MURDERAN: THE STORY OF A ONE-ARMED MAN AND HOW HE TOUCHED PEOPLES' LIVES

[loving_killing]

Who: Ladd Russo, J.J, Moses, Alexander Wolfgang, Firo Prochainezo, Zack Fair, Allen Walker, Miles Edgeworth, Jonathan Teatime
What: Ladd's Fun Murder Spree Adventure!
Where: All around Nautilus!
When: Late Saturday afternoon into the night.
Warnings: Character death. Copious violence. Probably language especially considering we have an Alex.
Notes

Comments

[citygrit]

Alexander was already dead. And by dead, that didn’t mean he was inanimate. His body stopped functioning, he was aware of that. He was also aware of the fact that he shouldn’t be alive at all, not like this. Not at all. But here he was, alive in spite of his decay, his disease. A living corpse in Nautilus...

He’d spent enough time with Death to savor some sense of what little peace he didn’t deserve. If it was anyone in this damned city who deserved to be a rotted husk just like he was, it would be Alexander Wolfgang. Not to say that he is any more dastardly than anyone else. This was just what he would rather preferred.

Who knew what limbs were already broken. His fingers weren’t functioning properly, and that wasn’t any good. Alexander wished he could still play music; that desire had also been robbed from him. He couldn’t eat, either; food tasted like bitter pieces of shit in his mouth. That was okay, though-he hardly ate anything, anyway. He could only sleep. He at least still had sleep.

Each day the same dream.

He would wake up. He would loiter. Waste his time. Read a book. Listen to the network.

His eyes were failing. His hearing still worked fine.

That Friday, he decided to stop wasting space in Death’s home to go outside. Didn’t matter much; he couldn’t feel the sun or air. Oxygen mattered very little when he didn’t have to breathe anymore.

Of course, on the outside he didn’t look much like the same Alexander anymore. His skin was pale, made of patchwork pieces of dead flesh. His hair was thin and faded. His green eyes were dark and sunken in. Gloves covered his torn up hands. Clothes concealed his marred body. The hooded coat hid most of his dead face; leaving only enough for him to see what was ahead with what was left of his blurred sense of vision.

Walking became more of a chore than anything else. Each day the same dream. Maybe it would be his lucky day for a change.

[loving_killing]

Lucky would really depend on your point of view.

Here was a nice contrast; for all that Alex was a dead man clinging to life, Ladd was a vivacious and healthy guy clinging to death. It was beyond obsession or a 'problem' at this point; it was just part of his character. At one time, there might have been a Ladd who wasn't a vulture, feeding on others losing their lives. But that person was long gone. Even when flashes of him were visible, it was brief and twisted.

Now he saw his first victim. Yes, victim, because he was a terrible killer, and he knew it, and others knew that too! Which was just right. He didn't have trouble admitting it. The gangster's steps were casual and unconcealed; being sneaky was seriously not his strong point. That was further compounded as he shouted out to the stranger over their small distance - thought it was a stranger, anyway.

"Hey, you!"

[citygrit]

It was easy to sneak up on someone like Alexander. He didn’t particularly care enough to pay close attention to his surroundings. The guy would probably walk into a meat grinder without realizing it.

His attention was called when he found someone, a complete stranger no less, hailing him from a short distance. As the dead man squinted through the shadows of his hood, he found no recognition in that blurred face; neither did he distinguish the voice with anyone else Alexander knew.

On a matter of principal, Alexander didn’t care to be addressed as hey you. Something about that grated his nerves. He used to pride himself on the fact that he was part of a well known terrorist group, and that they ought to be feared.

The whole fear part gets old after awhile.

To Ladd’s perception rather than Alexander’s, the killer is free to note the moving shadows beneath the dead man’s feet. Though they pose as no threat, they appear alive and shapeless, trapped in the realm beneath the surface that cannot be touched by anyone but the light. Shadows that do not belong to the dead man at all.

[loving_killing]

Ladd would have offered a snarky comment on the other guy's squinting and lack of response if it weren't for the sudden movements he noticed almost immediately once he got a better look. Below the guy's feet - his shadow, it looked like - something was undulating and writhing about in a most unnatural way. Though he'd been in Nautilus for quite a few months now, he'd never quite seen something like that, and his face showed it. So his words changed quite drastically.

"The hell's that?" It was a mutter, but a loud one. Ladd started to walk forward towards Alex, gazing at him suspiciously. Could be some kind of attack. That didn't make him scared - for his own health, Ladd rarely had deep concern - but it did make him curious. It would be a bit of a pain if someone got the jump on him during his night out. At the same time, getting caught up by someone's living shadow? That sounded like a fun experience, too. As usual, nothing could be done about the smile that crept onto his face.

In his prosthetic left hand, the shape of a magnum began to form.

[citygrit]

Whoever this guy was, he was looking at something. And when Alexander shifted his eyes, even lifted his hood just enough for some light to cast over his dead-looking face-he still saw nothing.

For Ladd, he saw the shapeless monster that remained in its field, unseen by many and visible only by those that had died before. And for that reason, Alexander was unable to see it. In spite of his own state, he had never died before.

So, to him, this guy was just being batshit. Seeing things.

“The fuck’re you talkin’ ‘bout? I don’t see nothin’.” Alexander’s thick, southern accent kicked in as he stood. His vision failed him so horrible that he didn’t even notice the magnum in Ladd’s hand. The light itself burned his eyes as the dead man averted his face.

[loving_killing]

Not that it was very unusual for Ladd to be batshit. Because he really, really was. Moments like this were exceedingly rare.

He snorted in reply to that answer, because there was obviously something there at the guy's feet - sure, he had plenty of issues running around in his brain, but there was nothing wrong with his eyes. It didn't seem to be doing much - like any shadow, it seemed stuck to the ground - but Ladd didn't come close enough for the shadow to reach him, staying a good ten feet away from Alex. The other man's difficulty seeing was apparent, and the state of his body - that Ladd could see - didn't look so good.

That didn't make a difference at all.

"I bet you don't." The brusque answer was loud enough so that this weirdo he'd found could hear it, but the derogatory tone didn't last. His voice softened, sounding playful in a way that made it obvious he wasn't playing. Ladd was out for blood tonight - this was a good excuse, right? "Hey, hey, hey, are you tryin' to make a fool out of me, buddy?"

[citygrit]

Alexander knew that tone. He knew that kind of voice and that thirst for blood. He’d been one of those kinds of assholes. Hung out with them daily. If it were up to him, Alexander would still be planting bombs in office buildings. That was, assuming there were any left in his world.

The dead man did not seek redemption. It was not his right to, as he’d accepted the fact that he was a sociopathic bastard who deserved nothing more than a bullet between the eyes. That was, assuming that a bullet to the head would kill him. Nothing else seemed to work.

“Fuckin’ idiot. Why would I do somethin’ like that?” Alexander barked out a crude and joyless laugh. He tucked his hands into the pockets of his coat.

He couldn’t see the gun, but instinct told him that death was nearby.

“If you’re gonna try and kill me, fuckin’ do it already.”

That’s how the song and dance begins, right?

Is it Monday or Thursday?

[loving_killing]

"'Cause you're denyin' something that I can clearly see right there on the ground in front of me! Although it looks like you're pretty blind, huh? How about that!"

This guy's attitude was really annoying. He obviously wasn't afraid at all, whoever he was; considering how he looked, it wasn't much of a stretch to say he'd probably accepted death. Ladd assumed he had some kind of sickness, and the guy was on his last legs. Even for Nautilus, an appearance like his was pretty unusual. It's not like someone would purposefully Bend themselves to look like that.

On one hand, killing a guy who was on the verge of death didn't do much for Ladd.

On the other, though, this guy's attitude about it was just infuriating. Maybe somewhere under there, he really was acknowledging his own defeat, but it just largely seemed like he didn't care.

Ladd's answer came before Alex could even finish his sentence, his hand drawn up and gun poised with a motion so quick that it was obvious he'd done this many, many, many times in the past. The trigger snapped, and with a crashing shot, the magnum blasted a bullet into the other man's abdomen.

[citygrit]

Blind, huh?

Not quite, but getting there.

Didn’t matter, though. Because already he was hearing the sound of a weapon. Shit. Alexander couldn’t see it, but he knew the sound of a gun very well. He especially knew the sound of bullets as they were being fired. He’d been shot and shot at plenty of times in his life to know this.

The sudden punch of bullets stabbing into his stomach didn’t invite pain; neither did it summon a scream or cry of agony. He vaguely felt the blood spurt out of the injury. The impact pushed him back a few steps, nearly bowling the dead man off his feet. Nothing more.

“Oh goddammit.” Alexander muttered as his gloved hand touched the source of the wound. He couldn’t tell until blood smeared across his fingertips that he brought to his face, that he was bleeding. “Guy. Did you seriously just shoot me?”

He sounded more incredulous than anything else. Really, how did he manage to get by this far in Nautilus without this kind of thing happening?

Wait, he did! He forgot about that other hole in his chest that hadn’t been healed over just yet.

Riiight.

[loving_killing]

The smile that had been quickly on the rise to Ladd's face - up to his standards or not, hearing a shot land always gave a sense of satisfaction - disappeared almost as quickly. This guy was still standing after a punch in the gut like that? From a gun like this? Not only that, he didn't look any deader than before, and --

-- and he was talking? Looking baffled, Ladd lowers the smoking weapon down by his side again, staring at Alex for a moment or two. Then his gaze turns curious. Annoyed, but mostly curious. He props his hand up on his hip in an overexaggerated gesture with a 'hmph.'

"You're talkin'! I just shot you right in the gut - you should be writhin' around on the ground right now from a bullet there. I know that much. Hey, hey, what's up with you? Huh? If you're not gonna die, I want my bullet back! Heh."