Round 5 Serial Kill

The serial killer was suddenly reminded of Christmas. Wasn't a person's death - how creative it was - a gift? Shouldn't a death be wrapped with loving care and picked with great thought? Designing a person's death took great planning and much intuitive thought. The death had to match the victim; it also had to honor this person. They were being chosen, weren't they?

The serial killer considered this while lying thoughtfully on their bunk. The Dragon Army barracks was nearing lights out which meant there was a flurry of students heading to and fro - settling in for the night, dressing or undressing for bed. With children moving about like cattle in a herd, getting in a last game or a few more minutes study time, the SK began to hum quietly.

The small one, Jacob, walked in between the larger children as he entered the barracks. Curious little fellow, quiet but brilliant - still, what did the teachers see in this tiny sample of a student? The killer watched Jacob with hooded eyes as the student walked towards his bunk. The other children liked him, probably even felt a little sorry for him - such a small child with such a wondrously powerful mind. Pity did not a commander make, though. The teachers were watching him, but did they see him as the killer did – did they see the vein of weakness that ran through him? Was there such a thing as too much potential? The killer glared suddenly at Jacob, but in his heart he wanted to give the little fellow a gift.

The teachers entered the barracks and the students stood at attention, even the killer. Through their blank expressions they watched Colonel Graff and his two men, Dap and Dimak walk directly to Jacob, pulling him aside, singling him out in front of the rest of the students. Dimak turned to the children and waved their attention away and they relaxed once again into their pre-bedtime duties. The killer lay leisurely down on the crisp and uncomfortable bunk to watch.

The teachers hovered over Jacob. Didn't they know that pulling him aside would make him a target, not that he wasn't already sporting a rather large bullseye on his back? The killer's mind reeled at the possibilities - were they consulting him, accusing him...congratulating him? Young Jacob answered their questions and finally shrugged in that noncommittal way children do to manipulate adults into thinking the situation at hand was diffused. Jacob pointed at his locker next to his bunk and walked to it, palming it open. Little Jacob wanted to show something to the teachers on his computer desk. The teachers began to look slightly annoyed and Graff began to step away, speaking over his shoulder. The conversation appeared to be over.

Jacob sat on his bunk bed and looked at up the teachers - his large, wondrous eyes showing every hint of innocence that the killer knew was a lie. Again, the killer began to hum.

The teachers were now starting to leave as little Jacob watched them with a shaded expression. He was no child, the killer saw, but he was no different than the rest. Unable, unlikely and unworthy. Jacob's eyes glittered as he set his desk on his lap and touched the screen. Nothing happened.

Jacob's forehead crinkled in confusion as he turned his desk over; lifting it off his lap, he shook it gently. The explosion rocked the entire Dragon Army barracks, knocking students near Jacob's bunk to the ground. Gristle, bone and blood splattered everywhere, covering everyone within a twenty foot radius. Even the killer reached up and touched a bit of Jacob that had landed on them. Students covered in blood were screaming now, running towards Jacob, or what was left of him, and some were running away. Graff and the teachers returned, only to slip in the blood that had covered the floor.

The killer casually stood up as students ran past and with a flick of a finger, wiped poor Jacob off their cheek and onto their bunk mates bed. It was surprising what common household materials could be used to make a simple but powerful bomb. With a nod the killer raised their hands and started to scream with the other children, blending back into the crowd, but still humming softly.

Here is your death, Jacob...don't you love it?