|Cop vs Killer a warrioru fan ficton
Author: Tegan Spade PM
This is set in an AU, where Harv is a detective/cop, Hevvin is a serial killer Harv is trying to take down, and Finn is a victim that got away who is helping Harv track Hevvin down. There are other characters from WU, but they're the main characters.Rated: Fiction T - English - Mystery - Hevvin & Harv - Chapters: 4 - Words: 11,598 - Reviews: 12 - Favs: 7 - Follows: 5 - Updated: 10-31-11 - Published: 10-23-11 - id: 7489465
|A+ A- Full 3/4 1/2 Expand Tighten|
Cop Vs Killer
A Warrior-U fan fic
Prologue: The Killer
As he gained consciousness, he began to realize several things. One, he was sitting in a chair, two, he had something tied into his mouth, three, his hands were tied behind him, and four, he was blind-folded. No…. no wait a minute…. He couldn't feel anything on his face. All the lights were off. Maybe? Could the room really be that dark? He wasn't quite sure how he even got here…. how the hell did he get here? A man. There was, this… this guy, he had come up behind him… in a dark alley way…. He had had his ear buds in, so… he didn't even here him coming…. Oh god…. Kidnapped! He got kidnapped! He started fiercely pulling at the ropes around his wrist, the chair rocking beneath him. He had seen the police reports, why hadn't he been more careful? Oh no! Hell no! He was not gonna end up as a gross twisted photo in some police officer's crime file! Just then he heard a click, and dim light flooded the room. A man, dressed all in white, stood smiling before him.
"Well, hey there guy!" The man said in a cheery voice. He walked forward, sending the door into his closing swing. The man walked up to him, grabbing the chain for the light above and pulling it with strong elegance, making it swing chaotically, as if looking for escape, before slowing into solemn defeat, "Look who's up from his nap!" He had pale white skin, pink hair, and a … horn? In the middle of his forehead? It didn't look fake. He also wore a smile. Sick, twisted and sincere. The smile dropped from his face, turning into an accusing glare, "I was worried you'd never wake up." The man swept his frame to the left, walking in that direction, "I may have hit you too hard. It's not my fault, but sometimes I get too excited with my work. You'll have to forgive me." He stopped at a table off a bit into the shadows. "And if I get too excited with my homework," He flicked on a single switch on the wall, and the lights above buzzed to life, relieving the 'work shop' around them, "Then you'll have to forgive for that too." The man stood, leaning on the table, pondering his first move, picking his first tool. The captive looked around his holding room. It looked like some sort of basement, hidden from all, the only portal to the world outside the house being a small ground level window off to the far right. It had standard basement things, a boiler, what looked like some heating fixtures, and tools. Lots of tools. All of them rusted, filthy and covered in dark blackish brownish muck. Some sort of oil? No, it didn't look like the color of any oil. He felt like he knew this color somewhere. And then, like being hit with a sickening lightning bolt he remembered. This is the color of blood. Old blood. He once again went into a panic, looking around frantically, noticing even more tools. Knifes, hooks, chains, blades! All rusted with blood. Some of the blood even looked new! He looked over at the man in white. The nasty table he leaned on was connected to a sink, covered in brownish red stains and smears. His breathe had become heavy, but he didn't notice until his capture turned his head back to him. He had on an odd smile. Like he was both annoyed and excited by the unsteadiness of his victims breathing. He grabbed a strange tool, what looked like a small hand crank drill, like an old world dentistry tool, or torture device, covered in dried blood. The man in white began to walk towards him once more. He panicked, frantically rocking his chair back and forth, swinging himself around, clawing at the ropes that bound him. He almost fell over, but was caught by the man in white who pushed him upright. "Now, now," He said, "Don't be like that." He smiled, taking his hand from him captives shoulder, and placing it on the rag that was tied into his mouth. "Now," The man smiled brightly, "since this is always the funniest part, got any last words from me to add to my journal?" He pulled the tie out of the rag, letting it drop to the captive's shoulders.
"WHAT ARE YOU GOING TO DO TO ME, YOU SICK F**K?" the captive screamed reflexively.
"Oh," The man said, putting on a slightly amused smile and rolling his eye, "that's nothing impressive. my mother said that too." Just then the captive's work had paid off, and the large knot that he had been so desperately working to untie came undone, "Though the 'sick f**k' is new." The man shrugged, leaning forward with his tool to begin work, "Oh well, I guess they can't all be journal worthy, let's just get to the fun part shall—" His captive sent him harshly down to the ground with an angry right hook. The Captive's feet stumbled over his attacker's body, running an unsteady path towards the door. "HEY!" the man in white screamed, as if he felt that hit was unfair. Just as the captive's hand was about to reach the knob on the door, the man in white grabbed his foot, pulling it back, tripping the captive and sending him crashing to the floor. The man in white pulled him back to him by the foot, raising his tool, and as the captive saw it coming down on him, he cried out
"NO!" and kicked upward, sending the drill flying out of the pale man's hand. The man in white watched his tool fly across the room and clatter harshly to the ground, his face slightly mournful. He looked down at his victim and the mourning melted into rage. He grabbed the victim by the shirt, shaking him and screamed
"THAT WAS AN ANTIQUE YOU JACKASS!" into his face. He threw his victim down, and stepped over him towards his table. The victim's head was spinning from all the hits his head had just taken. His eyes followed attacker to the table, his vision blurry. As his eyes refocused, he remembered the door, and began to calmer to it. The man in white looked over his shoulder,
"oh no you don't." He said quietly. He flipped open the door on a circuit box and pressed a button, and when the victim's hand clutched around the doorknob, an electric shock was sent through it. The victim screamed in pain and quickly whipped his hand away from the door knob, his hand twitching and steaming from electrical burn. "Ye-ah! You like that?" The man in white asked, stepping forward, a large and rusty surgical saw in hand, "I saw that in a movie! Neat trick, right?" He smiled, waiting for his captive to be impressed. The victim looked up at him for a moment over his hunched shoulders, then began to glance around the room, tried and weakened, the adrenaline rush from before wearing thin in his muscles. His left hand clenched around his burning right hand, he listlessly looked over his other shoulder and caught glimpse of the small window at the top up the basement wall. The only portal to the outside world. With a final spark of hope lighting his eyes, he made a break for the window, the man in white followed hurriedly behind, eyes ablaze with crazed enthusiasm, and smile beaming, enthralled with what was coming next. Outside the window, it was a still, silent night that was completely oblivious to the real life horror movie happening in the dimly light basement of the pale yellow colored house in the small suborn cul-de-sac. The victim let out the beginning of a cry for help to this outside world, only to be cut short. The splatter of blood on the window and the muffled screams of pain continued to go by unnoticed by the peaceful world above.
The man in white colored his clothes with the most amazing shade of red that night.