misanthropic » muke

Chapter One

His azure hued eyes flickered over to the thick, dark, red liquid slowly trickling downwards of his impotent victim's heaving and trembling chest as he inhaled and exhaled uneven breaths heavily. "Please l-let me go," the victim beseeched, his voice strained and worn out from all the screaming due the torturing Luke has gone over the hours.

That plead obtained the victim a cold and bloodcurdling chuckle as the light coloured haired man crouched down towards his hostage and thumbed the knife precisely above his clavicle before carving in '21' profoundly. The victim groaned and wailed in such agony, him writhing helplessly in the chair he was tied up against to, his wrists and ankles dripping with bloody due to all the continuous struggling and battling he attempted to break out against the harsh nylon ropes.

"Why would I simply let you go without you getting what you deserve?" He boomed angrily towards his petrified victim and punched him square in the jaw with his gloved fist, making sure not to leave any fingerprints. Whimpers of cry left the hostage's blood oozing mouth.

Light coursed through the dents of the wall of the abandoned warehouse, after hours of agonizing pain, it was sunrise. "You think you could have just gotten away with it without being punished?" He laughed darkly before getting out his pistol which was illegal in the current country he was in before pointing it at the victim's creased forehead. "I swear you won't feel a thing," promised Luke evilly as he placed his finger on the trigger.

"No! Please! I won't ever do it again! Please, I have a fami—" bang! The sound of the gun going off echoed off the walls through the abandoned warehouse. Drops of blood all over his shirt and face. He pulled off his white shirt and wiped the blood of his face. He then shoved the dirty shirt in his duffle bag and retrieved a new one and pulled it over.

He placed his gun back into his holster and tugged off the black gloves before throwing them into his bag. Luke made sure nothing was left behind, no evidence, no traces, nothing as he packed all of his things up and left the bloody corpse to rot.

He walked about two miles before he had found his car and dumped the bag in his trunk. His eyes squinted as he looked at the sun rising higher up into the sky. Yawning, he slipped into his car and started driving down the empty road. He drank a whole bottle of water before dumping it in the back. Another day, another successful kill. Luke smirked to himself at the thought.

Luke was your average 23 year old neighbor who looked like he had an average paying job, loved to barbecue with his friends every weekend, knew how to surf, owned a golden retriever and a labrador, had a loving family. But Luke was the complete opposite of what people thought he was. He made people think that. He had put the idea into their minds that he was this angelic human being that couldn't hurt a fly. He didn't have job, he doesn't engage with people, he doesn't give a flying fuck about surfing, he hates animals, he stayed away from his family.

But he didn't mind, he didn't need anyone but himself.

He had his reasons on why he murders people occasionally. Sometimes, he just does it for the heck of it. He loved the rush of adrenaline pumping through his blood as he hears his victim writhe in agonizing pain as they scream their lungs out, begging for him to spare their lives. He loved all of it. He couldn't get enough of it.

He stopped at a red light and he brought out a black file that read 'CLASSIFIED INFORMATION' in big, bold, red letters on the front. He flipped through it and grabbed his red marker and crossed an 'X' on John Fawks, the victim he killed an hour prior. He turned to the next page and read the information provided in the file.

She's pretty, thought Luke and scanned the girl's picture. 'Heather Thomas. Age: 27. Height: 5'6. Hair Color: Brown. Weight: 67kg. Occupation: Cashier–' and the information just went on and on and on. Luke didn't work for anyone. He didn't work for anyone but himself. He worked alone, he liked it. No one around to boss him around, he despised being dominated by anyone. So, you could say he was very stubborn.

Reading through the file, a car behind him honked angrily. Luke shut his file and looked through the rear view mirror, squinting his eyes at the person. It was a guy, probably in his early thirties, had hooded eyes, brown hair that kinked right under his grey eyes. Luke didn't move no matter how many times the guy honked. It was only a one lane road and nobody else was on the road besides Luke and the car behind him. Luke decided to use this to his advantage.

He looked up and saw the screen which flashed green numbers counting down to zero, 'four, three, two,' and with that Luke stepped on the gas pedal and sticking out his middle finger out of the window, leaving the furious guy behind with the red light once again. He smirked to himself at the little bit he played to the person and stepped on the gas pedal so he could go wash up his tools and have a nice relaxing shower.

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ok that was such a bitch move luke wyd
+ soz that the chapter was extremely short ..
but ye luke is psychotic murderer with a cold
stone heart,, i really love fics like these oops

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