The night was cruel.
The Harrington house, once warm and full of life, now felt more like a crypt. Dust coated every corner, and the air was thick with grief. Pictures of Lukas still hung on the walls, but they were fading—just like the light in Michael's eyes. He had stopped being a father. He was something else now.
A storm lashed outside, lightning flickering against the windows. Thunder cracked like war drums as Michael sat in front of the glowing blueprints that detailed his machine—his creation. He hadn't spoken to Elizabeth in days. She stayed in their bedroom, crying herself into silence. He didn't blame her. This kind of pain hollowed you out until there was nothing left but revenge.
The names were etched on a worn sheet of paper, each one numbered.
Mark Thomas
Cheese Heather
Kevin Mason
Nara Lee
Enzo Murry
Bee Sin
Dina Montana
Marco Wall
Freddie Ray
Slick Ross
Tino Shaw
Missy Kirk
Each name was crossed by a red line, except Mark's. His would be the first to bleed.
Mark walked the streets like he owned them. His jacket drenched from the rain, a cigarette dangling from his mouth, and a bruised knuckle from a fight earlier that day. He liked hurting people. It made him feel real. Alive. But he had no idea he was being watched.
Michael followed quietly from the shadows, his eyes dead-set, every step calculated. He knew Mark's routine—the way he always detoured through the old freight yard after school. It was quiet, forgotten, and most importantly, out of sight. Perfect for what had to be done.
Mark passed a rusted container and turned the corner. That's when Michael struck. The steel pipe slammed against the side of Mark's head. He dropped instantly, his cigarette sizzling in a puddle. Blood pooled around him.
Michael didn't hesitate. He wrapped the boy in a tarp and dragged him to the back of his van. The engine purred, swallowed by the storm's roar. The drive home was silent, except for the steady drip of water from Mark's soaked clothes.
Down in the basement, Mark awoke strapped upright in the center of the machine—wires connected to his arms, his head held firm in a vice-like grip. His eyes widened in terror as he saw Michael standing across from him.
"Who the f—"
"Quiet."
Michael stepped closer, placing a photograph on Mark's chest. It was Lukas—smiling, radiant, alive.
"You know him, don't you?"
Mark blinked, confused.
"That's the kid from school, right? The stupid one?"
Michael didn't answer. He simply stared.
"You were one of them," he said at last. "You hurt him. You watched him suffer."
Mark struggled, the leather straps creaking. "I didn't kill him, man! I didn't even touch him most days! That was Cheese! You got the wrong guy!"
"No," Michael whispered. "You were all the same. You stood by and let it happen. You laughed. You're not innocent."
Mark screamed as Michael threw the switch.
The machine came alive.
Electric arcs shot between the four pillars, pulsing in rhythm with Mark's heartbeat. His body convulsed, eyes rolling back, skin blistering, mutating. His screams turned guttural, inhuman.
Bones snapped like twigs. His spine twisted. Fingers extended into claws. Skin peeled and healed in violent waves. When it finally stopped, silence fell. The transformation was complete.
Inside the fogged glass tube, the creature breathed—slow, deep, hungry breaths. Its eyes were pale and hollow.
Michael stood before it. His hands trembled, not from fear… but from awe.
"You are no longer Mark," he said. "You are Wrath."
The tube hissed open. Wrath stepped out, dripping with residual fluid, steam curling off his monstrous form. He was tall, distorted—his mouth full of jagged teeth, and a chest that moved like something inside was still alive. His growl shook the concrete floor. Michael didn't flinch.
"Your job," he said softly, "is simple."
A picture dropped into Wrath's clawed hand. It was Cheese.
"Find him. Make him suffer."
Wrath tilted his head and vanished into the storm.
At the school the next morning, the halls were unusually quiet. A few students whispered by the lockers. Others clutched their phones. Mark Thomas was missing.
No calls. No sightings. No messages.
Missy and Ali sat alone at the back of the cafeteria. They looked worried, but not surprised.
"Something's going on," Missy said. "I told you. Ever since Lukas…"
Ali nodded. "And that man at the funeral. Lukas's dad. Did you see his eyes?"
"I don't think he ever blinked."
BangBangs huddled near the vending machines. Cheese looked pissed.
"Where the fuck is he?" he snapped.
"I texted him," said Kevin. "Nothing."
"Cops better not be sniffing around. We don't need any heat right now."
"They won't find anything. We covered our tracks."
Cheese leaned against the wall, fuming. But deep down, something felt wrong.
That night, as thunder rolled again through the city, a shadow climbed the outer walls of Cheese's apartment. A growl echoed in the wind. Wrath was close.