[One Year Before Execution – Investigation Room]
"I didn't kill them..."
The room stayed silent after he spoke.
The detective stared at him like he'd heard that excuse a hundred times already.
"So... you expect us to believe a monster with glowing red eyes and angel wings killed your parents, kid?"
The detective turned slightly toward his partner and shook his head.
His partner's reaction was subtler – closer to curiosity. Jotting down a few notes, he tapped the pen lightly against his temple before looking back at the young man. Sensing the growing tension, he leaned forward and took over the questioning.
"So, let's say what you're saying is actually true…"
His partner flinched and gave him a questionable look, tilting his head to the side.
'What's Jeff doing? Does he actually believe this kid? Just look at those eyes. The only monster I see is him. There's no doubt he was the one who mutilated his parents!'
The boy – Rico, had peculiar eyes. Different shades of blue swirled through his iris, a faint purple ring tracing the edge, glowing just enough to feel… unnatural. Disturbing. One could only describe them as a living nebula.
Jeff pressed, his eyes narrowing. "Why weren't you killed too?"
Rico let out a slow, tired sigh, his gaze dropping to the floor as his head followed.
"Look, I already told you everything. What difference does it make if I say it again? The thing simply looked at me and flew off"
Jeff glanced at his partner who was already irritated and gave a small nod.
"Alright, listen, kid. We're going to have to detain you while the investigation continues. You don't have to cooperate... You do have the right to remain silent. But… is there anyone you need to call?"
Rico shook his head. "No. I don't have anyone else. My parents were the black sheep of the family… so I guess that makes me one too."
The detective hesitated. For a brief moment, something like empathy flickered across his face.
"Well… if you need anything, ask for Jeff. I'll see what I can do."
Rico nodded slowly, lowering his head into his hands on the table.
"What are you doing, Jeff?!" the other detective snapped, pulling him aside.
"That kid's a murderer. Let him deal with the consequences."
Jeff held his gaze for a moment, then turned toward the door.
"You should know better than anyone, Larry… everyone's innocent until proven guilty."
A brief pause followed.
"Especially a kid with no real reason to kill his parents."
***
[Nine Months Before Execution – Court Hearing]
"Rico Galliga, you've chosen to proceed without legal representation. Are you certain about this decision before the court moves forward?"
"Yes, that's correct. I figured it'd be a waste of time getting a lawyer for a decision that's already been made. Besides… I couldn't afford one anyway."
The judge, a grumpy-looking woman, peered over the rim of her glasses, which sat low on her nose.
"Ahem," she quietly cleared her throat.
"Let the hearing commence."
A heavy silence followed. It settled over the courtroom like a weight, thick and unmoving. The air felt warmer around Rico than it should have been... stifling, almost suffocating.
The prosecutor rose and walked to the stand in a straight, measured line, his eyes locking onto Rico with quiet intensity. When he spoke, his voice was firm, controlled, but laced with persuasion, each word placed carefully.
Minutes passed as he presented his case, evidence laid out piece by piece before the judge and jury. Rico listened, still and quiet.
A flicker of unease sat beneath his calm as the proceedings dragged on. Then he noticed it. The way they looked at him. Not just the crowd, but the jury too. There was no neutrality in their faces, no distance. Only quiet disdain.
'Yeah… I'm screwed. I'd be lucky to get sixty — maybe parole after fifty years.' Rico shook his head faintly.
By the time the prosecutor finished, an hour had already passed, and the jury had since then retired to deliberate. Rico kept his eyes on the courtroom doors, the ones they would walk through when it was over. Minute by minute, the tension built. He lifted his cuffed hands, wiping sweat from his face.
'How long are they going to take? This should've been an easy decision…'
Then —
The door creaked open.
One by one, the jurors filed back in, returning to their seats. As they did, the room shifted, quiet voices, the shuffle of movement, papers brushing against wood. The foreperson handed the verdict form to the bailiff, who carried it to the judge.
'That's it…A single piece of paper deciding my fate.'
The judge adjusted her glasses and opened the form. Rico's heart began to pound - hard, uneven. His hands trembled, slick with sweat. She looked down at Rico, her expression tired, like she'd seen this outcome too many times before. Something sank in his chest as he stared back at her.
The feeling was heavy and sudden. He'd spent over a month trying to prepare for this moment, but it didn't matter. As she began to speak, her voice reached him, but not all of it, just fragments.
"…guilty…"
"…sentenced to death."
The rest dissolved into noise.
The courtroom filled with murmurs. Some nodded in quiet satisfaction while others leaned in, whispering behind half-covered mouths.
Rico didn't move — he was frozen in both place and time. Cold sweat ran down his face as an officer approached, placing a firm hand on his arm and guiding him out of the courtroom. He didn't show any signs of resistance... he simply walked.
Outside, flashes exploded from cameras, journalists crowding in, voices overlapping, questions thrown without restraint. The light hit him from all directions, and something snapped. His thoughts began to settle, slowly… reality was catching up to him in real time.
"S-sentence… to death?" he muttered, his voice barely holding together.
"I-is that… what she said?"
The officer beside him glanced over, catching the question. A curious expression on his hardened face.
"…Yeah," he said quietly. "That's what she said."
Rico kept his head down and walked on in silence. Each step becoming heavier than the one before.
***
[Current Day – One Day Before Execution]
"Listen, kid… you need to appeal your sentence. You really going to die without even trying?"
Rico gave a small smile, as if the feeling behind it had already faded.
The first few months had been hell. But now… he'd made peace with it. The system had failed him, but still…could he really blame them? Even he struggled, sometimes, to believe what he saw that night. If someone told him a monster had killed their parents… would he believe them?
"Do I really have a choice?", Rico asked with a stern tone.
"Why should I only delay the inevitable? Don't we all die sooner or later?"
For a moment, neither of them spoke, but eventually, the silence was broken by Rico. With an averted gaze he said quietly —
"Could you... tell Jenna I'm sorry. I wish... I could've spent more time with her… and... with you too old man."
He hesitated, his voice dipping slightly.
"But I'm tired, man. I just want this to end. I want to be with my family once more... I know — I know they're waiting for me"
Jeff didn't respond.
Instead, he stepped forward and grabbed Rico by the collar through the prison bars.
"Listen to me," he snapped. "What kind of fool just accepts death without a fight? Do you think that's what your parents would've wanted?"
Rico met his eyes, his voice low and steady. Then he calmly placed his hand over Jeff's grip on his collar.
"A fool who's got nothing left to live for. A fool who... murdered his own parents"
Rico's words caught Jeff off guard, and he stared at him in silence… then slowly released his collar. With a puzzled expression, he stepped back.
'How selfish am I being right now…?'
'Isn't a lifetime in prison worse than death?'
'How could I ask him to live like that?... Is it because of Jenna?'
Jeff had grown fond of Rico over the past few months and so had his daughter Jenna. She'd taken to him quickly - more than Jeff expected. After her mother passed, she became withdrawn, keeping to herself with no real friends. But when she heard about Rico from her dad, she wanted to meet him. And when she did… they clicked almost instantly.
And truth be told… some of the only genuine laughter Rico had managed came from the time he spent with her. But even then, there were moments Rico seemed distant. Like he felt out of place. Like he was becoming a burden.
And he hated that feeling.
Jeff had gone over Rico's case more times than he could count. Searching for anything that could prove his innocence. To him, nothing about the kid felt like a murderer. And yet…Monsters? He couldn't believe that. Not really...
Eventually, he stopped trying to make sense of it.
Rico was a good kid, but there was no proof or evidence. Nothing that could stand in court. So, Jeff settled on the only middle ground he could accept…Take the plea deal. Trade the execution for life in prison. It wasn't justice, but it was the best outcome he saw for Rico. At least… that's what he told himself.
But was it really for Rico? Or was it for something else?
Jeff clenched his fists, then let out a slow breath. He turned his back and stood still for a moment, shaking his head.
"I'll see you around, kid. Just… make sure you're making the right call."
Rico gave a small nod as Jeff started walking away.
"Hey, Jeff."
Rico's voice made him pause.
"Do yourself a favor… find someone already, you widower. Jenna needs someone she can look up to, after all."
He finished with a faint wink and a small chuckle.
Jeff frowned at him for a moment, then let out a quiet chuckle of his own, waving it off.
"…Yeah. Maybe I will."
His footsteps echoed through the empty prison hall, each step fading into the silence behind him.
Rico turned and lay back on the narrow bunk - a slab of concrete jutting from the wall, topped with a thin, worn mattress. The cell smelled of harsh cleaning chemicals and rusted metal. The walls, once painted a dull white, had long since faded into a dirty gray. A metal toilet sat in the corner, lidless. Beside it, a small sink with a scratched mirror mounted above. That was it, nothing else. It was meant to feel isolating, but to Rico…it felt normal.
He slid his hands behind his head, using them as a makeshift pillow, and closed his eyes. After a few minutes, he felt drowsy, but still, sleep didn't come. Instead, flashes of memory stormed his mind.
Red eyes.
His parents' screams.
Then…the heavy, unnatural beat of wings.
Rico jerked upright, breath catching. He scanned the cell, dragging a hand down his face, trying to steady himself.
"Can't I even get some peace before I die?" he muttered under his breath.
"Why now…?"
He exhaled deeply, forcing himself to settle, then he lay back down, staring up at the flickering fluorescent light above him.
Flick. Pause. Flick-flick.
The rhythm grew uneven and sharper.
A dull ache pressed against his temple, so he turned onto his side, facing the wall. Then, the air shifted. It became colder and not in a subtle way. It was sudden. Rico's brow furrowed.
'…What is this? Where's it coming from?'
He grabbed the thin blanket beside him and pulled it over his legs, but it barely helped. The cold still bit through it. He let out a quiet breath, trying to ignore it…trying to ignore everything. So, he closed his eyes again, but it didn't work.
The flickering above grew worse.
Flick. Flick-flick. Then…
POP!
The bulb burst, plunging the cell into darkness.
"If you're going to kill me," he muttered, voice low, "at least do it in the light, you coward…"
Silence followed and minutes passed. His body grew heavy as his thoughts dulled. Sleep crept in and slowly embraced him. But then, he heard something, a voice - distant, echoing, calling his name.
"Rico… Galliga…"
His eyes opened slowly as he rubbed them, his vision blurred…but something was wrong. The darkness around him felt different - thicker, heavier, as if it had weight. It pressed in around him. Far ahead, something pierced the horizon…a column of light cutting through the void like a beam from the sky. Rico blinked, rubbing his eyes harder.
"…What the hell am I looking at? Where am I?"
'Wait…Did they execute me in my sleep?'
'Is this… hell?'
He reached out, searching for anything familiar, a wall, the bed, anything, but his hands met nothing but empty air. Then he realized he wasn't lying down – he was standing.
The air bit with a freezing chill, sharp against his skin. Beneath it lingered a faint stench – burnt, sulfurous… like something scorched and rotting.
In the distance, faint wails drifted on the wind, low, warped, and unsettling. They sounded like people crying out for help, begging for mercy.
Rico took a cautious step forward, very careful and slow. His foot met solid ground, but it crunched beneath him, like dried branches snapping under pressure. He swallowed slowly, his gaze locked on the beam of light in the distance.
"Well…" he muttered, glancing back at the absolute darkness swallowing everything behind him.
"They always say head toward the light, right?"
He paused, scratching the side of his head.
"…Or was it don't head toward the light?"