Dark and Light Part 1
Because I recently watched every episode of Dexter in the span of about a week, it's been on my brain. A lot. And when I went to write something else for Lilith, I realized they had a bit in common. So then, of course, came the crack fic. I make no apologies for the absolute ridiculousness of this. It's simply my love letter to one of the greatest shows ever.
Lilith had never been to Miami before. It seemed pleasant enough; warm weather, cool breezes, vibrant music and enchanting cuisine. Swarms of beautiful people and those aspiring to be. But she hadn't come to take in the sights. She had come with a mission.
Tony Morales, upstanding citizen, husband, and father in the daylight, but once the sun went down, he became someone else. A drug lord, hiding under the guise of a legal imports business, Morales had also recently delved into human trafficking. He had yet to turn a profit, since as a discerning businessman, he insisted on testing his products first hand. And if they didn't satisfy, they were cut up, fed through meat grinders, and scattered out at sea for the sharks to feed on.
Lilith had come to correct the problem.
So she waited for him to leave his home in the cover of darkness, sitting patiently behind the driver's seat of his car. Little did she know that she was not alone in her goal to see Morales dead. A little ways down the street sat a parked car with a clear view of Morales's driveway. Inside, the driver pulled on a pair of leather gloves, beginning his own ritual, unaware that he might be beaten by another. For him, tonight was the night that he would claim Morales's life. So when he saw Morales's car back out and start down the street, he followed.
After a few minutes, he realized something was wrong. Morales took a sharp left turn, deviating from his usual route. His pursuer wondered if he had been discovered, if his prey was now trying to elude him. But finally, Morales pulled into an empty warehouse district and parked, unaware that there was a car behind him. As he walked into the darkened building, another person came into view: a woman, tall and lithe, with blonde hair falling softly around her shoulders. Morales looked agitated, the woman calm, as they entered the building. Their unknown pursuer walked cautiously toward it, staying hidden in the shadows. He peeked in through a dusty window and, expecting to see a drug deal in progress, was amazed at the sight waiting for him: Morales, stripping naked in front of the woman, trembling with fear. Behind him was a gleaming surgical table equipped with a multitude of straps, and at the foot of it, a meat grinder.
"Shit," he muttered, realizing that someone had beaten him. And though part of him was elated with the prospect of watching a compatriot at work, the rest of him was angry that he wouldn't be the one to sink his blade into the man's chest.
Inside, with Morales naked, Lilith ordered him to the table. Normally, she didn't go to such lengths when completing a mission, but this was a special treatment for a man she knew to be a monster. As she secured him to the table, she began to narrate to him the events about to unfold.
"These straps are not meant to keep you here," she told him, her voice flat. "They are meant to keep you alive as long as possible."
"Wh-what the fuck do you want?" Morales asked, trying to struggle against the leather belts being tightened around his wrists, elbows, ankles, and knees.
"I am here to deliver punishment unto you," Lilith answered. "The Lord God has seen your sins and your hypocrisy, and has deemed you unworthy to remain on this Earth."
She moved to a nearby table, picking up a butcher's knife. Outside, a dark idea formed in her observer's mind, though not as dark as the mission in hers. The table tilted up, gently angling Morales's feet above his head, keeping the meat grinder in his line of sight.
"Before I dispatch you in truth, I am going to teach you a lesson," Lilith explained. "One that will remain with you for all eternity."
Outside, her now-admirer watched with unflinching fascination as the woman swung the knife down, severing Morales's right hand at the wrist. He now realized that the straps were tourniquets to keep the man from bleeding out. And as he watched her drop the hand into the meat grinder before Morales's eyes, he knew he had found a kindred spirit, one who sought to punish the wicked when no one else could.
For almost an hour he watched through the dirty window as piece by piece, Morales was forced to watch his own body suffer the fate he'd given so many women. The angle on the table increased after each cut, to keep blood flowing to his heart and brain, until finally, all that was left was a lifeless, limbless body and a pile of ground up human flesh. The main event over, he decided it was time to meet his new friend. In the back of his mind, a voice told him not to, that he was better off leaving before he was caught. But he couldn't help himself. Something about her drew him in, like a siren song.
Slowly, he opened the door and stepped inside, his arms held up as a sign of peace. Lilith turned to face the new arrival, unconcerned.
"Who are you?" the man asked, awed by the sight before him. All that work, and not a drop of blood on her.
"No one of concern, Dexter Morgan," she replied, turning away to examine her work. Her mother would be displeased at her methods, but she had done what was necessary.
"How do you know my name?" Dexter demanded, now suspicious, his hand gripping the syringe hidden in his pocket.
"I know everything about you," Lilith said, still turned away, sounding bored.
That worried Dexter. The people who knew the truth about him were all dead, and he had learned that it was best that way. This mystery woman, whoever she was, posed a risk, even if they did share a similar interest. Habit instilled by the Code, he rushed her syringe drawn, plunging it into her neck like he had so many times before. But instead of sinking into her flesh, sending her into an instantaneous state of unconsciousness, the needle bent and snapped, as if he had slammed it into a steel table. She turned to face him again, staring him down as he tensed, broken syringe held like a dagger, ready to strike if she attacked.
"It will be easier if you don't do that again," Lilith said, still with the same disinterested tone, her face still blank.
"Who the fuck are you?" Dexter whispered tensely.
"Lilith," she answered with a sigh, motioning to the door. "You might want to leave now."
"Why did you kill Morales?" he pressed, not quite ready to turn his back on her.
"Because I was ordered to," she told him, impatience starting to creep into her voice.
"Ordered by who?" Dexter's mind raced through possible answers; a rival drug lord, the FBI, hell even the CIA? Or maybe his wife found out what he was up to after hours...
"God."
That wasn't an answer Dexter had been expecting. Done with their conversation, Lilith walked past him to the door; still curious, he followed her outside.
"You've left a lot of evidence behind," he told her, in an odd moment of friendship. "Blood, hair, fibers - your fingerprints are everywhere -"
He stopped short when she held her hand out to him. It was pale, perfect, almost glowing. And then he saw it.
"No fingerprints," he murmured, astounded. They weren't burned away by acid, there was no scarring, they simply appeared to have never been. He watched as she placed a single finger on the exterior wall of the warehouse, taking a step back as it was immediately engulfed in flames.
"You might want to leave now," she told him, walking away from the fire.
Awestruck, Dexter could only nod, trying to understand what he'd just seen. He walked slowly to his car, unlocking it before deciding he should offer her a ride. It was more out of his own curiosity than an act of kindness; she'd be a captive audience.
But when he turned around, she was gone.
Lilith had never been to Miami before. It seemed pleasant enough; warm weather, cool breezes, vibrant music and enchanting cuisine. Swarms of beautiful people and those aspiring to be. But she hadn't come to take in the sights. She had come with a mission.
Tony Morales, upstanding citizen, husband, and father in the daylight, but once the sun went down, he became someone else. A drug lord, hiding under the guise of a legal imports business, Morales had also recently delved into human trafficking. He had yet to turn a profit, since as a discerning businessman, he insisted on testing his products first hand. And if they didn't satisfy, they were cut up, fed through meat grinders, and scattered out at sea for the sharks to feed on.
Lilith had come to correct the problem.
So she waited for him to leave his home in the cover of darkness, sitting patiently behind the driver's seat of his car. Little did she know that she was not alone in her goal to see Morales dead. A little ways down the street sat a parked car with a clear view of Morales's driveway. Inside, the driver pulled on a pair of leather gloves, beginning his own ritual, unaware that he might be beaten by another. For him, tonight was the night that he would claim Morales's life. So when he saw Morales's car back out and start down the street, he followed.
After a few minutes, he realized something was wrong. Morales took a sharp left turn, deviating from his usual route. His pursuer wondered if he had been discovered, if his prey was now trying to elude him. But finally, Morales pulled into an empty warehouse district and parked, unaware that there was a car behind him. As he walked into the darkened building, another person came into view: a woman, tall and lithe, with blonde hair falling softly around her shoulders. Morales looked agitated, the woman calm, as they entered the building. Their unknown pursuer walked cautiously toward it, staying hidden in the shadows. He peeked in through a dusty window and, expecting to see a drug deal in progress, was amazed at the sight waiting for him: Morales, stripping naked in front of the woman, trembling with fear. Behind him was a gleaming surgical table equipped with a multitude of straps, and at the foot of it, a meat grinder.
"Shit," he muttered, realizing that someone had beaten him. And though part of him was elated with the prospect of watching a compatriot at work, the rest of him was angry that he wouldn't be the one to sink his blade into the man's chest.
Inside, with Morales naked, Lilith ordered him to the table. Normally, she didn't go to such lengths when completing a mission, but this was a special treatment for a man she knew to be a monster. As she secured him to the table, she began to narrate to him the events about to unfold.
"These straps are not meant to keep you here," she told him, her voice flat. "They are meant to keep you alive as long as possible."
"Wh-what the fuck do you want?" Morales asked, trying to struggle against the leather belts being tightened around his wrists, elbows, ankles, and knees.
"I am here to deliver punishment unto you," Lilith answered. "The Lord God has seen your sins and your hypocrisy, and has deemed you unworthy to remain on this Earth."
She moved to a nearby table, picking up a butcher's knife. Outside, a dark idea formed in her observer's mind, though not as dark as the mission in hers. The table tilted up, gently angling Morales's feet above his head, keeping the meat grinder in his line of sight.
"Before I dispatch you in truth, I am going to teach you a lesson," Lilith explained. "One that will remain with you for all eternity."
Outside, her now-admirer watched with unflinching fascination as the woman swung the knife down, severing Morales's right hand at the wrist. He now realized that the straps were tourniquets to keep the man from bleeding out. And as he watched her drop the hand into the meat grinder before Morales's eyes, he knew he had found a kindred spirit, one who sought to punish the wicked when no one else could.
For almost an hour he watched through the dirty window as piece by piece, Morales was forced to watch his own body suffer the fate he'd given so many women. The angle on the table increased after each cut, to keep blood flowing to his heart and brain, until finally, all that was left was a lifeless, limbless body and a pile of ground up human flesh. The main event over, he decided it was time to meet his new friend. In the back of his mind, a voice told him not to, that he was better off leaving before he was caught. But he couldn't help himself. Something about her drew him in, like a siren song.
Slowly, he opened the door and stepped inside, his arms held up as a sign of peace. Lilith turned to face the new arrival, unconcerned.
"Who are you?" the man asked, awed by the sight before him. All that work, and not a drop of blood on her.
"No one of concern, Dexter Morgan," she replied, turning away to examine her work. Her mother would be displeased at her methods, but she had done what was necessary.
"How do you know my name?" Dexter demanded, now suspicious, his hand gripping the syringe hidden in his pocket.
"I know everything about you," Lilith said, still turned away, sounding bored.
That worried Dexter. The people who knew the truth about him were all dead, and he had learned that it was best that way. This mystery woman, whoever she was, posed a risk, even if they did share a similar interest. Habit instilled by the Code, he rushed her syringe drawn, plunging it into her neck like he had so many times before. But instead of sinking into her flesh, sending her into an instantaneous state of unconsciousness, the needle bent and snapped, as if he had slammed it into a steel table. She turned to face him again, staring him down as he tensed, broken syringe held like a dagger, ready to strike if she attacked.
"It will be easier if you don't do that again," Lilith said, still with the same disinterested tone, her face still blank.
"Who the fuck are you?" Dexter whispered tensely.
"Lilith," she answered with a sigh, motioning to the door. "You might want to leave now."
"Why did you kill Morales?" he pressed, not quite ready to turn his back on her.
"Because I was ordered to," she told him, impatience starting to creep into her voice.
"Ordered by who?" Dexter's mind raced through possible answers; a rival drug lord, the FBI, hell even the CIA? Or maybe his wife found out what he was up to after hours...
"God."
That wasn't an answer Dexter had been expecting. Done with their conversation, Lilith walked past him to the door; still curious, he followed her outside.
"You've left a lot of evidence behind," he told her, in an odd moment of friendship. "Blood, hair, fibers - your fingerprints are everywhere -"
He stopped short when she held her hand out to him. It was pale, perfect, almost glowing. And then he saw it.
"No fingerprints," he murmured, astounded. They weren't burned away by acid, there was no scarring, they simply appeared to have never been. He watched as she placed a single finger on the exterior wall of the warehouse, taking a step back as it was immediately engulfed in flames.
"You might want to leave now," she told him, walking away from the fire.
Awestruck, Dexter could only nod, trying to understand what he'd just seen. He walked slowly to his car, unlocking it before deciding he should offer her a ride. It was more out of his own curiosity than an act of kindness; she'd be a captive audience.
But when he turned around, she was gone.