The morning after 300 people suddenly drop dead for no apparent reason, a young man walks into a police station to confess to the murders.

----

In the twenty four hours since the first confirmed reports hit the news of people just dropping dead for no apparent reason, a total of 357 known fatalities had been reported by the authorities. Spanning four states, with Southern New Jersey being hit the hardest, the victims had absolutely nothing in common with each other and this left law enforcement scratching their collective heads. Unable to provide much needed answers to a frightened public, the outcry on social media was swift and scathing.

By the next morning, the event was the top story around the world. Talked about on every major media outlet across television, radio, newspaper and the internet. Everyone was asking the same question..., "What killed all those people?"

The first big break in the case came just after dawn when investigators finally figured out, with relative ease, that all the victims, except for three, had all lived in Camden County, NJ. Now that an epicenter had been established, all manner of law enforcement, made up of Federal, State and local authorities, descended upon the residences of the deceased.

While the FBI, ATF and HOMELAND SECURITY wrangled with one another about who would take the lead in the high profile case, truth be told, the news media was doing much the same. Caught between the insanity of the press, the aggressiveness of law enforcement and the terror of the event, the citizens of Camden County found themselves with front row seats in an unbelievable nightmare.

As the coroner's office worked feverishly around the clock to find the causes of death in the victims, others on social media were making certain videos go viral that happened to capture some of those unfortunate souls dropping dead.

---

It was just around noon on the second day when a clean shaven, good looking young man, about 19 years old, walked into the Bellmawr Police Station. Stepping up to the front desk window on the basement level, he rang the buzzer. About a minute later, a uniformed officer approached and asked matter of factly, "Can I help you?"

The teenager stood there for a moment, eyeing the cop. When he failed to answer, the officer sternly repeated himself, "I said, Can I help you?"

"I'd like to speak to Detective Rankin," the teen said in a soft spoken voice.

"I'm afraid that's impossible," the officer replied. "He's off today."

Lowering his head down and forward, the teen glared at the cop. "Don't lie to me," he warned.

The officer stopped what he was doing and focused his attention on the teen. "Excuse me," he raised his voice.

The teen tilted his head slightly to his left, as if he were listening to someone whispering in his ear. After several seconds, he looked back at the cop behind the thick glass window and smiled. "I know Detective Rankin is sitting at his desk, just on the other side of that wall, drinking coffee and cleaning a spill off his tie."

The cop just stared at the teen. Shocked.

"What is it you want, Mr......?"

The teen stared the cop down. "I'm here to confess," he said nonchalantly.

The officer raised his eyebrows, as if he expected to be played.

"Confess to what?"

The teen remained silent for a few seconds, until he smiled and answered, "Murder."

---

The security door to the police station opened up and Detective Tom Rankin emerged wearing a white dress shirt and a noticably stained tie. Standing about five feet from the teen, he stood in the doorway and gave him a suspicious once over glance before speaking.

"I'm Dective Rankin," he identified himself. "And you are?"

The tall, thin teenager turned to face the officer with a creepy smile. "Legion," he answered.

"Legion," Rankin doubtfully repeated. "Well Legion, won't you come in."

Stepping back and to the side, Rankin held the security door open as Legion entered. Staring at the teen as he passed through the doorway, Rankin felt the hair on the back of his neck stand up. Although nothing about the kid, physically speaking, came across as intimidating, there was something definitely unnerving about his demeanor and his lack of respect in the presence of law enforcement.

"Down the hall, first door on your left", Rankin instructed.

As he began to follow Legion, the desk officer called out to him with a short whistle. Glancing over his left shoulder, Rankin peered through the doorway of the dispatch room.

"Tom, come here," the officer softly called out.

Rankin looked back at the teen who was already standing at the door, with his back towards him.

"Just wait for me right there," he commanded.

In a most creepy way, Legion replied, "Sure thing...., Tom."

The way the kid answered him made Rankin do a double take, as the hair on the back of his neck stood up again. What creeped him out this time was that, not only did the teen's voice sound completely different than before, it also sounded...

Disembodied.

Stepping into the dispatch room, Rankin scratched an itch over his right eyebrow as he approached the other officer.

"Yeah..., Bob? What's up?"

Bob held up a TV remote, spun around and pointed it at a 32" flat screen TV sitting on a nearby desk.

"More people have begun dying," he said.

Turning the volume up on a live broadcast from a local Philadelphia news station, the two stood side by side and watched intently as the news anchor brought the situation home.

---

"Unless you've been living under a rock for the last 27 hours, you probably know by now that the official death toll from yesterday's still unexplained event remains at 357 people dead, with all but 3 of them residents of Camden County New Jersey. However, it appears that the nightmare isn't over yet. Within the last ten minutes, we have received several more unconfirmed reports of at least another 24 people mysteriously dropping dead for no apparent reason, bringing today's number up to 36 more possible victims."

---

Rankin and the dispatch officer, glanced at one another.

The reporter continued.

---

"Speaking on condition of anonymity, sources from the county coroner's office are telling us that in none of the victims already autopsied can any reason be found to explain the causes of death. As they put it, "it's as if they just had the life taken right out of them."

---

Just then a side door to the outside opened up and another officer entered the room. Carrying a tray of coffee he had just picked up from the local WaWa, he approached his compodreas bearing gifts.

"Help yourselves," he said, but Rankin and the dispatcher quickly shushed him.

The reporter went on....

---

"One of the theories being offered as to what may have caused the sudden deaths of all the victims without leaving any visible signs to how they died is some kind of fast acting poison. But just how such a poison might have been delivered to so many people who seemingly have nothing in common with each other other than where they lived is still unknown at the moment."

---

Suddenly a phone began ringing, snapping the men back into the now. Turning the volume back down on the television, the dispatcher looked at Rankin and shook his head.

"This is a nightmare," he murmured.

"You got that right," Rankin replied.

Turning to the uniformed officer who was still holding the freshly brewed coffee, he asked, "Which one?"

"The one with your initials on the lid."

Removing his cup from the tray with his left hand, Rankin asked, "Fixed?"

"Absolutely," the officer acknowledged.

"Thanks."

Passing by his desk on his way back to Legion, Rankin grabbed a yellow notepad, tucked it up under his left arm pit and went back out into the hall. As soon as he rounded the wall, he immediately noticed the teen was missing. A chill suddenly ran down his spine, stopping him in dead in his tracks. That's when he heard Legion call out to him.

"I'm in here....., Tom."

That's when he noticed it.

The door to the interrogation room was ajar.

Peeking inside, Rankin found Legion sitting in the suspects chair, on the far side of the table, with his hands folded. Cautiously glancing all around before stepping into the doorway, he looked suspiciously at the teen.

"I told you to wait by the door. How the hell did you get in here?"

"The door was open," Legion replied with a creepy smile.

"Bullshit," Rankin snapped back angrily. "This room is always locked."

Unfolding his hands, the teen leaned back into his chair and tilted his head to the side. "Well, Tom", Legion sarcastically asked. "If that were true then how did I get in here?"

Rankin just stood there eyeing him.

Sensing hostility, Legion tried to lighten the mood with a joke. "Hey, Tom, I'll make you a deal. Let's get this interrogation over with and I promise you, I'll never confess to murder again."

After a few seconds, Rankin laughed to himself under his breath. Not because he thought the teen had said anything particularly funny, but at the air of arogance this kid had towards law enforcement. Taking a step into the room, he pulled the door closed behind him with his right hand and upon hearing the latch engage, he stopped.

"Did you hear that?" Rankin asked as glanced over at Legion.

Legion grinned. "Yeah."

"That's the sound of the lock automatically engaging. No one, and I mean, NO ONE, ever gets in or out of here without a passcode."

"Why, Tom...," Legion quipped as Rankin walked up to the table, "I'm almost offended that you doubt my sincerity."

Dropping the notepad onto the table, the detective sat down in a chair, opposite the teen. After taking his first sip from the coffee, he placed it off to the right side of the table, pulled out a pen from his breast pocket and clicked it.

Then Rankin looked the teen in eyes.

For nearly half a minute, you could have heard a pin drop as the two stared silently at one another, sizing the other up, until Legion broke the tense stand off first.

"Is this how you begin all your interrogations..., Tom? Making your suspect feel uncomfortable."

"You got it all wrong, kid," Rankin replied. "You're not a suspect yet."

"Why not?," Legion asked, sounding somewhat offended.

"Because I don't believe you committed any crime. Let alone murder someone," Rankin smirked.

"Really?" Legion asked disbelieving.

Rankin nodded his head.

"Yes, really."

Putting his pen to the notepad, Rankin wrote the name, LEE, then paused.

"How do you spell your last name?"

Legion laughed to himself.

As Rankin watched, the teen tilted his head slightly back and to the left as if he were listening to someone whisper in his ear. Never once breaking eye contact with him, Rankin soon found himself amused at the prospect that either the teen was pretending to be crazy or that he really was off his rocker.

After about nearly half a minute, the teen leaned all the way forward, getting as close to Rankin as the table between them would allow. Staring him directly in the eyes, he said, "I'm ready to make my confession now."

"That's good, that's good. We're moving in the right direction," Rankin teased, "but I ain't taking nothing from you until you give me your name."

"It's Legion", the teen answered.

"Yeah, you said that earlier," Rankin replied, but he then added, "I get that your first name is LEE. How do you spell your last name?"

"It's Legion," the teen retorted. "One word."

Rankin smirked.

"One word, huh? Like, CHER?"

The teen sat back in his chair again. "Who?"

The detective laughed.

"So Legion is the name you go by."

The teen nodded, "Mmmm Hmm."

Rankin then pointed to the teen's imaginary friend. "And what's their name?"

Legion smiled and looked to his left, where an invisible friend could have been standing. Then he glanced back at the detective.

"LEGION."

"Legion," Rankin scoffed. "So your imaginary friend's name and your name are one and the same?"

The teen's demeanor drastically changed.

"Legion is One. Legion is Many."

Rankin stared at the kid, then laughed, "Legion is crazy."

Clicking his pen back into the off position, Rankin put it back into his breast pocket, stood up and sighed, "I think we are done here now."

"Where are you going?" Legion asked in a totally deeper voice than it had been throughout their conversation.

The hair on the back of Rankin's neck stood up again. It was the same disembodied voice he had heard spoken earlier out in the hallway. Not certain how the teen was changing his voice to such a degree, he just stared down at the teen still sitting in the chair across the table from him.

"I'm leaving," Rankin told him. "I haven't got time for wannabes when there's a real crisis going on out there." Then he turned and started entering a code into the door.

"Are you sure you wanna leave without knowing why you're going to be dead in twenty minutes?"

Rankin stopped.

Turning around he glared at the teen.

"Are you threatening me," he inquired angrily.

Legion didn't flinch.

"No," he casually answered, "that would imply I was intending to do something. I'm saying, it's a guaranteed certainty now. Your going to die in nineteen minutes."

At that moment, Rankin exploded with anger. "All right, Mr. Legion," he shouted as he rushed from the door and around the table. "You wanted to be a suspect, well now you got your wish!"

Rushing up behind the teen, Rankin slammed him forward, down onto the table. Grabbing one arm and then the other, he placed the handcuffs on him in a matter of seconds, then backed away.

Lifting his head off the table, Legion started laughing as he sat back up in his chair. Staring straight ahead at the door, he taunted the detective. "Handcuffing me doesn't stop the inevitable, Tom."

Rankin walked around to the other side of the table and sat down in the chair. The two locked eyes. "Maybe not...," he sighed, "but it makes me feel better. How's it feel to be a suspect now?"

Legion grinned.

"Well, Tom," he began, "now that you're finally calling me a suspect, can we move on with the fucking interrogation!"

Rankin leaned back in his chair.

"Sure we can," he answered. Then glancing down at his watch, he added, "In about nineteen minutes."

"Eighten minutes," Legion shot back.

Rankin blew his statement off with a laugh.

"See, Tom, here's how it's gonna go down," Legion began to lament. "The first to die will be patrolman John Dickenson, followed by desk officer, Bob Terrell and then you. Two minutes after that, I will be walking out here to continue my killing spree."

Rankin shook his head in disbelief.

"You got one hell of an imagination that's for sure."

"Maybe you don't believe me...."

"I dont!," Rankin quickly interrupted.

"That's fine," Legion replied, "but who are you to make that decision for your co-workers?"

Tapping his right index finger repeatedly on the table, Rankin remained quiet. Then he took another sip of his coffee.

"Seventeen,"Legion reminded him.

Rankin was about to say something smartass, when he suddenly caught himself. After rethinking his position on what the teen was telling him, he took a deep breath and exhaled.

"Ok...., convince me why I should believe," he sighed, "because I personally think you're full of shit".

"Well now," smiled Legion, "looks like we're finally making progress here."

"Convince me quick, or I might just gamble with my co-workers lives after all," Rankin threatened him.

"Your wife's calling you," Legion notified him.

"What?!"

At that moment, Rankin's cell phone started ringing. Without breaking eye contact with the teen, he removed his phone from the case attached to the right side of his belt and held it up in front of him. Glancing down at the screen, he saw the words, WIFE brightly lit up on it.

Pressing a button, he answered the call and immediately held the phone up to his ear.

"Yeah, Babe..., what's up?"

The voice coming across the airwaves was that of a hysterical woman, screaming and crying about something. Unable to understand what she was saying, he shushed her.

"Babe you gotta slow down," he calmly said to her, "I can't understand what you're trying to say. Start over again and tell me what's wrong."

"Our next door neighbor, John just dropped dead on our front lawn," she shouted so loudly, that Rankin couldn't hide what was being said.

Legion winced at the news of the neighbor's death.

"What?"

"I was outside on our front lawn, talking to him about those deaths in the news," she explained to him through an endless amount of tears. "Then all of a sudden, I swear to God, his eyes rolled up into the back of his head and he dropped to the ground!"

Legion started shaking his head while feigning a sympathetic tsk tsk tsk, but Rankin ignored him as he tried to grasp the scope of what his wife had told him.

"Did you call 911?"

"Sixteen minutes now," Legion reminded him, doing his best to keep the pressure on.

Rankin glared silently at him, pursing his lips as he stuck his left hand middle finger right in his face.

Legion shook his head and laughed.

"Yes I fucking called 911," she shouted hysterically. "Now I'm calling you! I need you to come home now! I'm frightened. They just said on the news that more people have begun dying today!"

"All right, hon. Just calm down. I'll be home in twenty minutes," Rankin assured her.

"Don't lie to her," Legion told him.

"I love you," he told her.

"She's never gonna see you again," he added.

"Bye."

As soon as Rankin hung up the phone, he leaned over the table and slapped Legion hard across the face, nearly knocking him off of the chair.

"Don't you ever fucking say something that might scare my wife!," Rankin screamed at him. "I don't care who the fuck you THINK you are!"

Rising back up into his chair, Legion moved his jaw from side to side, trying to shake off the sting of being slapped. Licking blood off his bottom lip, he locked eyes with Rankin and began to laugh,"You are a fascinating human being."

"Forgive me if I don't say thank you," Rankin retorted as he put his cell phone back in his belt holder.

Tilting his head to left, Legion nodded a couple of times as if he were in agreement to something being whispered in his ear. After several seconds, he sat up straight.

"Got great news for you, Tom", Legion spoke up. "Today's your lucky day."

"Oh yeah? How's that?"

"For putting your hands on us, we decided to only take 5 minutes off of the time you have left", Legion informed him, "So you're now down from fifteen to ten."

Rankin mocked him, "Yeah..., Whatever."

Legion watched him for a moment.

"Still don't believe, Tom?"

"No. Can't say that I do," Rankin replied.

Legion sighed with a big smile, "Now let me make you a true believer once and for all."

"I doubt it," Rankin assured him.

"That's good, that's good," Legion said softly, "so when I do make you a believer, it'll be that much more enjoyable seeing the fear in your eyes."

"You're a sick fuck," Rankin informed him.

"I've been called worse," Legion laughed.

"I'm sure you have," Rankin speculated, "but you got the rest of the day to convince me you're worthy of something stronger."

"Ok you're down to nine minutes here," Legion reminded Rankin, "so I hope you don't mind picking up the pace a bit."

Rankin ignored him.

"Tom," Legion yelled out. "I need you to pay attention. There's a folded up piece of paper in my shirt pocket right here," he instructed, using his chin to point to his pocket. "You need to look at the information on it."

Reluctantly, Rankin leaned across the table and reached out his right hand to remove the folded piece of paper from Legion's shirt pocket. Carefully opening it up, he quickly discovered that there were actually two pages together instead of one.

On the front and back of both was a typed list of names and addresses numbering almost 400 in all. Flipping the pages over several times while gazing at the list, he finally stopped in frustration.

"What exactly am I looking at it here?," Rankin tiredly asked.

Legion smiled happily from ear to ear. Busting with excitement, he began to brag.

"That..., Tom, is the list of everyone who died in yesterday's event, and everyone who is going to die by 2pm today."

For a brief moment, Rankin just gazed at the list, not fully comprehending what it was Legion was truly trying to tell him.

Then it hit him.

Raising his head slowly....

He locked eyes with Legion.

"Are you.....?"

He paused..., to wrap his head around the question.

"Are you trying to tell me, that you're claiming responsibility for everyone who died yesterday?"

Legion nodded, "Yes I am."

"Bullshit," Rankin replied, skeptical of his confession.

"You don't have to believe me," Legion warned Rankin. "The proof is right there in your hands. The FBI hasn't yet released an entire list of the names and addresses of yesterday's victims. But you're holding it right there in your hands."

Rankin smirked at Legion.

"You want me to believe that you came in here to confess to the murders of 357 people?"

"That was yesterday," Legion reiterated, "I'm also confessing to the murders of 48 more people by 2pm today. In fact, go to the back of page two. Then scroll down to number 36."

Rankin turned the second page over and slapped it down on the table. Using his right index finger, he ran it from the top down until he stopped at number 36. Reading the name beside it, he suddenly froze. It was that of his neighbor, the same one that his wife had referred to a few minutes before. Below that name were three more that he immediately recognized. His and the other two officers he was currently in the building with. Standing up from the table, Rankin turned and entered a code into the door.

"Ah see...," Legion said excitedly, "I got your attention now don't I."

Without saying a word, Rankin opened the door and stepped out into the hall, letting the door close by itself behind him. Just before it did, Legion shouted out one last thing.

"You got 8 minutes left!"

---

Stepping into the dispatch room, Rankin found his co-workers, John Dickenson and Bob Terrell standing in front of the TV, still watching the live news broadcast coming out of Philadelphia.

"Yo, Bob," Rankin called out to him.

Bob immediately turned around and upon seeing Tom, gasped. "Oh my God, Tom," he said breathlessly, "All hell is breaking loose everywhere."

That's when patrolman John Dickinson muted the television while shaking his head. Glancing up at Tom, he only confirmed what Bob had said. "It's very, very bad."

"What are you talking about?," Rankin asked.

"What happened HERE yesterday...," Bob began to explain, "the same thing is happening in every major city around the world. Here in the U.S., Canada, Europe...., everywhere."

"Whaaaaat.....?"

"The FBI is about to hold a press conference," John informed Rankin as he unmuted the TV. The three officers gathered around the television and watched intently as a stern looking man walked up to the podium. The sound of cameras clicking away and flashes of light emenated off screen. After a brief pause, the man looked directly into the camera and began to speak.

---

"Hello," the agent said softly, before clearing his throat and continuing on. "My name is Albert McKenzie. I'm currently in charge of the investigation trying to determine the cause of yesterday's tragedy that led to the untimely deaths of 357 Individuals. Unfortunately, what we originally hoped would be just a horrific localized event, has now revealed itself to be a nightmare on a global scale.

As most of you already know by now, what happened here in South Jersey less than 24 hours ago was just a precursor to today's world wide events, so that puts us a few hours ahead of everyone else in finding answers into the cause of all of this.

Well here's what we know so far.

One.

We can confidently say, with the upmost certainty, that what's happening here and around the world IS NOT the result of a pandemic, but rather a well coordinated terrorist attack. After careful scrutiny, we now believe that a previously unknown organization known as LEGION has recruited thousands of individuals to it's cause. We also believe that they are using some kind of slow acting poison to kill their victims that leaves no trace of itself behind after death, but just what that maybe is still unknown to us.

Two.

We have every reason to believe that what happened here yesterday was the result of an overzealous member of LEGION, who either by accident or on purpose, jumped the gun on the date of the planned attack, forcing the group to play their hand today instead of their original target date set sometime in the near future.

Three.

After working tirelessly throughout the night, my team of investigators have concluded beyond any shadow of a doubt, that the one thing that ties all of yesterday's victims together is that they all visited 1 of 2 different WaWa superstores before meeting their demise. With one store being located on the Black Horse Pike in Blackwood, NJ. The other being located on the Black Horse Pike in Runnemede, NJ. We have proven this through debit and credit card receipts and closed circuit video pulled from both stores.

And that leads us to number Four.

After going through hours of surveillance video, we have found a person of interest that we would very much like to find and question. So if you look to my left, you will see two different close up photos of the same man taken from both stores."

---

As soon as the pictures of the suspect appeared on the television screen, both Rankin and Bob instantly recognized it as Legion, causing them to react with great surprise.

"Holy shit," Bob blurted out. "We got him. We fucking got him."

"Unbelievable," Rankin said under his breath.

Patrolman John Dickinson was dumbfounded by their reaction. "What are you guys talking about?," he asked.

"Not even ten minutes before you showed up with the coffee, that fucker turned himself in to confess to murder," Bob gleefully explained.

"Bullshit," John uttered in disbelief.

"It's true," Rankin added. "I've been interrogating him in the back room since he got here...., which reminds me." Turning towards Bob, he said, "I need you to do a favor me ASAP."

Bob nodded his head.

"Sure what is it?"

Rankin handed him the two pages he got off of the teen. "I need you to verify as many names on this list as you possibly can to any of the 357 victims from yesterday. I don't believe the FBI has released such a list yet, but this fucker's telling me he has everyone of them right here."

"I'm on it," he assured his friend as he snatched the list from his hand. Sitting down at a desk in front of a desktop computer, he immediately logged in to the server.

Rankin started back towards the interrogation room, yelling out to Bob, "You got four and a half minutes to tell me something."

"Wait a minute," Bob shouted back as he glanced over his shoulder towards his friend standing in the doorway. "Is this for real?"

"Is what for real," Rankin asked.

Motioning to the list, Bob stated loudly, "All our names are on the list."

John perked up. "What?"

"Yes I know," Rankin replied. "You got four minutes."

---

Closing the door behind him, Rankin sat down at the table across from Legion, doing his best to avoid making eye contact with him, but Legion started right in.

"Cutting it kinda close there aren't you, Tom? I mean, you're down to only five minutes left to live now."

Rankin remained quiet, looking away until he found the stomach to do otherwise.

"Sooooooooo...., did you look into that list of names I gave you?"

Again, Rankin ignored him.

"Hey I'm talking to you," Legion declared, but when Rankin failed to acknowledge him again, he finally figured out why.

"Wait a minute," Legion exclaimed excitedly, "I know what's going on here. You're finally convinced I'm not a fraud!!" Sitting all the way back in his chair, Legion began to gloat, "Well whadda you know..., the fucking great Tom Rankin now knows who the real fucking man is here and with only four minutes left for me to rub your nose in it."

Rankin finally looked up at Legion, doing everything he could to poker face his true thoughts and feelings.

"Yeah...., you made a believer out of me," Rankin groveled. "I should've never doubted you."

"Damn right"

"Can I ask you a question though," Rankin sheepishly asked Legion.

"Certainly," he replied.

"How did you do it? They're saying on the news that it's some kind of poison."

Legion laughed.

"It's not a poison," Legion began to explain, "it's more sinister than that."

"Not a poison," Rankin repeated. "Then what is it?"

Legion leaned in close.

"Reach into my other shirt pocket," he said softly, "but do it quick, because you're down to three minutes."

As fast as he could, Rankin reached across the table with his right hand and removed a small zip lock baggie from Legion's shirt pocket. Holding it out in front of his face as he fell back into his chair, Rankin found himself staring at baggie filled with what appeared to be several hundred iridescent beads.

Bewildered by it all, he just simply asked, "What the hell is it?"

"Embryos....."

"Come again?"

"Embryos to a creature known as the SOUL EATERS. Very rare and always 100% fatal."

Pulling out a plastic, pocket sized, magnifying glass from the breast pocket of his shirt, Rankin put it up to his eye and started examining closely a few of the beads inside the baggie.

"So this is what Legion is using to kill everyone?"

Legion grinned.

"Oh, it doesn't kill you," he answered matter of factly. "It immobilzes you. Paralyzes you. Making the victim appear dead when they are, in fact, still very much alive, conscious and aware of everything going on around them."

Shocked by Legion's revelation, Rankin put the baggie and his magnifying glass down on the table. He thought about all the autopsies done on the 'dead' victims and all the pain and terror inflicted on them, even still.

"Why?", Rankin solemnly asked.

"Because the victims need to remain alive to serve as both food and incubators for the SOUL EATERS to reach their final stage of development."

"No," Rankin reiterated, "I mean why would you take part in the unnecessary suffering of so many human beings?"

Legion laughed loudly.

"Come on, Tom," he exclaimed. "It should be the most obvious thing about me! Can't you figure it out?"

Rankin sat nearly motionless on the other side of the table, gazing blankly at Legion, barely shaking his head in response to the question.

"Well, Tom, since we're down to the two minute warning and both of your buddies are already dead, I guess I'll go ahead and tell you answer. For fame. I did it for the fame. Okay? I know it sounds superficial, but I'm alright with that."

"Fame?", muttered Rankin.

"Yeah..., I know, right," Legion said gleefully, "and by this time tomorr.... "

BLAM!!!

A single gunshot exploded loudly in the interrogation room as a bullet tore through Legion's forehead and blasted it's way out the back of his skull, into the wall behind him. The impact from the bullet strike was so powerful, it sent his lifeless body cartwheeling backwards, knocking the table over on it's side and Rankin's coffee to the floor.

When the smoke cleared, Rankin stood up from the chair he was sitting in. For a few seconds, he stared at Legion's dead body, waiting to hear the screaming and shouting of his two buddies coming to check up on him, but there was only silence. Turning towards the door behind him, he glanced down at his feet and noticed the spilled coffee spreading across the tiles and.....,

Something else.

Kneeling down for a closer look, he could see what looked like tiny black worms, about five in all, struggling to swim in the thinning pool of coffee on the floor. Taking in a deep breath, he stood back up, entered a code into the lock and exited out into the hall.

---

Stepping into the dispatch room, Rankin moved slowly and without purpose, still holding his weapon in his right hand, but pointed safely at the floor. He was only a few steps in from the hall when he came upon his friend, Bob, lying still on the floor near the desk where he had been on the computer just ten minutes earlier.

Rankin stopped.

He had hoped against hope that he would find his friends alive, but when no one came to investigate the gunshot, it became self-evident that Legion may have been more truthful than he gave him credit for. It also meant, that, if his friends were dead, then his on death was guaranteed to be close behind.

Moving silently further into the room, going desk by desk, Rankin found John's body just a couple of steps beyond Bob. Crumpled down on the floor in front of the TV, it was as if he just collapsed while standing there watching the news.

Right then, an overwhelming sense of dread engulfed him, leaving him traumatized and defeated. Tears began to roll down his face, brought on by a nervous system overwhelmed by too many powerful emotions. Knowing his own demise was just moments away, compounded by the loss of his friends and knowing he would never see his beautiful wife again.

It left him a destroyed man.

Feeling his strength slipping away, Rankin dropped down to his knees, directly in front of the TV, catching himself just enough to get his ass to fall back into a sitting position on his heels. His weapon, too heavy for his hand to hold anymore, slip through his dying fingers and fell to the floor between him and John's body.

With his fate sealed, he found himself strangely drawn to the live television broadcast still taking place with FBI agent Albert McKenzie. In his final minute of life, Rankin watched the live coverage on the flat screen TV.

---

"The suspect we are looking for hovered around the coffee islands at both WaWa superstores for several hours yesterday, placing what we believe to be some kind of deadly toxin into the already opened containers of various coffee creamers. He even took the time to throw out empty flavors just so he could open new ones and poison those as well.

What makes what he did even more egregious is that, while pretending to be a fellow customer, he struck up conversations time and time again with some of the victims he knew were going to die after drinking their coffees. Not once did he display any compassion towards his fellow man by stopping his evil mission.

We now believe this same individual has struck again, using the same M.O. at another WaWa superstore located on Creek Road in Bellmawr, NJ."

---

Upon hearing the revelation of useful information that he and his friends never got, but could've used, Rankin mustard up enough strength to mumble, "Motherffffuckers."

Then, he fell over sideways to his right, landing on top of patrolman John, before rolling over onto his back beside him. Unable to move his arms and legs, he found his body screaming for oxygen as his breathing grew more shallow. Turning his head to the right, he found himself staring into John's empty coffee cup which had spilled onto the floor, probably when he had collapsed and died.

Inside the empty cup, Rankin could see tiny black worms struggling to swim in what little coffee remained in it. In his final gasp for air, he looked up towards the ceiling again with his mouth agape and then he was gone.

Strangely, enough, Rankin found himself still conscious long after when he knew that he should have been dead. He could even feel the pain of dying as his body slowly shut down around him. Yet, there he was, still staring up at the ceiling, his eyes permanently fixed forward.

That's when he saw it.

A dark shadowy figure, like animated black smoke, approaching him on his left side. Then, after stopping beside him, it slowly began to lean down over him, as if it were taking a closer look at his face.

Rankin suddenly found himself afraid. What the fuck was he looking at? Moreover, what the fuck was looking back at him?! Was it the Grim Reaper? A demon? Or was it just an illusion? Something his failing eyes and mind was concocting as they began to die.

But then it spoke to him.

Calling out to him by name.

So familiar and unforgettable.

It was Legion!!!

"Tom Rankin," Legion spoke his name. "How you doin' buddy?"

All of a sudden..., and quite unexpectedly, the teenager walked up and stood beside the black smokey figure. Kneeling down close to Rankin's face, he gave him a big smile.

"Hey! I just wanted to come over and say goodbye," he said. "I truly enjoyed our conversation. Thanks for the memories."

Then Legion stood back up.

"But now I must leave. I'm personally going over to your house right now to slaughter your wife and your unborn child. Oh that's right, she didn't tell you about it yet, because she was going to wait till Saturday to surprise you with the news. Oh well."

Then Legion turned and walked away without saying another word. The animated smoke figure then followed.

As Rankin lay there lifeless on the floor, staring up at the ceiling, no one could hear the screams of terror going on in his mind. He tried thinking of ways to save his family as he imagined Legion going out into the world and driving away, but all he could do was listen to the television interview still going on with Agent Albert McKenzie.

---

"There's one more thing I need to inform the public about", McKenzie addressed the reporters, "and I highly suggest everyone heed my words, because it could save your life."

---

As McKenzie spoke, Rankin's mind could see the coffee island in the Bellmawr WaWa, as customers helped themselves to cups and cups of coffee, pouring gallons of previously open containers of creamer into their drinks, completely unaware of the breaking news.

"I would suggest everyone think twice about ingesting anything previously opened in a public place," McKenzie warned, "That means, coffee creamers, ketchup bottles, sugar etc.

"In today's day and age, as sad as it is to say, we allow ourselves to become too trusting. Expecting the best out of others as others should rightfully expect from us, but that is the one weakness in being a good person that monsters in our society will use to harm us! To kill us! And when it happens, we will always find ourselves caught off guard because of it."

---

At a plain white house located somewhere in Bellmawr, a knock on a door was answered by a beautiful woman with smudged eyeliner. Clearly someone had been having a bad day so far.

"Yes," the long dark haired lady said as she opened the door to a complete stranger.

A very recognizable voice replied, "Hi there, Mrs. Rankin."

By Michael Fright

From: United States

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