This Rp contains extreme violence and gore.
Wolframite reached into his bag to pull out a camera, checking the contents of the duffel. He had went through his checklist a few times. Extra chains. Spray Paint. Recorder. Batteries. Flashlight. Gloves. Gloves were important because despite the level of attention he wanted, he wasn’t so sure that his uniform protected him from finger print identification, not that he had a criminal record. Well, not one that they could place a name to.
“Please…Plllleeeassee let me go.” Her sobbing bothered him. It would have been easier if she was cocky, that he could easily bring himself to hate her even more, but a girl in any uniform crying was something that crawled on his skin like an abrasive sweater, making him feel irritated and uncomfortable.
She was pretty. No denying that. With cherry-red hair and brilliant blue eyes that only glimmered more brightly with the heavy sheen of tears. She was probably the same age as the other lieutenants that died. Probably the same age as him. Probably just as happy with her friends and life as they had been. Past tense. Gone.
He pulled out the Polaroid camera he bought at a pawn shop. Nothing was left to chance. He didn’t purchase it someplace with cameras or could easily be found. He’d break the camera afterwards in some dark alleyway and dump it in the trash. Rising up, he took a picture. Capturing a senshi in a white and gold fuku with lovely little lacework along the hem of her skirt. Her little pearl of a gem rose and fell quickly as she sobbed and shook down each breath, exhausted from struggling against the rusty chains that held her to a metal chair. Had to be chains. Rusted. Harsh. Unmoving. Everything had to be recreated as best he could. He’d never dare go near the wreckage of that place, but he found replacements from other abandoned areas. He didn’t go inside of the buildings. Their haunting, vacant rooms made him short of breath. Still, he made due and things were perfect.
She winced as the flash of the camera snapped her, and the zip of the photo popped out. It was dark here among. The visitors long since gone and hours before the morning crew would come in to attend to their wards. Moving over, he held the picture under the small light of a Fun Facts display, shaking it a few times as he watched her cry.
It wasn’t hard to find her. She was new, out in the open, in bright attire. He gave her the chance. The fought by the same rules and, if he had still been following those same rules back then, the ones he had preferred when everything was understood. When a battle was between two people who knew they would fight to the best of their abilities and that it would end afterwards. No tricks. No drugs. Nothing under their sleeve aside from maybe a hidden knife or smoke bomb. He missed those rules.
She lost, and upon her, instead of taking her starseed and presenting it to his Queen, he grabbed her skull and smashed it against the city street. There were things to do, and he didn’t care to face the Queen just now. How could he face her?
“Please, please, please…” A mantra for mercy. Shaking the polaroid, he moved over to her, watching as she curled down and exhausted her eyes.
“I’ll let you go if you tell me a few things.” He checked the photo, watching as she came into focus. Sad, chained, tears on her cheek. He wasn’t about to let them get away from the full picture. They had to see it. Hear it. KNOW what she went through. What they would all go through if he was given the chance.
Hopeful, she looked up. “Wh-what?” She choked, the pink gloss on her lips nearly rinsed away.
Kneeling down, he checked the watch he clipped on the strap to his bag. “What is your name?”
Pausing, he licked her lips. In the face of death, a name seemed simple enough, and she freely gave it. Anything to live. “Weidenschilling”
“That’s a rather long one.” He turned to write it down just so he wouldn’t forget.
“Now, what is your real name?” He asked, looking back at her.
This, however, was trickier. How could she live if a Negaverser knew her name? He could see her struggle with this. It wasn’t like he expected her to answer. It wouldn’t change things.
“Okay, how about the name of your friends? Their real names.” He pulled out a piece of paper and a pen where he had written her name and waited. Again, she struggled with the difficulty of such a request. He knew it was hard. No one could answer that, and if she did, well, it was further proof she didn’t need to live but it was worth a shot.
“Can’t answer, can you? Doesn’t make sense for anyone to ask you that. There isn’t any way you can. I’d be killing your friends. It’s absolutely cruel for anyone to ask that of someone, isn’t it?” He set the paper inside the bag slowly.
She watched, unsure of what to do. He had opened the window of escape and she was waiting for that chance to fly.
“I said, ISN’T IT?” He looked back at her, and she nodded.
Calming, he reached into his bag, finding the recorder he left in there. Pulling it out, he made sure it was rewound, a new tape inside, batteries correctly in.
Moving over, he pointed the mic towards her. “Now, I want you to say your name again to all your friends.”
Her shoulders shook, body working up the energy to cry again. “We—Whe---Weidenschiling.” She sputtered, voice wet as her nose dripped.
Recording, he moved over, closer. “Are you afraid?” He asked, voice soft. Voice tight, she nodded, causing him to cringe. With his bandaged hand, he shook the chair back, causing her to scream. “I said, are you afraid?”
“YES! YES! Please god don’t..” It wasn’t lying to humor him. She was. She had to be. He could kill her. He would kill her. Is this the only way to be taken seriously? To make a name for yourself? He didn’t look intimidating. He had been treated like a joke. A consolation prize in a bigger plot. A Captain who took a year to rise to his rank and went nowhere. You’re a joke.
Breathing deep, he pressed the recorder close. “Now, say goodbye.”
Eyes wide, she started to shake her head, whipping her red hair about and plastering strands to her tear-streaked cheeks. “NO! NOnonononoopleasedon’tdothispppllleeasseeenoooo…” She continued as moved to the door, pulling off the broken door lock to the wolf indoor enclosure. It was a small room. The stab wound to her shoulder would help the process along.
With a yank to the door, he pushed her chair inside, startling the animals who felt his aura and growled. Then he slammed the door and placed on a new lock. It would take security at least some to take it off even after they noticed the screaming.
Breathing deep, he moved to set himself near the door, recorder shaking in his hands as he waited. He had a message to deliver, and it had to be written in red.
