City of the Damned

1

The city of Lakefield was like any other: full of people bustling about their days, many of them glued to various devices; a handful of drug abusers that mostly resided in the southern part of the city. It’s most famous feature, though, was Lakefield Community Hospital. 2 future presidents were born there, and it consistently ranked high on “50 Great Places to Work” lists across the country. Our story, unfortunately, doesn’t start at Lakefield Community Hospital. It ends there.

Several businesses were headquartered in the heart of Lakefield’s financial district, though many of them have since relocated. The technological giant Fintin Tech was one of such businesses, and it was hit the hardest by the events I’m destined to tell you about. Fintin Tech was founded in 1960 by Karl Fintin and quickly became one of the most successful. In homes across the country, it was estimated that each of them had at least one product sold to them by Fintin Tech.

The CEO at the time of these events of Rick Fintin, who arrived to Fintin Plaza at 9:30 in the morning on October 6. Rick was dressed in a handsome burgundy suit and was in the middle of a conversation with his wife Jacqueline. Jacqueline was in the middle of telling Rick of how their young son, Samuel, had just uttered what she believed to be, “Dada!” as Rick had left the house this morning. Rick was munching on a bagel, quietly kicking himself for missing this breakthrough when he froze.

Jacqueline kept speaking, but Rick found himself unable to respond. His mouth stopped chewing, too, and the bit of bagel in his mouth remained, slowly inching its way out of Rick’s mouth, falling to the ground with a dull thud. The next second, all feeling in Rick’s left arm vanished, and the cell phone slipped from his fingers, landing next to the half-chewed bagel bit.

“Are you alright, sir?” a man asked, having noticed Rick’s sudden shut down. At that second, all of Rick’s motor senses evaporated, and he collapsed to the floor and began convulsing, shaking as if he were a fish out of water.

“Oh my god!” exclaimed the stranger, who rushed over to Rick and began examining him. Others noticed Rick’s collapse, and a small crowd began to form around Rick and his good Samaritan.

“Someone, call an ambulance!” the good Samaritan shouted, and a woman fumbled with her phone to make the call. She had barely pressed the Call button when Rick’s eyes snapped open. Rick coughed and sat up, rubbing his head.

“What …?” he started to ask, but his voice faded away as his eyes found the woman calling for the ambulance. He got to his feet, ignoring the good Samaritan’s pleas for him to remain on the ground, lest he risk another fall. Rick approached the woman, who looked cautiously at him. Rick said nothing as he stared into the woman’s eyes.

“Are you alright?” she asked, and she could feel goosebumps starting to sprout up and down her arms. Rick didn’t answer. Instead, he opened his mouth, and hyena-like laugh escaped his lips. The woman tried to back away, but Rick pounced, launching himself at the woman. The rest of the crowd leaped back in shock. He landed on top of her, knocking her off her feet, and began to scrape and scratch at every piece of flesh he could reach. He then groped for her eyes and pressed his fingers into them. There was a squelch as he blinded her.

It took nearly thirty seconds for the crowd to fully understand what had happened. At last, two men jumped on top of Rick, who re-directed his attention to them. He began to scrape and scratch at their flesh as well, biting one of the men on the arm, drawing blood.

More onlookers sprang to attack Rick, try to put an end to this senseless and random attack. Like the first two defenders, Rick easily overpowered them, and his eyes widened to the size of dinner plates as he saw that one of victims had dropped a knife. He dived for it, snatched it up, and returned to the fray, slicing anyone that dared approach him. Fintin Plaza quickly emptied, as others prioritized their own lives than stopping the madman.

Police quickly arrived to Fintin Plaza, having been alerted by one of those that had decided to flee. By now, Rick, having massacred six people, sat in the direct center of the Plaza, looking over the carnage as though he were window shopping at Christmas. He had stripped off his suit jacket and shirt and lathered his chest with blood. He was still laughing that hyena-laugh.

The officers that entered the Plaza, weapons drawn, stopped in their tracks at the sight of Rick and the carnage he had wrought. A sudden, random attack like this had never happened in Lakefield’s history.

“Get to your feet and put your hands above your head!” one of the officers shouted. Rick turned, smiled, and waved at the officers.

“GET TO YOUR FEET AND PUT YOUR HANDS ABOVE YOUR HEAD!”

Rick’s smile faltered, but he got to his feet. It was only when he was standing that the officers noticed the knife, its blade and handle both dripping with blood.

“DROP THE WEAPON AND PUT YOUR HANDS ABOVE YOUR HEAD!”

Rick’s smile returned in full force, and he raised his hands, but he didn’t release the knife.

“DROP THE KNIFE NOW!”

The knife sliced through the air once more, this time as Rick plunged it into his own neck, burying it up the hilt. He then wrenched it free, sending out a shower of blood from the wound. For the second time this morning, Rick collapsed a third time. As he did, a wide smile stretched across his face, and his eyes stared up at the blue sky and the jet that had just left Lakefield Airport.

2

Word of Rick Fintin’s sudden and brutal attack swept through Lakefield at the speed of sound. By the end of the day, every person in the city knew what had transpired. Jacqueline Fintin remained unavailable for comment and refused to speak with any reports when she left the house. She and Samuel moved out of Lakefield two months later; they never returned.

A memorial was held for the six victims at the City Hall, where Mayor Brock Reed spoke. After her comments, a representative of each victim spoke, detailing their loved one in mournful but beautiful ways. By the end of the memorial, there wasn’t a dry eye in the building.

The police questioned Jacqueline before her move and interviewed the top executives at Fintin Tech, but these efforts were fruitless. No one could provide a solid motive for this attack. The medical examiner suspected that whatever had caused Rick’s initial collapse had somehow changed his behavior, unlocking a primal and violent section of his brain. Wanting to put this mess behind them, this became the agreed upon motive.

3

Blake Cooper became a member of the Lakefield Police Department two years just before Rick Fintin’s massacre. He was one of the first on the scene that tragic day. After having witnessed Rick’s suicide, Blake put in a request for an alternative assignment that would keep him away from Fintin Plaza. His request was approved: he was assigned to part of the Lakefield Drug Task Force, headed by Captain William Short.

This assignment relocated Blake to Lakefield’s south side, where most of the city’s drug users lived. Short informed Blake that most of the Task Force’s daily routine involved cruising the southern neighborhoods, hoping to spot any illicit activity.

Today was a day like any other. Blake was in his car, patrolling Benthen Street when he spotted a group of people, huddled around a barrel fire; to Blake, they looked like they were taken right of a movie. Something inside Blake made him pull over, put the cruiser in park, and wait, keeping his eyes fixed on the group. From his position, they couldn’t see him.

After quarter of an hour, Blake was starting to wonder if the group was only wanting to get warm. Yet that feeling didn’t leave him, so he stayed put. Ten minutes later, he had just decided to move on when one of the group members bid their farewells and began to walk down the sidewalk. Blake grabbed his shotgun, exited the cruiser, and followed, slinging the shotgun across his back.

Blake made sure to stay far enough so that his features-mainly his uniform and bade-couldn’t easily be identified by his leader, who had set off in the direction away from Blake’s cruiser. Blake’s heart quickened as he watched his leader slip down an alley. Blake threw himself against the wall and peered down, careful to stay out of sight.

He watched as his leader, a young man in his late twenties, walked down the alley and stopped, looking around; Blake pulled back out of sight. He then heard a series of knocks. Blake peered around again and saw the young man was now speaking to someone else. They each handed something to the other, and the second man withdrew into his building. The first man, meanwhile, set off again down the alley, turned a corner, and disappeared.

Blake quickly realized he had just witnessed a deal. He found himself faced with a question. Which was more important, the buyer or the seller? The buyer would, no doubt, lead him to a drug den, where he would find other users. If he went after the buyer, though, this put a much bigger dent in his assigned duties. He made up his mind.

Blake quickly checked the shotgun, ensuring that it was loaded; he’d hate to go in there with a handful of nothing. Satisfied, he took a deep breath, released it, and walked down the alley. He stopped at the door his leader-his informant, really- had been so generous to share with him. He raised his hand and knocked thrice upon the door.

There was no answer. Blake raised his hand and knocked again, once this time. Again, no answer.

“This is Blake Cooper of the LPD,” he said to anyone that was listening inside. “I just witnessed the handoff you just participated in, and I believe you have controlled substances inside. Please let me in so that I may conduct a thorough search.”

He paused, letting these words sink in.

“Failure to do so will result in a charge of preventing an officer from carrying out his duties. This comes with a hefty sentence. Make it easy on yourselves.”

The door opened again, and a woman appeared. Blake estimated she was in her late thirties, early forties, but she didn’t look it. Her skin was same, hideous shade of oatmeal, and there were dark circles under her eyes. A cigarette stuck out one corner of her mouth. She surveyed with a pair of bloodshot eyes.

“The fuck you want, pig?” she asked. Blake opened his mouth to respond, but she pushed on before he could.

“Yeah, I heard what you said, dammit. I ain’t fuckin’ deaf. You got that? I ain’t got shit.”

She swayed on her feet as she spoke, and Blake was surprised she didn’t fall.

“All I want,” he said, trying to keep his voice calm, “is to come in and look around. If you make me go get a warrant, it’s going to piss off both of us. May I look around, pretty please?”

The woman didn’t respond, merely surveyed him with those dead eyes. She then laughed, but it was a horrid sound that made Blake, instinctively, scowl. The woman noticed this.

“Oh, am I bothering you, Officer Bastard? As I said, cause you’re apparently deaf, is I have nothing! Did you hear that? There’s not a damn thing…”

She was cut off as, in one fluid motion, Blake drew his pistol and raised it to be level with the woman’s face.

BANG!

One shot ran out as the gun fired. The woman collapsed into a heap on the ground. Steeling himself, Blake took another deep breath, released it, and proceeded inside, holding his pistol ready.

The inside of the den was as disgusting as the woman’s physical appearance. It was filthy inside, with rats scurrying away in fear of Blake’s approaching footsteps. There was also a mysterious odor that wafted out from somewhere, tempting Blake to vomit; he managed to suppress the want, though.

There was a small gasp to Blake’s left. He turned immediately on the spot and fired twice. The bullets struck the man that had stood up, and he, much like the woman, collapsed to the ground. Blake moved deeper into the drug den, shooting anyone and everyone he came across, five people in total.

He reached the final room, breathing heavily. It was then that he realized, with a shudder, that he hadn’t seen a single bag, ounce, pound of any sort of illegal drug. He stopped in his tracks, spinning around to try and find some sort of justification of what he had just done. He then stared down at his camera lens, realizing it had recorded everything: from following the initial degenerate and each murder, it had captured every detail.

Blake holstered his gun and stumbled to the front door. He wrenched it open and walked outside, wincing slightly at the bright sun. He turned and saw the address labelled to the building he had just left. With his left hand, he reached up, pressed the button on his walkie talkie, and spoke into it.

“I need officers at 132 Harper Avenue,” he said. “We have an officer down.”

After confirming with Dispatch, Blake returned to the front door of the building. When he reached it, he sat down, slung the shotgun off his back, and placed it on the pavement. He took careful aim.

4

Officers and paramedics responded to Blake’s quickly and discovered his body just outside the abandoned building. Blake was examined but was pronounced dead at the scene. Further investigation of the building revealed the spree Blake had carried out; full details were further revealed upon the examination of his body camera.

Things were further complicated when Amanda Taylor, reporter for the Lakefield Daily, received an email from none other than Blake Cooper. Attached was a dozen documents, each detailing the years that Captain William Short had spent accepting bribes from the Santino Mob, the city’s largest organized crime group.

Amanda’s story was published and quickly received state-wide attention. Short himself was forced to resign and was sentenced to thirty years in prison. In Lakefield, an investigation revealed that Short was only one of nearly dozen officers on the Santino Mob’s payroll; each of them was also sentenced to lengthy prison sentences.

The general public’s trust in the LPD was shattered. Rumors persisted for years that the entirety of the force was corrupt, no matter how many officers were exposed.

5

Among the victims of Officer Cooper's massacre was Aaron Carson, 26. Aaron had lived his whole life in Lakefield, but his life took a sharp turn when his parents were killed in a car accident when he was twelve. Aaron entered the foster system and was placed with a family that abused him for nearly three years. At age fifteen, Aaron finally ran away and eventually came to Lakefield's south side, particularly the Garter Street neighborhood.

It was in this neighborhood that Aaron became intertwined with the Knuckle Riders, a motorcycle gang that controlled Garter Street. The Riders were also the primary pusher of the various drugs that flooded Lakefield's south side.

Naturally, many members of Aaron's family wished a better life for him despite the tragic circumstances he had, thus far, endured. Chief among these supporters was his cousin Elizabeth Becker, Lizzie to her friends. Under the guise of becoming Lakefield High School's chemistry teacher, Lizzie had moved to Lakefield to find her cousin when he ran away and tried to stay in contact with him, all the while trying to convince him to turn his life around.

In the wake of Officer Cooper's shooting, Lizzie was summoned to the Carver County Medical Examiner's office to identify her cousin's body. Lizzie held back tears as the medical examiner, a large beefy man with a thick handlebar mustache, led her back to the storage area.

"I'm sorry for your loss," he said. Lizzie rolled her eyes; how many times a day did he say that? Nevertheless, she forced a smile.

"Thank you," she said. He nodded as they reached the table. Lizzie took a deep breath as he pulled back the tarp that covered Aaron's body. For a moment, Lizzie had hoped-prayed, even- that this, somehow, was Aaron's body. She had seen the report on TV though and had instantly recognized Aaron's birthmark: a distinct one at the base of his temple on the right side of his head.

"Is this your cousin?" the examiner asked, sounding almost impatient. Lizzie thought of saying something but pushed the want down and merely nodded.

"Thank you," the examiner said. "I'll take you to your car. Please follow me."

Lizzie followed him out of the storage room and down a hallway. As they approached the end of the hall, the door opened, and mayor Brock Reed came in. He was dressed in a blue suit and had dark circles under his eyes; Lizzie suspected these were from a lack of sleep.

"Ah, Marcus," he said, paying no attention to Lizzie. "I'm here to collect officer Cooper's body. He's to be transported to Lakefield Funeral Home, where the necessary preparations for burial will be made."

"Very good, sir," said Marcus the examiner. He turned to Lizzie. "If you don’t mind, ma'am. Just keep going straight, and you'll walk right into the parking lot."

It was then that Reed noticed Lizzie.

"Ah, yes, hello," he said. "I take it you're a family member to one of the victims?"

"Yes, sir," said Lizzie. "Aaron Carson was my cousin."

"I see," said Reed, a somber expression on his face. "Please know, you and your family have my deepest condolences."

"Thank you, sir," said Lizzie. George cleared his throat and stepped forward.

"Yes, George, I'm coming now," said Reed. He tipped his hat to Lizzie and followed George back down the hallway. They spoke in low voices, but Lizzie managed to catch a small piece of it.

"….ask me, it seems those degenerates got what they deserved," said Reed's voice. "I ran on a promise to clean up this city, but they've made it impossible. A few less druggies, the better, I say."

Lizzie froze in place and looked back at Reed and George, who paid her no attention and continued their way. She blinked several times, trying to process if she'd truly heard the mayor say that. How could anyone be that heartless?

Lizzie reached her car and got in, fuming. She started the car and pulled out of the parking lot. As she did, she realized she'd never experienced anger like this before in her life. The longer she drove, the more the anger seemed to grow, and it intensified. At one point, she had to slam on the brakes to keep from rear ending the car in front of her.

She reached home, at last, and went into the bedroom and collapsed onto the bed. She laid there, allowing her rage to consume her, when she finally sat up, a thought forming in her mind. If Reed was as apathetic as that captain, he had to be…dealt with. Not the media, no. If she were to go to the press, it would be a battle of "he said, she said" that would go nowhere. No, there was only one way to deal with Reed: he had to die.

What was the best way to do it, though? A gun? Possibly, but it wasn’t personable. She wanted Reed to know who had killed him, who had used their own empathy to destroy him. The longer these thoughts stayed in her head, the more likely she was to yell, scream…or explode.

Yes, that was it! It must be small, of course; she only wants Reed, no one else. It also must be concealed; she didn’t want anyone to discover it before the time was right. A van would be perfect; U-Haul would fit the bill nicely. Park it in front of City Hall. Yes, that would be perfect!

She set to work on the device, plunging headfirst into the dark web, where she found her directions. There were a lot of late nights, miscalculations, and a few failed tests, but the bomb was completed a month later. In the meantime, she spent her time observing mayor Reed's schedule, when he arrived and departed at City Hall. At the same time, she- illegally- purchased a handgun and familiarized herself with it.

The day before her selected date (April 24, 2026), Lizzie went to the local U-Haul and rented a van large enough to fit her bomb. She brought the van home, where she carefully loaded the bomb into the storage area of the truck. She parked the van downtown in front of City Hall and took an Uber home. That night's sleep was the best she'd had in months.

In the morning, Lizzie woke, dressed quickly, and packed a duffel bag with the remote, the pistol, and a few other select items: a pair of binoculars, a crowbar, and a container of salt. She also packed an EMT costume from Spirit Halloween; she reasoned that, in the confusion, she'd blend right in.

Lizzie arrived in downtown Lakefield at 7:30am and parked on the other side of the town square, giving her an ideal viewpoint of City Hall. She quickly climbed into the back seat, changed into the EMT outfit, and returned to the driver's seat, pulling out the binoculars as she did. For the next twenty-five minutes, she kept her eyes locked onto City Hall.

At 8am, Reed finally appeared, and he was deep in conversation with one of his aides, who was standing between Reed and the U-Haul van. At the sight of the aide, Lizzie felt a flicker of hesitation shoot through her.

"Don’t you dare stop now," said Aaron, and he appeared in the front seat, plain as day. Lizzie nearly dropped the binoculars at the sight of him.

"Don't stop now," said Aaron. "Reed deserves it. His whole damn administration deserves it! Avenge me!"

He then vanished, but Lizzie wracked her brain, trying to determine if he really had been there. She felt a tear slide down her cheek, and that feeling of hesitation vanished, just like Aaron had. She reached into the backseat, grabbed the duffel bag, and dug out the remote. Breathing heavily, she flipped the switch to arm the bomb before pressing the detonator.

The resulting explosion tore the van apart, and Lizzie could feel the shockwave from her position. A large cloud of black smoke enveloped the block, climbing into the sky. Lizzie got out of her car and hurried over to City Hall, her eyes darting in every direction as she looked for Reed. She found him three feet from the door to City Hall, unconscious with several injuries, but Lizzie suspected he would live.

Fury, unlike any she'd ever felt in her life, erupted inside her; it took every ounce of self-control not to scream. She quickly bent down, helped Reed to his feet, and slung one of his arms over her shoulder. She half-dragged, half-carried him back across the town square to her waiting car. As she walked, she kept expecting someone to call out to her, but no one did; just as she'd planned, there was too much panic for everyone to fully take in what was happening.

She reached her car, opened the backseat, and laid the unconscious Reed on the seat. She then closed the door and checked that she was in the clear before getting into the driver's seat and driving away, watching City Hall grow smaller in the rearview mirror.

Lizzie drove them to a warehouse just outside of Lakefield. When they arrived, Lizzie dragged Reed out of the car and into the warehouse, depositing him onto the floor, where he let out a groan. Lizzie returned to the car, grabbed the duffel bag, and brought it into the warehouse. By then, Reed had sat up, looking around.

"Where…Where am I?" he asked, rubbing his head. "What…what happened?"

"You're just outside of Lakefield," said Lizzie, sitting down on a nearby crate. "It's 8:30 in the morning, if you're wondering."

"Who…who are you?" asked Reed. "Why aren’t I in a hospital?"

"The answer to your first question answers the second," said Lizzie, hopping down from the crate. She crossed to the duffel bag, bent down, and withdrew the crowbar. At the sight of it, Reed's face paled.

"What's that…?" he started to ask, but before he could finish, Lizzie had crossed over to him and swung the crowbar into his stomach. Reed yelled out in pain, clutching his stomach. Before he had time to react, Lizzie had struck him again before straightening up, looking down at Reed as though he were a delicious steak and she, a starving lioness.

"My cousin," she said through gritted teeth, "was Aaron Carson. He was one of Blake Cooper's victims."

She paused, allowing the words to sink in. Reed, meanwhile, looked up at Lizzie, and it seemed realization was starting to sink in.

"Yes," she said, noticing his expression. "Do you remember what you said about him that day in the coroner's office?"

Reed didn’t answer, only looked up at Lizzie in horror.

"You said he deserved it," she said, taking a step forward. "You said he and the others deserved what they got. You showed so little care for them that you said it didn’t matter, so long as it serves your agenda. Do you REMEMBER NOW?"

She swung the crowbar repeatedly, striking any bit of Reed she could. When she pulled back, Reed's face was coated in blood, and both of his knees had been broken, causing him to whimper in pain. Lizzie set the crowbar down on a crate, returned to the duffel bag, and retrieved her pistol, which she aimed at Reed's head. At the sight of the gun, Reed, who was already crying, began to sob even harder.

"WAIT!" he cried, pulling himself up into a sitting position. "Please, don't do this! Please, PLEASE!"

Lizzie paused. For a moment, she lowered the gun, and Reed began to smile.

"Yes," he said. "Just put it down, and we can talk this out. We'll make a deal, alright?"

Lizzie raised the gun and aimed.

"This is for Aaron," she said simply.

BANG!

A single shot ended Reed, who slumped forward into his own lap. Lizzie took a deep, shuddering breath, counting to ten as she released it. She closed her eyes, breathed, and exhaled again, opening her eyes afterwards. She reached into her pocket and pulled out her phone, which she used to dial 9-1-1. After a few rings, a dispatcher answered.

"9-1-1, what is your emergency?" she asked; her voice, to Lizzie, was sickeningly pleasant.

"I'd like to report a murder-suicide," said Lizzie, her voice neutral.

"I'm sorry, ma'am?" the woman asked. "Can you repeat that, please?"

"I'd like to repeat a murder-suicide," Lizzie repeated. "We're located at the old Martin Logistics warehouses outside of Lakefield."

Before the dispatcher could answer, Lizzie hung up and let the phone slide out of her fingers and onto the floor with a clatter. She then stood there, staring down at Reed's body, for the next ten minutes, at which time she heard approaching sirens. Lizzie held the pistol up to her mouth and fired once more.

***

"Shocking news out of Lakefield, Illinois today," said Carson Todd, news anchor for Channel 12 News. "This morning, at approximately 8am, downtown Lakefield was rocked by an explosion near City Hall. Early reports indicate the bomb was in a U-Haul van that was parked in front of City Hall. Officials have confirmed the van was rented by an Elizabeth Becker, 36. Furthermore, they believe the attack was intended as an assassination attempt towards mayor Brock Reed, though her motive is still being investigated at this time.

"Becker was found at the Martin Logistics warehouse outside of Lakefield about thirty minutes after the attack, the victim of a self-inflicted gunshot wound. Police also discovered Mayor Reed's body, which suffered severe blunt force trauma and a gunshot wound.

"Becker and Reed's deaths bring the total of victims of this morning's attacks to six. Walter Brozen, 27, was employed as an aide to Mayor Reed and was killed during the initial attack. Also killed in the initial attack was Mallory Parsons, 40. Samantha Neal, 60, and Veronica Brooks, 25, were injured in the attack. Both women were rushed to Lakeside Memorial Hospital. Neal succumbed to her injuries at 2:36 this afternoon, while Brooks succumbed to hers at 3:30.

"We'll bring you more on this shocking story as it develops. Meanwhile, we here at Channel 20 News extend our deepest sympathies to all those who lost loved ones today."

6

Those events- Rick Fintin’s massacre, Officer Blake’s rampage, and Lizzie Becker’s attack- each took place six, four, and two months before June of 2026, respectively. These events took Lakefield one step closer to the brink of collapse, yet its citizens managed to hold on and persevere.

What truly brought Lakefield to its knees, though, was the event that occurred on June 6, 2026. It took place at Lakefield’s crowning jewel, its magnum opus: Lakefield Community Hospital. For many, it’s the event they consider to be the happiest day of their lives: a baby’s birth.

The baby’s parents were John and Jane Smith. Ironic, isn’t it, that damnation comes from the mundane? Jane Smith, at the time of her delivery, had been a widow for the last six months, since Rick Fintin’s massacre. Her husband, John, had been the Good Samaritan that had tried to help Rick when he had collapsed. It had also been John that had, unknown to both, that had caused his collapse and subsequent acts of violence. When John and Jane conceived their daughter, a small part of his daughter’s evil had rushed back into John and latched onto him, waiting to be transferred to the ideal candidate: Rick Fintin.

Jane Smith was rushed to Lakefield Memorial Hospital at 6:30 in the evening by her mother Ruth, whom Jane had been staying with since her husband’s demise. Lucy Smith was delivered via C-section at the early time of 3:23 am on June 6. While Jane and Ruth were, naturally, over the moon at her arrival, there was something wrong with Lucy that neither they nor anyone else could see. Behind her left ear, invisible but to a select few, was a tattoo, imprinted there by her coming destiny: 666.

Jane Smith and Ruth Neal were found dead in their respective bedrooms on the morning of June 6, 2042, the day of Lucy’s sixteenth birthday. Lucy herself was nowhere to be found, having disappeared from the house. She quickly made her presence known, though, as more acts of violence began to wreck Lakefield. Its citizens turned against one another, brutally attacking and killing each other. Within twenty-four hours, the city collapsed, and Lucy and her cult stood victorious among the rubble and carnage.

Across the country, people saw the carnage and either feared or began to worship Lucy, the sixteen-year-old that oversaw the destruction of one of America’s greatest cities. Her influence began to spread across the globe as the United States began to crumble, piece by piece.

I am one of a handful of survivors, and I’ve dedicated my life- however much I may have left- to detailing how Lucy Smith began to sow chaos and death, even before her birth. It’s my hope, the last one that I cling dearly to, that future generations, upon discovering my writing, can discover a way to defeat her.

“And the devil who had deceived them was thrown into the lake of fire and sulfur where the beast and the false prophet were, and they will be tormented day and night forever and ever.”