Okay, so, first story on here. Based off of the comic 'Hack/Slash'.
Disclaimer: The characters are mine, but like I said, are based off the characters in 'Hack/Slash'.
----
Chapter One -
The sound of the dremel echoed through the twelfth floor an empty building complex. As the wind moved plastic sheets covering windowless openings, she grinded her teeth - blood dripping from her foot. The sweat on her forehead fell like bullets, hitting the floor with increasing speed.
"I want you to associate with me," his voice, as intimidating as it was, continued. "Come now. Talk to me. Pain; agony - what does it unlock, Ms. Grave?"
She sat there with her hands behind her back, tied to a chair, her left foot without a shoe or sock- bare to the touch, laid on a cinderblock and safely secured. Her body so still.
"Wee wee wee…" her voice trembled, but left no hint of any emotion… any pain.
He put his hand to his ear, "I can't hear you. Speak up. What comes to your mind?"
"Nnh, this little piggy went wee wee wee… all the way home."
The disfigured man walked towards her, shoving her own severed toe into her face. She turned her face to the side, but only narrowed her eyes, as a crooked smile played on his face.
"Make your jokes. Hide within your cage of flesh. I stripped away my own mask to free myself. And I have peeled back the lies of others until all that remained was bone." Doc spoke, each word he said hung at the end of his bloody lips. "My truth is this, I did things to my students… sick things, and they turned me in. They ruined me," he stopped, coming closer to her emotionless face.
"They ruined me, so, therapeutically, I took them apart… revealed the truth about them. You are not one of my students, yet you sought me out. Why? Did you hope to stop me? Is that it? Or did you simply need a physiologist? If that is the case, then, let us do this properly, Ms. Grave…"
He came closer, looking straight into her striking blue eyes. She looked at him in deceit.
".. tell me about your mother."
--
She sat alone on the three seat swing, the wind passing every so often. Her hair played in the wind as she went up, and her glasses disheveled as she came back down.
"Whatcha doin' Grave? Spreadin' cooties onto the swings again?"
She came to a quick halt, plating both of her feet on the ground. She picked up her head quickly, looking straight in front of her. There stood three boys, each about her
age- two blonde haired, one shorter than the other, and another wearing a red cap.
The taller, blonde haired boy spoke again, "Fuckin' dirty, ugly cunt. She smells."
"I'm sorry… I'll leave.. I just wanted to swing…" she said, looking rather grief-stricken.
The boy with the cap butted in, "Where ya gonna go, stinky?" Home?"
She got up, with her head hanging low. The bitterness of the boys overcoming her like a crashing wave.
The shorter one of the boys decided he'd like a say in this torment also, "Yeah… she's gonna go tell her big fat bitch mom."
"Ooh yeah.. Watch out for The Lunch Lady," the leader of the group stuck out his foot just as she was about to start walking away, " Hey Grave, maybe you'd stink less if you took a bath."
She tripped and fell into a puddle of dirt, her glasses crashing to the ground. She trembled as the boys stood behind her, laughing. Tears began to fall.
"Hah, lookit that cry baby."
"Yeah… Joe, maybe we should leave her alone now, man," the short boy said.
Loud footsteps could be heard coming towards the group in flashing speed. Almost like the sound of rubble falling from a crane of exceeding height.
"What are you boys doing!? Get out of my way, you boys. Leave her alone!"
Her mother was a one-women stampede. All of the boys ran to the other side of the park, fearing her mother. She stood tall above each and every one, towering over them like some sort of beast.
"Get up, honey. Get up. What did they do to you?"
Her mother helped her up, as she wipped away the mud on her knees.
"Un hunnh… nothin', Momma, nothin'…" she mumbled incoherently.
"Why'd you leave the house? I told you not the leave the house." Her voice was soothing, yet unpleasant.
"Bu-but… Momma."
She pulled her, and put her hands on either side of her daughter, looking down at her- her eyes full of sorrow. Her hair fell onto her wet face and she carelessly pulled it aside.
"You gotta listen to your Mommy. I told you not to leave…" she looked at her daughters clothes."… look what happens when you do! You get hurt, that's what!"
She moved her hands to the young girl's face, wiping away the dried tears and remaining dirt.
"The world is full of people who want to hurt you, Zuilmar. All we've got is each other. Even your father left us alone! I just don't want you getting hurt, Honey."
She pulled away, but her mother still kept hold.
"Mom… not… not here."
Her mother grabbed her hand, gently pulling her to the car. Zulimar looked back at the boys, she sighed in disagreement.
They were playing with their basket ball, throwing it to one another. Joe, the leader of the boys, wasn't paying attention and had gotten hit in the face.
--
"I've been saying it for awhile…but I believe the simple days of slash and stab are ending." Doc spoke.
"Fuck you." she spat, blood coming from the inside of her lips.
"There's no statement in it. These days it's all about the gore and torture. It's difficult to be an innovator, like myself, but it's obvious I'm onto something. Physical pain unlock psychological pain. The look on your face when I mentioned your Mother perhaps even more delightful than your visage when I removed your toe."
He got down on one knee, right in front of her, and grabbed her left foot- making sure he had a firm grip on it.
"What kind of person seeks out killers and sadists, Ms, Grave?"
He turned on the dremel, the sound, once again, echoing. Moving it slowly, he continued, "What kind of person follows a trail…"
The dremel hit her second last toe, the pain making her throw her head back, and grind her teeth.
"… of blood?"
--
The screaming could be heard throughout the school; the dead, empty school.
The boy's head was forced onto the cafeteria chopping block, as organs, brains, and other body parts hung on the pot rack above him.
"Auuh… hunnh. Oh God… please stop, Ms. Grave… please…"
She positioned the axe above his head, as if she were portraying an executor. In here lunch lady attire, it suited her part.
"Not so brave now, are ya, Joe Fitch? You were awful tough when you were terrorizing my little girl, weren't you? Weren't you?!"
"Mom…"
Zulimar quietly stepped through the kitchen door.
Her mother turned to her.
"… Mom, you have to stop doing this. This isn't right, Mom!" You can't just kill everyone!" she took small steps towards her.
"Now Zuui… your mother knows best. Those other kids and this boy… they were being so cruel to you. You're such a sweet girl, Zuui. Never harmed anyone. But the way they treated you. They liked to hurt you, soulless creatures they are."
Raising the axe again, her eyes showed pure malice.
"Just so much meat!"
Without hesitation, Zuui ran into her mother knocking her down.
"No!" her mother yelled.
Joe made a relieved sound, but ran at the opportunity. Before her mother had a chance to stand on her feet, Zuui walked quickly to the entrance.
"Zulimar, why?"
"This is wrong, Mom. I… I called the police."
"Drop the axe!" one of the officers yelled, as the other watched Joe run through the door.
"But, I'm your Mother. All we've ever had was each other…" Her expression was one of pure love, "… I love you, Zuui."
Before anyone could do anything, she plunged her head in a pot of boiling oil, that was meant to be used for other purposes.
The axe never fell out of her hand. Her daughter stared in disbelief, and then fell to her knees.
--
"Another one down." he said proudly, grabbing his chin while examining it.
She smirked. The blood coming from her foot now flowing more.
"Let's see, an impulse attraction to violence, a lack of concern of well-being. A failure to conform to social norms. Not to mention the flat voice and the display of low affect."
He walked over to a table that was positioned on the other side of the room, and leaned on it- tapping his fingers on it in a pattern.
"I'd say you're a prime candidate for a diagnose of antisocial personality disorder. A difficult disorder to live with. When not properly treated, those with this condition often end up imprisoned or engaging in risky behavior that could lead them to being injured, maimed even."
Wind blew into the room, lifting the air. The smell of the drying blood didn't situate good in her nostrils.
"There's also interpersonal relationships. Those suffering from this disorder have difficulty making and maintaining friendships. Tell me Ms. Grave… do you have any friends?"
The look she gave him was one full malevolence, the ache she had to get at him was unbearable.
--
They stood in front of the stalled subway train, appalled at what was before them.
"Jesus. Who the hell did you hit?" the subway security guard spoke.
"Shit, man… I dunno. But, from what was going on up here… this is either a victim of the Meatman Killer or it is the Meatman Killer." the train driver said, scratching his head in confusion.
What laid before them was a severed head, which was the Meatman Killer, or at least, what was left of him.
--
Standing in an enclosed area of the subway station, they said their congratulations.
"We did it… we got the real killer." Zuui said, delighted. She stood with her hand in her jacket pocket, leaning against a post.
"Hurr… yes. We got him." said a distorted voice.
An awfully tall man stood before her. He was a foot-and-a-half taller, he could scare any person, in their right mind. With a bloody meat cleaver in one hand, and a bloodier meat cleaver in the other, he was quite frightening man.
"I'm sorry I attacked you. Everyone was saying the Meatman killed all those kids. I… got caught up in it."
"Often I am blamed. I have learned that my face can cause many truffles." he let out a monstrous sigh.
"Troubles."
"Those too."
She laughed to herself.
"Well, the Slasher is pasted all over the front of a train. I'm done here. It was… uh, good to meet you, Meatman."
The monster-of-a-man did not say a word as Zuui walked away, but figured it would do him no harm if he told her his real name.
"Ish. My name… it is Ish." he blurted out.
"Look… Ish. I'm traveling the world taking care of Slashers. And, well, you were really helpful up there with Julian… I could use the extra muscle, it's not a party, but…"
"Hurr… I do not… hurr … Yes I will go. We can help each other out with our truffles."
--
The bright lights, and easy atmosphere make up any little café, on the corner of some little street, in the downtown of a little city.
A browned haired man walked up to the counter, asked the counter girl, "Can I get a Soy Chai Latte? And also your number?".
"Oh." the expression on her face- a shocked one.
"That's not the reaction I was…" he turned around, wanting to see what's so… exciting, "holy shit."
Ish walked into the café, standing tall. The uneasiness of the air struck the customers.
"Hurr… do you have wifey access?"
"Wifey? Oh, Wi-Fi… yeah… yes." the counter girl happens to mumble.
"Good, I will need to borrow some, yes?" he grabbed a table and sat down, the others watching him intently. Placing his laptop on the table he opens it quickly. "It is a very important matter." Opening up to the internet, he types in "I must find my friend."
The counter girl whispered into the mans ear, "He's freaking out the customers, go tell him to leave."
"But-"
"Please!"
Walking over to Ish, he stopped for a second, about to go back, but he kept pushing forward.
"Hey, um… man? You'll have to uh… leave? Y'know 'cause you can't be here."
"Hurr, I apologize," Ish says, handing him money, "It is rude of me to use your Wi-Fi and not be a paying customer. I will have a coffee, yes?"
"Umm.. But… okay?" he stutters.
Showing the location of his friend on the screen of his computer, he asked a middle-aged man on the side of him, "This address. It is near, yes?"
"Umm… yeah… three blocks north. Condos , I think." he answered, chocking on his muffin.
He picks up his laptop, and stands up from his seat.
"Give this man my coffee. I must leave. Thank you."
Leaving, the man walks back over to the counter, his eyes mute; with no emotion.
"Umm… one coffee, for that guy." he said, pointing to the middle-aged man, choking on his saliva.
"My hero."
Already half way there, Ish continues running to the building complex. His long coat flew in the wind.
"I am coming, Zuui."
--
In the building, the wind that still creeps throughout the walls makes its way to the only un-inviting room.
"Hmm… still not talking, Ms. Grave? Perhaps it's time to switch from the toes to your tongue since you aren't using it much any--"
Being caught off guard, Zuui kicks the skinless menace in his testicles, with her right foot, making him yell in agony- in his own way.
Bending over, he tries to catch his breath, "Uhhh… such vigorous disdain for the male sexual organs. Urrrh. Perhaps I had you figured wrong… perhaps your disorder stems from the dislike of males. A rampant case of Penis Envy. A stifled
Electra complex."
His expressions turned into a taunting one, pulling at the hairs on the back of her neck.
"What's wrong, Ms. Grave? Daddy didn't hug you enough?"
--
"Hi Trish, yeah… this is Susan. I was just wondering if you'd seen Paul down there at the pub."
The house wasn't a pleasant one, and the absence of her father made it miserable.
"No? Yeah, okay. No… nothing serious. He just… well, he was supposed to be home a few hours ago. Sure. Well, let me know if he shows up… okay, thanks. Bye." hanging up, her smile turns into a distraught attitude.
Alone in her room, she sits by the window with her pink stuffed animal rabbit.
"Mr. Pink, Mommy's worried cuz Daddy didn't come home from work. I'm not worried, Daddy will be here any second… any second."
The little girl stayed at the window all night, but her father never came.
--
He grabbed her hair with an enraged thrust. As he positioned the dremel under her chin, her head was forced back further.
"I'm afraid that that last bit of acting out has convinced me that you are untreatable. Ms. Grave. Time's up, this session is over."
A sound could be heard from out side, the taunting seemed to back-fire.
"Wha--?"
The wind blew harder, the plastic sheet over the window flapping against the inside of the room.
"Who's here? Come out!"
A figure outlined the out side of the window hole.
"Come out, or I'll cut this girl from the chin to the belly button… and let her insides spill out."
In an 'X' formation Ish fell through the window, cutting both of the Doc's arms off- with a clean, clear cut. His eyes were full of death. He fell onto the edge of the opening.
"Zulimar! Your foot!" Ish exclaimed.
"I'm fine, I'm fine. He's all mine."
As Ish untied her, she didn't take her eyes off of her next victim.
"You wanna know the truth about me, Doc?" She leaned down, and using both hands, picked him up by the collar of his shirt, "…I'm really fucked up."
Without an ounce of strength she tossed him out of the window, making him fall to his own death. Both Ish, and Zuui watched as he fell, fell without a word.
--
The motel wasn't one of beauty; the letters on the motel sign now spelled "Mote", signs on the side of the rooms were ripped off, and it seemed as if there was mold starting to form around door frames.
"I do not think we should use you as bait anymore. It is too risky."
Sitting on the toilet, going through all of the clothes that had to be thrown away, she was distressed.
"Damn it. That's another shirt that I can't wear out in public. We gotta stop bleeding these guys out so bad. We can't afford the wardrobe cost."
Ish, on the other side of the bathroom door, listened to the aggravated Zuui.
"Damn, damn, damn! I totally loved these stockings!"
"I said I am concerned. This plan was too dangerous," Ish interrupted, "You could have been killed, Not to mention what else he could have done to you. Zulimar?"
He couldn't hear anything, or, she just wasn't saying anything. Being careful, he open the door slightly, and saw her sulking on the bathroom floor. He sat down beside her, and took her lifeless body into his arms.
"It is okay little Zulimar, it is okay."
Her crying was unusual to him, and he did not like it.
--
"Twinkle, twinkle, little star, how I wonder what you are…" she subtly slid the blade along his throat, her brilliant red nail polish shimmering in the metal.
Her victim sat bound to a chair, duct-tape haphazardly fixed over his mouth, sweat making his forehead sodden. He mumbled an incoherent few words, but they only came out as muted resonance. Her southern accent dug into his ear's, pounding away at his ear drums.
"Can't hear you." She informed cleverly. "Speak up, baby doll. You make no sense whatsoever." She let out an amused laugh, tearing the duct-tape from his lips.
He let out a scream of ache, as any grown man would. "Please, please, I wasn't trying to do anything!"
"Hah," she took light steps around the chair, slithering her hand along his shoulders. "You expect me to believe you, baby? I'm not that easy."
He began sweating copiously, unable to contain a gulp or two.
"Up above the world so high, like a diamond in the sky… Y'know, that's one of my favorite nursery rhymes. What do you think…" She came to a halt in front of him, bending slightly at her knees to reach eye level with him. "Do you like it?"
"Uh… umm," he stammered, unable to read through her features what it was she wanted him to say. "It's okay?"
She grasped his chin in displeasure, forcing the blade to his Adam's apple.
"I'd say it's pretty fucking good. But… I sense you don't like it…"
His thoughts raced. "No, no! What I meant was… it's really good. My favorite too!" He nodded enthusiastically – a poor attempt to convince her.
She could feel the lump congealing in his throat. The notion of his uneasiness brought a grin to her lips. "Y'know something else? I don't have time for you anymore."
His eyes widened in terror. "What?! Wait, no. I'm sorry if we started off on the wrong start… ah, my name's Tim. Hi."
She laughed to herself in satisfaction. "Oh, Darlin'. My name's Clara." She applied slight pressure on the blade, causing his head to tip back further. "… and I think it's time for you to take a little nap."
She jammed the blade up into his jaw, waiting until it came of out the top of his skull. "All in a good day's work, Tim. All in a good day's work."
Setting down the blade on a nearby table, she walked over to the door, shut off the lights, gave the unresponsive man a wink, and deserted his corpse as it sat in it's grave.