A man lay in bed. He awoke. He felt around his bed. He felt a mouse. He picked up the mouse. He crushed the mouse in his hand without damaging it's exterior. He dropped the mouse. He fell asleep.
In the history of mankind, he had been the only one to ever find a permanent cure to mental health instability. Sacrifice. The first thing he killed was an insect in 1994. It didn't do much. He murdered a baby myner. He killed ducks and geese. Soon it was rodents. Mice and rats. Fish followed as did small reptiles.
In 1997, he disembowelled farm animals. Sheep, pigs, etcetera. One night back in '99, he snuck into a local farm. After killing an attack dog in self defence, he impaled a cow. With too many witnesses, all nearby calves and Bulls were assassinated.
In winter of 2000, he found a tramp asleep on a bench. Without hesitation, in around a second, he sent his dagger ploughing into the slumbering gentleman's collar. Two police officers and a farmer saw the attack from afar. The four bodies were never discovered.
In 2008, at age 21, he had a brilliant idea. He walked up to the large wall, which loomed over him fearsomely. The snipers and gunmen on the wall opened fire. He continued walking, calmly dodging bullets. He approached the fortress' front door. He knocked on the front door. That was when he made two swift movements, one left and one right. The two bullets struck the door and deflected in an opposite angle, killing the two sharpshooters.
He knocked again. No answer. He wasn't going to give up. He was naturally blonde but dyed his hair black for urban camouflage. He always wore a black shirt and trousers, black shoes, a silver tie, a grey vest, black gloves, black socks, and a charcoal blazer. He was tall and thin, but solid. He had surprisingly small muscles.
He saw the two-way fingerprint lock on the door. He dragged the bodies up to the doorway and scanned a finger from each. He entered the empty atrium. He walked up the grand staircase to the office. He pulled the door open. A man sat at an oval-shaped desk.
"Welcome" said the man at the desk. "My name is Red Gobinslikov. It has come to my attention that you seek a job with us. What field are you interested in?".
"I like killing things. Killing people." He said.
"Excellent. Demonstrate. There are seven other people in this building apart from us. Take your pick" said Red.
Five minutes later, he returned to the office dragging a sack of seven bodies. He hurled the curved dagger at Red, hitting its mark in the side of his throat, sending Red to the floor. He walked up to his fallen victim.
"What is your name, son?" Coughed the blood-vomiting Red.
"I was never given one" replied the emotionless murderer.
A name came to Red's mind. "A-". Red succumbed to his mortal wound before he could finish the word.
"A..." Said the man. "A... I like that!" Said 'A' triumphantly.
After licking the blood and flesh from his blade and sticking it back in its sheath, A had a notorious thought.
If I'm going to be a bad guy... If I'm going to be a low-Life serial killer assassin mass murderer conspiring terrorist... I'm going to be the greatest criminal to have ever lived!
• • •
The bovine ran around the taiga, confused. Each was then struck by .50 caliber shells fired from a high-velocity rifle. The gunman stood up from his tall-grass patch and slung the rifle over his shoulder.
"Dyl! Three bison!" Called the gunman.
"Nice! All I got today was eight mallards and a ram..." Said Dylan, holstering his Winchester. "Three bison... That could keep us going for a month! Well done, Dane".
YOU ARE READING
A is for Ares
General Fiction[COMPLETE] A is a nameless man who goes by the first letter in the alphabet after a traumatic experience. He has found a cure to mental health - but he fails to realise his discovery's true nature. He doesn't know that he is a serial killer. Garrett...
