So mothers keep your girls at home, Don't let them journey all alone [complete]
WHO:Schuldig, Schuldig's Monster, Crawford
WHAT: Part 2 of 3: Turning a Sheep into a Monster
WHERE:In town and then in the Schwartz safe-house
WHEN:Day 235
Schuldig let his monster stew for a while, he let his thoughts boil over and rot in his head, watching as they infected and poisoned the rest. Schuldig went out each night to make sure he dreamt, to make sure he the fantasies grew more and more pressing, and every few days would sit in the café the man worked at and add to it, making it more pressing. Harder to ignore.
It would have happened in time by itself if the mind didn’t weaken and fall into drug or alcohol abuse or end up dead first. Charles Manson had been like that. He’d barely made it, but he’d been too insane to enjoy his successes. Schuldig almost felt bad for him, because he understood. He’d been crazy once while he’d adjusted to the presence of other thoughts and personalities and emotions in his head. For some time, he’d wondered if Charles Manson wasn’t a telepath who had never gotten training. But the more he’d read on the subject, No. He’d just been crazy and a serial killer. Nothing More. He’d just gone obviously crazy. The mind of a normal human was so weak that it didn’t recover sometimes. It would rot on it’s own as it aged.
With his little monster, Schuldig sped the process by pulling forth the relevant images and thoughts, making them impossible to ignore. It was easy, really. It was much more difficult to get someone to do something against their nature. Like a teenage girl, pulling the trigger of a gun on a man who had saved her. Fortunately he was working with someone already pre-disposed to what he wanted. Schuldig was worried that someday he was going to get bored by how easy it was sometimes.
He finished for the day, left his monster to finish his day of horribly boring, underpaid work and went back to the house he shared with Crawford, Aya and Farfarello.
“Probably another week and I can push him to start killing.” Schuldig said to Crawford, sitting down on the couch with a yawn and reaching for the mug of fresh, hot coffee sitting on the table.
WHAT: Part 2 of 3: Turning a Sheep into a Monster
WHERE:In town and then in the Schwartz safe-house
WHEN:Day 235
Schuldig let his monster stew for a while, he let his thoughts boil over and rot in his head, watching as they infected and poisoned the rest. Schuldig went out each night to make sure he dreamt, to make sure he the fantasies grew more and more pressing, and every few days would sit in the café the man worked at and add to it, making it more pressing. Harder to ignore.
It would have happened in time by itself if the mind didn’t weaken and fall into drug or alcohol abuse or end up dead first. Charles Manson had been like that. He’d barely made it, but he’d been too insane to enjoy his successes. Schuldig almost felt bad for him, because he understood. He’d been crazy once while he’d adjusted to the presence of other thoughts and personalities and emotions in his head. For some time, he’d wondered if Charles Manson wasn’t a telepath who had never gotten training. But the more he’d read on the subject, No. He’d just been crazy and a serial killer. Nothing More. He’d just gone obviously crazy. The mind of a normal human was so weak that it didn’t recover sometimes. It would rot on it’s own as it aged.
With his little monster, Schuldig sped the process by pulling forth the relevant images and thoughts, making them impossible to ignore. It was easy, really. It was much more difficult to get someone to do something against their nature. Like a teenage girl, pulling the trigger of a gun on a man who had saved her. Fortunately he was working with someone already pre-disposed to what he wanted. Schuldig was worried that someday he was going to get bored by how easy it was sometimes.
He finished for the day, left his monster to finish his day of horribly boring, underpaid work and went back to the house he shared with Crawford, Aya and Farfarello.
“Probably another week and I can push him to start killing.” Schuldig said to Crawford, sitting down on the couch with a yawn and reaching for the mug of fresh, hot coffee sitting on the table.