets worse," the Killer's voice was barely a whisper now, though still distorted. "The visits become regular. Different men. Always men. Always the same kind of cold, hungry eyes. And the shame. The shame that burns hotter than any fire. You try to hide it. You try to pretend. You lose yourself. Piece by piece."