Rated T for language and blood/violence. Sigh, there goes my K and K+ fics. Writing a character like Killer makes the rating automatically T or M. Serial killers just can't keep things clean.
Disclaimer: I do not own Shadow Hearts.
A MOST DANGEROUS ENCOUNTER
You crave danger, but not just any kind of danger. Not stupid worthless ones like hijacking a car, or balancing yourself on the ledge of a five-story building – no, you hunger after the real thing, the blood splattered on your hands and the police sirens echoing past an alleyway as your shadow slips away. Futile 'wanted' posters taped to brick walls, newspapers screaming in big black font the number of times, when you've already lost track a long time ago. The adrenaline rushes as innocents scream for help; the invigorating sensation prickles your veins once the knife blade pierces through their skin, over, over, and over again. That's the kind of danger you're looking for. The one where people call you killer.
But tonight, for the first time, the blood in your hands is your own.
You're so pathetic, crouching behind a stack of crates, hiding yourself from those damn, intractable police officers. It's been more than an hour and you still won't stop bleeding, for god's sake – other people are supposed to be wounded and struggling to stand, not you. The cars aren't going to drive away any time soon; even if you did make a run for it, you'll be spotted from the headlights, and then blood won't be the only thing wrapped around your wrists.
Fuck, fuck, fuck, you curse mentally to yourself, both from your lose-lose situation and the pain of the torn skin below your ribs. You deserve this. You wanted danger, you wanted to create the deaths of others, and yet you can't even handle it when you're the one close to death. You're a lowlife, and if you die now, you'd be nothing but a coward who can only be remembered for leaving behind red puddles and corpses. How does it feel, Killer, to know the true danger of dying?
Screw it, you decide quickly, because you don't care what happens to you anymore. You never found the point of being alive; you could go ahead, stumble over a crate by accident right now and let the cops catch you. Being charged with death penalty ain't that big of a deal. You've realized danger is tedious and it's all the same: in the end, you always die.
So up you go, up you struggle, turning around and limping the opposite direction. You can't make it that far with your weak, stumbling legs, so your knees and arms end up being the ones to move you forward, barely. But at the same time your weight meets the ground, you're at someone's shadow.
When your eyes look up, it is a woman.
You don't know who she is or where she came from, but you don't have much time to figure that out when she walks pass by you. You call after her, tell her to wait, try not to let her get too close to the police officers or else she'll blow your cover… that is, unless she wanted to do that.
"Damn…" you groan weakly, and you wish they'd just kill you to relieve the goddamn pain in your gut instead of shoving you in their car and making it worse. You're in no condition to deal with cops now, especially aggressive ones.
But the strangest thing rings in your ears and makes your eyes pop open. A few feet away from you, there is screaming. Multiple screams of pain, sounds of bodies thumping to the floor – when you turn around and peer from the craters, the sight is even more horrific. You've watched regular people die before in your own hands, and that's only when you attack them. This girl is walking up to police officers and slaughtering them with a flick of a wrist.
You can't do anything but kneel there and wonder what the hell is going on; this unintelligible lady in blue is slaying everyone in front of your own eyes. In a matter of seconds all officers drop to the ground, silent, bloody, dead. She and you are the only ones left.
She turns to you. She approaches you. All your life, this moment is the most dangerous you've ever faced.
To your surprise, she doesn't hurt you. Or, at least, she doesn't completely massacre you.
And after her lips leave yours, there are no longer dark stains at the stomach of your shirt, and your hands are clean enough to trace your palm lines. You, you are different from before now. You stand up on your feet once she turns and walks away, without so much as a backwards glance.
You can follow her, if you want to.
You don't know this woman. You don't know what will happen if you follow her. All you know is that she saved your life even though you're a sick bastard, and that same invigorating sensation is starting to prickle your insides again.
People who crave danger do things like hijack a car and balance themselves on the ledge of a five-story building. But you, you kill for danger, you make others die, and someday it will be your time to pay up and die as well.
Your feet begin to move, your arms sway back and forth, and you trail after her shadow in the moonlight. You keep walking. Your blood tingles inside of you, and you feel exhilarated. You keep walking. You know all too well you're signing up for something even more dangerous than a death contract, and you keep walking.
Fin.
Author's Note: I never played Shadow Hearts 3 before. Is it obvious? I wrote this fanfic because I wanted something short to write and I've wanted to write Shadow Hearts, but had no ideas for Yuri and Alice. Killer and Lady were good substitutes. From what I've seen and read, they're totally better than Johnny and Shania. :)