Nap time

"Enjoy your nap, old man," Arthur muttered as he stepped toward the door, flipping the sign to Closed. Come back later. The rain continued to pour outside, and the lightning didn't stop striking.

He turned back, surveying the room with cold calculation. "Now, what do we have here?" he whispered, his eyes scanning the cluttered shelves for anything useful. His gaze lingered on a few items before his lips twisted into a smirk. An antique shop this old probably has some rope, he thought. He muttered under his breath, "The old man must have something around here to tie up loose ends. Literally."

It didn't take long to find what he needed. He rummaged through a dusty drawer near the counter and pulled out a length of sturdy rope.

"Found it," he said with a quiet chuckle. He strode back to where the old man lay unconscious on the floor, still breathing but dead to the world.

Arthur knelt down, making quick work of the binding. First, he tied the man's hands behind his back, then wrapped the rope around his body, ensuring he was thoroughly immobilized. The old man wasn't going anywhere.

Satisfied with his handiwork, Arthur stood up and began to search the shop. His eyes fell on a stack of filthy magazines hidden behind the counter. His lip curled in disgust. "Disgusting old man," he muttered, shaking his head.

But there was nothing in the shop that would help him put the old man away for good. There were no surveillance cameras, no evidence that could tie him to anything serious.

"Why do I care," he muttered, ignoring whether the man went to jail or not, it was not his business anyway.

Arthur wandered over to the counter and rifled through the register. He found a small stash of cash, mostly crumpled bills and coins. After counting, he realized it amounted to around $60—roughly two days' wages for him. He sighed softly, pocketing the money. "At least now we can survive for two more days," he whispered to himself. "This old man might be disgusting, but he sure was a lifeline tonight."

Before leaving, Arthur grabbed a large bottle of water from the shelf. Without a second thought, he emptied it over the old man's head.

"Splash!"

The old man jerked awake, coughing and sputtering as though he had been dragged from a nightmare.

His eyes widened in terror, darting around the room before locking onto Arthur, who stood above him, watching with a slight grin.

Arthur gave him a mock smile, leaning in slightly. "Calm down, old man," he said, his tone casual. "You're not in prison for... well, you know, at least not yet." His grin widened.

The old man struggled to move but quickly realized his hands and body were tightly bound. Panic filled his eyes.

"You little bastard! Uncuff me right now, or I'll report you!" he shouted, his voice shaky but filled with fury.

At the word "bastard", Arthur's expression flickered for a moment, his face darkening with a flash of anger.

His fist clenched instinctively, but just as quickly, his composure returned, his face falling back into its usual cold, passive state.

Arthur stared down at the old man, his voice dangerously calm. "How about I shove this stick up a certain muddy place on the horizon?" he said, picking up a nearby broomstick and twirling it lightly in his hands.

"I mean, I'm sure you'd enjoy that, wouldn't you? You used to be a gardener, right? Always digging in dirt by force too," he added with a sarcastic grin.

The old man's face paled. He had never seen anyone like Arthur before—so calm, so controlled, yet so utterly menacing. His breath quickened as fear crept in. He realized then that this boy wasn't bluffing.

"W-what do you want?" the old man stammered, his voice now trembling.

"What do I want?" Arthur replied, his tone almost amused. "I don't want anything, old man. You were the one who came after me, remember?"

Arthur casually walked over to the counter, picking up a phone that lay there. He waved it in front of the old man with a sly grin. "But, since we're here, I did take the cash in your pockets and your counter. So, that's that."

The old man's eyes widened in horror as he realized what else Arthur had taken.

"Oh, and I also took pictures of you tied up in a humiliating posture," Arthur said, his voice laced with mock regret.

"I'll be honest—I hated the sight. Still, feel like I added a virus to my phone after seeing that." He shuddered dramatically, then smirked. "But a man's gotta do what he's gotta do, right?"

The old man's panic grew as he squirmed against the ropes. "No, no, no, you can't take that phone!" he gasped, his eyes pleading.

Arthur raised an eyebrow. The desperation in the old man's voice told him everything he needed to know. "Can't take the phone, huh?" he repeated, his voice cold. "Then I guess I'm definitely taking it now. Whatever's on this phone, it must be important."

The old man tried to speak, but his words caught in his throat. Arthur's smile faded into a stern glare. "Here's how it's gonna go, old man. If the police hear about what happened tonight, someone I trust will deliver this phone straight to them. They'll find everything you've tried to hide."

Arthur leaned in closer, his voice dropping to a whisper. "So, dream on if you think you can come after me. You try anything, and that phone becomes evidence."

The old man's face turned a sickly shade of white. He opened his mouth to protest, but no sound came out. Arthur straightened, brushing off his clothes casually.

"So, show me a little goodwill, and I won't do you dirty. I don't care if you go to jail or not. You're clearly a novice at this. Your shop doesn't scream 'criminal mastermind.'"

Arthur paused, then tilted his head with a sarcastic smile. "Satan made you do it, didn't he? it was your demons right?"

The old man, desperate to avoid any further consequences, nodded hurriedly. "Yes! Yes, that's it," he stammered, latching onto the lie as if it were a lifeline.

"Cool." Arthur's smile turned back into a calm, detached expression. "Now, I'm going to untie your hands. You can handle the legs yourself."

Arthur leaned down and swiftly untied the old man's hands before stepping back. The old man remained on the floor, rubbing his sore wrists, eyes filled with both fear and hatred.

Without another word, Arthur turned and walked toward the door. As he passed a row of fragile antiques, he deliberately brushed his shoulder against one of the shelves, sending several delicate antiques crashing to the ground.

The old man winced at the sound, his fists clenched in silent anger, but he said nothing. He knew better.

Arthur glanced back over his shoulder, his smile returning. "See you, old man. Don't do that again, alright? Guard against Satan, the accursed." He gave a mocking wave before stepping outside into the rain, the door creaking shut behind him.

The old man sat on the floor, his hands trembling as he watched Arthur disappear into the night.

"Talking about Satan? YOU ARE SATAN!" He shouted, but no one heard him as the lightning outside crackled and the rain poured even harder.