Project:Imagine

As the blaring announcement echoed through the facility, warning of the chaos unfolding outside, Frank sat in his dimly lit room, entirely unfazed by the turmoil. The soft clinking of his teacup against its saucer was the only sound in the otherwise silent space. He leisurely sipped his tea, the fragrant steam rising in lazy swirls, as if the world beyond his door wasn’t crumbling into madness.

Bjorn Jr., his loyal companion, lay sprawled across the bed, ears perked up at the sound of the alarms but showing no signs of agitation. Frank glanced at the dog with an amused smirk playing on his lips, his expression one of complete disinterest in the carnage happening just a few floors away.

“What a nuisance,” Frank muttered, his voice laced with disdain. His eyes narrowed as he tilted his head, as though listening to the distant chaos was beneath him. “All this noise… it's giving me a headache.” He stretched lazily, his movements slow and deliberate, like a predator that had yet to decide whether the hunt was worth its energy. “Should I just go ahead and kill the intruders? Seems like such a bother, though,” he mused aloud, his tone almost bored. “I'd rather not put in any effort if I don’t have to.”

He leaned back in his chair, casually lifting his teacup to his lips for another sip. His eyes glinted with a dangerous amusement as he turned to his companion. Bjorn Jr., ever faithful, looked up at Frank with a joyful, almost eager expression, tail wagging slightly at the prospect of action.

Frank’s smirk deepened, his fingers lightly tapping the edge of the cup. “Bjorn Jr., are you hungry?” he asked, his voice smooth and almost playful, though laced with a subtle edge. “I believe there's a delicious meal out there waiting for us. Come on, we could both use the exercise.”

He stood up from his chair, his movements graceful and relaxed, as if the chaos outside was nothing more than a mild inconvenience to him. His smile widened as he glanced toward the door. With that, Frank gave a light stretch and patted Bjorn Jr. on the head, his mind already shifting to the inevitable slaughter that awaited.

As Frank stepped out of his room, a strange sight greeted him—rows of A.E.G.I.S agents standing eerily still, their weapons raised and pointed directly at him. The hallway, once a place of order and routine, now felt oppressive, as if the very air had thickened with the tension. The agents, clad in their standard black tactical uniforms, were familiar faces. Frank recognized every single one of them. These were the same men who would often harass him, and attack him for sport, looking down on Frank at all times.

But something was off.

Their eyes, once filled with smug superiority, were now bloodshot and lifeless, as if they were no longer in control of their bodies. Their gazes were unfocused, devoid of any recognition or humanity. It was as if they had been hollowed out, their souls stolen, leaving behind empty shells. Their movements were stiff, mechanical, and forced, like puppets on invisible strings, the faint tremble in their limbs betraying the strain of their unnatural state.

Frank's lips curled into a bemused smile, his eyes narrowing with predatory interest. “Well, this is unexpected,” he muttered to himself, casually rolling his shoulders as if preparing for a light workout.

Behind the lifeless agents, two figures stood out, their presence commanding and ominous. Frank’s sharp gaze immediately locked onto them. The first was a woman draped in a flowing black dress that sparkled like a starlit sky. The dress seemed to ripple with an otherworldly grace as she moved, its shimmering fabric catching the light in a mesmerizing dance. Her wings, once black but now painted white, were a stark and eerie contrast to her otherwise dark attire. The halo perched atop her head was wired to a headband. Her long, blonde hair framed a face marked by piercing green eyes, eyes that seemed to hold a mixture of cold calculation and unsettling calmness.

Next to her was a cloaked figure whose maroon cloak swirled ominously with each step. The cloak was a deep, rich color, almost as if it absorbed the surrounding light, creating an aura of secrecy. Their face was hidden behind a smiley face mask, which seemed to mock the very gravity of the situation. Beneath the cloak, a sleek black ensemble clung to their form, with various knives strapped to their belt. Each blade glinted with a deadly promise, ready to be drawn at a moment’s notice.

Frank’s smirk only deepened as he faced the two figures, utterly unbothered by the sight of a dozen weapons trained on him. He could feel it—the weight of the unseen force behind the soldiers, an invisible hand tugging at their wills, bending them into submission. Their glazed eyes and rigid movements confirmed it: they were nothing more than puppets now.

“So, what’s the deal?” Frank asked, his voice laced with curiosity, not fear. “I’ve seen hypnosis abilities before, but never one that worked this well—even over non-Awakened.”

The hooded woman tilted her head slightly, the faintest glimmer of amusement behind her mask. “Since you’re going to die anyway, I suppose I’ll indulge you,” she replied, her voice smooth, almost too calm for the chaos she orchestrated. “I amplify certain emotions. Hatred, fear, despair. It’s always easiest when the victims already harbor strong feelings.” She motioned lazily to the agents. “And these fine gentlemen… they have quite the hatred for you, Frank. That made this much easier.”

Frank’s eyes flickered with amusement, even as the revelation set in. “Ah, that makes sense. I've never been popular with these bastards,” he mused, letting out a low chuckle. “Alright, fair enough. But before we start tearing each other apart, may I at least have your codenames? It’s only polite.”

The woman in the dress didn’t miss a beat, her lips curling into a small, disdainful smile. “No, you may not,” she said coldly, snapping her fingers.

As she snapped her fingers, the hooded woman activated her ability as the puppet agents sprang into action, their movements robotic yet precise. In unison, they raised their weapons, the muzzles of their guns aimed squarely at Frank. And then, without hesitation, they opened fire.

The hallway was instantly filled with the deafening sound of gunfire. Bullets tore through the air, ripping into Frank’s body with brutal efficiency. His clothes were shredded, flesh torn, and crimson blood sprayed in every direction as he was riddled with holes. Yet, through it all, Frank didn’t flinch. His expression never changed. His smile only widened, even as the bullets ripped through him.

Bjorn Jr. sat obediently by his side, watching the scene unfold with an eerie calm, as though the bloody spectacle was nothing more than a passing curiosity.

Frank’s body was a grotesque canvas of carnage. His limbs hung limp, his torso shredded by the barrage of bullets, yet he remained standing, his eyes gleaming with a dangerous light. Then, slowly, impossibly, his flesh began to stitch itself back together. The gaping wounds on his body closed before their eyes, the bullets pushing themselves out as if his body was rejecting death itself. The holes in his flesh sealed over until there was no trace of the damage.

He rolled his shoulders nonchalantly, the faint sound of bones cracking into place. “I’d say that was a nice try, but… well, I’d be lying.” His vicious smile returned, even sharper now, as though the brief act of destruction had only emboldened him. “Guess I should introduce myself now, huh?”

Frank’s gaze sharpened, his eyes gleaming with a dark, dangerous anticipation as he locked onto the two figures before him. A twisted smirk played at the corners of his lips, as if he were savoring the moment. “Codename: Butcherer,” he began, his voice low and menacing. “I’m sure you two have heard the stories. You know why that name sticks. Now, out of courtesy, I’d like yours. After all, once I’m done, your corpses won’t be recognizable. I’ll need something to remember you by.”

The hooded woman let out a soft, mocking laugh. Her voice was laced with cold amusement as she stepped forward. “If you really must know,” she began, tilting her head in a gesture of false politeness, “my codename is Hypnotist. Butcherer or not, I promise you, when this is over, you’ll be the unrecognizable corpse.”

Frank’s smile didn’t falter. If anything, it grew sharper, more feral. But before he could respond, the woman in the elegant dress stepped up beside Hypnotist, her expression serene, disturbingly calm. “Exactly,” she said softly, her voice like silk hiding a blade. “We know all about you, Frank. The stories, the rumors. That nail in your head…” Her eyes gleamed with cruel satisfaction. “It’s your leash, isn’t it? It limits your emotions, and makes you incapable of feeling anything besides peace and joy. More importantly,” her smile widened, “it stops you from hurting anyone.”

Frank’s grin wavered slightly, a flicker of something dark flashing across his face as she continued.

“My codename is Angel,” she said, her tone dripping with a twisted form of righteousness. “And I’ll be the one to kill you today. You won’t even be able to fight back. Not with that nail in place.”

Angel lunged toward Frank with terrifying speed, her fingers shifting into razor-sharp talons that pierced deep into his chest. With a savage twist, she gripped his heart, crushing it between her claws. Blood poured from the wound, but Frank’s expression remained unsettlingly calm, even as his heart shattered inside his body.

“I hate you,” Angel hissed through clenched teeth, her voice thick with rage. “You bastards turned me into a monster. I wish—I wish I could take back my childhood from you horrid freaks, but killing you will have to do.”

Frank, still wearing that unnerving smile, met her gaze as if they were exchanging pleasantries. His tone, warm and unnervingly gentle, only served to heighten her anger. “You truly hate them, don’t you? For what they took from you.” His eyes scanned her with an unsettling curiosity. “Despite all the makeup you’ve caked on, I can see the scar around your mouth. Between that and the paint smeared across your wings to make yourself look angelic… let me guess, you were fused with a raven, weren’t you?”

Angel froze, her expression faltering as his words cut deeper than any wound. Her breathing hitched as he continued, his voice soft but cutting. “You surgically removed the beak. Did all this just to feel like an angel, didn’t you?”

“Why… won’t… you… just… die!” Angel’s voice cracked, her frustration palpable. She raked her free hand’s talon across his face, tearing his skin open in vicious swipes, yet every wound she inflicted closed instantly, as if mocking her efforts.

Frank’s smile never wavered, blood dripping from the corners of his mouth. “Would you like to know a secret?” he whispered, his voice carrying an eerie calm. “I hate them too.” His eyes darkened, his tone becoming more intimate, as if he were sharing a confession with an old friend. “They stole something from me… someone more precious than your childhood ever was. Someone irreplaceable.” His voice turned sharp, deadly. “That’s why I can’t let you interfere with my plans. You see, I won’t let anyone but me be the one to massacre every agent here.”

A flicker of terror flashed across Angel's face as an agonizing, white-hot pain tore through her arm, searing her nerves like fire. Her breath hitched, heart pounded in her chest. When her gaze dropped, her blood ran cold—a scream ripped from her throat as the horrifying reality hit her. Her arm, once an extension of her power, was simply gone, devoured as if it had never existed.

Frank lifted the hem of his shirt, revealing something horrific. A grotesque, grinning mouth was embedded in his side, its razor-like teeth chomping down on what remained of her arm. The mouth seemed to stretch, its lips curling into a sadistic smile as it devoured her flesh, blood staining its grotesque form.

Angel’s terror grew as her body convulsed, her remaining strength slipping away with every agonizing second. Her eyes darted to the dismembered arm in the grotesque maw of Frank's flesh, watching helplessly as the mouth gnawed at it, reducing it to a mangled mess of torn muscle and bone. The sheer horror of it all made her head spin. Frank, unbothered by the gruesome scene, gazed down at her, his serene, ever-present smile painted across his face.

“I’ll give you this much,” he said softly, like he was offering a gentle compliment rather than savoring her despair. “Your little sob story—truly, it touched my heart.”

Angel’s chest heaved as her breathing quickened, her fury now crushed beneath the weight of sheer terror. Frank’s calm, almost affectionate tone only deepened her dread. The monster she thought she understood had become something far more terrifying.

“How… how is this possible? That nail in your head should’ve made it impossible for you to harm anyone!” she stammered, her voice barely holding back the panic threatening to consume her.

Frank chuckled lightly, as if amused by her naivety. “Oh? This little thing?” He tapped the nail embedded in his head, his grin widening. “I’m afraid it’s just for show. I figured out how to remove it a week after they stuck it in me. I’ve been playing my part ever since. You really thought it was that easy to control me?”

Angel’s heart sank as Hypnotist, desperation gripping her, ordered the mind-controlled agents to open fire again. The gunfire roared, bullets tearing through Frank’s flesh, but it did nothing. He stood there, unflinching, the wounds knitting back together almost instantly. The pain didn’t even register on his face.

Frank sighed, rubbing his temples like someone dealing with a minor inconvenience. “Could you stop already? This gunfire is really making my headache worse.”

Angel, her eyes wide with fear, backed away slowly. Every instinct in her screamed to run, but her body felt paralyzed, rooted in place by the overwhelming presence of the monster she’d dared to challenge.

Frank’s steps were slow and deliberate as he approached Angel, who had collapsed to the floor, her body trembling with fear and exhaustion. Her tear-filled eyes stared up at him, her defiance shattered. He crouched down, making sure to be at eye level, his serene smile never wavering.

“Are you afraid?” he asked, his voice a haunting whisper. His words slithered through the air like a predator toying with its prey. “Are you afraid of me?”

Angel’s lips quivered as she struggled to speak, her voice a broken whisper. “Why? Why are you doing this? You hate A.E.G.I.S. as much as we do. Join us…we can destroy them together.”

Frank chuckled softly, his gaze never leaving hers. “It’s simple, really,” he began, his voice carrying a tone of eerie calmness, as if they were discussing something trivial. “The majority of your organization is made up of the same filth that once belonged to A.E.G.I.S. The past and present must be purged alike. I sympathize with your story, Angel, truly I do…but here’s the thing—” He leaned in closer, his smile widening just a fraction. “I simply don’t care.”

For a moment, something primal ignited in Angel. Her fear gave way to raw desperation as she pushed herself off the ground, her claws slashing wildly at Frank’s face. But he barely even registered her attack. With a casual motion, he sidestepped to the left, his eyes betraying no hint of concern, as if swatting away an insect.

“Pathetic,” Frank murmured, his tone soft but laced with cold contempt.

In one fluid movement, his arm morphed into a grotesque, writhing tendril. With an almost lazy flick, it shot forward, piercing through Angel’s leg like a spear. Her scream tore through the air, filled with agony as she crumpled to the ground once more, clutching at the wound that oozed blood.

Frank stood over Angel, his cold, detached gaze locked on her as she writhed in agony. The tendril that had pierced her leg retracted back into his arm, leaving her broken on the ground. Tears mixed with dirt on her face, and her breathing came in ragged gasps. The fierce resolve that once lit her eyes had faded, replaced by helpless terror.

Angel whimpered as she began to crawl, blood trailing behind her. Her severed arm lay forgotten, and the wound on her leg made every movement torturous. She glanced toward her companion, Hypnotist, who stood frozen, wide-eyed, paralyzed by the sight of Frank’s unyielding power.

Frank’s gaze shifted lazily toward Hypnotist. “Please,” he said, his voice disturbingly calm, “wait your turn. Once I'm done with Angel, I’ll kill you next.”

Angel’s body shook, her strength draining with every inch she dragged herself away. Her vision blurred as she lifted her head and saw Bjorn Jr., sitting silently a few feet away. The dog’s eyes were soft, watching her without a hint of malice, an innocent gaze from a creature that understood nothing of the violence unfolding around him.

“Angel,” Frank’s voice broke the tense silence, his tone almost conversational. “Have you ever seen the movie The Thing? It’s a classic. You’d appreciate it…though I doubt you'll understand the reference now.”

Angel’s heart raced, her mind spinning with fear and confusion. “W-what? What are you talking about?” she stammered, her voice quivering.

Frank smiled, but the warmth in it was deceptive, chilling to the core. “Bjorn Jr.,” he said with eerie nonchalance, “enjoy your meal.”

As Angel lay on the ground, her body trembling and drenched in sweat, Bjorn Jr. began to change. The small, seemingly harmless dog began to grow, his body expanding grotesquely until it towered over her. His soft eyes remained the same, but his mouth opened unnaturally wide, revealing not teeth or a throat, but an inky, swirling void, an abyss that seemed to stretch endlessly into nothingness.

Suddenly, eldritch tentacles—twisting and slimy, like the limbs of some ancient, unseen horror—emerged from the void, slithering out like predators scenting blood.

“No… no, please stop… stop!” Angel’s voice was raw with terror as she tried to crawl away, her broken body barely able to move. But the tendrils were faster. One coiled tightly around her ankle, yanking her back toward the monstrosity. She screamed in agony, her claws piercing at the ground, her claws began to rip off as she desperately tried to pull and stop herself from being dragged away.

Another tentacle wrapped around her waist, then another around her throat, squeezing tighter with each passing second. Her voice grew hoarse, her screams turning into choked gasps as she thrashed wildly, eyes wide with the primal fear of death. Every inch of her body was shaking, her muscles burning from the futile struggle. Blood smeared across the floor, as the tentacles dragged her closer to the void, that inky abyss seeming to grow larger, more insidious, with each passing second.

“No! Please! I don't want to die like this!” she sobbed, her voice breaking as tears mixed with the blood on her face. Her once-pristine black dress was now torn, soaked in sweat, and crimson. But no amount of pleading would stop the inevitable.

The tentacles pulled her legs into the gaping maw, and she could feel the cold, crushing emptiness of the void swallowing her feet, then her calves. Panic consumed her, her hands frantically grasping for anything to hold on to, her fingers slipping through the blood-soaked ground as the eldritch limbs pulled her deeper into the void’s inescapable pull. She felt her bones begin to crack under the pressure of the tendrils' grip, and her mind raced with despair.

“No! No! Help me! I—I can’t—” Her voice cut off in a strangled cry as the tentacles tightened around her chest, forcing the air from her lungs. She was now waist-deep in the abyss, her body slowly sinking, as if the world itself was swallowing her whole.

Frank stood by, watching with that same calm, pleasant smile. His eyes flicked to hers one last time as her head dipped below the surface of the void. There was no remorse, no flicker of mercy. Just cold amusement.

The tentacles wrapped around her neck, and the last thing Angel saw was the infinite blackness consuming her. A single, hoarse whisper escaped her lips, an unfinished plea, lost forever in the endless void. The eldritch tendrils finally enveloped her entirely, dragging her deeper into that eternal darkness, her body disappearing as if she had never existed.

When the last trace of her was gone, Bjorn Jr. returned to his original size, shrinking down to the small, harmless dog he had been moments before. His tail wagged happily, his mouth now closed, as he sat at Frank’s feet, staring blankly into the distance with that same thoughtless, innocent expression.

Frank's serene expression never faltered as he looked down at Bjorn Jr., still scratching behind the dog’s ear. “Good boy,” he repeated softly, as if everything that had just transpired was no more troubling than a routine walk in the park.

Hypnotist’s breath hitched in her throat. Her heart pounded in her chest as she tried to maintain her control over the remaining A.E.G.I.S agents, but the sheer terror of what she had just witnessed made her concentration slip. The agents, once mechanical in their movements and dead-eyed with hatred, began to blink, slowly returning to their senses. Confusion spread through their ranks as they looked around, unsure of why they had their weapons drawn, or why the smell of charred flesh lingered in the air. The fog over their minds cleared, but the dread only deepened.

Frank moved with unnerving calm, his steps slow and deliberate as he approached one of the agents still shaking off the hypnotic control. Before the man could fully comprehend what was happening, Frank’s hand shot out, seizing him by the throat with a vice-like grip. His fingers dug in, almost gently, as if savoring the moment before unleashing the full extent of his power. A spark of electricity crackled at his fingertips, and in an instant, the agent’s body convulsed violently.

The smell of burning flesh filled the room as the man's skin sizzled, his eyes rolling back into his head. His muscles locked in place, twitching as the raw current coursed through him. The soft crackle of electricity hummed through the silence, until the agent’s body went limp, lifeless. Smoke curled from his mouth as Frank released his grip, letting the fried corpse fall to the floor in a lifeless heap.

The remaining agents froze in horror, they remembered who they were facing, and it dawned on them all at once. Whispers, desperate and panicked, spread through the ranks. They had thought he couldn't fight back due to the nail. The days of him being the Awakened criminal whose name sent shivers down the spines of even the most hardened agents were over. A single report flashed in their minds: Codename: Butcherer.

It was as if time had slowed for them, each of them recalling the detailed description from A.E.G.I.S’s classified files, the man responsible for a massacre that had claimed the lives of fifty Awakened members. It had occurred only weeks after the catastrophic Invidia raid. A one-sided slaughter that only ended when the leader of A.E.G.I.S had stepped in. And now, he was here, standing before them, with the same cold, emotionless smile.

Frank looked over to Bjorn Jr. as he calmly said, “I know you don’t care for smoked meat, Bjorn Jr.,” he murmured, his eyes gleaming with malice as they flickered back to the corpse. “But I want them to suffer.”