My Digital Escape One Shots

Genocide

Slaughter.

Murder.

Kill them all.

They must die.

Every...last...one...

You couldn't stand the world. Every single person on this planet was evil. Every one of them had a flaw, something about them that your OCD couldn't take. You were tired of the imperfections in your society. You couldn't handle the smudges left on windows by children, the stains left on the carpets by drunks, the lack of symmetry in everything...you wanted to fix it all. But the only way to do that was by getting rid of the people that caused the imperfections. You tried so hard to get them to change their ways, for them to see your side of things. No one listened. They laughed at you, laughed at how you hated the littlest things wrong with everything you saw. You couldn't handle their disgusting laughs, so you slit their throats. You cleaned the crime scene until it was completely spotless, not a single thing changed from how it looked before. It made you sick to leave the scene like it had looked before, but eventually, you were used to it. Making every detail that had been somehow been changed as you killed back to how it looked before. The bodies? Easy. Hydrogen peroxide, a bit of maggots and a desert half a mile away...easy disposal.

You had committed 95 reported cases of murder. You had spoken to many police officers, even attempted to "help" with a case, leading them completely off track. Even got three people framed for murders you committed. It was a decent life to live.

You were now following a man, lanky, tall, raven black hair and bright blue eyes. He was such a magnificent creature, and you couldn't help but think of what a beautifully crafted thing he was. He had but a single flaw, three horizontal scars on one wrist, two on the other. They were beautifully tragic scars, but they were nothing less than irritating. He seemed to be only 18 or 19, just barely within your range of murder, refusing to kill below the age of 17 and above the age of 60, with a few exceptions.

You roll stepped up to him, a method you learned from marching band and went on to use for murder because it was the quietest method of sneaking up on someone. You put a rag covered in chloroform over his nose and mouth, listening as he attempted to scream and yelled, his voice sounding high pitch. You poured some whiskey onto his shirt and a bit in mouth so that if any cops walked up, you could easily lie and say he was drunk and you were trying to bring him home. You dragged him to your car, placing him in the backseat and buckling him up. You drove out to the deep desert, further in than you've ever gone before to dump a body. You drove off the road, turned off the car. You looked back to find the man with a gun in his left hand, a picture of you with the word target in red letters in his right hand.

"What's your name kid?" you asked quietly.

"My name is Johnnie Guilbert," he said, his voice sounding a bit shaky. "And I've been looking for you for a while."

"Did I kill a relative?" you asked with a smirk. "Perhaps a girlfriend? Or maybe an old friend?"

"You did me a favor," he whispered. "You killed a group of twenty year olds six months ago. They were up my ass about getting some money I owed them. I paid it back a year before but they kept pounding me about it, saying that it wasn't enough. I tried to kill myself to escape but they broke into my house and drove me to the hospital. Then you killed them. The doctors asked if I wanted my scars to be removed, I said only one. They're uneven now. I did it to track you down. And now I've got you here."

"Enough of the plot, kid, I just want to know what you want from me." You were becoming impatient.

"Let me help you."

"Not a chance."

"Hear me out. I'll get the scars taken care of. I'll help. I can help you find new victims. I work at a coffee shop near Seventh Avenue. I see weirdos come in all the time. I can help you find victims easily." You were actually thinking about it, about how interesting it would be to have a partner in crime.

"If you can walk from here to the apartment building on Third, then I'll take you in and teach you. If you make it without dying, ask for me." He got out of the car. You started it back up, about to drive off when he yelled.

"Wait! What's your name?"

"Y/N." And you were off.

*******
I apologize for not uploading for over a week, but I've been a bit busy.

Sorry if this one shot was a bit weird. I know it's not normal but, hey, I still think it's pretty damn good. I've got the second part of Damnit Kyle coming out later today so make sure to look out for that. I feel that you guys deserve two oneshots today since I haven't upload since last Thursday.

Stay safe, stay strong, and stay beautiful my Lil bitchez.

Yours Truly,

Andromeda Leigh Barnett