A/n: This chapter is more of informative on who the character is then it is actually part of the story. If you really want to give this story a try, move on to Chapter 2.
Chpt. 1 S.S.
I twisted the neck of the rapist, the sickening crunch echoing in this dark alley. At least, it's sickening to anyone who isn't used to it. I've killed too many to give a damn anymore. But the girl I saved is probably sick to her stomach. If she didn't faint from fright of what was going to happen to her if I didn't step in.
Speaking of girl… I turn around, the cuffs of my cut cloak waving in the wind. The girl I saved, perhaps in her early twenties, was cowering in a corner. Her black hair wafted around her face, hiding Sun-kissed skin and scared green eyes. Green eyes, like mine. The only difference is her's were scared, and mine are dead.
Like my family. I still remember the pain of the crash, the echo of the train…
The girl, looking at me as if I was a ghost, paused for a moment. Her hands, white from grabbing her shirt so hard, turned back to their natural color. The lace of her expensive shirt straightens, the dark blue peeling away to show a white bra and creamy, tan skin. Her black pencil skirt, ridden up to her hips, droops a little as she flexes her legs. Her black flats fit over black tights. She looks at me closely, watching me.
"Thank you… for saving me." Her shaky voice whispers. I look away, at the man I killed. His brown eyes are frozen in fear, mouth open in a scream that never came. I killed another person tonight, but I saved someone doing so. Someone who has a family, a husband and kids to go home to. Something I will never have. I take relief in knowing I save more than I kill, even though that person I save will never be my family.
"You're welcome." My voice is rough from neglect of never using it. I look back to the woman I saved. She stands shakily, and walks over to me. I step back, looking at my surroundings. I need to get out, before she sees me for who I am. A 15-year-old brunette girl, with no family, home, and no mercy. I stop when I remember she can't see me because of my mask, and the red pieces of cloth covering my mask's eyes, hiding my scar.
One of my scars.
"My name is Lily." I look at her face, what little light she stands in shining against her smeared lip gloss.
"Whatever." I turn around, using the blood of the rapist to make my mark on the wall. When I'm done, I shake the blood away, facing Lily again. She looks perplexed as she finally looks at her rapist. Suppose to be rapist.
While she's looking at him, I turn to leave, getting ready to scale the wall.
"Wait!" Damn, almost left unnoticed. I twirl around again, stopping her in her tracks. The light of a lamp-post glares at me, and I squint. Lily gasps, her hand going to her mouth in shock. Oh yeah, she can see my mask now.
My mask, made of pure metal, glimmers against the ground. I carved it to almost look like a scary clown. There's a scary smile with razor-sharp teeth that I use to dig into flesh. Which is probably why they're still tinged red slightly. The eyes, almond-shaped, are sunken in, where red cloths lay to hide my eyes. The nose was built to fit mine, and mine only. So if any wacko wants to try to steal my identity after I die, they would have to be my twin to do so. And I don't have a twin.
Lily's eyes widen in fear again, and she steps back. "Yes?" I ask.
Her eyes go from my mask, to my shirt. I stole a black cloak from a store after I got here, cutting it so it fit like a big shirt or sweater. I keep the hood on, so at night while I'm killing and saving, I can wear it. Then her eyes go to my pants. They're skin-tight, and extremely flexible. I wear them because they help me move when I'm fighting, and they're black. Lastly, my boots. Combat boots, black as a void, and heavy as metal. They're good to exercise in, keep my legs strong for running. They're also good for leverage while climbing a wall. Which is what I should be doing now…
I turn around again, going to a rocky wall to climb. I get 3 feet off the ground before Lily finds her voice again.
"What's your name?" She asked me. I look down, clawing into the wall. She looks up at me, gratitude in her eyes.
"I'm S.S." I turn to scale the wall again, feeling pleased when she gasps in horror.
She knows me, of course she knows me. Anyone with a TV knows me. I'm the growing killer of New York City. Feared by all, criminals and victims alike. She's going to have a nice story when she gets home. I jump on the roof, running across it to the next, away from the growing sirens. If she gets home tonight.