"It's only a matter of time now," uttered Connor, after finally shaking away the fear and disgust she got from the monster's actions just moments ago. "It's only a matter of time before another comes for replacement." "He keeps forgetting," Jesse growled, "he keeps forgetting to kill me. I might as well be dead, I mean, how long has it been since I've eaten?" "You mean something not a remnant of his morbid meals," she wondered. "Like you didn't want to? It's the only thing he's suggested for us to live on, and if I'm here to be killed by him, I wanna' make sure he didn't waste his time pickin' me from everyone else in this forsaken city!"
Connor stood up and walked to Jesse once his horrid remarks were finished, and punched him in the face, causing him to fall down near what was left of the young man they had heard being eaten like the rest. "Just because I'm being held captive by a monster doesn't make me want to survive in his fashion," she yelled, "I'd rather starve to death than to be even touched by this bastard! But now, the one thing I'm worried about is who is he gonna' bring in this time? Some pretty face with dreams shattered by his intervention? Another hobo he feels won't regain his lost place in tha' world? Who, damn it all? Just...who...?"
A young man who wore a black shirt under his jacket walked the long path home tonight from his job, smiling at the events that were to follow once he made it home to his longtime girlfriend. Every step he took was a reminder of her killer figure and loving glare that could bring him to his knees, even with a single thought of it, which could explain how staggered his walk was. Nothing could ever defeat his trance, not even the tall shadow that cast over his body as he took a turn into a black alleyway. The deep, vice crippled laughter was what ceased his yearning for his dark lover, as the shadow took a striking, clown-like form.
"Well, isn't this a treat to a slow night," spoke a tall, lanky member of the Jokers, loosening a switchblade in his right hand. Once the blade was out, he held it to the young man's throat, as others could be heard laughing in the darkness that his surrogate brother came from. As he backed away in fear, the man could hear sounds of the Joker rabble. As the man shivered at their childlike, yet odious appearance, he figured that swinging at the tall one would boost his bravado, and guarantee some form of escape from the malicious quartet. Once he swung, the only thing that he connected with was a hand that caught his failed assault, and their sultry, female pack leader laughed in his face while keeping the hold tight.
As the man saw through his tears the entire set ready to rob him of what little he truly had on him, the tall, lanky dreg stood in the back of them. He could be seen forcing a maniacal laugh while arching his back, so that he was now expressed his feelings in the night air. The others carried on, cursing and demeaning the poor young man dead into his face, not noticing that their height-induced friend began to float off the rigid pavement. With a stutter, the victim addressed while still slouched on the ground, "I--I--didn't know---you g-guys c-could f-f-fly." "Dude," said a short, heavy-set Joker as he puffed on some Jane, "what is he on?" "I don't know, but I want some of that shit," laughed replied another with Far Eastern features, as he turned to his tall companion, "ain't that right, Shorty? Shorty?"
All the Jokers turned to their tall partner, seeing what their "booty" call was talking about, as Shorty floated in the air in a crucified shape. "Yo, that ain't right, right there," said the female. "I know! He told me 'bout 'dat west coast shit 'dat'll get you all Clark Kent-like an' whatnot," said the short pug, before he noticed something tail-like coming from out Shorty's back, making its way into the pith black they just came from. "Wha' 'da..."
Two steps were all that he took towards the black area, before he was quickly pulled in by large, swift hand. "Shorty" remained in the air, as the others heard screams and pleas for mercy from their "family" member, yet they were all silenced by the blood that surfaced into what had to be his throat. The others, including the young man, started to look at each other, and without wasting another moment, all began to make haste before they were next.
One of the remaining Jokers of average height and body, ran as he heard what could have only been the sounds of the monstrosity coming after him first, as he cried behind him for mercy, until he ran into something more welcome than the advancing killer. "OW," cried Terry, who was just on his way back home wearing his backpack, "watch where you're going, loser!" The Joker looked up and cried into his face, "You gotta' run, man, it's after us!"
"What? What's after you?"
"I am."
The distinguishing voice paused Terry in shock, but before he could react in any way, a balled hand connected with his face, and knocked him cold on his back.
Once Terry rose from his impromptu rest, his senses returned to him piece by piece, starting with his eyes. Though the vision was blurry at first, he could tell that he was no longer topside, but amongst pipes and dimmed lights from above. Second came his touch, feeling what little breeze protruded from a large gate locked with chains that could only be maneuvered by one with great strength. Terry also noticed that even though it was liquid substance he lied in, it was too thick, too mucked for him even count it as water, which led to his assumption of being in the sewers. Something even floated by his right hand under the boggy substance, and Terry hoped that it wasn't a finger. His nose then settled into activation, with an onslaught of atrocious smells and chemicals that made him viciously cough and grow teary-eyed. Blood was even a part of the mix, though McGinnis wasn't sure if it was his own rested in his nose, or what could have been in the room. Maybe both? Finally, there were light splashing sounds from behind him, and as Terry turned, he was correct as he saw what they only could've been.
Conner, Jesse, and the nameless others looked at him with looks of discouragement, as they knew that he, such a handsome man to the women in there, would be next in the line of victims whose blood and entrails were scattered all over the room, one way or the other. One of them, however, felt otherwise, but could only keep it to their own self until they were alone with the young teen.
"Where am I," Terry quickly asked with a strong look.
"Your final resting place," Jesse answered, as a nameless female prisoner clarified, "This is the lair of that Subterranean Slayer. He plucks people off the streets and feeds on 'em right in front of us...sometimes..." Terry wondered, "And you people..." "We people," Connor began, "are just like you. Next." "I had a backpack," Terry said as he started to get up, when Connor warned him, "You might not wanna' do that, you had a nasty fall from up there." "Up where?" A few of them pointed up, as Terry saw a light seeping through a steel grating, shining on the very item hanging on a large pipe, all. "It's approximately twenty feet up," Jesse said, "and your baggie got caught in that pipe. You hung there for a bit, 'til you came crashin' down in this cesspool. Live it up, kid, 'cause droppin' you from that height is pretty much the most humane thing you'll experience." Terry looked at him in a dark, curiosity-stricken demeanor, but refocused on his next goal.
"I need that bag, now," he said.
"No chance in getting' it," Connor addressed, "we've tried to escape by climbin' up 'dem, but he slicked them all with all sorts of unknowns and such, makin' it all slippery. Sorry, but there's no way out but by his claws or teeth. If you're lucky, he'll make it quick for ya' through tha' neck.." "When does he usually come," Terry asked, catching a peek at Connor's torn, yet vivacious body. "Random," she replied. With a sigh, McGinnins looked back at his bag, and knew that it had to be retrieved immediately, despite the warnings and encouraging words of the prisoners. "I have an idea," he told them, "but you all have to work with me on this."
Meanwhile, the creature rested in its personal set of water, breathing out its mouth with a sound similar to a furnace and a bellowing tiger going at once. As he inhaled, he enjoyed the sounds of his snarling, the same he'd always make whenever he had finished a meal, or raped a sultry, tasty feminine object. The endless years of repeating the countless crimes it had committed were not even on the brink of stating to take toll on its deranged mind. In fact, it felt that this was only the genesis of a new life away from the one it used to lead. One of misery, tribulations, ridicule, attacks with only slabs of meat to feast upon, "scientific" tests, straight down to visits to his family to see how their son was born not to grow into a man, but a thing. It remembered how they were the first to go, because all they wanted was for "him" to stay away from humanity.
"Is not one's humanity judged by the soul, not the shell," he once asked them, as he held them upside down over a bathtub filled with searing water.
"Not if humanity is plagued by oddities like you," his inveighing mother's reply was.
"I am not the plague, mother," he said with a frightful calm, "the ignorance is the plague to the human hosts that welcomes it as with open hearts and closed minds. People like you...you are what makes monsters out of what can live as men. I waste no more words with you. And now...an example of what they succumb to."
He then remembered, as he always did, the sounds they made as they tried to fight the water that would soon fill their lungs, shortly before throwing a plugged alarm clock into the tub, just to make sure the job was finished. He left them there to be found weeks later by neighbors and authorities, as it had long begun to spread its dark word elsewhere to those that he could "smell" the ignorance. Everyone, as it saw it, was nothing more than a shallow pool of life that must see the error of their thoughts by all means necessary. As for why he would eat his endless list of victims? To walk into a store and get food would be too much attention, he once thought, and he had to eat something, and seeing that vegetables weren't a part of his childhood...well, you get the idea.
Just as the repetitive thoughts continued its vicious cycle, a sound from its lair of prisoners/"refrigerator" startled him, which sounded unfamiliar, and that is what made it all the more worthy to run towards his living food. But as quickly as it made it towards the doorway that only he could manage, so was the shocking sensation that pushed him far away from even touching the bars.
As the people inside heard the agony that came from their sole torturer, Connor remained locked on what lied above, where she was thrown the mysterious device by Terry to place by the creature's entrance. She looked even harder through the bright light that shone through the grate she and the others fell from, no longer seeing Terry with his normal street clothing, but only a silhouette with a red marking on its chest. Maybe it was her mind playing japes once more as it started to pulse, but if it wasn't, then chances are they were all saved.
Connor stood up and walked to Jesse once his horrid remarks were finished, and punched him in the face, causing him to fall down near what was left of the young man they had heard being eaten like the rest. "Just because I'm being held captive by a monster doesn't make me want to survive in his fashion," she yelled, "I'd rather starve to death than to be even touched by this bastard! But now, the one thing I'm worried about is who is he gonna' bring in this time? Some pretty face with dreams shattered by his intervention? Another hobo he feels won't regain his lost place in tha' world? Who, damn it all? Just...who...?"
A young man who wore a black shirt under his jacket walked the long path home tonight from his job, smiling at the events that were to follow once he made it home to his longtime girlfriend. Every step he took was a reminder of her killer figure and loving glare that could bring him to his knees, even with a single thought of it, which could explain how staggered his walk was. Nothing could ever defeat his trance, not even the tall shadow that cast over his body as he took a turn into a black alleyway. The deep, vice crippled laughter was what ceased his yearning for his dark lover, as the shadow took a striking, clown-like form.
"Well, isn't this a treat to a slow night," spoke a tall, lanky member of the Jokers, loosening a switchblade in his right hand. Once the blade was out, he held it to the young man's throat, as others could be heard laughing in the darkness that his surrogate brother came from. As he backed away in fear, the man could hear sounds of the Joker rabble. As the man shivered at their childlike, yet odious appearance, he figured that swinging at the tall one would boost his bravado, and guarantee some form of escape from the malicious quartet. Once he swung, the only thing that he connected with was a hand that caught his failed assault, and their sultry, female pack leader laughed in his face while keeping the hold tight.
As the man saw through his tears the entire set ready to rob him of what little he truly had on him, the tall, lanky dreg stood in the back of them. He could be seen forcing a maniacal laugh while arching his back, so that he was now expressed his feelings in the night air. The others carried on, cursing and demeaning the poor young man dead into his face, not noticing that their height-induced friend began to float off the rigid pavement. With a stutter, the victim addressed while still slouched on the ground, "I--I--didn't know---you g-guys c-could f-f-fly." "Dude," said a short, heavy-set Joker as he puffed on some Jane, "what is he on?" "I don't know, but I want some of that shit," laughed replied another with Far Eastern features, as he turned to his tall companion, "ain't that right, Shorty? Shorty?"
All the Jokers turned to their tall partner, seeing what their "booty" call was talking about, as Shorty floated in the air in a crucified shape. "Yo, that ain't right, right there," said the female. "I know! He told me 'bout 'dat west coast shit 'dat'll get you all Clark Kent-like an' whatnot," said the short pug, before he noticed something tail-like coming from out Shorty's back, making its way into the pith black they just came from. "Wha' 'da..."
Two steps were all that he took towards the black area, before he was quickly pulled in by large, swift hand. "Shorty" remained in the air, as the others heard screams and pleas for mercy from their "family" member, yet they were all silenced by the blood that surfaced into what had to be his throat. The others, including the young man, started to look at each other, and without wasting another moment, all began to make haste before they were next.
One of the remaining Jokers of average height and body, ran as he heard what could have only been the sounds of the monstrosity coming after him first, as he cried behind him for mercy, until he ran into something more welcome than the advancing killer. "OW," cried Terry, who was just on his way back home wearing his backpack, "watch where you're going, loser!" The Joker looked up and cried into his face, "You gotta' run, man, it's after us!"
"What? What's after you?"
"I am."
The distinguishing voice paused Terry in shock, but before he could react in any way, a balled hand connected with his face, and knocked him cold on his back.
Once Terry rose from his impromptu rest, his senses returned to him piece by piece, starting with his eyes. Though the vision was blurry at first, he could tell that he was no longer topside, but amongst pipes and dimmed lights from above. Second came his touch, feeling what little breeze protruded from a large gate locked with chains that could only be maneuvered by one with great strength. Terry also noticed that even though it was liquid substance he lied in, it was too thick, too mucked for him even count it as water, which led to his assumption of being in the sewers. Something even floated by his right hand under the boggy substance, and Terry hoped that it wasn't a finger. His nose then settled into activation, with an onslaught of atrocious smells and chemicals that made him viciously cough and grow teary-eyed. Blood was even a part of the mix, though McGinnis wasn't sure if it was his own rested in his nose, or what could have been in the room. Maybe both? Finally, there were light splashing sounds from behind him, and as Terry turned, he was correct as he saw what they only could've been.
Conner, Jesse, and the nameless others looked at him with looks of discouragement, as they knew that he, such a handsome man to the women in there, would be next in the line of victims whose blood and entrails were scattered all over the room, one way or the other. One of them, however, felt otherwise, but could only keep it to their own self until they were alone with the young teen.
"Where am I," Terry quickly asked with a strong look.
"Your final resting place," Jesse answered, as a nameless female prisoner clarified, "This is the lair of that Subterranean Slayer. He plucks people off the streets and feeds on 'em right in front of us...sometimes..." Terry wondered, "And you people..." "We people," Connor began, "are just like you. Next." "I had a backpack," Terry said as he started to get up, when Connor warned him, "You might not wanna' do that, you had a nasty fall from up there." "Up where?" A few of them pointed up, as Terry saw a light seeping through a steel grating, shining on the very item hanging on a large pipe, all. "It's approximately twenty feet up," Jesse said, "and your baggie got caught in that pipe. You hung there for a bit, 'til you came crashin' down in this cesspool. Live it up, kid, 'cause droppin' you from that height is pretty much the most humane thing you'll experience." Terry looked at him in a dark, curiosity-stricken demeanor, but refocused on his next goal.
"I need that bag, now," he said.
"No chance in getting' it," Connor addressed, "we've tried to escape by climbin' up 'dem, but he slicked them all with all sorts of unknowns and such, makin' it all slippery. Sorry, but there's no way out but by his claws or teeth. If you're lucky, he'll make it quick for ya' through tha' neck.." "When does he usually come," Terry asked, catching a peek at Connor's torn, yet vivacious body. "Random," she replied. With a sigh, McGinnins looked back at his bag, and knew that it had to be retrieved immediately, despite the warnings and encouraging words of the prisoners. "I have an idea," he told them, "but you all have to work with me on this."
Meanwhile, the creature rested in its personal set of water, breathing out its mouth with a sound similar to a furnace and a bellowing tiger going at once. As he inhaled, he enjoyed the sounds of his snarling, the same he'd always make whenever he had finished a meal, or raped a sultry, tasty feminine object. The endless years of repeating the countless crimes it had committed were not even on the brink of stating to take toll on its deranged mind. In fact, it felt that this was only the genesis of a new life away from the one it used to lead. One of misery, tribulations, ridicule, attacks with only slabs of meat to feast upon, "scientific" tests, straight down to visits to his family to see how their son was born not to grow into a man, but a thing. It remembered how they were the first to go, because all they wanted was for "him" to stay away from humanity.
"Is not one's humanity judged by the soul, not the shell," he once asked them, as he held them upside down over a bathtub filled with searing water.
"Not if humanity is plagued by oddities like you," his inveighing mother's reply was.
"I am not the plague, mother," he said with a frightful calm, "the ignorance is the plague to the human hosts that welcomes it as with open hearts and closed minds. People like you...you are what makes monsters out of what can live as men. I waste no more words with you. And now...an example of what they succumb to."
He then remembered, as he always did, the sounds they made as they tried to fight the water that would soon fill their lungs, shortly before throwing a plugged alarm clock into the tub, just to make sure the job was finished. He left them there to be found weeks later by neighbors and authorities, as it had long begun to spread its dark word elsewhere to those that he could "smell" the ignorance. Everyone, as it saw it, was nothing more than a shallow pool of life that must see the error of their thoughts by all means necessary. As for why he would eat his endless list of victims? To walk into a store and get food would be too much attention, he once thought, and he had to eat something, and seeing that vegetables weren't a part of his childhood...well, you get the idea.
Just as the repetitive thoughts continued its vicious cycle, a sound from its lair of prisoners/"refrigerator" startled him, which sounded unfamiliar, and that is what made it all the more worthy to run towards his living food. But as quickly as it made it towards the doorway that only he could manage, so was the shocking sensation that pushed him far away from even touching the bars.
As the people inside heard the agony that came from their sole torturer, Connor remained locked on what lied above, where she was thrown the mysterious device by Terry to place by the creature's entrance. She looked even harder through the bright light that shone through the grate she and the others fell from, no longer seeing Terry with his normal street clothing, but only a silhouette with a red marking on its chest. Maybe it was her mind playing japes once more as it started to pulse, but if it wasn't, then chances are they were all saved.
