Jenna's home office, usually a place of calm analysis and reflection, had transformed. Under the flickering light, she hunched over her laptop, a portrait of focused determination. The storm outside mirrored the tempest in her mind. As a forensic journalist, Jenna was no stranger to uncovering unpleasant truths. The shoddy workmanship of QuickFix Repairs was not just a nuisance; it was a challenge to her sense of justice.
Her fingers flew across the keyboard, delving into the digital underbelly of QuickFix Repairs. Page by page, forum by forum, the pattern emerged – a long trail of scams and shoddy workmanship. Each complaint she read fueled her anger. "How could I have been so blind not to see this?" she muttered to herself, regret lacing in her words.
After compiling a list of the people associated with the company, her first target was Grant Page, the repairman who had botched the job at her house. Her research led her to his last known address – a dilapidated apartment complex in a neglected corner of the city.
As the evening sky turned inky, Jenna set out in her car. The neighborhood Grant lived in was a complete opposite to the vibrant city she was accustomed to. While navigating the narrow litter-strewn streets of the slum neighborhood, her heart was pounding with a mix of fury and determination. The rickety state of the buildings in the neighborhood, with their peeling paint and cracked windows, mirrored the despair that hung in the air.
As she approached his apartment building where Grant lived, Jenna's senses sharpened. The building, standing weary and worn, seemed to groan under the weight of its own decay. Jenna's steps were silent as she approached Grant's apartment, the air thick in the hallway with the musty scent of abandonment. The door of Grant’s apartment, carelessly left ajar, was an open invitation.
She stepped inside, her senses immediately assaulted by the stench of neglect. The dimly lit apartment was a labyrinth of clutter and grime. Stepping over discarded items and navigating through the mess, she made her way to the bedroom where Grant sprawled on a shabby bed, snoring heavily, completely unaware of the impending nightmare. Grant, oblivious to the looming threat, continued to snore. From a messenger bag Jenna carried, she brought out a small white bottle filled with acid. Jenna uncapped the bottle; her movements deliberate, and she emptied the contents on his face.
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The moment the acid made contact with his skin; Grant's world erupted into unimaginable pain. His screams were guttural, filled with the raw agony of his flesh being eaten away. In a panic, he swatted at Jenna, but she was unyielding, her grip ironclad around his throat.
"Who the fuck are you?" Grant managed to gasp, pain and confusion clouding his senses.
"Remember the shoddy window job? Probably not. You scammed so many people; it's hard to keep track, isn't it?" Jenna hissed, her voice a chilling whisper in the dark room.
"Please, I’m just a contractor, I was just following orders," Grant pleaded, his voice trembling with fear and pain. "I didn't mean to—"
"Shut up!" Jenna cut him off, her fury reaching a boiling point. She retrieved the second bottle of acid, uncapped it with her teeth, and without a moment's hesitation, poured the corrosive liquid into his open mouth.
Grant's body convulsed violently, his muffled screams filling the room as the acid began to perforate his insides. Jenna watched, her expression one of cold satisfaction, as life ebbed away from the man who did a shitty job for her.
Suddenly, a knock at the door jolted her back to reality. "Grant? You okay in there? I heard some noise," a concerned voice called out from the other side.
Realizing the gravity of the situation, Jenna quickly picked up the acid bottle from the floor and made her escape through the bedroom window, slipping into the shadows of the alleyway to where her car was. Her heart raced, but there was a sense of twisted accomplishment in her step. She had begun her vendetta, and there was no turning back now.