Marvel: Terror Stream

"Now then, ladies and gentlemen... let’s have a little chat, shall we?"

Luke let the words hang in the air.

In his mind, the clock was already ticking. Fifteen minutes. Fifteen fucking minutes is an eternity in a room full of terrified people.

He had to keep their minds busy, their attention locked on him, so they wouldn’t start weighing the odds of overpowering a single gunman. He needed to play the part of the unpredictable madman to perfection.

He leaned back against the checkout counter, making sure to keep a solid distance between himself and the huddle on the floor. He kept the gun loose but ready, pointing generally downward. He made himself look relaxed. Casual. Like they were just hanging out.

That only made it creepier.

"Let me clear something up right away," Luke said, shaking his head. The Joker mask’s frozen smile made a sick contrast with his soft, almost disappointed tone. "You guys think this is a robbery. You think I care about Larry’s cash register, or the thirty bucks in your wallets."

Larry flinched again.

"No, no." Luke clicked his tongue. "This isn’t about money. It’s about something much more personal."

He pushed off the counter and took one slow step forward. The whole group tensed up like a coiled spring. The husband pulled his pregnant wife a little closer.

"I came here because all of you intrigued me. For some reason, I was genuinely curious about you. Every single one." Luke gestured with the gun, a casual wave.

"You see, I’m very, very alone. No one talks to me. And when I try to start a conversation, they don’t listen. In a group, my voice just... fades. I’m ignored. Unimportant. Unwanted."

He reached up with his free hand and mimed wiping a tear from beneath the plastic eyehole of his mask.

"I’d almost given up. Decided to just be a ghost forever. But then I saw you guys. I saw myself in you. Your lives, your routines, your little struggles—they felt like mine. You were relatable. You felt like... true friends. The friends I never had." His voice softened, almost reverent.

"I wanted to talk with you so badly. But I knew you’d ignore me, just like everyone else. Even I would ignore a weirdo like me. Haha,"

His tone carried a pathetic, quiet sadness. For a split second, perhaps due to hormones, a flicker of uneasy sympathy, crossed the pregnant woman’s face—before his voice dropped.

"I just wanted to be seen. To feel important. To be heard." He paused, the fake sadness vanishing instantly. "And to be obeyed."

The brief illusion of a sad, broken man vanished, leaving only a deeply unhinged predator in his place. A fresh wave of dread washed over the hostages.

Luke spotted a small metal stocking stool beside the counter. Hooking it with his foot, he dragged it over with a sharp screech of metal on tile that made the cashier violently flinch. He sat down, resting his elbow on his knee, the gun perfectly steady in his grip. The bomb was still beeping, keeping the group tense.

"So, I ask again. Let’s talk. Really talk. Tell me something true about yourselves." He lifted his left wrist, glancing theatrically at an imaginary watch. "Because for the next thirteen minutes or so, we’re going to be the absolute best of friends. And friends don’t keep secrets."

He shifted his aim, the black muzzle settling squarely on one of the two corporate workers. She was a brunette, twenty-seven

.

"Cassie," Luke said softly. The woman gasped, her eyes going wide with horror at the sound of her own name.

"Let’s start with you. I already know everything about you, but they don’t."

Luke cocked his head, the Joker mask staring unblinkingly at her.

"Don’t be shy, Cassie. Introduce yourself to the class."

Cassie’s mouth opened, but what came out was barely a whisper, cracked and dry.

"I— I’m Cassie Adams. I’m twenty-seven. I work as a— a s-sales analyst at a pharma company."

The words tumbled out like she was reading from a script she’d forgotten. She didn’t dare look up at the mask.

Luke tilted his head. "There we go. That wasn’t so hard, was it?" His voice was warm, encouraging. It made everyone’s skin crawl.

"Now tell me, Cassie. How was your day? Something interesting happen? Any gossip? I’m dying to know."

The question was so surreal—so mockingly ordinary—that Cassie blinked, her fear tangling with confusion. This lunatic had a gun, a bomb, and he wanted to hear about her office gossip.

"It was... it was fine," she managed. "Just a normal day. Work was a bit more than usual. More meetings. I didn’t... I didn’t really hear any gossip. I was just working the whole time."

Luke let out a low whistle. "Wow. You worked nonstop all day? That’s some serious dedication, Cassie. Honestly, I’m impressed." He sounded almost genuine.

She nodded weakly, unsure if agreeing was the right move.

"Hmm. So dedicated." He leaned forward on the stool, gun still resting across his thigh. "Honestly, it’s kind of inspiring. I almost want to be like you. The pay must be good, right? The environment must be nice. Tell me what you make, and how much time you give them."

Cassie’s throat worked. She could feel the other hostages staring at her, willing her to just answer and keep him calm.

"I make about three thousand a month," she said, the number sounding pathetic in the stale air. "Usually twelve hours a day. Sometimes... sometimes fourteen or fifteen."

"Whoa, whoa." Luke leaned back as if physically pushed by the information. "That’s why you always stop here so late? Grabbing dinner at midnight because you just got off?" He shook his head slowly. "Damn. Now I get why your health looks so bad. It’s sad, Cassie. Really."

His tone was soft, almost pitying. Then the pity curdled.

He let the statement hang.

"I could never do that," he said. "That kind of effort for someone who wouldn’t even remember your name the day after they fired you. Lady, I respect the grind, but I’d rather quit than slave my life away."

Cassie’s breath caught. Something in his tone shifted, the fake admiration curdling into scorn.

"Let me guess," he continued. "Your manager chews you out for every little thing. Almost every day, right?"

She didn’t answer. Her eyes were wet.

"Yeah. I thought so." Luke sighed, a theatrical, disappointed sound. "Honestly, when I watched you those few times, I thought you were more... purpose-driven. I really did. But you’re just a slave. Meh."

He tilted the mask, watching her. "I guess we’re not that similar after all. I could never let myself be used like that. You kind of let me down, Cassie."

A tear slipped down her cheek. She didn’t sob.

She just froze, the words hitting somewhere deep in her heart. Truth cut worse than any threat.

And then the terror crested again, because he’d said he was disappointed, and a disappointed madman with a gun might decide she wasn’t worth keeping around.

Her entire body went cold.

But the said Madman only sighed again, straightening on his seat. "Anyway. Let’s move on to your friend Jessica."

A few minutes earlier...

"Yes, I’m sure—yes, that was a gunshot. A gunshot. I’ve already given you the address, just please, come as fast as you can!"

The caller was the same regular Luke had been waiting for earlier. Tonight, he’d been running late. He’d almost turned back when he saw the security shutter pulled down—odd for this hour—but the flat crack of a gunshot from inside had frozen him mid-step. He’d dropped behind a parked car, phone already shaking in his hand, and dialed.

Bad luck? No. This was Luke’s own doing.

Tonight, when a variable had surfaced, Luke should have simply walked away. But the moment he’d seen the new customer and his pregnant companion walk in, the numbers had looked perfect. Easier to control. That one impulsive choice had overridden caution, and now the plan already had a fault line running through it.

Somewhere out there, a patrol car’s lights were about to blink on.