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OK, so I got pissed at my parents and wrote this. It's about Bishasu, and a little idea I had about his past.
But I have a violent streak, as you should know by now, so it turned out like this. I always write for Bishasu when I'm mad, he makes a great catharsis character because I can make him as violent as I want...
So be warned, this is fairly bloody and has a lot of swearing...and yes, I'm aware it's unfinished. It was a stream of conciousness and my concentration was broken (by parents AGAIN!)
and before you say anything, Damien gave me the go-ahead to post this with proper warnings...
*******
I always told myself that one of these days I was going to kill them.
They would be like "Oh, ------" (what, you think I'm gonna tell you my real name? I'm not stupid, you know) "you need to get out more, it's not healthy to spend all day in your room."
That room was the only place I ever wanted to be. Outside it, there were idiots. Idiots are for getting rid of. Why the fuck would I want to be out there?
They thought I was lonely. Not fucking likely. If you're lonely, that means you want companionship. Being surrounded by idiots, that would make me one of them.
I'm no idiot. How the fuck could I be related to them?
In my mind, I knew I was. But I was a fluke. People are idiots, but there's some good ones. I'm one of 'em, one of the smart ones. People are weak, but I'm strong.
People are easy to kill. People like that need to be killed.
It wasn't anything in particular, then. Just a long time coming.
Yeah, so I stayed in the house all day. Didn't mean I didn't know how to survive out there. My connections alone got me along, connections to other people like me. But that's how I wound up with a gun.
My dad was a lazy bastard who slept all the day. Heh. They told *me* to get out more, and he was the laziest fuck I ever met. But he was easy to get, just walked up and popped him one.
It's weird. After doing it for so long, I just keep getting better and better at killing. But that first one was over too quickly. I think that's why I've practiced torturing the idiots first, before wasting them. I wanted to savor it, but I couldn't. Ah well, you live you learn.
Admittedly, it was a pretty clean shot for someone who'd never done it before. But something was missing. A single shot to the head doesn't bleed as much as you'd think, not in all the places.
Yeah, I had some knives too. Close-contact fighting is one of my specialties, you know. So I cut him up and left the pieces all over the house. Don't really know why, just seemed like the thing to do.
But then there'd be my mom. She wouldn't be home until late, so I had plenty of time to set this up. I got my stuff together and put it by the door. Everything I'd need out there--my knives, my gun and bullets, that sort of thing. And my sunglasses. They were three times too big for my face, but they blocked my identity. Back then, it was just my age I didn't want them finding out, but now it's more than that. My mask now is something to be feared.
Sometimes it scares me. But repeat that and I track you down.
Anyway, I'd gotten pretty good at bombs and shit like that. Used to go down to the ravine and blow stuff up. In the middle of the night, of course. To my folks, I stayed inside all the time.
How I trained, too, middle of the night. But that's beside the point.
So I went and found the source of the gas lines that went all over the house, and I started doing stuff with them. What, you think I'm gonna tell you how I did it?
Why do people keep thinking that I'm stupid? One of these days I'm gonna kill all the idiots.
Then we'll see who's laughing.
Yeah, so I rigged it so that, next time the front door closed, the house would explode. Sounds harder than it is, believe me. Takes someone really smart to do that.
I got my stuff and left, leaving the door open a crack. It was a warm night, so I kept walking around for a while before finally settling down in a park.
The next morning, it was in the paper. Some house exploded and they expected foul play. No fucking duh. Since one of the bodies was dismembered and lying all over the place, you'd think those fucks at the police department could put two and two together faster.
Yeah, and "no word on the couple's preteen son ---------". God fucking DAMMIT, why did they have to give my name? That night, I staked out the reporter's house.
Now that was a fun hit. He lived alone, which sucked, but I got to have some fun with him first. Not that kind, remember, I was only twelve at the time. But fun is fun. I cornered him and the first thing out of his mouth was "-------? How did you get away?"
The dumb fuck thought I'd been kidnapped or something. I didn't ask, just took out a belt and strangled him. Big guy, too, like six-two, three hundred pounds. Not a scrap of fight in him at all, which was too bad, but I got to see his eyes bug out.
It's the simple things, you know?
Yeah, so I met up with some of my old contacts. One of them put it together that I was "-------", so I had to waste him. I think some of the others knew, but they didn't say anything, so they got to live.
For then, anyway. I got 'em all later on.
I needed money, and I needed a place to stay. I'm not stupid, I knew I couldn't be *completely* self-sufficient yet. So I asked them about it. Most of them said that I'd make a great hit man, but you know, when you get paid for it, it's just not fun anymore.
But one of them was a lot like me. He knew I needed to build up my reputation, so I started looking for things like that.
Deathmatch. It was perfect. There's no laws in the Viridian Underground, thanks to the Rockets. Fucking figures, don't it? That I'd wind up as one of them? But that's for later on.
God, I miss the deathmatches. I miss the blood pounding through me, the adrenalin in my brain, the rush of knowing that any match could be your last...
People think you have to have a death wish to be in one of those. Not really, you just have to know that everyone dies someday.
But I have a violent streak, as you should know by now, so it turned out like this. I always write for Bishasu when I'm mad, he makes a great catharsis character because I can make him as violent as I want...
So be warned, this is fairly bloody and has a lot of swearing...and yes, I'm aware it's unfinished. It was a stream of conciousness and my concentration was broken (by parents AGAIN!)
and before you say anything, Damien gave me the go-ahead to post this with proper warnings...
*******
I always told myself that one of these days I was going to kill them.
They would be like "Oh, ------" (what, you think I'm gonna tell you my real name? I'm not stupid, you know) "you need to get out more, it's not healthy to spend all day in your room."
That room was the only place I ever wanted to be. Outside it, there were idiots. Idiots are for getting rid of. Why the fuck would I want to be out there?
They thought I was lonely. Not fucking likely. If you're lonely, that means you want companionship. Being surrounded by idiots, that would make me one of them.
I'm no idiot. How the fuck could I be related to them?
In my mind, I knew I was. But I was a fluke. People are idiots, but there's some good ones. I'm one of 'em, one of the smart ones. People are weak, but I'm strong.
People are easy to kill. People like that need to be killed.
It wasn't anything in particular, then. Just a long time coming.
Yeah, so I stayed in the house all day. Didn't mean I didn't know how to survive out there. My connections alone got me along, connections to other people like me. But that's how I wound up with a gun.
My dad was a lazy bastard who slept all the day. Heh. They told *me* to get out more, and he was the laziest fuck I ever met. But he was easy to get, just walked up and popped him one.
It's weird. After doing it for so long, I just keep getting better and better at killing. But that first one was over too quickly. I think that's why I've practiced torturing the idiots first, before wasting them. I wanted to savor it, but I couldn't. Ah well, you live you learn.
Admittedly, it was a pretty clean shot for someone who'd never done it before. But something was missing. A single shot to the head doesn't bleed as much as you'd think, not in all the places.
Yeah, I had some knives too. Close-contact fighting is one of my specialties, you know. So I cut him up and left the pieces all over the house. Don't really know why, just seemed like the thing to do.
But then there'd be my mom. She wouldn't be home until late, so I had plenty of time to set this up. I got my stuff together and put it by the door. Everything I'd need out there--my knives, my gun and bullets, that sort of thing. And my sunglasses. They were three times too big for my face, but they blocked my identity. Back then, it was just my age I didn't want them finding out, but now it's more than that. My mask now is something to be feared.
Sometimes it scares me. But repeat that and I track you down.
Anyway, I'd gotten pretty good at bombs and shit like that. Used to go down to the ravine and blow stuff up. In the middle of the night, of course. To my folks, I stayed inside all the time.
How I trained, too, middle of the night. But that's beside the point.
So I went and found the source of the gas lines that went all over the house, and I started doing stuff with them. What, you think I'm gonna tell you how I did it?
Why do people keep thinking that I'm stupid? One of these days I'm gonna kill all the idiots.
Then we'll see who's laughing.
Yeah, so I rigged it so that, next time the front door closed, the house would explode. Sounds harder than it is, believe me. Takes someone really smart to do that.
I got my stuff and left, leaving the door open a crack. It was a warm night, so I kept walking around for a while before finally settling down in a park.
The next morning, it was in the paper. Some house exploded and they expected foul play. No fucking duh. Since one of the bodies was dismembered and lying all over the place, you'd think those fucks at the police department could put two and two together faster.
Yeah, and "no word on the couple's preteen son ---------". God fucking DAMMIT, why did they have to give my name? That night, I staked out the reporter's house.
Now that was a fun hit. He lived alone, which sucked, but I got to have some fun with him first. Not that kind, remember, I was only twelve at the time. But fun is fun. I cornered him and the first thing out of his mouth was "-------? How did you get away?"
The dumb fuck thought I'd been kidnapped or something. I didn't ask, just took out a belt and strangled him. Big guy, too, like six-two, three hundred pounds. Not a scrap of fight in him at all, which was too bad, but I got to see his eyes bug out.
It's the simple things, you know?
Yeah, so I met up with some of my old contacts. One of them put it together that I was "-------", so I had to waste him. I think some of the others knew, but they didn't say anything, so they got to live.
For then, anyway. I got 'em all later on.
I needed money, and I needed a place to stay. I'm not stupid, I knew I couldn't be *completely* self-sufficient yet. So I asked them about it. Most of them said that I'd make a great hit man, but you know, when you get paid for it, it's just not fun anymore.
But one of them was a lot like me. He knew I needed to build up my reputation, so I started looking for things like that.
Deathmatch. It was perfect. There's no laws in the Viridian Underground, thanks to the Rockets. Fucking figures, don't it? That I'd wind up as one of them? But that's for later on.
God, I miss the deathmatches. I miss the blood pounding through me, the adrenalin in my brain, the rush of knowing that any match could be your last...
People think you have to have a death wish to be in one of those. Not really, you just have to know that everyone dies someday.
