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🕑 Added 2025-07-20 07:25:14 +0000 UTCAnatomy of a Killer
Chapter 98 - My Show
Meanwhile, inside the building, Malcolm was once again struggling to reach the exit so he could be found by the police.
He stared down the hallway ahead of him and considered his options. Given his current physical condition and the fact that he had only thirty seconds left before losing all mobility, he thought that going up instead of down would definitely be the end of him.
But without him knowing it, his end had already been decided long before his trial began. Now he had only thirty seconds left to die.
Even if he went downstairs, the antidote that should have been administered almost instantly after being poisoned would be useless now.
That’s why any decision Malcolm made at this point would lead to the same outcome—his end.
He knew it. He wanted to be seen by the police, hoping that somehow, it might save his life.
He only had thirty seconds left before losing mobility. However, he still had over five minutes and thirty seconds before death.
All the families affected by him could now enjoy watching this piece of garbage be tortured in the worst way imaginable.
Even if the police intervened, Larry had already written this ending perfectly.
On social media, those who lived nearby had rushed to the building where the murder was taking place. Ironically, civilians arrived at the scene before the police did.
"Breaking news, everyone. I live nearby. I just saw the police car speed by. It's moving fast. I think they'll get there in just a few minutes."
"They’ll take longer to arrive. I’ll bring my truck and block the road."
To Larry, it wasn’t necessary for civilians to block the police's path.
Millions of people had watched Malcolm, the billionaire, coldly murder his son with his bare hands. The social pressure in this case would be so immense that even if Malcolm were saved—which was impossible—he would still be sentenced to death.
This was the game Larry had designed for his grand opening—his mark, his vision, his world.
By then, Malcolm, who had already moved a few meters, had an idea. He turned away from the staircase.
But suddenly, he collapsed, drained of strength.
Given the extent of the damage to his muscles and his other injuries, he shouldn’t have been able to move at all.
But at that moment, Malcolm just wanted to live.
Nothing else mattered. He just wanted to stay alive!
With his wealth and status, who cares if he’s disabled? Who does it matter to?
He had more than enough money to spend and could hire beautiful women to take care of him every day for the rest of his pathetic life!
Even if he was sent to prison, he could still live a vacation-like life behind bars!
The worst-case scenario was a death sentence!
But he could still throw huge amounts of money to bribe the court. He had loads of cash, and plenty of people were willing to die for him!
Crack! Crack! Crack!
Malcolm, still pushing forward, crashed into a wall, breaking some bones.
Yet he didn’t feel much pain.
Compared to the intense agony of his muscles being dissolved by the poison—like acid in his body—the pain from broken bones could be ignored.
Amazingly, he used the same method again. He rolled down another flight of stairs!
"I admire the fact that you can still move. I guess I miscalculated the effects of adrenaline on the human body. But your seconds are running out." Another countdown echoed in Malcolm’s ears, striking his fragile nerves.
He didn’t care about the broken bones in his body anymore!
And just like that, Malcolm rolled down the stairs over and over again.
Soon, he was on the first floor.
At that point, only Malcolm’s skull remained intact. The rest of his body was shattered.
The three remaining fingers on his right hand were broken. Like a crushed tree branch, they bent in three different directions.
The bones had pierced through the center and were stuck to his trembling hand. The skin dangled over it, looking as if it would fall off at any moment.
His left shoulder was also broken, and his entire arm twisted backward. One of his knees looked completely nonexistent.
The lower part of his leg was bent all the way back to his thigh, and a long bone jutted out behind the knee.
His entire body was in a strange, twisted position. From his face, mucus mixed with muscle fluid and blood poured out of every orifice.
He looked like a sack of branches and meat—or a slab of flesh already starting to rot.
“Come on, Malcolm, you're almost there.” Larry’s cold, robotic voice echoed again through the loudspeakers of the lonely building.
Malcolm could already see the building’s main entrance. This was his light—his chance at life!
He just needed to open the main door. He believed that if the ambulance arrived before the countdown ended, he could still be saved!
In the worst case, when the police broke through the door, he’d already be drenched in cold water.
Seeing the main door not far off, Malcolm’s will to live ignited!
Using his completely destroyed body, he crawled slowly toward the main entrance.
The distance between them shrank little by little.
“What are you doing, Malcolm?” Just as Jack’s cold voice returned, Malcolm had already made his way to the main door.
Since his left shoulder was broken, he dropped the key with his left hand. He picked it up with his mouth and inserted it between the fingers of his right hand.
Malcolm raised his right hand, lifting the key high, approaching the keyhole.
Then, it seemed like something occurred to him.
Suddenly, he froze.
“You can do it.”
“At least you have a chance.”
While Larry unleashed his fury, Malcolm began to thrash desperately—but could only twist in place.
He could no longer move!
He couldn’t reach the keyhole!
He couldn’t unlock the door!
No matter how hard Malcolm tried, he couldn’t reach the lock.
“Two.”
“One.”
As Larry’s voice faded, Malcolm stopped struggling.
He lay on the floor in front of the main entrance. He no longer moved.
“Now the fun begins, Malcolm. You'll feel every part of your body melt. And if you're strong enough, you might even endure hours of this state... if you survive.” Larry’s low, cold voice seemed to carry a hint of mockery.
Malcolm had lost all ability to move.
His final hope rested on whether the police would arrive in time—and if they could break the door down within five minutes.
…
Meanwhile, back at the Baltimore Metropolitan Department, Maryland…
“Where are they, guys?” The furious voice of Director Raymond Holt echoed through the police station.
“Reporting in: We’re still about four minutes from the target location. For some reason, there's a lot of traffic!”
“You have to be there in two minutes!” Raymond Holt roared, still searching for answers as to why that building had suddenly emptied of people.
“Yes, sir!”
What Raymond Holt and his team were beginning to uncover was that the luxury apartment building had never been what it seemed. From the outside, it appeared full of life—lights on at night, occasional music from the balconies, people coming and going through the lobby—but it was all a carefully crafted illusion.
And they would only discover the truth once the police arrived at the building.
“Malcolm couldn’t open the main door. That’s why the SWAT team will enter through the side—it’s easier to force that entry!”
“Yes, sir!”
Raymond Holt hung up the phone. His hands were trembling.
If they failed to save Malcolm, the integrity and competence of the Baltimore Police Department would be called into question. His position as chief would likely be at risk.
“Where’s the ambulance?”
“The hospital is nearby! The ambulance is almost there!”
“Tell them to wait until we break down the door.”
“Yes, Chief!”
The live broadcast was still focused on Malcolm.
On screen, Malcolm—who no longer resembled anything human—lay in front of a thick, luxurious door.
This door was like a checkpoint to the underworld, separating life from death.
The sirens in the livestream were growing louder and louder, as if they were just around the corner.
“Looks like you're dying, Malcolm.” Larry’s cold voice echoed across the broadcast that millions of people were watching.
