Lawrence
He was pretty close when he stopped me from running, wasn't he? Everyone was so panicked, so distracted, they might not have even noticed it starting, if his insides were slowly reduced and melted away - and then they would have, wouldn't they? They'd have screamed and panicked and fought, but they wouldn't have been fast enough. I know they wouldn't have been fast enough, because I can
hear how he'd scream.
Feel the pain as I'm knocked down by any number of powers, as blood rushes and spills across the floor from gaping wounds that are just too much to heal quickly enough, and it's only seconds but it feels like forever doesn't it? Or maybe, maybe I just want it to be forever, maybe that's what I want things to be. Pain and bliss, agony and ecstasy, mixed and bubbling and burning me away. Sometimes I start on the others too, they're so close, so many, so tightly packed--
More voices join his in the screaming, an indistinct choir of agony.
And fuck, it's the best sound in the world.
Liliana
I wonder, sometimes, what would happen if I made her watch. One of the others, someone she considers a friend - after all, she's pretty eager to take on injuries for herself, from what I've seen. So how far does that push, how much can I make her take before she loses it? An interesting question... tantalising, even. It wouldn't even have to kill her at the end of the day. It's about reaching the edge, not pushing anyone over it.
And it would be useful to know how much she's willing to endure. With or without a little encouragement.
Emma
She's right about me. I don't think she realises just how right, but that makes the thought of proving it all the more satisfying. Pretty difficult to stay all high-and-mighty when you're slowly melting away. Piece by piece - taking it slowly. But honestly, I wouldn't stick around for this one. Not because I wouldn't want to watch her slowly fall apart, but because it's more satisfying to let the effect work on its own, feel the rush continue even when I'm gone.
To show her that she isn't even worth my time.
Grant
...
Chris
He transforms, doesn't he? And when it fades, he seems to be healed, whole once he's back as a person. That just presents... so many possibilities for me. Take off his wings, his legs... and I could go so far, so far until he was forced to change back for his own safety. Split open his skin, leave it to peel off section by section, burn out his eyes, melt his gums and watch his teeth fall into his own mouth, reduce him until he was completely helpless and keep going until he's nothing.
And even after all that, I have him to deal with. The human. So pathetic, so self-important, so
utterly fucking childish. If he wants to cry, that means I can give him something to really scream over. He's so desperate to hold onto his suffering, to pretend that he's somehow special in all of this, and it's beautiful to show him how very wrong that is. Everyone has a breaking point. I take it slow once he can't run. Once his bones are rotted away and his limbs lie limp and useless, I take it so, so slowly. But I don't kill him, no. I don't kill him for a long time.
Not until I get to hear him
beg.
Sander
I don't know much about him, really. It limits my imagination in an irritating way, stops the images from having any kind of personal touch - but I don't think I could take my time for this one either way. After all, he's invincible after a while. So I'd make it fast, make it simple, and above all else quick. The moment he let his guard down, It'd be quick. Removing everything I could reach, and then once he was nothing but the most vital parts of himself...
I guess then it's off with his head.
Callan
Trusting. Naive. So very breakable. Forgiveness? I
know how forgiveness ends, how it always ends, but maybe she doesn't and that's okay! No better way to learn than being part of a demonstration, after all. Practical. She thinks I can beat this, that I'm strong enough to do that--
No no I'm not at all, am I, not even close to it. Falling further, falling faster... but there'd be no better way to prove her wrong. I'm not even breaking a promise if I hurt her enough beforehand, that's the beauty of it. Because I'm sure that thing will come out, try to tear me to shreds or strike me down, and then I'm only doing what she asked me to. Fulfilling a duty, showing her just how strong I can be. Or maybe it's showing her just how weak I really am.
Of course, that's less fun. But if I hurt her enough, fuck her up enough, maybe she'll have to struggle with her control just like I do. No escape, no respite, no relaxation-- fighting it every single day. Then she'll know what a lost cause it is trying to help me.
Kusari
It's a memory now, isn't it? I can still remember every part of that moment, but it's almost unreal at the same time. The terror that caused it seems dull and muted, and in comparison her pain is bright and
fucking delicious as every nerve burns away and regrows and burns again. And there's something real about it, utterly real, none of the strangeness that comes with the others-- the pleasure of the whole thing is almost visceral by comparison.
The kind of high that people spend their whole lives chasing. I don't know how many times I've seen it since I got back. But it's always just so good. So unbelievably good. Haven't seen her since that happened, don't think I want to, because I know I'll want that feeling again. I'm trying to describe it but it's beyond words, into the depths of something primal and rabid and animal instead. Kill her. Kill her, and then bring her back just so I can do it again. I tell myself it's disgusting, utterly inhuman; hell, I've been sick a couple of times when I come back to myself once the whole thing's done.
But no matter how hard I try I can't stop myself from
wanting.
Marcus
Wouldn't promise not to save me, wouldn't promise to walk away. It's not something I think I can understand, but that's fine, right? Just means I have to make sure it's impossible. The scenario's the same as before, tendons snapped and ligaments melted away so he can't run anywhere. So he has to struggle to move anywhere, desperately fighting and unable to stand. Except now he can't help anyone either, can't help me, can't decide that I have to make it out alive.
I normally die in these ones, one way or another. Hurting him feels good, but that doesn't. Not as much, anyway.
Zoe
More and more. Temptation after temptation. How can I put that into words? How could I ever explain why things are this way? How I'm so scared, so disgusted, so horrified - and how you still can't resist that self-indulgent bliss? It's easy to think I should just get it over with and tell them, there's nothing
stopping me. Tell them I fantasise about tearing them to shreds, tell them I've enjoyed everything I've done to such a sick extent.
That I've never been some strong warrior, some determined hero, some suffering soldier-- fucking look at what I've turned into. I'm a monster. A freak. A subnatural. A psychopath that gets off on her own diseased fucking rampages. The most pathetic specimen that anyone's ever shit out onto this broken little excuse for a planet, whose only claim to fame is ruining the life of everyone she ever came across.
Isn't it selfish of me to even want help? Or is it more selfish to hold back from that because I'm scared of what they'll think when they learn how deep that sickness goes? I don't know if I can face them knowing how depraved and disgusting I really am. And even if I'm ever brave enough, I know there's nothing they could ever do to help.
Besides, it's not like I've never lashed out before. Maybe some of this is just me.
Hazel
I wonder what it would take to make her react like a person. To break through whatever robotic fucking haze she's got going on and make her do something
human and feral. This one's odd - I don't know if she'd understand what was happening when I plucked out her eyes or made her hands disintegrate into nothingness, and that makes the whole thing lose its appeal.
It's better when they know what's happening, what I'm doing, who's doing it. It's
personal, not clinical and detached like she is. That's just boring. It's easy enough to ignore this one, because the pain just wouldn't stick out like it does with the others.
Siena
Unpredictable, that's what I said. And I'm starting to think she's dangerous too. There's a mask there, a disguise, even if I didn't realise it before. There are... so many things that could lie under that, and I
want to know. So I reach up, and I tear away the surface, pulling the skin from her face. There's a kind of resistance, a stickiness as I try to tear it away, and the resistance makes it feel so real; the stench of blood and rot hitting me in a single moment.
There are layers to work through, layers upon layers of skin and muscle and eventually I reach bone. She's dead by then of course, but I don't stop, don't stop peeling everything away until there's only dust left. Until there's nothing left of whatever mask she's been hiding behind, and I see what remains. But there's nothing, and I'm sorry, and I just can't help but
laugh. Whatever she's hiding, whatever isn't there for me to see... none of it's going to be left once I'm done. Who knows, maybe I'll even get to see what that danger
was.
Angelique
She's my friend. The singer, and so fond of making speeches, of trying to speak up, of trusting in me when it's all just
bullshit. Every time she's there, every time she's helpful, I imagine it. When she smiles, I imagine digging my hands into her throat - slowly, oh-so-slowly, once her vocal chords are destroyed. There's a look on her face, fury, betrayal, but she's helpless. Helpless against everything I'm doing.
It's her lungs that do it. Slowly, precisely, ripping away the inside, ever-so
careful because I wouldn't want to do it too fast. She wants to scream, but it doesn't do anything, and that's when I let her go. Blood bubbling up in her throat, spilling from her mouth, as she spasms and flails and chokes. There's so much pain, I can feel it in the air, with every nerve, with every fibre of my being and it's indescribable. It's... incredible.
Then I blink, and she's sitting next to me again without a care in the world. Believing I can change.
And all I want to do is vomit.
Allison
So forgiving, isn't she? Naive. An easy opportunity. Still, without my powers, I couldn't hurt her the way I would the rest. Not rotting, not melting, nothing that easy and effortless. But I'm stronger than her, so it's be a simple matter. The moment she tries to reach out, I knock her down, pinning her - then I grab her arm, force it to bend as far as it can and then further still until the joints tear and bones shatter.
The feeling itself isn't remarkable on its own, even if it's so satisfying to feel everything finally give. It's the
sound that makes it, as tendons snap and bones crunch. A very particular sound, a mixture of a crack, loud and painful as bone breaks and shifts and grinds, and a pop as everything comes out of place - then the agony hits, fractions of a second after, and the screaming replaces it. Music. And it continues, adding to the symphony as it reaches new heights with every snap and pop and
break.
She passes out, eventually, and I stamp her face into the concrete until she never wakes up again. Dead, dead without even knowing a thing about Angel's fate. Or sometimes I tell her, and she dies struggling with that hope, desperate to see her just one last time. It's tragic either way. And really fucking cruel of me.
Wonder how forgiving she'd be if she knew about that.
Christmas
...
Brent
He thinks he knows, thinks he understands even a little of this, of me. So arrogant, so
fucking arrogant. No, he doesn't understand the complete and utter loss of control and the bliss that comes with it-- he never could. It was naive to think he'd ever get how far this feeling goes, but we're nothing alike. This one isn't as precise as the others, isn't as methodical.
It's an animal thing, tearing off chunks and pieces and tossing them aside carelessly. Sometimes he'll die quickly, sometimes he'll live a while, but I don't pay any attention to it. It doesn't matter how much he suffers, even if every rip and tear sends shivers down my spine; what matters is that I'm not in control, that he sees how different we truly are. No thoughts, no decisions, as I let myself be a spectator in his grisly demise.
I don't even bother to wash the blood from my hands.
Ernest
Still thinking about David... it's a shared experience, the first time I really got to have some fun with someone around here. Fond memories, on my part, and when it's Ernie's turn on the chopping block I bring them all back full-force. There's nothing too complicated about the first parts, a thumb drawn down the face, an ear torn free and tossed aside. It's fun seeing how he reacts to all the blood, the uncleanliness of it all as I smear it across his face.
We put out his eyes, too, as I remember it. I'm guessing bleach doesn't work on his durability, but my powers are a good compromise, a thumb dragged across agonisingly slowly until he's completely and utterly blind. 'Course, I'm not cleaning any of this up - it's more fun to let him panic from being covered in his own blood, considering all the clean-freak shit. Even more fun to watch him try and keep it together through all of it.
There's no need for him to worry, though; I'll keep his secrets once he's finished, if nothing else.
Sophia
...
Others
They're only memories, once they die. Beautiful, horrifying memories of broken bone and spattered viscera, but my imagination doesn't add much to it. Merciful, right? Ha. Might sound that way, but like hell it is - because the memories feel so much better than anything else ever could. I can't explain this to anyone, not properly, not
really showing what's happening in my head.
How do you tell someone that their dead friends are your goddamn fantasy material? Even if I don't have a choice about what I feel, what I see-- they already think I'm sick enough. Maybe they want to know, some of them, what drives me to do the things I do, but...
I can't help but think that it's better that they don't. But I'm starting to wish I could tell them anyway.
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