Call Me Insane (Wilford Warfstache X Reader)

Chapter 2 - Pink

What is with this man and the color pink? Pink. One would draw this color to joy and attractiveness. Pink. The color that is betrayed in drawings of hearts and cute little pigs on farms. Pink. A color I had enjoyed myself. That is until it was all I could see in my nightmares. Pink. The color of death and destruction. Pink. The color of the scars running down my arms and legs. I hate pink.

"This is the most serious case you will be facing Ms. (Y/L/N)."
My boss stands, pacing behind his desk. I haven't seen him this worried before in my life. He is usually calm and collected. Yet now he stands, fiddling with his hands behind his back.
"20. 20 found. 20 men, women, and children.  20 de-," he chokes on his words,"...And it all traces back to one man. A man that is constantly on the move. One we can not find no matter how hard we look. What a strange man he is too. If I was to get my hands on him-"
Once again he stops, shaking his head.
A man, so charismatic with his words, is hesitating.
I find myself playing with my own hands from where I sit.
"He goes by Insanity. And we can not find any background on this man. None. I have this fear that he hacked our systems and nullified his being. I don't even know how that would be possible. We have security. We have-"
He pauses once more and his eyes glance to his desk.
"How could you have traced all of those murders to him Sir? How do you know that he calls himself Insanity?"
He looks to me, a slight horror filling his eyes.
"He leaves a pink sticky note on the bodies under the name "Insanity." That is how we came to calling him that....Sometimes the bodies look like they have been through a bear cage. Others as if they went through a wood chipper....They do not die in vein. They do not die...."
He trails off, staring passed me into an empty void.
"Sir."
His eyes shoot in my direction and I feel as if his eyes formed a spotlight onto me.
"What must I do?"
He seems to ignore what I said, for he looked back to his desk again and sat ever so slowly.

"My son. He...He took my son."
A silence falls into the room. A painful and sorrowful silence.
"21....21 men, women....and children," he mumbles now,"21."
"I will find him."
He looks to me again slowly,"Please."
He slides a file across the table towards me.
"All we have is this single picture a victim had captured before they have been killed. They were in on this case too at the time. I'm sure you know Mr. Edwards...He was trying to send it to us. But by the time we found the picture....It was through a bloodied phone next to a cold hand."
My gut seems to twist at the thought. I didn't know Edwards well. But I have seen him around the office. He was the only other one who would be there at five in the morning with me. It was nice company. Yet we made small talk only a few times and he was seated down the hall from me. No wonder why I haven't seen him in the past week.
"You must be careful (Y/L/N). I do not want to see you end up like Edwards. I don't want anyone to end up like Edwards....Like my son."
There are tears in his eyes yet they stay put.
"You are dismissed."
"But Sir....There isn't enough information-"
"You are dismissed Ms. (Y/L/N)."
It was stupid for me to even bring up. He knew very well this case is as good as dead at this moment. Especially with only a single picture provided. I nod to him and leave him be.

Bringing the file to my desk, my mind wanders to how I could possibly find this man. I sit at my chair and slowly open the folder, the back of my mind hesitant to even look at him. But it is too late as my eyes fall to the monster. His hair, with a natural brown color on the sides, was intruded with a pink strip trailing down the middle. Though it was a darker picture, I could still see part of his torso, covered with a blood stained button up. Grey suspenders lay onto the dress top. A pink bowtie was the cherry to the cake in this outfit. My eyes then drew attention to a similar pink mustache. What a strange man indeed. Just looking at him sent shivers down my spine. The horrors he had done seeped through the paper and into my hands.

I lay down the picture without hesitation and look to the schedule I should be on to look out for the man. It was as useless as a heavy coat on a hot, summer day.
Yet I look to it, determined and full of hope. Those deaths will be avenged.

I lay in bed that night, my mind drifting to the tortures of Insanity. Even his name gave me chills though it was so simplistic. I wonder what that man is doing now. I toss and turn just thinking of the possibilities. Maybe he is sleeping. Or perhaps he is finding his next victim. Finally, I give up trying to force myself to sleep and I stand, my feet leading me to the window.
What if I end up like Edwards? I never learned his first name. I look to the file laying at my desk. Why did I bring this devilish paper home? I pick it up again, feeling a bad habit forming. I take a seat and stare at the picture again. This man. This horrible man. Why must I be attracted to sitting in this chair at two in the morning staring at this monster?
My eyes must have been hallucinating. For his eyes turned red in the ink and his fingers formed into claws. I slam the file closed and put my face in my hands. How? How could I solve such a case when I am scared of this devil?

5:00 AM
I smell the coffee pouring into my cup for this early morning. Running on no sleep I decide to take multiple trips for another refill. It was time to start the research. The hopeless research. What else do I have but the picture of him? It was 5:30 AM now. And that was when my boss laid a box at my desk. Not speaking, he turned, and walked to his own office. He has changed in such a way I believe he could not be fixed. I run my finger over the edges of the box and hesitate in opening it. Something made my hands shake slightly to the cool touch. It must have been forever before my hands found their ways to raise the lid. Immediately goosebumps formed on my arms and yet another chill ran through my body. Notes. Sticky notes. The ones he left on his victims. Some were blood stained while others were clean. My mind drifts of how they were laid on each body and I shiver. I don't want to touch them but my heavy arms help lift each one. It felt like they each weighed more than a fully grown elephant.

~Insanity

Every single one read Insanity in black ink. The signature was different on all of them. Some he signed in cursive. Others in print. Some were neat while others were in a complete mess. I put the notes down, not able to bear the weight anymore, and I take a shaky breath. This case has just started.

And I feel terrified.