Author: Fumiki Yuy PM
Every night the Geass propells her to hunt them down, the murderous hell dogs. Identity marred, motives...unclear, a nightmare prawling the streets. Secrets are best kept safe, especially when the work is done by a used pawn.Rated: Fiction T - English - Suspense/Angst - C.C. & Lelouch L. - Words: 639 - Favs: 3 - Follows: 1 - Published: 09-18-10 - Status: Complete - id: 6334490
|A+ A- Full 3/4 1/2 Expand Tighten|
Ink blackness stained the room; silence pervaded the four wall space. She sat on the bed's edge- prim and erect: hands clasped between her knees. Shadowed eyes pierced the air straight ahead.
Noiseless, lightless, motionless…
Time passed, emotion slowly fled her dark depths. Hazel orbs focused on nothingness.
Light briefly flicked in those pale brown orbs… dead. Robotically, her lean figure rises from the bed. Slender hands retrieve the object. Movements fluid, she exits the room.
Moonless night… empty road.
Foot on the accelerator, he sped along the twisting pavement. No worries, not a care in the world- solely him with his music. Volume blaring, joyful voice singing upbeat lyrics.
Patiently, she waited unnumbered hours. Headlights blare around a distant turn. Serene, she maintains her position. Upcoming curve, the car arrives.
Wait for it…
White lights shine upon her face, delicate body remains.
Singing ceases, eyes squint… "Oh my God!" Realization, latent reaction. The squeal of brakes, body crumples…
Panicked man sits in frantic state.
Seconds later, engine running, door opens, "What have I done?"
Staccato movements, he slowly exits.
Perplexed he stands- unaware.
Shadowed figure looms behind.
Quiet words play upon her lips.
"Gasp for breath."
Head turns, gazing over shoulder. Light glints, eyes widen.
Square blade descends upon his tense shoulder. Muscles severed- shrieking screams.
Quivering form… no time to react. The blade descends again. Cross stitch wound. Back peeled open, sweet wine pouring.
"Who are you? What do you want with me?"
Faint smile with silent laugh. Final blow, skin spliced into shreds…
White hands stained with blood. Blank eyes reflect demise.
Gasping breaths… body falls to ground.
Red blade soars again…
"Good evening, this is Channel 11 News. Our top story this evening concerns the murder of several Britannian civilians. According to military investigations and Knightmare reports, fifteen citizens have been murdered over the last two weeks."
Dance music drowns quiet steps.
She wanders for new location.
"Reportedly, the identity of the killer is unknown. Despite this, the military has an idea of what the murder weapon is."
City limits… dark alley.
Woman unaccompanied. Quick chatter, phone plastered to her ear. Slinky clothes, unhappy tone. Angry words echo off empty walls. Slow pace, no haste to return anywhere. Passes under dim windows… unbeknownst being watched. Intent eyes trail behind… following with stalker's mind.
Now is the time…
Back turned, absorbed in her little world.
Stealth steps fall behind.
Whispers brush her ear.
"Wake up, you're dead."
High heels stop clicking.
Phone clatters to pavement…
Wrist hangs by a thread.
Quicksilver, blade enters tender chords…
Muffled voice dies away.
Frightened eyes gaze up…
Red and silver crosses vision…
"In accordance with evidence, the killer uses an everyday kitchen meat cleaver. However, no evidence of a motive has been discovered, and the victims seem to be chosen at random. The locations of the killings have occurred within residential, Britannian precincts and main highways."
Mangled woman, silent night.
No witnesses to the devastating crime.
"Also, according to further evidence, the murders have occurred during the night hours. No specific time frame has been established. But due to the severity of the problem and the lack of proper evidence, the military has warned that people refrain from leaving their homes during the night."
Dawn tickles the horizon.
Pale colors peek beneath the clouds.
The new day is coming.
Mesmerized she enters her dwelling.
Habitually, she washes away the life force now turned brown.
"An update has just arrived from the Britannian Empire."
Both are laid to rest.
"The death toll from the mystery killer has escalated to seventeen."
Trance of the night, dissipates.
Angelic face gently rests in the morning light.
Last remains escape her lips:
"I'm your worst nightmare."