Hello, you are on Chapter One of the fanfiction, The Wills of Sociopaths. I'm just warning you, this fanfiction is rated M for a reason, as it contains many mature themes, including violence, language, and bashing of several topics. If this offends you, don't read. I didn't hold back on anything with this story or character, so you have been warned.

And for the people who understand the statement above, and still want to read this:

Hi.

It's been my dream to make a Lord of the Flies fanfiction, and so now I'm starting one. The main plot of this fanfiction goes along with the book, except that it is placed in 2015, and will thus have references to the pop culture of this time. Also, most of the older boys' ages go from 12 and 13 to 16 and 17. The littluns' ages (from 6-9) will stay the same.

Also, the pairing for this is eventual Roger/oc, though it will also feature one sided Jack/oc. Enjoy!

Disclaimer: gothchic6 does not own Lord of the Flies.

Chapter One: I'm On The Way:

"Alwin Prison For Women of Atlanta, Georgia is under high alert, as one of their most dangerous inmates has just escaped. The police report that prison guards went to inspect the cell of the inmate, Krista Verona, and were shocked to find it empty this morning at eight am. Police are still trying to figure how Verona escaped the prison.

Verona, age seventeen, was convicted of murdering her 52 year-old foster mother, Jean Hall in June of 2014, and was sentenced to life in prison, without parole. Besides the murder charge, Verona is reported to have an extensive criminal record, including charges of grand larceny, two counts of assault, and two counts of possession of a concealed weapon.

Because the police departments are unable to find a picture of Verona for broadcast purposes for some reason, the following is her description:

Verona was last seen wearing a bright orange prison uniform. She is approximately 5 feet and 9 inches tall, and weighs 130 pounds. Her skin is olive-toned, with blue undertones. She has long, dark brown hair that reaches to her waist when down, and her eyes are a stormy grey. She is hourglass shaped.

Police believe that Verona is hiding within the Atlanta city limit, though it is possible that she has gone outside of it. Police warn anyone who sees or encounters Verona to not confront her! Verona is considered a heavily dangerous inmate who is not afraid to use violence, as she deems necessary. She is known to be somewhat of a psychopath. Police also warn the public to lock their doors and windows, as Verona is known for breaking into houses. I am Serena Martinez, reporting from Atlanta, Georgia. Back to you, Jim."

"It's a sociopath, not psychopath," I hiss to the television screen. Those idiotic news journalists, reporting my mental state incorrectly. I know perfectly well what I am doing, and whether my actions may or may not be considered morally unethical. I've always known that. People that know me, or claim to know me, say that I have no soul. They are wrong. I have no conscience, not soul. But everything is religion with them. I've been to dozens of psychologists, psychiatrists, behavior experts, etcetera; you name a type of mental health expert, and I've been there. And there isn't one that hasn't said shit about "God" and religion, and all other kinds of spiritual shit. But when you're in a Bible Belt state of America, what else can you really expect?

There are the ones that say that I'm going to hell, and that "God" is going to strike me down. Well, I started committing crimes when I was seven, so I've spent a decade doing it. I think if "God" were to strike me down, he would of already done it by now, just to spare the lives of other people.

Then there are those who say stuff like that "God" is disappointed in me, that "God" never meant for me to be like this, and that "God" loves me no matter what. The last one is an interesting thought, but high unlikely, seeing as there is no "God", and I'm pretty sure that there isn't someone capable of loving me.

Hey, "God" didn't exactly put me in the best environment, to defend myself. I was born in the slums of Atlanta, Georgia, on November 20, 1997. I never knew my parents, as they were reportedly teenagers when they had me. Actually, it was my mother who had me; my father, the little pussy that he was, abandoned my mother ten weeks into her pregnancy. So, when I discovered the man who was biologically my father living the high life, two years ago, I made sure he met his end.

From what I've heard the social workers talk about my past, my mother apparently died giving birth to me. Humph, it fits; I can't seem to get close to people without hurting or killing them. The smart ones flee before I make the killing bite.

Someone found me in a dark alley, where my mother had chosen to give birth for some unknown reason. I was swiftly cannonballed into the foster care system, where I was shot between homes until I was arrested and incarcerated last year for murder. I never liked any of my foster parents, all of them overly strict, thinking that intense rules and regulations would be enough to stomp out the sociopath in me. They were all wrong, and they shipped me away as soon as they found out. I can't say I blame them. But the last one: the one whose murder landed me with life in prison without parole…

She refused to send me away. She was insistent that I follow her rules, insistent that her teachings would reform my attitude, insistent that I would change. She tried to bend me to her will, but my will was stronger. So, yes, I strangled her with her own hosiery, and left her for dead. They say I am the girl with no soul. What else would you expect?

There is a manhunt out for me in Atlanta, but what those morons don't know is that I've already made it into Florida. Truck drivers never get to listen to the news, so they are the perfect people to hitchhike off of. That's besides the fact that I've made a few changes to my appearance; I cut my waist long hair to my shoulders, dyed it jet-black, and bought green contact lenses. That way, I still kind of look like myself, but with a few differences.

I'm on my way to the airport in Gulf Breeze, Florida. I plan on going to England, and escaping this shit hole of a country. I'm using the last of my life savings, around $500, to buy this plane ticket.

I'm at the airport, where the television screens spit out my name and description about once every five minutes. I must admit, I'm flattered that they think I'm so dangerous. I don't try to be. It's just me.

I walk through the airport, a new navy blue backpack on my shoulders, along with some new clothes. They say orange is the new black, but I think orange looks horrible on everyone. So, I've changed the prison uniform out for black "booty" shorts, a medium blue tank top, black sun visor, and white and blue tennis shoes.

I am not recognized as I use my fake ID and passport to buy my ticket. I get completely through bag checks before I see someone looking at me strangely.

It is a man, in his twenties, who is just staring at me with unrelentless shock. I send him a confused look, but I know I must take care of him later.

To my delight, I realize that we are on the same plane. As we are boarding, I send him a small little smile that promises the world's evil upon him. He swallows nervously.

Ha! Even better. We sit right next to each other, in the last two seats of the plane. He eyes me, obviously realizing who I am, but not wanting to anger me. I ignore him for the entire flight.

Ten hours later, and everyone is angsty to get off of the plane, including my incredibly nervous friend next to me. We land In London, and as the passengers are exiting out of the plane, I grab my friend's wrist to prevent him from going anywhere. The last few passengers leave the plane. I tell the plane staff that I'm trying to help my friend search for something he lost on the way here, so they leave the plane. My friend, the pussy, only nods in agreement.

As soon as we are alone, I grab my friend, and pull him face to face with me, so he knows I mean business. I pull out my pocketknife. His face instantly whitens.

"Yeah, you know who I am, don't you, you little pussy?" I hiss harshly to him.

He nods, scared that I'm stab him if he makes any wrong moves. Smart guy.

I pull up the sleeve of his wool sweater, and while gagging him with the same hosiery I killed my foster-mother with (the police never found it), I slice my initials into his arm.

K.V.

He nearly screams, but I hold the scream in with the pantyhose. Tears are falling down his face, as he's struggling not to shake in fear. Pathetic.

I take the hosiery out of his mouth, whilst whispering, "Make any noise, and you die." I then use the extremely filthy hosiery to wipe the blood off of the wound. He grimaces in pain.

I hear the sound of footsteps of the plane staff becoming impatient outside. I hastily cover his arm back up with the (ironically) crimson red sleeve of his sweater. I then tell him in a low growl, "If you tell anyone anything that happened on this plane, or anything about me, I'll blow your fucking head off. I will hunt you down, and kill you. Got it?"

He nods pathetically, frantically trying to wipe away his tears. "I'm staying here. If the staff asks you anything about me, tell them that I already got off because I had to be at my hotel at a certain time. And if they say that they didn't see me, tell them that I have a very common look and that they probably overlooked me. Got that?"

He nods pathetically again. I let go of his wrist.

"Now go back home to your mother, you pussy, and tell her that you met a great woman on the plane. Because the revenge I'm committing against the world will be great and terrible. Because I am great and terrible."

He wastes no time in practically running away from me in fear, still shaking. He leaves the plane.

Now I have to find a place to hide. I decide to conceal myself in the luggage racks. I know, a cliché spot in an airplane, but I've noticed how lazy these stewardesses are; I doubt they'll check the racks before another flight comes along.

After waiting in the racks for around an hour, I hear voices, more specifically male voices of varying ages, enter the plane and take their seats. I crouch so that I can hide in the back of the rack, where there's a chance the males won't see me. However, the luggage rack opens, and to my surprise, I see myself making eye contacts with the most demonic pair of eyes I've seen other than my own. I guess the person who the eyes belong to respects my decision to remain hidden, because he gives me one final glare before stuffing his black suitcase into my ribs, and slamming the door.

"The flight from London to California is scheduled to leave in five minutes." I hear the pilot say over the intercom.

But, the thing is, this plane will never reach California…

I introduce my newest main character, Krista! She is probably the most evil, most sociopathic, and sadistic character I've ever written, and for some reason, it is very easy to write about her.

Many people pair Roger up with girls who get so scared, and so freaked so easily, so I wanted to do something different. I wanted Roger to be able to connect to someone. And for them to battle wills for a bit, before I put the romance in.

Please review, any feedback is appreciated… except for people whose criticism isn't constructive, and who just want to be jerks.

Anyway, please review!

gothchic6