Updating over a year later . . . whoopee.


"Hey, hands off, jerk!" A woman's shrill voice came from the alley.

"Nothin' wrong wi' this, babe," A drunken man's slur answered.

"No, no! Help! He—" Her shriek was muffled. The view shifted, looking down the alley. The man had the woman pinned up against the wall, hand over her mouth, triumph gleaming in his bloodshot eyes.

"Let her go." Another man growled.

"Oh? Whatcha gonn' do 'bout it, huh?" The drunk man leered.

"I said, let her go." The other man growled again, raising a knife. The other man was Kurt. Rather, Kurt's view, he was surprised to learn. Kurt advanced on the man quickly, raising the knife.

"Hey, man, I di'n' mean anythin', honestly, I di'n'!" The drunk let the woman go and scrambled backwards, but still Kurt came closer. He raised his arm and slashed downwards, ripping a hole in the man's sweatshirt. The woman gasped behind Kurt. He turned on her.

"No, please, no!" The woman pleaded. Kurt raised his arm again and stabbed deep down into her chest, blood flowing over his fingers, hot and sticky. The man leaped onto Kurt's back. Kurt backed up into the alley wall until he heard ribs crunching and the man shouted in pain. He whipped around and slashed at the man's face and neck, severing a main artery, blood spurting out with every beat of his heart. The man looked horrified and gave a strangled, gurgling cry.

Kurt stepped away from the flow of blood, watching the man bleed out, then swiping the blade across the woman's face a few times. He watched for a moment longer before turning and jogging out of the alley, walking down a street into another alley where a three homeless people were standing around an oil drum fire. Kurt walked up to it and held his hands out as if he was warming them. Then he took his shoes, jacket and gloves off and threw them in the fire. He tossed the knife in after them and walked away.


Opening his eyes and blinking them against the filtered light coming through the curtains, Kurt stretched around Kitty, who was snuggled up against him. Smiling, he placed a peck on her forehead and slipped out of bed without disturbing her, getting dressed quickly and heading down to get the paper. He had a suspicion.

Sure enough, when he unfurled the paper, there was a smaller headline on the side proclaiming a double-homicide late last night. Kurt sighed and bit his lip worriedly. This was freaky. He skimmed over the article, and what little information the reporters had matched up perfectly with his dream.

He teleported back inside and stood in the lobby for a moment, unsure of where to go. He could talk to the Professor, or he could go talk to Kitty. Kurt decided he'd talk to Kitty first. Moments later, he appeared in a flash of smoke at the foot of his bed.

"Keety . . . Keety, vake up." He said, gently shaking her foot. Kitty moaned and rolled over, looking adorable. Kurt smiled again and went around to the side of the bed. He was about to put his hand on her shoulder when she mumbled,

"What, Kurt?"

"Oh, hey, you're awake?" Kurt asked.

"Yes, or I wouldn't be talking to you. How early is it?" Kitty mumbled into her hair.

"Eight." Kurt replied, with a quick glance at the clock on the nightstand.

"Wake me up in four hours." Kitty flipped onto her stomach, face buried in the pillows, kicking her feet like she did when she was getting comfortable.

"No, I need to talk to you now," Kurt almost whined. Kitty didn't move, but stopped kicking her feet. "Pleeaase, Keety, it's about my dreams. I saw two more people keeled last night."

"Fun." Kitty muttered darkly. She was not a morning person. Hanging his head in defeat, Kurt 'ported down to the Professor's study, but he wasn't there. Wandering aimlessly into the kitchen, Kurt found the Professor and Logan sitting at the table discussing the newspaper.

"Oh, hallo." Kurt greeted them, coming over and sitting down across from the Professor, pointing to the article about the double-homicide. "I dreamed zis."

There was a few moments of silence before the Professor spoke. "Tell me every detail about the dream. We may have to call the police."

Kurt swallowed nervously at the last part, but started talking. "It voz late, like it said in ze article, and I voz standing on ze street, near an alley. Zere voz a man and a voman fighting. Ze man voz drunk. I told him to let her go, but he didn't, and I pulled a knife on him, and he started apologizing, and I ripped his clozes. Zen I killed ze voman. Stabbed her vonce in ze chest."

"The article said she had slashes on her face." Logan interrupted.

"Vait, vait, I'm getting to zat." Kurt said, giving a pointed look to Logan. "I turned back to ze man and cut his face and I hit a vein or somezing, but he voz gushing blut. I vonted to zrow up, but ze keeler, ze man I voz looking zrough, zought it vos fun. He liked it. Zen I turned back to ze voman and hit her across ze face viz ze knife. After zat I ran. I found a hobo fire and zrew my shoes and jacket and knife in it, zen I voke up."

There were another few moments of silence. "We will be giving an anonymous tip to the police, Kurt, if you can remember the street in which the killer burned his clothing." The Professor said, and Kurt liked how he made the distinction between him and the killer.

"I know zat ze man valked out of ze alley, turned left, passed ze library, and turned into ze alley to ze right of ze library." Kurt said, concentrating hard to remember the dream, which was slipping away from him.

"Very good, Kurt. Good job. You're helping bring justice for these people." The Professor said gravely, and Kurt nodded solemnly. "Would you hand me the phone?"

Kurt got up and tossed the cordless phone to the Professor, who leafed to the back section of the newspaper for the hotline set up for tips on the "emerging serial killer".


Randomly decided to update. Hope it's okay . . . ?