Warning; the following narrative contains words and themes that may offend. If you want christmas puppies and cupcakes, you won’t find it here.
New York 2020
The Ice was singing in his veins, everything was crystal clear and stunningly relevant. Wrapped in shadow, he was all seeing and unseen. Billy was the Night Slasher, but no one knew that except him, it was his big, painful secret. He really wanted to tell some one, the more sluts he gutted, the more powerful he felt, the more he wanted to share his ideas about how sluts should be punished. But there was still a voice, one of many, that whispered he should keep his secret to himself for a while more, though that voice dimmed as he gutted more sluts.
At first, it had been one every six months or so, but, as the law seemed so stupid and easily outsmarted, his confidence increased. He got off on reading the news clips on his pad, reading how the whole city was in fear of him, it made him feel powerful. Power he had never felt before. Power the sluts had been stealing from him with their smiles and their bodies and their cocky confidence and their high intelligence scores. He was showing them now, though, he was the man. He’d done 25 so far, and could see no end in sight, his power could only grow.
Billy had spent his whole life, since he could remember, about 28 years, sneaking and hiding and watching. He was good at it, very good. He’d also spent most of his life, since he was about 10, training in various martial arts. He was already a 3rd dan black belt in karate. He trained constantly, in and out of the dojo, he was a lean, muscular killing machine. Four tours of duty in Africa had honed his killing skills. He was hard, scarred and fast. He was ruthless and unforgiving. The army, however, had become reluctant to condone his operational behavior, particularly his treatment of female civilians, and he had been encouraged not to re-enlist. He wore body armour and cameleoflage, he was invincible. He had killed countless men since his discharge, but they weren’t what excited him, it was gutting sluts that excited him. He had a razor sharp, 20 cm blade. He was holding it now, trembling with excitement and… hesitation.
His cams had been sending the image to his glasses for around 5 minutes now. This was how he always operated. He’d hide in an alley he’d scoped earlier, one that was a shortcut to somewhere. He’d send his cams to hover in the entrance and wait till they showed some slut coming down the alley, and that all was clear to do his work. Usually the sluts lost their cockiness as they entered these killing zones, and hurried through them as fast as they could. He loved to fuck with them before he opened them up, they could not see him as he sliced their clothes off, cut their hair to the scalp. They would cry and wail, begging and pleading.
This one had entered the alley, then stopped just before the light from the street ended. She’d been standing there for five minutes, seemed to be looking into the dark, looking straight at him. This was impossible, of course, with his cameleoflage suit on, and hidden in shadow, he was as good as invisible. The light from behind her made it hard to make her features out, but there was something unsettling about her eyes. She was tall and lean, dressed in some kind of cat suit with a short jacket. She had very long, white hair that didn’t look quite right. She seemed, also, to be very white herself, but her gear was dark grey. She seemed very confident… she seemed like some appallingly experienced veteran grunt, though this must be an illusion, as she was just a flat chested slut. This made Billy both fearful and lustful… lustful of the kill, fearful because he hated confident sluts, he wanted them scared as they died. He decided he’d taken too much Ice, that perhaps he should tone it down next time, though he hated that thought, he loved Ice, loved it’s cold, god-like infusion.
Almost impossibly fluidly, like flowing liquid, she entered the alley, coming, seemingly, straight at him. His normal feelings of lust and power fled, even as he silently launched himself at her, all thought of toying with the bitch was gone. Several things happened very fast. As he was swinging the blade in an eviscerating upward slice, his optics resolved the contrast problem and he saw her eyes clearly… they were not human. They were almond shaped, slanted pools of liquid black, no irises. He knew they were real, his optics told him that, but no one had real eyes like that. He was moving faster than most people could, and adrenaline was slowing the action, as well as his optics speeding up to provide perfect, seemingly slowed vision. That was how he saw her smile just before he gutted her… all her teeth were needle sharp, like sharks teeth. Only, he didn’t gut her, because she was gone, and his knife was slashing upward through empty air, meeting no resistance and almost stabbing himself in the face.
Astonished, he leaped instinctively forward as he whirled into a crouch. This all should not be happening, she should not even be able to see him, let alone react that fast. Then, she shouldn’t look the way she did. She was standing where he had been, looking straight at him, her hands held loosely by her sides… her hands were wrong, too. She had long hands, long fingers, but no fingernails… her fingers tapered into talons. She tilted her head to one side and smiled at him again, there was no doubt, she could see him clearly, and she was not afraid of him. With a gut wrenching shriek, all fear, Billy threw himself at her again, fear and horror lending him even more speed and strength than his psychosis normally gave him.
With two, piston-like punches that would still have been a blur at 10,000 frames per second, Creaturina calmly ripped his stomach open with her left hand, as though his body armour were paper, and tore his throat open with her right, stepping aside as his ruptured corpse flew past her, still holding the knife and making spluttering, bubbling noises. Such was the speed of her actions that all of his liquids missed her. His body splashed into the shadows, still mostly invisible in it’s cameleoflage combat gear, all that could be seen were the intestines and body fluids gushing out of the horrendous injuries she had so calmly inflicted. Not even watching the body hit the ground, she began to walk toward the alley’s mouth just as three police officers, attracted by Billy’s shriek, entered it. She became a blur, the officers advancing with drawn weapons felt a slight breeze as they approached the disembodied intestines in the shadows, but they did not see the Countess of Creatavia as she blurred past them and was gone.
© chris attwell 2012