A quiet whimper came from the end of the front row, interrupting his thoughts. He knew from the seating plan he had spent weeks perfecting that the noise was Rachel Berry. Clearly the chloroform was wearing off as he could also see her squirming against the restraints. She looked up and saw him staring down at her from under the spotlight. His spotlight. Not hers to take anymore.

She began to scream but the sheet music of Defying Gravity he had shoved roughly into her mouth muffled the noise.

“Well, Rachel, seems the tables have been turned,” he said coldly as he began to make his way across the stage towards her. “It used to be me sitting down there, watching you up here singing every solo, crushing each of my dreams one by one. But I guess that you’ll be paying for it now.”

She screamed again, trying in vain to free herself from the duct tape wound around her entire forearm, trapping her to the seat’s armrests.

“Yes, scream more, wear out your voice. Go ahead, no one’s going to hear you that isn’t already in this room.” At this, her eyes widened and she leaned forward and looked down the row - it looked like every member of New Directions were tied down; some slowly beginning to stir. “So you’ve finally realised there are others here, too. I’m glad to see you’re self-centered, even when about to die.”

She screamed even louder.

“Keep wearing out that voice. It won’t matter when I slit your throat. Good luck with your Broadway career then.”

A grunt coming from beside her made Kurt turn to look at his step-brother who was slowly coming to.

“Hello, Finn.” Finn looked up at him, terror in his eyes. He tried to speak but found his mouth was full of something. “You know what that is in your mouth? A moist towelette.” Kurt glared down at him, fury etched across his face. He knew Finn regretted calling him a fag but sorry wasn’t enough. “A faggy moist towelette,” he added, his voice full of disgust.

“My hands are tied, Schue!” Principal Figgins’ voice could be heard over the muffled noises of terror coming from the rest of the row. Kurt took one look at him, walked all the way across the stage and took one last look at Figgins before pulling the gun out of his right pocket and firing it, point blank, into his skull.

“That’s for helping me when I was bullied.”

Then Kurt looked to Figgins’ right and saw Tina and Mike looking into each other’s eyes.

“Oh, hi Tina. Remember when we were best friends? Remember when you ditched me to hang out with your boyfriend? Remember when you finally acknowledged me after a year and a half - a fucking year and a half - when I comforted you because Mike was going away? Well, guess what, you two can be together forever. Always.”

The sound of two gun shots silenced the auditorium. Now eleven pairs of eyes stared at him. The power rush he got was unbelievable as he decided to pace the stage, holding their gaze and stopping and staring down at each of them. Finally he arrived at Rory.

“Rory, sweet, innocent Rory. You thought you could audition with a falsetto? I hope you enjoy singing in that beautiful falsetto in hell.” The shot rang out. A heavy silence fell on the rest of them.

Over the quiet dripping of blood onto the auditorium’s carpet, a scream came from Mercedes. She couldn’t help it and immediately after the noise left her throat, she wished she could take it back but Kurt’s sharp features were already pointed at her.

“Ah, Mercedes, we used to be such a fabulous duo - even Coach recognised that - but then you just had to leave me for the Troubletones, didn’t you? Well, we can’t have that.” Her scream was cut short by the sound of the gun being shot twice.

“Out of ammo,” he said calmly to himself as he tossed the gun over his shoulder.

The flash of bleach-blonde hair caught Kurt’s attention and he peered down at Sam. Then, outrage coursed through him when he saw that Sam was holding Mercedes’ limp hand. “Sam. You lied to me. I know that hair is dyed and yet you lied to me. Why?” he asked before jumping off the stage and standing directly in front of the football player.

“Still, at least that hair’s pretty. And what about those abs!” Kurt grabbed the knife he had been keeping in one of his back pockets and unsheathed it. Sam’s eyes widened in fear as Kurt towered over him. In one quick movement, the he dragged the knife down Sam’s torso, ripping his t-shirt into two and dilating his pupils with lust. “You know, we could have been quite the couple. I’ve never really had a thing for abs but yours certainly are something else, aren’t they?”

And, with one last look, he added, “But I guess you had to be straight.” And he plunged the knife into each of Sam’s abs in turn.

“And you helped him!” he said, turning his attention to Quinn who sat on Sam’s other side. Barbie and Ken sat beside one another, he thought. “And I could see the looks you used to gave me - before you got pregnant at least, you slut - I saw the disgust. You were a homophobe back when you were daddy’s little girl and you may have everyone else fooled but I don’t buy it; I know you’re still a homophobe at heart.”

Kurt pulled a handgun out of his left pocket and pointed it at the top of her skull, pressing it down into her scalp. Her trembling stopped when the bullet was firmly lodged in her brain.

In matching Cheerios uniforms sat Brittany and Santana, both holding hands, both with their eyes closed. They seemed to be the calmest of the lot.

“So, Brittany.” Both their eyes flew open. “You thought it would be a good idea to take away my class presidency? Well, you ended my hopes of getting into NYADA then and there. So now I’m ending you.”

Santana screamed as some of Brittany’s blood splashed on her face. “Don’t worry, Santana, you two can be together.” Brittany’s and Santana’s blood mixed together as they both slumped onto one another’s body, head-wounds colliding.

“And it’s Santana’s old fuck-buddy!” Kurt cried, faux-joyfully. “I’m sure you really, really regret all those dumpsters you tossed me into and those slushies you threw at me. Now I get to stain your face red; but this time with blood instead of food colouring.”

Smiling to himself, he took one look at Artie and said, “I’m not good enough to be Tony in West Side Story?” Artie tried to explain himself through his gag of the musical’s flyers and playbills with Blaine and Rachel’s faces on the front but was stopped when Kurt shot him.

Kurt surveyed the row, taking in all the dead bodies and the fact that only three people remained. Skipping past Mr. Schuester who sat in the middle, he got back to Rachel and Finn.

“This is for telling my boyfriend to sit down,” he said, positioning the gun directly between Finn’s eyes and firing.

“And this is for every solo you’ve ever taken from me. Good luck Defying Gravity now, bitch.” Through her gag, Rachel tried to remind Kurt that she had won Defying Gravity fair and square in that sing-off but stopped when she saw the glint of metal in Kurt’s hand. He had drawn the knife again. “Let’s see what those vocal cords look like from the inside.” He brought the knife across Rachel’s throat. He stared into her eyes as the life drained out of them quickly.

“You know whose fault all this is?” Kurt seemed to ask the empty auditorium, raising his voice. “I blame the glee club teacher that decided that the T-Rex and the Jew should take every solo.” Mr. Schuester began to panic, desperately trying to free himself. Until now, he had thought that keeping a low profile might help but he knew Kurt was coming for him. His only chance was to run. He heard the gun fire but didn’t feel anything in his head - where he had seen Kurt shoot everyone else - but pain soared from his kneecap. Kurt must have seen him trying to escape! “You know what? I’m not gonna draw this out any longer. You, William Schuester, should have let me do my fucking Britney. And now I’m a Criminal. See how that goes?”

The last thing William Schuester heard was a high-pitched laugh and a gun being fired. Then all was black.