A/N: I'm sorry if this isn't much good; it's my first fanfiction. My beta reader got this sinister grin on her face when she read it, and knowing the context, that's a good thing. I hope you enjoy it. He's a little talkative, I know, so I decided to err on the side of caution and call it OOC. And AU, for similar reasons. If you have any comments, feel free to inform me. Flames are welcome too; it will teach me what I have to improve upon.

At first, all that she could see was darkness. All that she could hear was silence.

And then it began.

A repeatitive tapping noise, the sound of hard-soled shoes on linoleum in a wide hallway. A sharp fragment of light broke the thick black of the room as the door opened, and disappeared as the door closed again. Only the person's shoes could be heard crossing the room to where she was bound, and the sound became more and more nerve-racking the closer that it came. The chink of a small chain being pulled above her soon became a harsh electric buzz as the single fluorescant light flickered on above her. Squinting, she looked about wildly, trying to see her captor. When her eyes managed to adjust to the too-bright light, she was a lone figure seated directly in front of her, five feet away.

The person sat in a rigid, constrained manner, not a crease out of place in the black suit that the wore. He also wore a crisp white shirt, which became an unsettling pallor in the coarse light. This bleached spot was punctuated by the necktie; black, like the suit,and tied in a perfectly executed half-Windsor. His shoes were well-polished, and he wore silver cufflinks. He looked the epitome of professionalism, as much so as a 15 year-old can muster. Young, though he was, his scarlet eyes held the experiences of many lifetimes, or at least the hardships thereof. As if to match this concept, his hair was a grey-white color, that turned silver in the pale light. A living embodiment of pre-emptive aging.

"Amelia Bernatelle," he said, in an icy tone. "You have written 17 fan fictions for the series Megami Kouhosei. Each of them contain the following offenses: idealistic original characters, commonly known as "Mary Sue", illogical pairings of existing characters, distortion of characters' personalities, reckless slaughter of English grammar, despite it being your native tounge, poor spelling, and improper syntax. 14 of your stories contain pairings between said original characters and pre-exisitng characters, and the remaining 3 involved the badly-composed destruction of all pre-exisiting female life on GOA."

"Is...is that why I'm tied up here? Hiead-chan, did you come to let me go? Are you going to whisk me away to some romantic view of the stars where we can snuggle and you can confide in me about your miserable past?"

(Now, dear reader, I'm afraid that my skills as an author, or perhaps even words themselves, cannot describe the unique blend of disgust and outrage that crossed Hiead's mind, nor can I adequately describe the facial expression that accompanied it. The best I can do is to say that it was a scowl of truly epic proportions, reminiscant of a middle-aged financial advisor with a ulcer being presented with a greviouly ill-balanced budget.)

"...No. It being that I have been the subject of 11 out of 14 of your self-insertion pairings, I have benn assigned to dispense unto you your punishment."

"What? I'm beign punished for writing fanfiction?"

"You're being punished for your complete lack of sense." He calmly pulled a gun out from the inside of his suit coat, and began to prepare it as he continued. "People like you seem not to realize the consequences of your actions. For every bad fanfiction you write, the people involved are forced to suffer your creations; live through them. We've had enough. We need to put a stop to this." He switched off the safety catch. "You're only one in millions, however. This is going to be a long battle. And our aggression is compounded by having to suffer both our own problems, such as Victim, and your idiocy.

Ca-CHAK, stated the gun, now fully armed.

A dim sense of apprehension rose from deep within Amelia's subconscious. "But..." she stammered, "b-but it's fan FICTION!"

"It is only fiction if it doesn't happen."

When the gun barrel pressed against her temple, she suddenly realized how cold the room was. The air was frigid. The gun was ice. But nothing compared to the glacial chill of his eyes, as red as the bloodlust they contained.

Tears now streaming down her cheeks, she managed to sob, "W-will you tell my mom that I love her?"

"No."

BANG

The door opened, and Hiead stepped into the echoey hallway. He wanted to visit the restroom before he left, so that he could wash out the blood before it stained. Walking down the hall, the harsh sound of his shoes hitting the linoleum...he rather enjoyed the repeatitive sound. A smile played at the corners of his mouth, knowing that the janitor was in for an interesting evening. But there was no time for amused reflections. After all, there are so many more to dispatch.