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Cecil’s feet hit against the cold, artificial floor, rushing towards the room at the end of the hall. Another scream ripped through the air and the radio host ran faster, faster, only sparing a glance to his watch. He could make it- he could make it in time to save his precious, dear Carlos, he could- oh god.
Carlos [beautiful, precious, perfect Carlos] was tied to a chair, neck leaning back. Blood welled in wounds on his chest and shoulders, trailing down in rivulets onto the stained floor. He was panting, sweat clinging to his forehead. For a moment, the world stopped, and Carlos turned his head weakly to the side. His warm, brown eyes met Cecil’s, and the radio host swallowed the lump in his throat. He made it, he did it, he could save his battered, beaten boyfriend and go back and everything would be alright.
And then Carlos’ head snapped back, and a foreign hand plunged into his chest, ripping out what looked like a still beating heart. Cecil choked on shock, a frightened squeak the only sound he was able to make. Carlos, sweet, precious, bleeding Carlos fell slack, his head lolling back against the chair and his limbs fell, no longer fighting the restraints. All hints of life bled out from his Carlos, his perfect Carlos and Cecil could not look away.
Until his gaze drifted to the thief, the one still holding the now still organ.
A terrible abomination, one that dared to resemble his perfect, wonderful [dead] Carlos. He stood there, blood drenching his classy suit. His smile was wicked, curling up at the edges and accented by a splatter of blood on his cheek. The beast smiled, and Cecil’s stomach turned in its spot.
“Hello Cecil, my name is Diego. Pleased to meet your acquaintance. Pardon the mess.”