To succeed, hard work was necessary. John Creed had lived by those words since he was a child. It was hard to forget, considering his father pummeled that idea in him every day without a break.

“Go home, John. You know the company won’t pay for overtime,” said Michael, the manager of the marketing department.

“I’m almost finished. It won’t be long,” said John.

The manager sighed with a smile. It was hard to find a diligent rookie like John. More so in this current generation. “Don’t get burnout, kid. It’s only been six months,” the balding man said his piece and left John to his own.

The office was silent. Despite the brightly lit space, the lack of people made the whole place a bit eerie than usual. Yet John was indifferent. He was focused on his work, crunching the numbers as he clicked the noiseless keyboard. Even the sound of a perfectly well-placed cup falling near the water dispenser was ignored. Tough luck to whatever entity that tried to pull a prank on the zealous John. The man was deaf to whatever around him, and nothing mattered more to him than the work in front of him.

“Done,” John said. He smiled as he stretched his arms in the air. A groan escaped as he had been sitting there for the past three hours without a bathroom break. He glanced at the clock and it was close to striking eight. John packed things up and readied to leave.

Ring…

His phone rang. Pulling it out, he saw who it was. ‘Dwight Wilson? That’s weird. I didn’t recall giving him my phone number. But wait, when did I put him in my contact?’ despite the confusion, he answered. The flustered voice of a man in his late thirties rumbled in his eardrum.

“John! Are you still in the office?” Dwight asked.

“Yea, but I’m on my–”

“Good! You’ve got to help me,” Dwight cut John off before he could finish. “This isn’t how I usually function, but I forgot to send the document file to the regional manager. Stupid, Dwight, you fucking stupid piece of…”

John pulled his phone away. Hearing a grown man cursing and turning unstable was unpleasant to the ear. He even wondered whether this co-worker of his needed some counseling or perhaps a trip to a shrink.

“Dwight, it’s past eight and I’m tired. I need to go home,” said John. Whatever the deal with Dwight, it wasn’t his business.

“No, no, no! You’ve got to help me, John. My life is on the balance here. I, Dwight Wilson had never made an error in my work, and tonight shall not be that night where I fail!” Dwight said.

John felt the passion in Dwight’s voice, but he wanted nothing more than to go home.

“Dwight, I hope this isn’t the case of an office bullying, because if it is, I–”

“No, no, no! You shall not be mistaken. I, Dwight Wilson never condone the act of bullying. I’m a righteous mind, and a man that honors his colleagues, no matter how long they’ve worked…” Dwight cut John off as usual and kept rambling on until John focused back on listening.

“Please, John Creed. I beg of you as a fellow office mate, do me this favor and I shall heed to whatever you need no matter the time and place,” Dwight said.

It sounded like an empty promise. But considering he was dealing with Dwight Wilson, he thought this man might do more than what he promised. From what John heard about Dwight, the man wasn’t the type to play around.

“Please, John Creed,” Dwight begged.

John heard a loud thud from the other end of the line. He didn’t know why, but for some reason, he imagined Dwight was kneeling on both knees. Thank goodness it was just only a phone call and not a video.

“Wait, John. I need to turn this into a video call–”

“No!” John roared the moment he heard about a video call. “I’ll do it, Dwight. No need for a video call.”

“You sure? I’m currently kneeling, showing my servile attitude for asking for your kindness. From what I read about people from the east, this action is a show of–”

“It’s fine, Dwight. There’s no need for kneeling. Just guide me through your desktop, and I’ll help you with what you need,” With John’s urging, Dwight dropped his intention to video call.

He sat on Dwight’s table and turned on the computer. It seemed to be a long night for John. The passionate officemate aided John in helping his work. After a while.

“Done,” John said.

“Thank you, John Creed. I don’t know how I can repay this immense generosity, or would you like me to do a quarter of your work? Or is it too little? I’m fine with doing half, I guess this is a good way in testing my limits,” Dwight proposed something ridiculous.

But John felt it was overboard. “Just treat me lunch for a whole week, and that will settle it,” John said.

“Lunch? Well, I can’t complain since you asked for it. But a week? That’s too short. Your kindness deserves more than this. How about a month? Or perhaps, six months? No, no, no. I think a ye—”

“What’s that Dwight? I can’t hear you? I think the line is breaking up. Bzzz,” John hung up.

“Now I can go home,” he packed and he left. This time, he did it without wasting a single second. In time, he reached the bus stop as he waited for his ride back home.

It was late and the time was close to reaching ten. One of his legs kept shaking as he waited. Yet the familiar tune of his phone came greeting him. ‘Please don’t be Dwight. Please don’t be Dwight,’ he prayed as he pulled out his phone.

“Yes!” Thank goodness, it wasn’t Dwight. But the name on the screen was a bit of concern. Barney, a buddy of his who shared an apartment with him. John hoped nothing was wrong.

“Hello,” John said.

“John!” Barney sounded excited. “Hey, about the thing where you do with that samurai sword, what is it called again? Was it kendo? I need to borrow that shit.” Just from that alone, John didn’t like where this was going.

“I hook up with this Asian chick, and I’m about to show her my way with the sword. So, I need you to tell me the lock combination for that cool sword.”

John was speechless. He should have known better about this friend of his. Everything in that blonde head of Barney was only girls, girls, and more girls.

“First of all, I don’t do kendo. I trained in iaido. There’s a big difference between both of them. And second, there’s a reason why I locked my sword, Barney. It’s a dangerous weapon despite having a blunt edge. In a hand of an amateur, you can hurt yourself. For the third point, it’s not for impressing women for you to get laid, Barney. So, that’s a big no from me,” John said.

“Aw, come on, dude. For once, be a good wingman for me. This chick got some pretty fine ass, and I–”

John hung up. He loved curvy asses but listening about it wasn’t something he was fond of. ‘Great, just in time,’ the bus pulled to the side, and John hopped on his ride back home.

It was barely occupied. Besides him, there was only a woman with blonde hair. She was quite a looker as John couldn’t help but stole a few glances.

He found himself a seat near the back and sat by the window. Gazing outside, he yearned to go back to that little studio he leased. There was nothing greater than landing on that queen-sized bed of his after a hard day of work. As he dreamed of his sleep, the bus stopped.

The noise of a rowdy bunch rang from the front. He glanced and saw men holding on to familiar-looking bottles. ‘Great, here comes the drunkards.’ John turned away and ignored those men.

“What do we have here, boys? It seems we’ve got ourselves a fine-looking babe,” one of the drunkards approached the lone blonde-haired woman. The first drunkard took the lead and the rest followed. They circled her with eyes full of lust.

The woman in a beige trench coat pulled her handbag close to her chest. The glint in her eyes showed there was fear in her. Who wouldn’t if they were surrounded by a group of intoxicated men.

These men laughed and hurled vulgar words. They were having a blast tormenting a pitiful woman, who was probably heading back home.

The office worker at the back couldn’t simply ignore such a scene. If he could, he would have just ignored it. But his heart wouldn’t let it be. ‘There goes my peaceful bus ride. I just hope things won’t end up too bloody.’

John got up. His left hand grabbed tight on an uncapped pen. But he stopped midway. ‘What the?’

The blood-curdling scream made him confused. It wasn’t the voice of the woman as it was clear to his ears that it was the scream of a man.

“What the fuck did you do to me you bitch?!” the first drunkard stared at the sight of his bloody thigh. His dark crimson blood spurted out as if it was a leaking pipe.

The rest of the drunkards sobered in an instant. The bloody situation was not something they expected. Fueled by their instinct alone, they backed away as they gazed at the woman who held a bloody butterfly knife.

She got up and the drunkards flinched. They saw the gaze in her eyes. No longer flickering in fear, the light in her eyes was replaced by a cold-blooded gleam.

“Fucking bitch!” but the first drunkard let his rage took over. He swung wide and he missed his shot.

The blonde-haired woman with brown eyes vanished from the drunkard’s sight. Then she appeared. Lunging from under with her sharp knife. Her hand motioned like a stinging wasp, and under a second, she punctured six holes on the drunk man’s torso.

The drunkard let out a muffled scream. The blood rose to his throat, as it diverged and filled his lungs. Yet it flowed out from those wounds as if a dam broken with holes. The drunkard trembled in fear as he felt his death looming closer.

“No–” the drunkard was about to beg. But a slash at the neck ended it all.

The drunkard fell silent. His knees buckled as he dropped on the floor. Blood spewed from the cut on his neck. He gurgled for his last breath on top of his own pool of blood.

‘What the…’ John was lost for words.

It was not every day for John to stumble on a grisly scene like this. The last time he saw this much blood and gore was back when he watched Dawn of the Dead. But compared to this, reality was harder for him to stomach.

“Fuck! She’s crazy,” said one of the drunkards. Yet the moment he said those words, the bloodthirsty woman charged at them with a creepy smile.

Some ran. While some fought back. Yet their drunken state hampered their movement and awareness. And in a fight, they were like sitting ducks.

“Ah!” The first scream echoed, and the next followed from behind. The scene got bloodier. These men screamed for their mommies as the woman unleashed her wrath.

The commotion finally tugged the bus driver’s attention and finally, she pulled the brake. “Oh, hell no,” the bus driver saw it. She didn’t waste time as she cranked the bus door opened and fled for her dear life.

John heard the noise of the door and ran to the nearest one. But…

“Fuck!” The door at the back was jammed. He slammed it a couple of times, hoping it to open. But alas, it stayed close.

John turned and rushed to the other side. He felt his heart almost bursting from his ribcage as he wanted nothing more than to get off this rectangular metal prison.

‘Shit, shit, shit. Why now? Damn it!’ He questioned his fate as tonight was worsening by the second. He was fine with a little brawl. But this?

Fighting against a killer was way out of his league, even if she was a woman. He could overpower her with pure strength, but the unpredictable nature and drive of a killer were something he wouldn’t gamble on.

‘What’s wrong with these fucking doors?!’ He was panicking. Even the other door couldn’t open. It seemed fate had pulled a fast one on John, and it wasn’t looking good.

“Hey,” the breathy voice of a woman echoed in John’s ears. He turned and locked eyes with the approaching killer.

Her eyes were dead. But that vile smirk hanging on her face made him shivered in his shoes. Her blood-stained coat only made her killer aura even more chilling.

She inched closer to John. The squelching noises of her blood soak shoes filled the whole bus. Blood dripped from the edge of her knife as it sought another prey.

John faced his whole body at the killer. He stood in a stance and gripped tight on the only thing he could use his uncapped pen.

‘Calm down, and focus, John. Remember what Sensei always taught you. “Rice tastes better with soy sauce, my disciple,”’ Wise words from his eighty-year-old master. But not in this situation. ‘Fuck! I don’t think that’s going to help. Think, John. There must be something else that Sensei said.’

In that split-second moment. He remembered a time when his Sensei displayed his sword. His technique was beautiful and flowed like water. That nonsense Sensei of his finally did something worthy of his title. In the end, Sensei said these words. ‘Fast as wind. Tranquil as a lake. And strike like lightning!’

He calmed down and faced his enemy. His hand readied to let loose his pen as he waited. John knew better than anyone else that iaido was far from being practical like kendo. But he learned something far greater than how to smack someone’s head. He learned to focus to the extreme. Right now, his every being was honed down on the killer’s movement.

“Hahaha,” the killer cackled like a maniac. As if she was amused seeing a different prey.

“You’re a different pig, aren’t you?” she asked. Her words didn’t make any sense.

While John stayed true to himself. He turned deaf to those words as he waited for the right time.

“Pigs. Shouldn’t. Exist!” She lunged forward, baring her knife at John.

Then.

She entered his range.

John executed his motion as if drawing a blade from its sheath. The pen in his hand flew. It was like the edge of a blade, searching for blood.

“Ah!” the killer screamed. Blood spurted out from her right eye like Niagara Falls.

John, on the other hand, stood tall as he flicked the pen. The blood of the killer flickered away from the ballpoint of his pen. He continued his motion as if sheathing back his sword.

But his leg gave out on him. John fell to the floor as he leaned on a bus seat.

‘As I thought, the range is too short,’ blood seeped out from his mouth as a knife was lodged right at his heart.

His strike connected, but so did the killer.

‘I’m dying, aren’t I?’ John felt the warmth leaving him. He never knew he would die this early. ‘What a bummer. I’ve been thinking about saying this thing to my future children when I’m on my deathbed. But I guess now I can’t say it.’

A shadow loomed over him. It wasn’t Death, but she was the soon-to-be killer of him. She glared at John with one eye, fuming in rage.

While John had a thought.

“Oh,” he realized. “Since you’re here. I might as well say it,” he paused, grinning like an idiot. “Boobs are truth…”

His last words would undoubtedly deserve a rank in a list of famous last quotes. But sadly, no one other than his killer heard those glorious words.

John fell silent. Slowly he was succumbing to his death. Yet before the life in his eyes was completely gone, a bright light exploded from below. It engulfed everything inside the bus as he heard a muffled scream of his soon-to-be-killer. He didn’t know what was happening but the warmth of the bright light gave him an intense feeling of comfort as if he was floating on cloud nine.

Then the light vanished. Inside the bus, no one could be seen, not even a dead body. It was emptied without a soul. Yet bloodstains decorated the whole bus from the seats to the windows, and to the floor.

On the next day, the news blew up. They called it the Midnight Bus Massacre, even though it didn’t happen during midnight. Even with a key witness, the bus driver, the cops, and the FBI couldn’t find the victims as well as the killer.

In the end, the case was labeled as a cold case, locked in an archive with no chance of being solved.