FLEMING

6

"When there's no more room in Hell, 

the devil will walk the Earth."

The night was shrouded in a cloak of darkness, creating a mysterious and oppressive atmosphere. The moon barely managed to filter its faint light through the clouds, adding a touch of eerie beauty to the scene. The wind whispered with an unsettling murmur, its icy caresses rustling the dead leaves beneath our feet.

We had meticulously plotted our plan, calculating every detail to ensure its success. Before venturing into the abyss of the night, we had abducted one of the patients who had shared our stay in that asylum. He was a vulnerable being, lost in his own darkness, to be used as a pawn in our macabre game. We carefully planted incriminating evidence in his apartment, ensuring that all blame would fall upon him. He would be the perfect scapegoat for the twisted acts we had planned for that night.

The man was tied up in the back of the vehicle, his eyes filled with fear and confusion. Aemon and I looked at him coldly before Aemon proceeded to load him as if he were a sack of potatoes, setting off on our journey into the long night that awaited us.

We approached the old building of the psychiatric center stealthily, our footsteps fading into the oppressive silence of the night like lurking shadows. The broken windows of the building reflected a sinister gaze towards the outside world, as if the place itself were a vessel of nightmares and dark secrets.

The main door stood imposing before us, its wood decayed and chipped, like a mouth inviting us to venture into the abyss. Aemon took out an old, rusty key from his pocket, skillfully sliding it into the lock. With an ominous click, the door yielded, revealing the threshold to a world of madness and vengeance.

The air inside the building was heavy and charged, as if it were imbued with the torments that had taken place within those walls. The smell of dampness and abandonment mingled with echoes of distant footsteps and the faint murmur of disturbed voices.

We cautiously advanced through the corridors, each step resonating in the oppressive silence. Flickering lights cast dancing shadows that seemed to stalk us, as if the place itself were alive and eager to devour us.

As we delved deeper into that labyrinth of madness and suffering, the murmurs intensified, turning into unintelligible whispers that seeped into my mind, filling it with disturbing images. I vividly remembered the faces of the doctors who had tortured us, their cold and merciless gazes. That night was the opportunity to settle scores and carry out our revenge.

Finally, we reached the heart of the building, a control room where the guards used to monitor the cameras and watch over the patients. But tonight, the control was in our hands, and the guards were mere collateral damage. Their cries of surprise and terror filled the air as we slid our sharp blades across their throats, letting their blood spill as a tribute to our thirst for vengeance. Their lifeless bodies fell to the floor like broken puppets in the hands of a cruel fate.

The security cameras watched us from the corners, their cold and inhuman eyes tracking our every move with relentless attention. Aemon skillfully deactivated them, erasing any trace of our presence.

Shadows danced on the walls, distorted and menacing, as we silently moved through the abandoned hallways of that accursed place. Each step brought us closer to our goal: those beings who had caused us so much torment.

We positioned ourselves in front of the entrance that would lead us to the beginning of our vindication. The door creaked open, revealing the interior of the therapy room. Dr. Anderson, with his eyes filled with arrogance and disdain, was engrossed in the screen before him, oblivious to his surroundings. His defiant gaze faded when he met ours, a glimmer of fear reflected in his dilated pupils. Without words, without mercy, I approached him with a syringe in hand, proceeding to inject him with the appropriate dose to send him into a deep slumber.

And just as we did with Anderson, we stealthily approached each one of them, like lurking shadows in the night.

Dr. Roberts, known for his extreme psychological experiments, was immersed in a world of nightmares. Whispering voices mingled in his mind, feeding his deepest fears until his sanity collapsed like a house of cards.

"It's amusing to see how that ruthless executor who played with minds as fragile as those of mere children fractures little by little, experiencing on his own skin what he caused to us, don't you think, Aemon?" I inquired with a hint of mockery in my tone.

"Enough! This is inhumane, you can't do this," Roberts bellowed with superhuman effort, suppressing a gut-wrenching scream that threatened to escape his throat, filling the room with a mixture of anguish and despair.

"'Inhumane'... it takes some nerve to use that word, Roberts," Aemon exclaimed with fervor, captivated by the scene unfolding before his eyes.

The room was filled with distorted images, living nightmares that relentlessly haunted Dr. Roberts. His mind was a battlefield where his worst fears materialized before his terrified eyes.

We moved to the adjoining room, where Dr. Reynolds, a proponent of shock therapies, was trapped in a sinister game of electricity. Each shock ran through his body, causing violent spasms and unbearable pain. Meanwhile, we watched, enjoying the suffering he had inflicted on others.

"Please, stop! I can't take it anymore..." Reynolds shrieked with labored breaths, determined to remain conscious despite the weakness that plagued him.

"Do you know what's really amusing, Hell? Seeing how those who wielded their power over us mercilessly are the weakest when they find themselves on the other side."

The night continued with each doctor facing their own twisted fate. Screams and cries blended into a cacophony of horror and despair. The torture chambers were filled with torturous mind games, where time seemed to stretch to infinity, and the boundaries between reality and nightmare blurred.

With malicious smiles on our faces, we approached Dr. Anderson. His body trembled with fear as he sat bound to a chair, his eyes reflecting incomprehensible terror.

"Dr. Anderson, it's time to face your inner demons. How does it feel to be the observed instead of the observer?" I questioned with a suggestive tone in my voice.

"Prepare for an experience you'll never forget, doc," Aemon exclaimed with serene anticipation, as the imminent event unfolded.

Mechanical arms emerged from the shadows, carrying sharp needles that pierced the doctor's skin. Pain mingled with fear, forming a cocktail of desperation in his gaze.

The metallic scent of blood filled the air as the night faded away. Our perverse laughter intertwined with the agonized wails and screams of the doctors, creating a symphony of horror that would resonate in their minds forever.

And so, the psychiatric center became the stage for a macabre spectacle, where reality warped, and suffering took center stage. In that eternal night, the boundaries between the human and the monstrous blurred. We became the demons they feared, the executioners of their sanity.

Our revenge came at a price, but in that moment, amidst the darkness, we were immortal. Our names would echo through the pages of history as the architects of a nightmare, masters of torture and terror.

As the sun began to rise on the horizon, we paused to admire our work. The place was immersed in sepulchral silence, echoes of past torments floating in the air. We looked at each other, our eyes burning with the satisfaction of twisted justice. We had administered justice in our own way, leaving an indelible mark on that living hell.