Authors' Notes: Anthony- My brother Clifford decided that our first story on this site should be an AU adventure time fic, and so I happily created this to keep him quiet. The story's tone is kind of based on old Noire movies and novels, the crime genre always being a favourite of mine when growing up. please note that the spelling is done with Standard U.K Grammar rather than American, even though the story itself it set in America. Enjoy.
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The body was cold, stone like in its temperature, and Inspector Mertins knew the reason why. Kneeling down he traced his finger along the faint scar that ran along the victim's neck, a large purple slash that pierced the skin and muscle of the victim, he wondered why it always went deep enough to touch the bone. It must have been deliberate, perhaps an assertion of control on the killer's part. A final declaration of power. The Inspector stood up, brushing the dirt from his clothing. He felt sorry for the girl; she was young and, judging from the weather-beaten soles of her feet, had spent far too many nights dead to the world resting by the slabs of Candy Street. He sighed. More and more people were leaving their old lives hoping to make it big in the city of Ooo. Some people floundered, never quite reaching solidarity but still keeping a roof over their heads, fewer actually succeeded in carving out a life. Most ended up like the dead girl at his feet.
A lot of writers had tried to be romantic when they said the streets of Ooo were paved with gold, it was a hopeful sentiment but that didn't stop people from dying on those very 'golden' streets. The people of the city knew that the streets were really paved with blood and misfortune. The number of dreamers and runaways had become a problem in the city. As of late the problem was being reduced by psychopaths and their knives. Mertins didn't need to kneel down to observe the other wounds, they were proudly on display. A few of the victim's ribs were gone, as was the girl's heart. This all pointed at one suspect. Damn. There wasn't a single drop of blood left inside or around the body. The girl had been drained of her blood and had her organs harvested. It was horrific but, by now, expected. He prayed for the girl; whoever she was she deserved better. He would have to inform his superiors that there had been another victim of Ooo's most prolific serial killer- The Vampire Queen.
Mertins rolled himself a cigarette, ignoring the pouring rain as he lit his last match. He hated the taste of tobacco but it helped him keep his nerve. There would be no investigation once the higher ups read his report, runaways died all the time and if the force inspected every one of their deaths then there would be no time for the important crimes. Yeah, important crimes. Last week he had to bring an old Latino lady to the station because her rich jackass of a boss had accused her of stealing from him. Sometimes Mertins hated his job. Taking a final drag before snubbing out his cigarette, the inspector made his way towards his car. He had joined the force because he had wanted to make a difference, help those who needed it most. Instead he was a cog in the machine, standing idly by unable to do anything for the people he swore to protect. Now there was a serial killer stalking the city's streets that no one wanted to stop. All the newspapers had called them The Vampire Queen, reports of the first few murders showed a lipstick stain pressed against the wounds but recently the killer had left even fewer traces. With a grunt the inspector was finally able to start his engine, deciding, for the time being, against opening Pandora's Box.
The drive was a slow affair, the streets flooded with the torrential downpour. At last, thought Mertins, the city was revealing its true colours. As rain and sleet plastered his windshield he realised that now was a time for reflection, a time to express his inner most thoughts. He laughed. His brother's moving pictures had gotten to him, made him notice the silence. For years he had welcomed the pattering of the weather, found relief in its solitude. Now all he could hear were his thoughts themselves. Mertins turned left, past the newly refurbished Ice district and into the slum town of the Plains. Home sweet home. The Plains apartments were not, as many people had claimed, in disrepair. It would be more accurate to say that they were hardly buildings at all. Mertins parked his motor beside the haphazard pieces of brick that he called home.
The door to Mertins' apartment was open, although a more technical term would be broken. The Inspector sighed; it seemed like another robbery in the neighbourhood. At least there was an officer present and ready to investigate... when he was back on duty. Mertins knew there was little if anything of value in his apartment, he also knew from experience what his superiors thought about any Plains area break-ins; they were trivial and took away focus from the important crimes. Mertins found it strange how oblivious his superiors were to their own hypocrisy. Strange and oddly funny.
He stepped over the shards of glass that littered his entryway, heading towards his kitchen. Similarly to the state of the buildings inside the Plains, the word 'kitchen' was not necessarily correct; the words broken stove and half rusted refrigerator came to mind. As he had expected whoever trashed his place at least had the decency to release that the kitchen could not get any worse. As he began to walk towards his room Mertins heard a crunch from underneath his boot. Looking down he noticed a photograph of his parents smashed against the floor. The only photograph of his parents smashed against the floor. Mertins clenched his fist and forced himself to remain calm. Tomorrow would be better, he told himself, the world was his weird-fish-that-turns-its-snot-into-pearls. Choosing to only remove his shoes and rain drenched jacket, Mertins fell into a sombre dream.
As the inspector slept a figure watched from the shadows. They were content with the darkness, embraced its mystery. The sleeping man had found another plaything this morning, he was getting rather good at their little game. The figure leaned forward, inhaling the scent of the sleeping man. The corner of their lips turned upwards, almost creating a smile. They would have to leave soon, there were more playthings to create. The Vampire Queen continued to gaze upon the sleeping man a she left, leaving behind no trace except for a lipstick stain pressed against the man's neck.
AN: CLIFF- FEEL FREE TO REVIEW!