Mr. Nice Guy Is a Killer: A Pizza by Day, Punishment by Night

Alex Reno had never killed a man. In fact, he couldn’t even kill a cockroach without apologizing to it first. Life was simple. Wake up at 7 a.m., open the shop, toss dough, add cheese, smile, serve. By 10 p.m., he was closing the shutters of “Nice Guy Pizza,” the small pizzeria tucked between a pawn shop and a laundromat in the grimiest part of the city. And every single customer who walked through that door left saying, “That Alex guy? What a sweetheart.” Nobody saw the darkness growing beneath his smile. The city, with all its rust, graffiti, and sirens, didn't bother him. Crime? He turned a blind eye. Fights? He avoided them like diet soda. Alex was a nobody in a world that loved big names, loud voices, and sharp knives. He preferred crusty breadsticks and peace. Until one night, peace shattered. He had just delivered a late-night order to a shady apartment complex—extra meat lover’s, no onions—when he took a wrong turn down an alley. There, under a flickering streetlight, he saw it: A man being stabbed. Over and over. And Alex froze. ___ The Night It Changed He didn’t scream. He didn’t run. He didn’t even breathe. Alex stood frozen, his pizza bag still strapped to his shoulder, as the knife plunged again and again into the man’s chest. The killer’s face was obscured by a hoodie, movements sharp and efficient, as if this wasn’t his first. The sound of the blade slicing through flesh—it echoed louder than sirens. Blood splattered across the concrete like spilled marinara sauce, and Alex’s brain twisted, trying to convince itself this was just a bad dream. But the smell... the thick, warm metallic scent... was too real. Then the killer turned. Alex saw the eyes—dead cold. Empty. Their gaze met. For a split second, everything stopped. But instead of attacking, the killer walked away. Calmly. Silently. As if Alex didn’t matter. As if he didn’t exist. Only then did Alex fall to his knees. The police came late. The body was taken away. Alex tried to tell them what he saw, but his voice came out broken, and no one took him seriously. Just a pizza guy with a pale face and shaky hands. No suspects. No investigation. Just another statistic. But something inside Alex broke that night—quietly. Invisibly. ___ Echoes in the Dark Alex stopped sleeping. At first, he blamed the nightmares—the constant flash of the knife, the dead man’s face, the blood—but after a few days, he realized it wasn’t fear that kept him awake. It was anger. He had been there. He had seen it happen. And he did nothing. Every time he closed his eyes, the same question returned, cruel and sharp: “Why didn’t you move?” “Why didn’t you scream?” “Why didn’t you stop him?” And then, worse: “If it happens again... will you do nothing again?” The city kept moving. The shop reopened. Customers laughed, joked, asked for extra cheese. Life pretended nothing had changed. But Alex had changed. His hands trembled when he folded pizza boxes. He began staring too long at strangers. He flinched at the sound of footsteps behind him. He started walking home with his keys between his fingers like claws. And at night, he sat by the window of his small apartment, watching the alley below. Waiting. Not for another killer. But for another chance. ___ The Stranger Behind the Smoke It started with smoke. Alex was closing the shop late—again. The city smelled like burnt oil and hopelessness. As he tossed the trash into the bin behind the alley, he saw a shadow, half-hidden behind a rusted dumpster. Smoke curled upward. Cigarette? No—pipe. He squinted. There, sitting calmly on a crate, was an old man in a faded gray jacket, legs crossed, blowing smoke like a monk. He looked out of place—too quiet, too focused. His eyes were narrow, scanning everything and nothing. “You don’t blink much,” Alex said awkwardly. The old man looked up. “And you blink too often.” Silence. Then, the man stood. “Your stance is wrong,” he said, pointing at Alex’s legs. “You walk like a man who wants to disappear.” Alex laughed dryly. “Maybe I do.” The old man stepped forward, slowly. His movements were unnaturally fluid—like water flowing across concrete. “I saw what you did,” the man said. “When you stood still. When you froze.” Alex tensed. “What do you want?” “Nothing,” the man replied. “But I can give you something. If you want to stop freezing.” Alex hesitated. “Who are you?” The man gave a small smirk. “Just someone who used to kill people... before they deserved it.” ___ A Silent Yes Alex didn’t answer right away. The wind passed between them like a whisper. Somewhere in the distance, a siren cried—shrill, ignored. The old man didn’t move. He just stood there, pipe between his fingers, watching Alex like a puzzle he’d already solved. Alex looked down at his hands. They were still trembling. Weak. Useless. He remembered the blood, the scream he never made, the man he failed to save. All because he froze. Something inside him shifted. He wasn’t ready to kill. But he was done being helpless. Without a word, Alex nodded. The old man exhaled smoke like a silent blessing. “Come back tomorrow. 4 a.m. No questions. No pizza.” Then he vanished into the alley, as quietly as he had appeared. Alex stood alone in the dark, his chest tight with something he couldn’t name. Not fear. Not guilt. But the beginning of something dangerous.