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2024. Eighth of August. 11:04 pm.

Richmond, Virginia. Somewhere out in the woods.

Clark. Parchek. Stromeyer. Roman. Haines. Radvi.

Six men stood before the condemned. They were by a lake, in the dead of night. Three cars parked nearby. Welles hung from a lonesome tree, but not by his neck - they would not let him go so easily.

He was bound, and gagged. He’d killed fifteen people earlier tonight. He was crying.

Haines - the boss - stepped forward. He’d lost his wife just hours ago. He had a small canister of gasoline in his hand. Walked up to Welles - almost said something. Didn’t. Just stared him down before twisting the cap off of the canister. Doused Welles with most of it. Everyone heard him struggle.

“Clark. Matches.”

Clark stepped forward and handed a pack of matches to Haines. He was the only one out of the group whose family wasn’t dead. Welles was caught before that could happen. He felt guilty among his friends.

Haines lit a match. He sheltered the flame in his hands, as if reluctant to let it go just yet. Welles struggled still. Haines whispered to himself.

[sub]“You deserve this.”[/sub]

He was convinced. He was just. He was good.

He threw the match and backed away. Welles lit up instantly. A light in the dark, isolated in the woodland, no one to witness it but the six men.

“Let’s go.”

Five of them turned towards the parked cars. Seen all they had to see. Radvi stayed and watched Welles burn. Burn and scream. Flesh melting. Flickers of light falling down onto the dirt beneath him.

This wasn’t right.

He took out his gun. He kept his eyes on Welles. This wasn’t right. He slowly raised the gun, his breaths becoming louder. Aimed at Welles’ head. This wasn’t right. This wasn’t-

“Sir?”

Radvi’s eyes went wide. He turned around. There was… a child? A young boy. Short, narrowed eyes, unkempt brown hair. Collared shirt, tie, vest, dress pants and shoes.

“Wh-” Radvi stammered.

There was no child there. There was [i]never[/i] a child there. This wasn’t how it happened. This was wrong. Radvi stood with his gun lowered, between the child and Welles’ burning body. His head began to hurt. He breathed, and he spoke.

“Who are you?”

“My name is Matthew. I’m a bit lost.”