Always wanted to die violently
December 7, 2025 at 6:57 PM
The Antagonist stands before a wooden table in the middle of his gloomy, dim room, examining the armament prepared for his further destructive crusade.
"My name is not important… What is important—is what I'm going to do. I just fucking hate this world—and the human worms feasting on it's carcass."
Also known as "Not Important," he inserts the curved magazine of the Kalashnikov assault rifle, eagerly charging it by the handle with his left hand, then proceeds to stuff additional magazines and fragmentation grenades into his trench coat.
"My whole life is just cold, bitter hatred…
…And I always wanted to die violently."
He tucks a bayonet knife into his coat, grabbing the last grenade. "This is the time of vengeance, and no life is worth saving. And I will put in the grave as many as I can." The Antagonist leisurely shifts the AK rifle from his left hand to his right, heading toward the exit from the house with a confident and almost solemn step. "It's time for me to kill… And it's time for me to die." Casually opening the door, Not Important steps out onto the street; his local neighborhood of New York City unfolds before him amid a world in black-and-white tones. A couple of passersby already notice him, suspecting his ill intentions and beginning to take on a certain panicked look. The Antagonist pulls out a fragmentation grenade, yanking the pin, and tosses the grenade toward the nearby bus stop opposite his house, filled with a small amount of people. He hurries to return his hand to the foregrip, and by the time the grenade reaches the asphalt near the stop, Not Important is already unleashing measured (but still slightly chaotic) bursts from the assault rifle at random passersby he sees before him. The grenade explodes, shaking everything around and momentarily muffling the entire soundscape with its intensity. The bus stop's glass shatters entirely, flying into the tiniest pieces; the shrapnel from the fragmentation grenade combines with the glass shards, striking with a certain heightened force all those unlucky enough to be here and now, in this moment. People around the bus stop fall to the ground with a heap of wounds on their bodies. A couple of small shards also reach the lower half of the Antagonist's body—but that… concerns him little. One part of the passersby writhes in pain, sprawled on the ground and gradually meeting inevitable death from heavy bleeding, whereas another (those who, in a way, were luckier) dies instantly when their heads are milled by 7.62-millimeter caliber bullets with a certain characteristic, visible splash of blood from their cracking skulls. Continuing his crusade further from the house, the Antagonist loads a new, next magazine into his AK, while around him lies a mixed crowd of dead and rapidly dying people. In the distance from them, in some desperate attempt, other passersby try to flee, to whom fate gave a chance—but it still worthlessly and doesn't matter, since Not Important shoots them down, too, as soon as a new charge, ready for emptying, appears in his weapon of genocide. In parallel to shooting distant people, he approaches one of the nearest dying passersby to him. That one mumbles something to him—but the Antagonist doesn't even listen, forcefully smashing the buttstock against his head repeatedly until he crushes it into a bloody mess. "Fuck… you," Not Important thinks to himself in a certain almost guttural growl, not pondering even for a moment the whole semantic load of why, for what, and for which fucking off an already dead person. Before the Antagonist, a car speeds by on the road—but Not Important doesn't miss it either, accurately shooting the driver inside. The car with the lifeless body continues by inertia toward a residential house nearby, being abruptly turned due to the driver's body slumping on the steering wheel and turning it to the right side. The car crashes into the open garage space; next to it is a fairly large propane tank, which the Antagonist decides to shoot from a distance. After some time, a series of a several explosions (smaller and larger) echoes through the entire neighborhood—Not Important doesn't even flinch a bit from this, confidently continuing to unleash bursts from the assault rifle at people dozens of meters away from him, as if practicing at a shooting range. "Your death has come… scum. The funeral toll will pass over all of you." The Antagonist utters in his mind part of a certain characteristic concentration of pathos of him, not delving too much into its integrity and meaningfulness. He continues his crusade through his local neighborhood, bringing destruction to everything around, in parallel improvising and planning further plans for his murderous campaign across New York.***
In the end, at the culmination of his long (or not quite) path, the Antagonist stands before the dashboard in the middle of the atomic power plant's room; behind him, four U.S. army soldiers of classic appearance burst into the room, aiming M16 assault rifles at him. "So… the time has come." Not Important falls to his knees dramatically and imposingly, spreading his arms wide, beginning to laugh furiously aloud—the U.S. soldiers start riddling him with dense fire straight to the chest. He falls to the floor, holding the remote detonator in his hand. "I only wonder if those explosives will work." The Antagonist presses the small red button of the detonator.***
In an instant, the urban landscape of New York begins to envelop in total destruction with toxic radioactive dust. "Well, they did."***
A figure of the newly arrived sinner demon in Hell, burning with bright greenish-yellow flame, flies out from nowhere in the middle of the night crimson sky of Pentagram City against the background of a large, tall Clock Tower (towering over the main urban array), rapidly flying downward diagonally, leaving a trail behind, like some comet or such. Reaching the ground, the burning sinner rolls inertially another fifty meters or so along the sidewalk of the hellish street. Finally stopping at some point, the sinner begins to rise from the ground, virtially almost as if nothing happened—but still with some heaviness and weight, slightly swaying; examining this new (to himself) world around with some incomprehension and kind of disapproving astonishment. Most of the fire has extinguished, dissipated from the sinner, but his clothes still slightly blaze. In parallel to his near-amazed reaction to the surroundings, the newly arrived in Hell (apparently, Not Important) begins hastily, in some comical manner, patting out the residual fire on his clothes with palm slaps. "Hope my coat doesn’t burn up," the Antagonist thinks to himself in some nonchalance (only with a very slight concern for this issue)… as if this is the only thing that should concern him right now. Finishing with saving his iconic image, he pays attention to his hands, which have become a certain dark, completely stone-like claws in appearance; his skin, also, slightly shimmers with some unclear, indefinite greenish and orange patterns, looking like ashes—but beyond just that, he doesn't delve much further into this, being distracted due to the concussion after landing and all other circumstances happening to him right now at this very moment. Not Important stands up with lowered arms down in a certain as if desperate stance, looking up at the sky: at the huge glowing flat projection of a red pentagram that hangs over everything around in this hellish megapolis. "My name is still not important. Now important is that this fucking world still doesn't want to let me go… or some other afterlife world, either way. I achieved such successes in my crusade, reaching the desired goal—but fate, seems, ordered otherwise, not intending to let me go, depriving me of deserved peace." The Antagonist looks around with slightly squinted eyes and open mouth, exposing gritted teeth; a small amount of hellish onlookers, who were around him at the moment of landing, stare at him from afar (only irritating him more somewhere deep in his soul—he doesn't dwell on it too much, since right now, still, is not quite up to it). "I ended up in some… twisted semblance of Hell, apparently… Well, quite expectedly… Nevertheless, not that biblical Hell, about which is written in fucking books for the blind flock, but… urbanized Hell...? human, municipal: everything like that very same fucking human society (from which I should've been finally banish into oblivion). This place differs little from the center of that same fucking human New York, in which I dragged my existence: everything similar to that same fucking rich megapolis, but just in red, crimson tones…" Not Important slightly turns his whole body to the side, examining the other side of the nearby street and the distant, visible urban landscape of Pentagram City. "Such colors… such vibe are much more to my liking… But my life—still, mostly, cold and bitter hatred (though now a little less). This world… maybe worth some exploration… but my goal remains the same." The Antagonist slightly raises his hand, as if he had his familiar, signature AK in his hand… and as if feeling it on some subconscious level—but it reality, unfortunately, finding nothing in his hand. "The earthly New York burns with radioactive fire… Now the time has come for this… idiotic hellish city, too. Who knows, maybe there's also its own local atomic power plant here… or some local equivalent." Not having (still) anything in his hands, Not Important, nevertheless, with a confident step heads toward the nearest resident of Hell nearby, whom he noticed around himself—as if already knowing for sure, what he will do. "The time of vengeance continues, and no life (or anything) is worth saving still the same. And I will put in the grave as many as I can… to the afterlife grave after the grave. It's time for me to kill… and it's time to me to try to die again."
