Chapter 1: The Beginning of Nightmares

On a quiet, uneventful night, the world outside was shrouded in silence. The wind whispered softly, and the stillness of midnight hung heavily in the air. The people in the house were fast asleep, but one remained awake—a 15-year-old boy named Ray.

Ray's life had been a storm of emotional neglect. His family mocked him for his struggles, laughing when he cried instead of comforting him. His weight, his acne—everything about him was a joke. He had worked hard to lose the weight, but no matter what he did, his appearance was never enough. His family belittled him for being "skinny-fat," and his classmates weren't any better, often making cruel remarks about his looks, his weight, and the fact that he was still single at 15.

Ray's frustration built up, and it eventually exploded. One day, after enduring relentless teasing, he fought a classmate, leading to his suspension. But when he came home, things didn't get better. His parents mocked him once again, ridiculing him for being an emotional wreck. They had never been there for him, never offering support when he needed it most. He couldn't trust them, not after everything they had put him through. No one understood his pain, and he was left to cope alone.

He despised them—despised his family with every fiber of his being. Ray isolated himself, staying in his room, where the weight of loneliness crushed him. He believed no girl would ever love him—his appearance was "unattractive," and his mental state was shattered. Ray hated himself. He felt unloved, unwanted, and broken. At his lowest, he wished he could escape this world—escape from the pain.

And then, one night, he did. He decided that this would be the end.

He got up from his bed, moved silently to the kitchen, and took rat poison. He poisoned the water bottles his parents kept by their bedside, making sure to wipe down the lids to leave no trace. The silence of the night would soon be broken by the horrifying sounds of choking—blood gurgling in the throats of his parents as they succumbed to the poison.

By morning, they were dead.

Ray wiped down every surface he touched, ensuring there was no evidence left behind. He called the police, and within hours, the story was spun: his parents had committed suicide. Ray was placed in foster care, but he knew the truth. He knew what he had done, and deep down, he knew that his time would come. He was already mentally broken. The realization hit him like a brick—he was beyond saving.

The tale has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

In foster care, Ray had nothing but time. Time to think, to reflect, and to study. He read over six books on manipulation and human psychology. He studied murderers and their methods, learning the ways of violence. The more he read, the more he grew fascinated with torture—both physical and psychological. He began to see himself as an executioner, someone who could administer justice in his own twisted way. But would he be a mere executioner or a mass murderer? Only time would tell.

His time in foster care was just as brutal as the life he left behind. The bullying continued—at school, he was mocked for being in special education, his dyslexia constantly used against him. Even some teachers refused to help him. He had no support, no guidance. Ray had only a few friends, but they were few and far between.

But things began to change when he entered secondary school. Ray knew he had to evolve. He started using his charm and manipulative skills to turn people to his side. He quickly gained a reputation as a helpful, likable student—someone who was always willing to lend a hand. But underneath the façade, he was still the same person, hiding his true nature. He manipulated over 950 people from ages 12 to 16, getting away with many bad things without suspicion.

He fought back when the bullies picked on him, often with brutality. He brought knives to school for self-defense, and on two occasions, he brought Molotov cocktails. Ray's reputation as a "charming psychopath" grew. He was able to befriend almost anyone, using his charm to get what he wanted—money, protection, or simply influence. His appearance, though still "skinny-fat" and not the most physically imposing, didn't matter anymore. Ray had learned the art of manipulation, and he used it to his advantage.

Soon, his path led him to an even darker association—the anti-heroes. These government-sanctioned killers were hired to deal with the world's unrepentant criminals—murderers, rapists, and those who had committed heinous acts without remorse. They were paid $250 per kill, and they believed in dispensing justice by taking lives. Ray was drawn to them, seeing a reflection of his own desire for vengeance and retribution.

It wasn't long before Ray met Michael, a member of the South American Anti-Hero Organization (S.A.A.H.O.). Michael was tall, wearing a black hoodie and a skull mask, his identity hidden behind the ominous appearance. He saw something in Ray—potential. The organization could use someone like him.

"Hello, Ray. I see potential in you," Michael said, his voice cold and measured.

Ray, surprised, responded, "What? How did you see through my plan when 950 others couldn't?"

Michael smirked. "Simple. I'm smarter than you. So, are you going to join us?"

Ray was taken aback. "Join what?"

"You'll see the organization in the morning. Get some rest and meet me tomorrow."

Michael left, and Ray lay in his bed, a mixture of fear and excitement bubbling inside him. What would the morning bring?