Hey guys! As you've already noticed I'm going to be re-writing Droog. I'm doing this because I've seen too many mistakes on the rough draft and feel that this story can bring more to the table. If you want you can read the rough draft and re-written version to compare, it would really help to give me feedback, that way I can take notes as the story goes on. Just to let you know this story is going to have some changes for the original rough draft, mostly so the plot would make better sense.

Also thank you demonbarber14 for helping me out and being very supportive, a billion thanks to you :)!

As for the rest of you, Enjoy!

Chapter 1

The silver bracelets on my wrists screamed loud and clear that I was caught. Of course they couldn't have waited; they've been looking for me for a good long while. Didn't matter that I was in a hospital, the police as well as the doctors knew what I did to my father and his young third wife and would have done the same to my boyfriend if only he didn't start fighting back. I'm going to admit I was in over my head, I thought of myself as invincible by simply being female. I'm sure Aileen Wuornos thought the same thing.

I lay back down in bed, knowing I wasn't going anywhere. Once my eyes closed, I began to dream. I usually don't remember my dreams, but this one was very vivid. I was twelve and wearing a hot pink rain coat with an umbrella to match. It was nighttime and raining so hard that I could barely see the bench across the street. I don't want to be out in the dark and in the rain but I had promised to be here. I waited in the cold, wet darkness a little longer, I actually began to cry. Someone had promised to take me away but, I can't remember who. I looked down at my watch (also hot pink) telling me it was 9 o' clock at night. That Someone should be here by now, why isn't that person here? That's when the rain finally stopped; I turn my attention up to the sky then to the bench. Someone was there (three somesones to be exact) sitting on that bench. I was afraid because the Three were not that Someone.

"Zoya, I'm sorry this has to happen to you but you'll have to make a choice," said one of the Three. Before I woke up in a prison cell instead of a hospital I remember five glowing lights coming out of the faces of the Dark Trinity. My back was stiff from the hard bed, "What choice?" I groaned as I got up. My hand touched the dense, orange fabric of the 'fabulous' jail suit, rubbing my back as I walked to the mirror. I know my boyfriend (ex-boyfriend I expect, and the first to actually live) did a number to my face.

In the mirror was a young female that has been sentenced to prison for twenty-five to life or possibly death row, and I've only been here for maybe a day or two. The ugly orange I was wearing clashed unfavorably with my slightly tanned skin, but looks don't matter here. I traced the four scratches on my face. I know those are going to turn into scars, I remember how hard his nails went into the flesh and the way it stung when he marked my face. The marks were tender, but it wasn't as bad as the scar that went from the left corner of my mouth to the end of my jaw. Goddamn, it hurt like a motherfucker and it was self-inflicted. Apparently harming yourself is painful.

I heard footsteps coming down the hall, but I paid no mind; I'm going to be here forever, so might as well look at myself all I want. I'm not very appealing with the scars, messy copper hair (it's going to turn back to its natural dark brunette from the lack of sunshine, I just know it), and that nasty orange I'm forced to wear for the rest of my days but if I was in a more stylish situation, a man (or woman) would be more then willing to flirt with me. Stylish or not, the only thing that stays the same are my eyes. Your eyes are like the ocean; they're beautiful and dangerous. I don't know who told me that, maybe it's from that Someone that was suppose to take me away from here and decided to ditch me. My hands ball into fists at the thought. Beauty is great, but not enough. At least that Someone was right about their being dangerous. I can always tell by the way my eyes change. Some have said they were like the blue of the Caribbean Sea, others have compared them to a dark navy when the sun is about to set. As of now, those blue eyes are almost as dark as the abyss. I will love you, forever. Hearing the words I finally snap with an angry scream and a fist to the mirror.

"Miss Lovejoy!" exclaimed a female guard, pulling me away from the mirror. The mirror itself was almost in pieces, reflecting back a fun house version of us. I held up my arms, "I'm fine now," I said truthfully. My distorted reflection made me feel calmer. The guard said something about the medical ward but my eyes were on the mirror until I was out of the cell.

Rubbing my newly bandaged, fist I didn't know we passed my cell. I was too occupied with the thought of new scars on my knuckles to realize this until the door closed behind me. Unlike the sickly brown walls of my cell the room I was in looked very new with its clean whiteness and the smell of cleaning products. Adding to the nice cleanness was a man in a black suit sitting behind a black table. I was assuming he was my defense lawyer, probably going to lie through his teeth that I was nuttier then a fruitcake and I should go to the nearest asylum as possible. I doubted that would happen, but if I'm lucky maybe the good old doctors can masturbate the violence out of me (rumor has it they're bringing it back). I bit the inside of my cheeks to keep from laughing and sat across from what I thought was my lawyer.

"Miss Lovejoy, it's a pleasure to meet you," said the suit, I actually snickered at the comment as we shook hands and sat myself down. I'm not exactly a pleasurable person to meet; if I were there wouldn't be a need to be here.

"What's so funny?" he asked, if the suit didn't have such a nice voice I wouldn't have bothered to look at his face. I guessed he was in his late thirties or early forties from the thin crows feet and the grey hair on the side of his temples. I'm not going to lie, he was very handsome to look at, especially with the silver eyes but I thought those were contacts.

"I think you should have been a movie star," I mused

"Really, what makes you think that?"

"You kind of remind me of a villain of a Tarantino movie, mainly I'm thinking Pulp Fiction with that suit but that face makes me think of Col. Hans Landa…..are you a Christoph Waltz clone? I hear they've cloned a lot of actors in Hollywood."

"No, I'm a pure original human being." Oh what a bummer. "My name is Stan Rubick by the way, with a ck at the end instead of a k. People tend to think I'm related the inventor of the infamous puzzle cube." I nodded and decided to get down to business.

"So tell me, Mr. Rubick, what are my best chances if I plea for insanity? I have a feeling it's-"

"I'm not your lawyer Miss Lovejoy," he said abruptly. I was silent a few seconds from confusion then I smiled as I thought of the next possible thing.

"Ok….I think you're a little bit overdressed to be a journalist. Usually they're more for old jackets and band name shirts." Rubick laughed at my comment.

"Back when I was a freshmen in college I tried, but ended up in entertainment and politics instead." When he said 'entertainment' and 'politics' in the same sentence, I knew immediately who he was; it also made me realize why the police didn't question me. I've heard of people, mostly teenagers, suddenly disappearing after a brutal crime has been committed, then end up staring in one of the live shows on SERTV or Snuff Entertainment Reality TeleVision. Most of the time they're game shows but instead of money it's a spared life that's offered to one lucky victim who makes it alive. As gruesome as that sounds, it's very tame to some of the late night content I've seen.

I sighed, "So you know what I've done. How much do you know?"

"Enough to know you're a serial killer," he said, pulling out a notebook and pen from his suitcase. "Which is why I'm here. So tell me, when did you first start killing?" I didn't speak for a moment, feeling a little scared to tell the truth. I've killed enough people to put me in the late night shows on SERTV. I can already imagine myself being fillet like a fish or brutally raped by the end of a baseball bat. Yeah, lethal injection looks pretty humane right now.

"Don't you already know?"

"Of course I know but, I want to hear it from you." Of course, what better to kill me then to hear the evil out of my lips.

"Ok," I said, I had no way out so might as well make my confession now. "My first victim I killed was a middle school bully, before then I mainly killed cats. Both of us got suspended for fighting on school grounds so I stalked her for a week and while her parents were out celebrating new years I drugged her, took her out to the nature trail on Pawnee and I made her grin from ear to ear before gutting her up."

"Ah yeah, the first victim of the Wichita Dahlia murders," said Rubick, writing something down on his notebook, probably brainstorming on the best way to torture a terrible person like me. "Most of them were woman but on rare occasions you targeted men as well, all castrated. Some of the locals think there might be more then one killer but, of course we already know that. You had a way of killing in different styles, why is that?"

"So I wouldn't get caught," I said plainly, "If I was only doing it one way the law would have gotten me sooner; plus it's boring to do it one way. Say what you want about murder but, in my eyes it's an art in itself." I was expecting him to be disgusted, but he surprised me by leaning forward with interest and urged me to explain. I thought that maybe he was pretending and was secretly revolted. Either way, I went on confessing with more zeal; if I'm going to ripped to pieces I might as well give it my all.

"As you already know, Mr. Rubick, I go by many names. I am the Dahlia Killer, the Castrator, The Ripper of Broadway, and my personal favorite, the Man Eater. There is always a motive murder so don't think of it as random. I might have killed one victim one way then tomorrow a different way, doesn't matter, the killings all come down to the same reason."

"What sort of reason would that be?"

"Sex…I was implanted with a Sparky when I was twelve. After my parents got divorced my father decided it was the best thing for me." I laughed, thinking about that day. A Sparky is like an inside out chastity belt and mainly the highly religious like to implant it on their daughters until marriage. My father told me it was for my own protection, in truth I actually felt violated after I woke up.

"I see," said Rubick, he looked very interested, "You got sexual satisfaction from bloodshed, kind of like Andrei Chikatilo."

"Yeah," I said, I was really wanting an E-stick to smoke out of right now. I always want an E-stick when I feel anxious. "Only I didn't get sexual gratification from children. If I ever had to kill a child (which I did a few times) it was quick and painless, another reason I wasn't caught cause nobody really cares about teenagers or adults. Anyway, to get back on point, I actually feel sorry for Andrei, I understand his position quite well. Forever bloody virgins the both of us." I was quiet for a little bit while Rubick wrote in his notebook. Andrei had it lucky; his execution was a bullet to the head. Mine however, is going to be a blood bath on the small screen. Lucky fucking bastard!

"Before I get my fifteen minutes of fame, I want to make my last request to abort Sparky and have a one night stand."

"Excuse me?"

I sighed in frustration, I've been keeping it cool for a while but now my nerves are fried.

"I want to get laid, goddamnit! I'M STILL A FUCKING VIRGIN AND I WANT TO GET LAID BEFORE I FUCKING DIE!" The room was ringing with silence, it was in the air and I can feel myself ready to cry. Face in my hands I can feel tears flowing from my eyes. I hear Rubick get up from his chair; I did not expect him to hug me.

"Zoya, you got it all wrong," he said, running his fingers through my mess of a hair. I had to admit this was quite nice even though I thought he was doing it to comfort me until the worst happens. He pushed me away from his shoulder, brushing the tears from my eyes. He was close enough to kiss me when he said, "I'm not here to kill you, I'm offering you a job." Did I hear him correctly?

"A…job?"

"Yeah, did you actually think I was going to put you on SERTV just to kill you off?" he asked, I was a little too speechless to answer. "If I wanted to do that I would have put you on the game shows after you've killed your first victim but to do that would be a waste of talent, and you have a lot of talent."

"Ok," I paused; I didn't know weather to think of this as a good thing or a bad thing. "So am I going to be like the spokesperson of one of the games or something?" I was smiling from ear to ear at the thought; I was hoping I would be the replacement for Stella Mench on my all time favorite game show High Stakes. I always thought she was a smooth lady whenever some unfortunate teen went to their death.

"No."

I frowned a little. "Am I going to be a….snuffer?" A snuffer is like a porn star but their movies have blood and sex galore in them.

"Oh no, Zoya, not that either," he said, taking something out of his suitcase and handing me an envelope that had the words Droog written on it.

"I know that word from A Clockwork Orange. What does a Kubrick movie have to do with SERTV?"

"Well Zoya, this is the future and that movie is known for chaos, plus I think the role of Alex would fit you nicely." I burst into laughter; I knew the real reason why he chose this theme. Every Halloween I dress up as Alex, of all things that have been feminized (from Freddy Krueger to firemen), though in Alex's case, I've always thought he looked very womanly.

"Oh God….Alex should have been a woman in the first place! He would have gotten away with crime if only had some hooters to flash." Both of us ended up roaring with laughter. If you are not laughing at this you are either more soulless then I am or just plain don't know what I'm talking about.

"So, I take it you accept the job offer then?"

"Yeah," I said, catching my breath from all my laughing. "What would happen if I didn't?"

"You'd be put on death row by tomorrow if you refuse and not by lethal injection either." I guess I don't have that many options.

"Then it's a deal, when do I start?"