Serial Killer Round 44 - Dungeons & Doubles! Started! Killer is Dead! Round Over!
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@RaN: That was pretty crude of you. It's a different style, that's all.
Frankly, I prefer short, punchy pieces, but that's just me.
Long exposition is something I can enjoy occasionally, but has to be done exceptionally well. For that reason I find it a little bit of a struggle to read some of the longer pieces, 'cause I'm a snob like that.
Frankly, I prefer short, punchy pieces, but that's just me.
Long exposition is something I can enjoy occasionally, but has to be done exceptionally well. For that reason I find it a little bit of a struggle to read some of the longer pieces, 'cause I'm a snob like that.
The thing about comments on the internet is that there is next to no way to tell if someone is joking, unless it is explicitly specified.RaNDM G said:
@Schizzy: FFFFFFFFFFFFFFFF-[small]okay.[/small]
When I die this round I'll write an epilogue.
I come to in a white room, my legs shackled to the floor, my arms cuffed to a metal rod. I am stripped down to my shorts. The back of my head smarts, and I can feel the wet ooze from the wound. The lights above me dull my sight, and looking down disorients me.
"Oh... This. This is great."
A panel in the wall slides away, and a masked man steps in carrying a bag. He closes the panel behind him.
"Mister Randm. What a pleasure for you to, uh... Sit and chat with us."
"I'm floored."
"Forgive me, I abhore puns."
He kneels to the floor beside me. I glance away as he opens his doctor's bag.
"Mister Randm, would you like to know why you are here?"
I think for a moment.
"Well... I can think of two reasons. One, you're the killer. You'll beat me, rip me to shreds and leave me to die miserable and alone. Two... You're with the mob. You'll beat me, rip me to shreds and leave me to die. Miserable and alone."
"Covered all of the bases, haven't you? Hmph."
He picks up a short scalpel, carefully admiring the sharp edge and polished surface.
"So is talking your favorite part of the job?"
"Not really, no. I listen to a little music while I work."
"Really? I figured I would suffer in silence. What kind?"
He slips the knife in his apron and takes an unlabeled vinyl from the bag. He walks behind me.
"Classical."
He puts the vinyl on a turntable. The volume is low, but I can easily recognize the sound of Floyd.
"You have refined taste, Sir."
"Thank you."
He paces around the room and in front of me, his shined black loafers stepping softly on the cushioned floor. I can smell the new leather and shoe shine. It sickens me.
He does this for a few, maybe five minutes. All the while stroking his chin, looking my body up and down. As if I need to ask what he is planning.
"I was thinking we would start with fisticuffs. A few blows to the abdomen and ribs, a few haymakers to the face, a dislocated knee. Then we would work with some tools, see where that takes us."
I look up, giving him a nervous grin.
"Y-you always tell your vics what you're planning for them?"
"Oh, trust me... It doesn't help."
Think of something... I'm dead. Not that. Gotta get out... Gotta get out. Shut up. Gotta get out. Think. Keep talking... Keep talking.
"Floyd huh?"
I look down, thinking of what to say next.
"You ever listen to Med-UHL!"
He punches me in the gut. I exhale, gasping for air.
"I very much liked Meddle."
One of these days I'm going to cut you into little pieces.
"Inspiring work. I appreciate their instrumentals, Echoes especially."
I grit my teeth as he hits me again, an uppercut below the solar plex. I feel it in my lungs and breathe in the stale air. I cough up.
"This conversation is becoming very one sided. Let's change the subject."
He kneels down in front of me.
"Why do you think you are here?"
I look up, coughing drool. The rush of blood disorients me, and the man's mask looks like a blur. I take a few deep breaths.
"I already said-"
"No."
He punches me in the ribs. I can feel his fist sink in, but it barely hurts.
"You suggested why I was here. Tell me. Why are you here?"
I make him wait, stalling a moment before I talk.
"I must have pissed off all the right people."
"You are not taking this seriously, are you?"
"I'm always serious."
He gives me a smug look, then turns and walks toward the door.
"So... Are you going to tell me your name?"
I barely finish the sentence before he throws a haymaker. His knuckles tear my cheek and cut my gums. He throws a left at my right temple, blinding my sight and killing the pain. He jabs me in the throat. I cough and gasp for air.
"Caw- caw- caw- heh- heh- heh- I- heh- heh- It's okay. You... Don't have to tell me."
He shakes out his hands and wipes the blood off with a cloth.
"Do you really know what I like about my job? Aside from the music, I mean."
-cut you into little pieces. Jesus Christ, get on with it.
I shake my head.
"It gives me time to... Experiment. See what tools I have and how I can use them. Take this."
He takes out a monkey wrench. The cast iron is old and black, and very heavy. But the man has an easy time keeping it up with just one hand.
"I found this not too long ago", he says smiling in satisfaction. "My father told me that this belonged to his great grandfather. He was a mechanic. Used to build fighters in the Great War."
-Christ, get on with it.
"I wonder what he would think? No, he would't mind. He built tools for killing. A little blood on a wrench is nothing to the thousands he was responsible for."
He rests the butt of the wrench on my head.
"You are a very good listener Mister Randm. This will hurt."
He swings the wrench sideways and bashes my knee.
"AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAaaAAAAAAAahAha GOD! FUCK! FUCK!"
"Now, now. Did your mother ever tell you good boys never swear?"
"You gotta be shitting me!"
Good boys don't swear? The fuck does that mean?
"Ah, goddammit!"
The fuck does that mean? The fuck does that mean? -Christ, get on with it. AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAaaAAAAAAAahAha-! [small]I'm dead.[/small] SHUT UP! Shut. Up. I'm not even going to tell you to shut up.
"Are you feeling okay?"
"Oh yeah! Never FUCKING better!"
He gives me that same smug smile.
"Good."
He adjusts the head of the wrench and fits it over my shin.
"Can you feel this?"
I can't.
He twists slowly. I can see the bone stress and bend.
I can't feel anything below my waist.
"No?"
No.
His smile turns to a frown. He pauses, then slips the wrench off and tosses it aside.
"You're no fun at all."
"Heh- heh- heh-"
"Think I'm funny don't you? Think I'm mad, don't you?"
I've always been mad, I know I've been mad.
He slips out his scalpel.
"You pissed off all the right people. How?"
I can feel my vision coming back. I can barely make out the knife.
"Because of what I did."
"What did you do?"
What did you do?
"What did you do?"
He stops and thinks, stroking his chin the bastard.
"That would be telling."
I smile.
"Now you see where I'm coming from."
He slowly tugs the knife up my lip, across my left cheek. He chuckles.
"Do you think I like what I do?"
Yes.
"Yes."
He looks down and strokes his chin.
"Nervous?"
"You should have cracked by now."
I've always been mad, I know I've been mad.
[sub]"It's hard to explain why you're mad."[/sub]
"What?"
"Nothing."
"You just keep talking. You never say anything."
Keep talking.
"I have nothing left to say."
He slashes the right side of my face, splitting my ear.
"AH SHIT! AH SHIT! Gah!"
"Nothing left to say! I will kill every last friend you have in that godforsaken town if I have to! Tell me what you are!"
Tell him.
"I'll... I'll."
I glance down at the blood stained floor.
Tell him.
"I'll."
I look up at the lights and breath as best I can. The shoe shine is making me sick.
I vomit blood on my lap. The man steps away.
"Heh- heh- heh-"
The vinyl skips.
"Oh... This. This is great."
A panel in the wall slides away, and a masked man steps in carrying a bag. He closes the panel behind him.
"Mister Randm. What a pleasure for you to, uh... Sit and chat with us."
"I'm floored."
"Forgive me, I abhore puns."
He kneels to the floor beside me. I glance away as he opens his doctor's bag.
"Mister Randm, would you like to know why you are here?"
I think for a moment.
"Well... I can think of two reasons. One, you're the killer. You'll beat me, rip me to shreds and leave me to die miserable and alone. Two... You're with the mob. You'll beat me, rip me to shreds and leave me to die. Miserable and alone."
"Covered all of the bases, haven't you? Hmph."
He picks up a short scalpel, carefully admiring the sharp edge and polished surface.
"So is talking your favorite part of the job?"
"Not really, no. I listen to a little music while I work."
"Really? I figured I would suffer in silence. What kind?"
He slips the knife in his apron and takes an unlabeled vinyl from the bag. He walks behind me.
"Classical."
He puts the vinyl on a turntable. The volume is low, but I can easily recognize the sound of Floyd.
"You have refined taste, Sir."
"Thank you."
He paces around the room and in front of me, his shined black loafers stepping softly on the cushioned floor. I can smell the new leather and shoe shine. It sickens me.
He does this for a few, maybe five minutes. All the while stroking his chin, looking my body up and down. As if I need to ask what he is planning.
"I was thinking we would start with fisticuffs. A few blows to the abdomen and ribs, a few haymakers to the face, a dislocated knee. Then we would work with some tools, see where that takes us."
I look up, giving him a nervous grin.
"Y-you always tell your vics what you're planning for them?"
"Oh, trust me... It doesn't help."
Think of something... I'm dead. Not that. Gotta get out... Gotta get out. Shut up. Gotta get out. Think. Keep talking... Keep talking.
"Floyd huh?"
I look down, thinking of what to say next.
"You ever listen to Med-UHL!"
He punches me in the gut. I exhale, gasping for air.
"I very much liked Meddle."
One of these days I'm going to cut you into little pieces.
"Inspiring work. I appreciate their instrumentals, Echoes especially."
I grit my teeth as he hits me again, an uppercut below the solar plex. I feel it in my lungs and breathe in the stale air. I cough up.
"This conversation is becoming very one sided. Let's change the subject."
He kneels down in front of me.
"Why do you think you are here?"
I look up, coughing drool. The rush of blood disorients me, and the man's mask looks like a blur. I take a few deep breaths.
"I already said-"
"No."
He punches me in the ribs. I can feel his fist sink in, but it barely hurts.
"You suggested why I was here. Tell me. Why are you here?"
I make him wait, stalling a moment before I talk.
"I must have pissed off all the right people."
"You are not taking this seriously, are you?"
"I'm always serious."
He gives me a smug look, then turns and walks toward the door.
"So... Are you going to tell me your name?"
I barely finish the sentence before he throws a haymaker. His knuckles tear my cheek and cut my gums. He throws a left at my right temple, blinding my sight and killing the pain. He jabs me in the throat. I cough and gasp for air.
"Caw- caw- caw- heh- heh- heh- I- heh- heh- It's okay. You... Don't have to tell me."
He shakes out his hands and wipes the blood off with a cloth.
"Do you really know what I like about my job? Aside from the music, I mean."
-cut you into little pieces. Jesus Christ, get on with it.
I shake my head.
"It gives me time to... Experiment. See what tools I have and how I can use them. Take this."
He takes out a monkey wrench. The cast iron is old and black, and very heavy. But the man has an easy time keeping it up with just one hand.
"I found this not too long ago", he says smiling in satisfaction. "My father told me that this belonged to his great grandfather. He was a mechanic. Used to build fighters in the Great War."
-Christ, get on with it.
"I wonder what he would think? No, he would't mind. He built tools for killing. A little blood on a wrench is nothing to the thousands he was responsible for."
He rests the butt of the wrench on my head.
"You are a very good listener Mister Randm. This will hurt."
He swings the wrench sideways and bashes my knee.
"AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAaaAAAAAAAahAha GOD! FUCK! FUCK!"
"Now, now. Did your mother ever tell you good boys never swear?"
"You gotta be shitting me!"
Good boys don't swear? The fuck does that mean?
"Ah, goddammit!"
The fuck does that mean? The fuck does that mean? -Christ, get on with it. AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAaaAAAAAAAahAha-! [small]I'm dead.[/small] SHUT UP! Shut. Up. I'm not even going to tell you to shut up.
"Are you feeling okay?"
"Oh yeah! Never FUCKING better!"
He gives me that same smug smile.
"Good."
He adjusts the head of the wrench and fits it over my shin.
"Can you feel this?"
I can't.
He twists slowly. I can see the bone stress and bend.
I can't feel anything below my waist.
"No?"
No.
His smile turns to a frown. He pauses, then slips the wrench off and tosses it aside.
"You're no fun at all."
"Heh- heh- heh-"
"Think I'm funny don't you? Think I'm mad, don't you?"
I've always been mad, I know I've been mad.
He slips out his scalpel.
"You pissed off all the right people. How?"
I can feel my vision coming back. I can barely make out the knife.
"Because of what I did."
"What did you do?"
What did you do?
"What did you do?"
He stops and thinks, stroking his chin the bastard.
"That would be telling."
I smile.
"Now you see where I'm coming from."
He slowly tugs the knife up my lip, across my left cheek. He chuckles.
"Do you think I like what I do?"
Yes.
"Yes."
He looks down and strokes his chin.
"Nervous?"
"You should have cracked by now."
I've always been mad, I know I've been mad.
[sub]"It's hard to explain why you're mad."[/sub]
"What?"
"Nothing."
"You just keep talking. You never say anything."
Keep talking.
"I have nothing left to say."
He slashes the right side of my face, splitting my ear.
"AH SHIT! AH SHIT! Gah!"
"Nothing left to say! I will kill every last friend you have in that godforsaken town if I have to! Tell me what you are!"
Tell him.
"I'll... I'll."
I glance down at the blood stained floor.
Tell him.
"I'll."
I look up at the lights and breath as best I can. The shoe shine is making me sick.
I vomit blood on my lap. The man steps away.
"Heh- heh- heh-"
The vinyl skips.
When I die this round I'll write an epilogue.
In unrelated news, the election is over so now I can watch the news and not hear about the campaign. Yay! Canadian media reporting Canadian things!