Author's Note: Hello readers, I, as you can see, am starting a new story. I wanted to write something a little more violent since I finished watching Dexter, and this is what came to mind. I shall be focusing on both of my stories. But the constantness of either may vary. Well, on with the show! Or story. Or both. I want a movie deal… Huh? Oh yeah… uh… Just read.

Badges Of Blood

Chapter 1: The Masked Surgeon

The flareon slowly woke up, only to find that she had been duct taped to a steel chair that was bolted to the ground in a dark room with one single light above her head. She was tired, and had a strong headache. "How…" She looked around. There was a large metal tray on a gray table that held several medical tools. Such as scalpels, bonesaws, syringes, and ordinary kitchen knives. "How… Did I get here?" She asked aloud. She slowly looked down and gasped. The gray concrete floor beneath her was covered in splatters of blood. She screeched out loud in sheer horror at the sight. "HELP! HELP ME! HELP!" She heard a door slowly creak open behind her. She heard boots, slowly stomping against the floor. Ever so slightly getting closer. She was shaking in pure panic. What was this person going to do to her? Then, someone walked out in front of her. She couldn't see what or who it was, because of what he was wearing. The man was at least six foot five, his large muscles stretched out the black, hooded latex suit he was wearing. Along with some black worker boots. He was also wearing black gloves. He also wore a black paintball mask. Which covered his face so that he couldn't be seen. The glass on the mask was tinted black, covering his eyes as well. The tall man stared her down, even though she couldn't see his eyes. "Please… Don't hurt me…" She quietly spoke. The man stared her down for a few more seconds before turning to his tray on the table. He picked up a scalpel and examined it closely. "Please…" The woman got out again. "I'll do whatever you say, just please don't hurt me…" The man put the scalpel down on the tray and turned to her again. "Whatever I say?" He asked in his unusually deep voice. The flareon nodded quickly. "Ok then…" He said, before walking behind her. "Then stay still." He wrapped a thin fiber wire garrote around her throat and began to strangle her. She tried to flail around, but she was bound by leather straps. she felt her lungs start to burn. She tried to cry out for mercy, to apologize for whatever she must have done to deserve this. She tried to flail more, slowly feeling her life fading away. "Please…" She gasped out. She slowly began to close her eyes. She was dead.
"Now then…" He walked back up to the tray and picked up a bonesaw. "Let's get started." He said walking up to the corpse.

Tires screeching, a car crashing, police sirens, choking. The only things that Rick Halard could hear. His eyes closed, face pressed against the white granite countertop. His eyes shot open, and, shouting, he fell backwards on his red leather barstool. The back of his head smashing against the brown hardwood floor of his large apartment. "Dammit." He said, slowly pushing himself up onto his feet. He noticed that he had knocked over an half full bottle of whiskey when he fell, pouring off the bar counter top, and onto the hardwood floor. "What a waste…" He said in a tired voice. "Damn…" He gripped his head, the hangover causing him a very bad headache. He groaned as he walked over to the mirror in beside his bar. He was a five foot one umbreon, who was in his early twenties, and had a very good muscle tone from years of working out. He was also Sergeant in the Pokecity Police department. He was constantly drunk, but he never smoked. His white dress shirt was open and unbuttoned, revealing a gray tank top underneath. He was wearing a dark blue pair of jeans. His feet were bare. He sighed, realising that some of the spilt whiskey was on his jeans. He turned around, basking in his impressive apartment. The large apartment had a large professional bar in the corner beside the door, against the large white walls. A large "C" shaped leather sofa wrapped itself around a rectangular glass coffee table in the middle of the room, facing a 50 inch flat screen TV. towards the back was a large, round, brown dining table. The other end of the apartment, was an open entrance into a large well lit kitchen. Two doors were on the other side of the same wall. One leading to a large master bedroom, and the other leading into a nicely sized bathroom. He smiled, remembering how lucky he was to have all these nice, expensive things. Then his smile went away, when he remembered the horrible things he had to do in order to get all this. He shivered, and shook it off. "What's done is done…" He said to himself, almost every day of his life. He heard vibrating coming from the bar. He walked over to the bar, picking up a vibrating phone off of the counter. He tapped the screen, and a message popped up. The message read, "Another body. Just off of 54th street." He let out a sigh as he buttoned up his white dress shirt, and walked into his bedroom to grab a few things. he changed jeans and slid his wallet and phone into his pockets before walking towards the door and grabbing his car keys. He walked out of his apartment.