Alfred's Revenge
By: Aubrie1234
Double bubble disco queen, headed to the guillotine
Skin as cool as Steve McQueen, let me be your killer king
It hurts until it stops, we will love until it's not
I'm a killing spree in white, eyes like broken Christmas lights
My touch is black and poisonous
And nothing like my punch-drunk kiss
I know you need it, do you feel it?
Drink the water, drink the wine
Oh we gotta turn up the crazy
Livin' like a washed up celebrity
Shooting fireworks like it's the fourth of July
Until we feel alright
Until we feel alright
I'm like a scarf trick, it's all up the sleeve
I taste like magic, waves that swallow quick and deep
Throw the bait, catch the shark, bleed the water red
Fifty words for murder and I'm every one of them
- Victorious, By: Panic At The Disco
He could feel the blood loss making him dizzy and lightheaded, but not even the prospect of fainting couldn't tear him away from those murderous eyes. He was also quite sure he had a concussion was well.
His head was slammed into the wall again and more blood smeared on the bricks. The hand gripping his neck, despite nearly choking him, was the only thing holding him up. His legs had been slashed to pieces by a Swiss knife, both knees and feet shot at by bullets to make sure he couldn't walk. His arms were slashed as well, but they were broken in various places with compound fractures, the white bone stained red by all the blood. His hands hung limply at his sides, having been crushed by the d***ing surprise attack that had started this torture. His chest had been shot at and punched so much it looked like a strange mixture of red, black, and blue. He was pretty sure his chest looked the same, but without the staining red.
"Just end it, why don't you?!" he gurgled, gasping for air. There had also been a slash to his neck, very close to his artery. If he didn't die from blood loss, he would die from suffocating on his own blood. His tormentor grinned, showing his pearly whites.
"I thought you would love this! Aren't you a masochist?" A weak glare was given in return, and his tormentor leaned closer, making the captive man struggle weakly, "Now, remember all of this, because if you do any more attacks, I will hunt you down again."
"But it wasn't me!" The tormentor slowly shook his head, making 'tsk' sounds.
"What a pretty little liar you are." The knife, held in the tormentor's free hand, was placed at the neck slash, angled downwards, "But now you aren't so pretty, Allan." The man could only whimper, and even then it was reduced to gurgles as the knife was slowly brought down, cutting through the skin from the slash all the way down to the bottom of his chest, like cutting a body open. He was then dropped, bleeding out even more on the pavement as he wheezed, trying to breathe. The man standing above him chuckled.
"Don't worry, I'll call one of your friends to pick you up." he said, "But for now, you're going to be the example for what happens when my friends are badly hurt. And I'm also taking your bat; it could come in handy for helping to fool and hurt your friends." Another gurgle was made as Allan tried to speak, to protest, to even make a sound, but the man had already taken his bat and was leaving the alley. If anyone saw the man from a distance, carrying the bat, they may have mistook him for Allan. And the man was planning to use that to his advantage.
Time for some sweet revenge. the man thought, grinning evilly.
Earlier:
Alfred yawned, leaning back into his recliner. He was watching the news and nothing interesting was on so far. Briefly, he wondered about having a little bit of fun with the President, seeing as he was about to be booted out of office since the campaign trail was almost over and next year he would be gone. Or he could go see Toni, see if the alien needed any help. Or Whale-Dude, he hadn't see his sea buddy in a while. Or one of the other nations, but he could see them any time.
As he was about to leave the comfy chair to bother the Pres., there was a newsflash. Important people all over the world were attacked, found near death in their homes. There were people from all over the world except America, and it seemed the attacks were in a path. First England, then France, then Spain, then Portugal...It continued from there until the last one was in Canada. And the names made him feel as if his stomach dropped out.
Arthur Kirkland, Francis Bonnefoy, Matthew Williams... The list was nearly endless. It also seemed even Ivan and Natalya had been attacked. Alfred grit his teeth. He had an idea of who had done the attacks, but some of them had no murderous tendencies, so that left the rest, especially the more murderous ones.
Well then, Alfred stood, time to make a visit to the 2Ps.
Allan was walking home leisurely, swinging his bat like it was a toy. Another day, another kill. Not only that, though Ollie's plan had been a near success. The only one they couldn't find was Alfred, but no matter. He would be found eventually and beaten, probably killed. Another point for them.
As he passed by an alleyway, his bat-swinging arm was grabbed from behind, pulling him in there. He tried to use his elbows to hit whoever was making the foolish attempt to attack or kidnap him, but his elbows hit nothing. His hands were grabbed and crushed with unnatural force, breaking them. He opened his mouth to shout, but was cut off when his neck was slit near to the artery. Instead, he began choking on his own blood and dropped his bat in surprise. With his defense down, he was dragged into the alley and pushed down into a corner. Holding his heck with broken hands, he tried to stand, but a gurgling scream was ripped from his throat as white-hot pain seared through his feet and knees. He was sure it was bullets, but there had been no sound. Turning his head, he looked for his attacker.
What he saw was something that sent fear racing up and down his spine. It was Alfred, cast in an eerie shadow from the streetlight, glaring down at him with such anger and hate that it could even make Natalya run for the hills, and nothing scared her. A black aura surrounded him, oozing out the horrible feelings Allan could feel from his counterpart. In one hand was a gun with a silencer on it, which Alfred was tucking into his jacket; in the other, he held a recently bloodied Swiss knife. What made it even worse that it already was was the natural, goofy grin on his face.
"I've got a few questions for you, Allan." he said softly, almost like he wasn't ready to torture or even kill the 2P, "Let's hope you answer them." He fingered the knife and stepped closer, making Allan wish that he wasn't trapped with no way to call for help.
Like I said before, inspired by Invisibleamericanburger's fic, The Hero VS The 2P World. This is like my own little take on it, and is going to be a chapter story! At the beginning of each of these is going to be a few lyrics from a song that I think fit the chapter. Also, you can suggest who Alfred goes after next or what song, and I'll see if I can put it in! Also, I'm going to split each chapter in two parts: Part 1 will be one of the nations recovering and remembering how they were attacked, and Part 2 will be where Alfred attacks their 2P, even if the 2P hadn't done anything, like Allan. So, READ & REVIEW!