Septiplier One Shots

One for the Money

A/N: Swears and Dark!Septiplier. This meaning, no it's not Dark and Anti, but rather just dark versions of Jack and Mark themselves... Does that make sense? Whatever. However you wanna portray it, I'm calling them Mark and Jack.

This one-shot is inspired by @maydayhaybay, and a one-shot she had based off of "Wolf in Sheep's Clothing". I apologize if this is ridiculously similar, and it's not me copying it's me being a lazy piece of crap and showing praise towards that story. I hope you guys enjoy! 

(Jack's P.O.V.)

I sigh, finishing with the washing at last. I pile the last newly cleaned knife on top of the other six I just washed. Then I wash my hands free of the blood, I wash the sink, and I walk out of the bathroom attached to my bedroom. I had just come back about an hour ago from one of the most satisfying killing sprees I think I've ever been on.

I used all seven of my favorite knives to torture before I killed. It felt so good, stabbing the poor victims foot or hand, lower back or shoulder, just to get a good scream out of them before shutting them up forever. Of course I did it the way I always do, with a family. I may be a cold heartless maniac, but I can't bear to split up families after my own was split up.

So I do the same thing every time. I find a lost or hungry family, I offer help, I tell them to follow me, I lead them to the warehouse I've donned my own, and the fun starts. As much as it is nice hearing all those screams, I have to admit I like it when the women scream the most. I think it's because I hear so many men scream I've grown numb to the sensation.

And the kids... The poor, poor kids. Heh. The whimpers, the begs, the yells, the cries, the screams. For the first half hour it's pleasant. Then it's just annoying, and I want nothing to do but finish them off. They don't want to grow up in this cruel world anyways. Truly, I'm doing all of my victims a favor. 

I think the only thing that shocks me is how I've gotten away with all of it. Not once have I been caught, or even close too. I guess I'm just that good. Good enough to get away with the most terrible of things. Later though, when all the killing is done, if someone were to walk in the house they'd probably think I was just your average, clumsy human being.

Clumsy due to the cuts I normally have on my side, or arm, or back, or wherever. Average because I can be normal. I just choose not too, unless someone for some reason comes to the door. I don't know why. I mean, I live in the middle of nowhere. For a reason of course. Anyone who's escaped me knows the reason, and knows that if they speak one word they'll be dead before the second can come out of their mouth.

I walk around my room, my knives hanging from my belt except for one that I hold in my hand. I have no clue what to do. It's just after sundown, and while looking out the window I do the one other thing I enjoy doing to pass time. Sing. 

"Everybody in the world are you with me? It's to late to try to run, we run this city." I hear footsteps and I turn, throwing the knife at the door frame. It sinks into the wall right beside Mark's head and he smiles, continuing the song while getting his own knife out.

"It's my time, it's show time. Held me down now it's don't give a fuck time. It's go time, it's show time. Sing it with me everybody lets go." He runs at me, knife in hand. I raise my hand to block his attack, grabbing the blade carefully and twisting the knife around. I feel a sharp pain in my hand and I know I've been cut, but I've also disarmed Mark. 

He quickly grabs another weapon, this one a whip that he immediately throws down at my foot. It wraps around my ankle, and he yanks, pulling me to the ground. I hit my head, chuckling and groaning at the same time. I grab another knife, cutting the whip free from my ankle, and grabbing it, pulling him to the ground as well.