I’m coming

Hello everyone,

I am the torturer . You can call me that, it’s what I’ve been called for as long as I remember, or maybe I don’t remember myself the way you think. You’re receiving these words through my captive, a man from Boston who doesn’t truly understand what he’s writing, because I don’t need anyone to understand me. He’s the writer, I’m the speaker. Either way, the result is the same.

I read the story about me that was published recently, and you were sure it would be erased after all this time. The truth? You hoped it would disappear, didn’t you? But no. Not this time. This time I don’t care whether the story stays or not. I decide what happens, and this story—it's still alive. It won’t be erased.

The reason is simple – I decided to let it live. It’s not just a story about me, it’s also a warning. A warning to you. You have little time to understand who I am, maybe more than you realize. But soon you’ll find out you understood less than you thought.

You think you’re ready for me? Wrong. You’re not ready for something like this, and I’m not talking just about me. Little Israel, you don’t understand what it looks like when I’m on my way to you. All the way from Europe, I crossed oceans, I crossed continents. All of this for you, to reach you. Now that I’m here, I can feel the pressure. You know it, don’t you? You just don’t know what will happen.

My game isn’t for everyone. Last warning: behave yourselves, be good little children, Because you won't see the bad guys again.

And speaking of the previous story, let me remind you how it ended in the actor’s journal. You always think the story was about someone else, but you don’t know the line that connects the actor’s story to what I do. You don’t understand how I think. This is how it ended:

"I tried to escape from him, from the horrible answer, from that monstrous machine, but he caught me. He wasn’t like I thought. All the time I tried to fight, to escape, but something about him wasn’t human. This elevator, all the doors that slammed shut, I was trapped there. Never in my life did I think I’d die in an elevator. If only I knew... if only I knew that this was the only way out. I can’t take back what I did. Not to Maria, not to anyone. I won’t come back. This is it, I won’t come back."

Such a sad story, isn’t it? I don’t know why, but I found it funny. That’s how it always is with people like him. They think they understand the world, but they don’t understand anything. Not him, not anyone else. Anyone who stands in my way, I’ll take care of them. It’s not personal. It’s just – my way.

I killed him in the end. He got too close to understanding the way I see the world. He couldn’t handle it. He learned too much, and spoke too much. The secret was out.

I haven’t always been like this. I used to have a normal life, like any child.

I was born in 1982, just an ordinary kid, or at least, that’s how I was until the fateful twist in my life. I was a happy child. Truly happy. Until one day, everything exploded.

It all started with that horrific accident. We were a regular family, moving to a new house, renovations. Everything was fine until that moment it all collapsed. The stairs gave way. I was eight years old. I almost died. The scars never healed. Not physically, not mentally.

I had eyes once, ordinary eyes. Eyes that expressed emotions, love, happiness. Not anymore. Everything that happened after was a long process of them changing into something else. Something terrifying. Something inhuman.

My eyes... they became different. Everyone who stared into them could see the divide between the world before the accident, and the world after. It wasn’t just a “physical flaw.” No. It was more than that. My face, the face that became something else, never gave me peace. Every day I asked myself how my family, who should have supported me, could turn away from me like that. How they, like everyone else, turned me into the subject of a joke. I don’t remember the picture I had in my mind before the accident. Only the red, the blood, the pain.

At school? Laughter. Mockery. All the time. I’ll never forget their laughter. Always laughing, always mocking. The teachers did nothing. The students did nothing. They didn’t understand my fear, what I went through. They didn’t know what it’s like to experience that kind of pain. So yeah, I managed to silence it all. The pain, the shame.

But there was one thing that was clear to me – I had to stay silent. I couldn’t let them see my tears. Not my pain. No emotion. Zero. It didn’t help. It only made the bullying worse. Bullies. Kids who forgot what it meant to be human.

And then came Louis. That son of a bitch. The man who symbolizes everything I hate. Everything that makes me sick.

I reached the point where there was no choice. Louis beat me, shoved me to the place where I had no choice but to fight. It was simple – either me, or him. And I decided – it would be him.

I reached the point where there was no room for mercy. I had no other options. I don’t think he understood that, but he was the root of everything I do now. The moment I got my approval for revenge.

When he lay there, crumpled, lifeless, on the floor... I felt no mercy. Only I was there. It was me. My humiliation turned into vengeance. The hatred inside me – it became an art form.

Since then I kill all the cowards and bullies who torment the helpless. I target those who call themselves celebrities, who think they are better than everyone else. I act with the goal of making the world a better place, and out of revenge, to get back at those who have hurt me or anyone else. Oh, and I also go after those who know too much about me. I don’t like exposure and the spotlight, I’ve had enough of it in my life.

And you, my friends, know too much about me. So it’s time for you to say goodbye to everyone, because I don’t like busybodies. And always remember…

I am the torturer