The cold bit at the man’s skin. He listened, in fear, waiting for the echoing footsteps to reach where he sat. The bindings around his wrists cut into them; he could feel blood dripping off of his fingertips. The footsteps stopped and the bag over his head was torn off and the man blinked in the blinding light. Suddenly there was a hand gripping his throat, forcing his head back, almost tipping the chair he was bound to. There was a cold, high, almost breathless laugh, “look at his eyes, and look at how they are about to pop out of his little skull!” His assailant moved one hand to the side of his head and threw him, chair and all, face down onto the ground. Another maniacal laugh, out of the corner of his eyes, the man could see a tripod standing in the corner and a tall hooded figure that was striding quickly towards his fallen body.  Once the figure reached him, he felt the heel of a boot push down onto the back of his skull, pushing his nose into the hard concrete. “Scream for me, why don’t you?” The man realized that he was alone, there was no one coming, and he let out a quiet, muffled sob.                                 
“Scream,” whispered the masked man.                                                              The cold barrel of a gun pressed into the back of his head, 
“Just once, scream.” He could feel his assailant’s breath on his neck.            
A quiet click from the gun, and the man screamed. It hung in the air for a moment, before all fell silent.                                            
“There we are,” the figure muttered with satisfaction, and then he pulled the trigger.
     As the sound of the gunshot faded, the masked man stepped back to admire his handy work, gun hanging loosely from his hand, an old wooden chair, a trail of blood leading to a corpse, and a live broadcast of the event on public access. Perfect. Tiring of his work, he walked down a tunnel into his lounge, content to sit and watch the chaos that he had spread unfold on every news channel in the area. He turned on his television and began to flick through the channels, an old film noir where a detective sat in a diner, and just as he stood to ask the waitress a question, the broadcast was interrupted by a flashing red text proclaiming “Breaking news!” laughter filled the room, he pulled off his blood stained gloves and sat back to watch the show.