Alberto gently put down his knife and fork, picking up his wine glass. Just as he was about to say something, there was a loud "bang", and a shadow crashed against the window.
Everyone turned towards the window like scared birds startled into flight. Bruce, who was sitting with his back to the window but was the closest to it, saw a person hanging there when he turned his head.
But his first reaction was surprise, because the person was still alive. Instead of being strangulated, the rope went from under his arm, looped around like the harness of a high-altitude window cleaner.
What terrified everyone else was that the man was wrapped with explosives. Hanging from his neck was a sign with a number representing a television channel.
Alberto's hand, which was holding the wine glass, tightened. His brows furrowed deep. He gestured for his subordinates to bring the man in.
But Bruce was a step ahead. He rushed forward and cut the rope holding the man.
The restaurant was on the second floor. Even in an old-fashioned mansion with high ceilings, such a fall wouldn't kill a person.
The anticipated explosion didn't happen, but Bruce didn't relax. On the contrary, his face darkened because he understood that if the other party didn't want to kill everyone here with a blast, then they were probably planning something even bigger.
Alberto turned to his subordinates and said, "Get a television, a big, clear one. Tune in to the channel. I want to see what kind of game he is playing."
After a while, two subordinates wheeled in a large television set. The screen was large, even if it wasn't the slimmest in this day and age, it was still considered advanced.
The TV was placed at the end of the dining table, separated from Alberto, the host, by the length of the table and quite a distance from the main guard Bruce and Shiller.
The moment the channel was tuned in, there was a grisly and disturbing image.
In the middle of the screen was a corpse lying on the floor, surrounded by his coagulated blood. It spread across the floor like a carpet that hadn't been washed in a long time.
This corpse's chest was completely gone, including the heart, lungs, and skin, but most of the spine remained in place. What everyone could clearly see was that the rib cage, which was connected to the spine, was also missing.
"Blegh!"
A vomiting sound came from the side of the table. Everyone turned toward the sound. Tim was clutching his mouth, retching to the side. At this point, Bruce also caught on, directing his gaze to the ribs on his plate.
Everyone at the table was intelligent. Seeing the look on Bruce's face, they guessed what might have happened. They stared incredulously at the food on their plates, Gordon's face turned pale.
"Some say that man and pig have similar DNA," a voice came from the television, but the speaker didn't show his face. The camera slowly zoomed in on the mutilated chest of the corpse, and the speaker began to recite a poem in a dramatically exaggerated tone:
"I once saw a pig engorge itself to death during a hungry night."
"Its belly round with bran and fruits, pouring out of its gut."
"I rushed up to gather the remnants."
"They rushed up and cursed and beat me."
"They said I am not a pig, I can't eat that."
"So, I began to envy the pigs."
"I wore a pig's head mask and blended among them."
"I then discovered they didn't eat bran and fruits."
"It was humans."
"Those who stopped me, they weren't afraid I'd get sick."
"But ... they too wanted to become pigs."
With a dramatic cadence, the voice echoed throughout the barren room, illuminating the faces of the horrified audience.
Most of the people felt sick from what they guessed they'd eaten. Some pushed their plates far away, others tried to contemplate the meaning of the poem, and some looked enlightened as their eyes flickered towards the others.
At that moment, another voice emerged from the television.
"Clever gentlemen, you must have guessed what you've eaten. But it doesn't matter, you never saw them as human anyway, they are nothing more than pitiful pigs, just like me."
Immediately, one vomiting sound followed another around the dining table. Some had held onto hope until they got confirmation from the murderer, but after receiving the affirmation, it was too late to feel nauseated.
As if in a cruel twist of evolution, vomiting is usually filled with pain to remind people not to consume what should not be consumed. Yet, those unable to vomit were in even more agony. Cries and sobs echoed around the dining table.
But there was one person who stood out from the crowd. All eyes were on him.
Not because he did something or said something peculiar. Contrarily, he seemed to be the most normal among them.
Using the sharp end of his steak knife, he sliced open the membrane along the center of the rib bone. After fixing the meat on one side with the fork, he cut off the two ends of the meat, which were slightly dry due to the cooking method, leaving only the tenderest part in the middle. He picked it up with his fork stuck in the center and began to chew.