A/N: Welcome to my second AU fanfic! I recently started watching Hannibal and since I'm obsessed with One Piece this was created. Ta-da~
Anyways thanks for reading!
Warnings: Language, gore, blood, very slow updates.
He could hear the ring of the alarm before the thick metal doors unlocked and slid open. It wasn't time for lunch or even a regular security check, which could only mean that there was a visitor. He confirmed this theory when he heard the treads of a stranger echo after the metal doors slid shut again. Who in their right mind would visit a mental institution? He pondered as he sat on the edge of his uncomfortably small bed. Whoever they were visiting was probably an unlucky bastard.
"You got a visitor," the security's voice echoed through Kid's empty cell as he sat on his bed, not turning to look or even acknowledging the man.
Ah.
"Eustass Kid. Twenty three. Institutionalized since last year," a deep voice came, though the prisoner still didn't turn to look; instead, he looked at his surroundings, white walls. Nothing but white walls.
"I'm here to give you an offer," Kid scoffed at the words. It sounded like his visitor was a salesman and he was completely oblivious to the current situation. Kid didn't turn his head but still glanced slightly at the man, seeing only the uniform that this man to be a government official.
"And what would that be?" Kid muttered, continuing to stare at the white walls of his cell.
"Probation," Kid quirked his brow.
"Conditions?" There was no reply and, curious, Kid turned to look at the man standing on the other side of the bars. He was pretty handsome, his suit outlining his lean physique. He had unnaturally long blonde hair, that need to be cut, and icy blue eyes, that looked intently at Kid.
"I need your help."
Kid stared at the man, dumbfounded, before bursting out in laughter. Was the man serious?
"Hey, hey, are you really some government official?" He laughed, standing up from the bed and moving towards the bars to get a closer look at the man. Up close, Kid realized how tall the man was, six foot four– but Kid was taller, beating him by four inches.
The blonde held up his badge, proving to the sociopath of his certification.
"Agent Killer. Criminal investigator and profiler," he stated, causing Kid to burst out into more laughter.
"Killer. A little ironic isn't it?" He mocked, reaching his hands outside of the bars, though the other stepped away.
"You'll be under heavy supervision and you're hands are required to be handcuffed at all times," he stated flatly.
"Doesn't sound like probation at all," Kid smirked. "So what does the law want with a serial killer?" His eyes met the icy blues one, staring deeply into them, trying to analyze any reaction.
"Insight," the words were spoken softly as if the man begrudged his own motives.
"Insight?" Kid repeated questioningly, laughing at the answer. "What possible insight does anyone want from a sociopath?"
Killer's face hardened as he continued to stare back intently at the prisoner.
"Insight on being a sociopath."
There was only amusement on Kid's face as he stopped laughing. This guy must be really desperate to be asking for insight from a psychotic– or so they labeled him– person like him. He didn't say anymore, only quirking his head to the side and grinning at the blonde.
"You can leave tomorrow morning," the officer stated, not giving Kid a chance to answer 'yes.'
"There better be alcohol," Kid yelled as the man left without saying anything else. He watched as the man walked out of sight and walked back to his white bed, lying down on the white sheets, head resting on the white pillow.
He didn't fall asleep that night, staring at the white ceiling that only looked black in the dark. He thought about reasons that could possibly make the police come crawling to a murderer, like him, for help. He smiled at the little adventure that'll relieve him from these boring white walls and maybe, just maybe, he'll be a little cooperative– well, as cooperative as psychopaths can be. He continued to revel in these thoughts, not closing his tired eyes once. Even when the prison lights turned on, he continued to stare at the ceiling until the guards heavy treads echoed through the hallway, eventually reaching his cell, and called.
"Get your things," the guard told him after shackling his arms in front of his body, though he didn't have much to get, in fact, he had nothing to get. He walked outside where a black car waited for him. As he walked up to it, the door opened and inside waited Killer.
"Did you bring the alcohol?" Kid smirked at the man, whose face was impassive.
"No," he said unapologetically. "You can get some later." Kid gave an annoyed sigh before bursting out into laughter.
"Well it's not like I expected any," Kid didn't really care. Although the excitement kept him awake, he could feel his eyelids getting heavier. A little coffee later would help.
Killer didn't say anything else and the car drove off. The institution was isolated on a high hill, surrounded by high walls and maximum security. Kid marveled at how ironically beautiful the surrounding scenery was, making the psychotic ward look like a castle from some odd fairytale.
It was a long, slow drive; neither men talked but it wasn't uncomfortable. The green scenery that peacefully zoomed by and the previous sleepless night started affecting Kid and he nodded off to sleep.
He came to that border between sleep and wakefulness. He knew he remained in the car, feeling the fine black leather beneath his hands and the uncomfortable seat belt that rubbed against his skin. His neck felt sore from leaning on nothing, but he didn't have enough consciousness to move the muscles. Flashing through his mind, the blurry visions, that only make sense when you're dreaming, made a story that would be forgotten as soon as Kid woke up.
"Hey," the voice jolted Kid from his sleep. "We're here."
The red head slowly moved his stiff neck, massaging the sore muscles. He rubbed his eyes as he got out of the car and as the haziness left his eyes, they were met with a large building, having more windows than the psychotic ward had cells.
"This way," Killer directed with his hands as they walked through the large glass doors. Metal detectors. Special IDs. The place just screamed police headquarters.
"I hoped there's a party thrown in my honor," Kid chuckled as they made their way down long hallways and through more locked doors.
"They don't know you're here," Killer muttered, mostly to himself, continuing to lead Kid.
"Didn't get permission huh?" Kid laughed. "I look forward to seeing you get yelled at."
. . .
"Are you out of your mind?" Kid grinned as a man of about thirty with ginger hair remonstrated as Killer introduced the red head. "I did not grant permission for this." Obviously, he supervised the investigation.
"We aren't getting anywhere with the case and I can't create any sort of profile for this killer. He's picking his victims at random," Killer reasoned.
"And you need this sociopath to help you do your job?" The boss questioned. His tone wasn't angry or sarcastic, instead, it was a little defeated, admitting that there was truth to Killer's reasons.
"Yes. I think Eustass Kid has a similar psyche and analyzing it can help move us along with the case."
"Why Eustass Kid though? He bludgeoned eight people to death," The man questioned Killer. The almost same question Kid had been asking in his mind on his way here. Murderers each had their own motives, in this case, takes one to know one doesn't apply at all.
"I agree," a beautiful woman with jet black hair and unnaturally wonderful curves interjected. "I worked on Kid's case. His murders were brutal and unplanned whereas in this case, the victims are killed in a careful and precise manner."
"I still killed eight before you caught me though," Kid sneered.
"So how does this in any way relate to these recent series of murder?" The head said, returning back to the topic at hand.
"Motive," Killer stated flatly. "Kid's murders had no motive, no pattern."
"I had reasons," Kid retorted, smirking at the unreasonable response.
How the police have fallen. He thought.
"Not good ones."
"Are there ever good reasons to kill someone?" Everyone turned their heads towards the door where a raven-haired man stood. "I agree with Drake. Using a killer to psychoanalyze another won't help and will be completely useless."
"Doctor," Killer nodded at the man. "How nice of you to join." Though the tone of his voice didn't match the words he uttered.
"The human mind is a complete mystery," he continued, ignoring the other's greeting, and tapped his fingers to his temple. "Each different and unique in it's own way."
"I didn't know psychology was part of your field, Law," the same black haired lady chimed in, smiling at the man.
"No," Law admitted. "That's suppose to be Killer's, but you should know, Robin, by the amount of bodies our forensic team had to analyze that he's not doing a good job." He countered, ignoring the fact that the man he insulted stood in the same room.
"Listen," Killer sighed. "There's been eleven murders in the past two months. No pattern. No leads. Nothing. Using Kid might help or it might not, but it's better than sitting around, waiting for the next victim."
Everyone fell silent because they couldn't argue. He was right.
"Four males and seven females. All of different height, weight, ethnicity, skin color, backgrounds, medical history and so forth." the woman stated as if to reinforce Killer's point. A silence took over the whole office. Everyone looked down, knowing that they haven't gotten even one step closer to capturing the murderer and arguing wasn't helping them get anywhere.
Kid gathered the information.
Eleven murders in two months huh? Not bad. He laughed inwardly, relishing at the sight of the policemen's crestfallenness. Although he stood here as a sort of aid, he had no intention of helping. Why should he? They're the kind of people that placed him in that dull room and would probably put him back there once they caught their guy.
Kid looked at each individual in the conference room, all dejected looking. The boss who only talks yet does nothing. The black haired lady who analyzes crime scenes so carefully that she could tell which hand the victim used to eat breakfast. The blonde man– the guy that brought him here– who analyzes the psyche to predict next potential targets. Then he turned to look at the doctor that analyzed dead bodies, not really a doctor at all so to speak. Standing by the door, leaning against the frame, the man returned his gaze so intently, not discouraged at all, unlike his coworkers, and smiled at him slightly in a sort of mocking way. Kid narrowed his eyes, challenging the tanned six foot tall doctor.
"So all the victims are completely unrelated," he stated rhetorically. "So what method does the person use that connects them all back to him?" Kid said, directed at the doctor, getting impatient from standing there; his back itched and his bound hands prevented him from scratching.
Law closed his eyes, a different kind of smile stretching across his face.
"All victims were cut up, almost– no– exactly like a professional," Law stated, looking intently at the red headed man that was to help them find their lead. "Everyone of them missing their heart."
Kid looked away from the doctor, closing his eyes, as he took in the information. He thought about it, tried to picture it: the crazy medical doctor that ran around ripping people's hearts out. Things could get pretty interesting from here he contemplated to himself, but that didn't mean he was willing to help. He wouldn't mind finding out who this serial killer is, but if, no, when he did- he was confident in his skill, after all he hadn't been just a killer before they put him behind bars- he wasn't going to snitch on him. He felt a kind of odd respect for the crazy doctor, being able to kill so many people without the police even being able to get one lead.
He laughed loudly, upsetting all the investigators in the room, who all looked up and glared at the maniac.
"So what do you call him?" Kid asked a smug smile playing across his face.
Law returned the smile.