A/N: Ehh this just kinda became a thing so I could get some personal feelings out, but since I used a character I figured it counted as fanfiction enough to be on here. Apologies for this being lame and for my tenses being a wreck. Enjoy?
What had once seemed to Lukas like an anxious, hectic rush of madness now worked methodically and indifferently before him - more like the authoritative flow of a river than the sporadic clash of thunder. He was watching his beloved home of Oslo as it was flooded with people during the evening rush. He had never noticed the mechanics of his city that seemed to work together to allow this flow to pass through uneventfully. Busses, cars, bikers, and pedestrians all following the rules and order put in place to keep them separate - to keep them from having to think about the process of movement itself. It was much easier to see this now that he was not a part of it anymore.
He watched from something of a distance as to not allow himself the illusion of ever being a part of the city once again. He did not move - only watched those moving. He did not feel - only watched those feeling.
He could leave Oslo and maybe hide somewhere more comfortable. He could visit his family to see how they were doing... no. He couldn't. He was not ready to see them. It was too soon.
Large cities are forgiving. The more streets there are, the more insignificant the ones that witnessed your past become. The fated flow continues despite your wrongs and never resists anyone falling into its pattern. But what he had done, Oslo could never forgive. Not even a city like New York or Tokyo could accept him now, he thought. He would forevermore exist with a steel veil separating himself from humanity. He had forfeited his right to take up living space among the sane. He had done the unforgivable. The unconceivable.
Lukas Bondevik had killed someone.
Maybe they deserved it. He wasn't quite sure how much of it had been their wrongs and how much of it had been his self-doubt that he could actually cause death. Somehow some combination of those two factors had produced a body.
Did he regret it? Well, things like that are not so simply answered. It did pain him to imagine what his family would think of the news should they ever receive it. Maybe they had already begun to wonder why he wasn't responding to their communication as usual. His little brother would cry. "How could big bro do such a thing?" he would ask. (Well, minus the 'big bro' part. Emil would never see Lukas as a sibling - especially now - but one could dream.) Mathias would have the most faith in him. "There must be some mistake, Lukas would never let those impulses get the best of him! He's stronger than that!" Always the optimist. Always the imbecile. Tino would lean on Berwald for support. Maybe the Swedish man wouldn't scare Tino as much anymore if he learned he once lived with a murderer.
Not that it mattered how they felt.
He had chosen to back his victim up against a wall with a gun to give it somewhat of a glorious, cinematic touch. The barrel had traced the edges of his victim's jaw, keeping him in suspense. "Where will you go?" he had wondered out loud. "Will you be reunited with all you have lost in heaven? Will you burn in hell? Will you be reincarnated? Huh, I think a life as a shark would suit you, myself. Maybe you will be trapped in Purgatory? Or maybe you will simply cease to exist?" No response. Only jagged breathing. As expected. "You see, you contaminate this city that I love so much and you are a toxic burden to everyone dear to me. You have to go. I hope you understand. No hard feelings?"
Silence. A searing bang. Silence.
Purgatory was the answer - at least for Lukas it was. Now he was stuck in this sub-reality that he had once known as his life. He could continue his days as he always had. He could go through all the motions that had constructed his existence before his crime. But it could never be the same. Maybe he did regret it then, although given a second chance he would still make the same choice.
He carried around some pride, at least. He had accomplished a "perfect murder." He wore no handcuffs. He did no time. His actions went unpunished. 'Just think of how many people dream of this - to take a life and walk free!' he thought. To do such a thing, he had realized, one had to be incapable of being punished, even after it is revealed that the death is on their hands. It became so clear to him. To commit a perfect murder he had to be both the criminal and the victim.