Can I Play With Madness?

[The Cinderella Man]

((Closed to Rayse and Requiem))

Well, ain't that a pretty sight, Victor thought as the trees broke apart to allow a glimpse of the city of Gisela. The inner voice that spoke these words, that cruel nagging voice of a son of a bitch that seemed to do naught but mock and doubt, was heavily saturated by sarcasm, of course, since Gisela was anything but, especially with the rain coming down like there was no tomorrow. It's walls were tall and dull and gray, the river that flowed demurely through the city was wide and dull and gray, and the fields that surrounded it, the fields that had once been colored by the golds and greens and auburns of fertile lands, were dead. And dull. And gray. The Civil War had come and gone, the land of Corone slowly recovering from its devastating effects, but on Gisela it left the deepest scar. This was where it all started, Victor knew though he didn't care a fig about politics and wars and this freedom people so readily died for. Gisela was the epicenter of the quake that shook Corone, and as a reward the city seemed to be lost in time.

Trucking slowly in the back of the wagon pulled by a couple of mules that might've been young when gods still walked the earth, Victor surveyed the land that now surrounded him and tried his best not to think of the fact that he was soaked down to his balls. Most of the fields were barren or overgrown by weeds, the fences stripped down to little more than a few jutting support columns. Groves of stumps now stood where once orchards bloomed in all the glorious colors of the spring. Even the upkeep of the roads seemed to be lacking, the wagon moving from one rain-filled ditch to the next at a speed of drool. The city at the end of the winding road was little more than a huge blotch on a depressive canvas of a painter that seemed to work only with the shades of gray.

And to think I came here to relax from Radasanth. Well, that was the plan at least. Radasanth was a grand place if you were rich or royalty or just passing through, because then all you saw were clean avenues and endless colonnades and nice folk tipping their hats and saying howdy-do and smiling shit-eating smiles. But for everybody else it was just a different kind of wilderness, stone-paved and semi-cultivated and just as unforgiving. In places like that either somebody wanted you dead or wanted to hire you to make someone else dead. It wasn't a bad place to earn some coin – especially if you had some guns to help you on your way – but it was a taxing place both physically and mentally. Soon enough you realized you couldn't walk down the street without looking over your shoulder and you started taking seats in the very corner of the barroom from fear that someone would stab you in the kidney, and every day was survival.

Going south seemed like a good idea at the time. Underwood had too many tree-huggers for Victor's taste, Serenti was too warm, Jadet too damp, but Gisela seemed to be just what the cleric ordered. Only it didn't look like it right now. In fact, it looked very much like Radasanth only somewhat smaller. Same shit, different place.

“I betch'ya be lookin' for trouble, laddie,” the ancient peasant that drove the wagon said to Victor as they neared the dreadful city. Gorn was a miserable looking thing, especially in rain, his old skin sagging, his hands shaking, his teeth gone, his white hair – what little he had left of it – sticking to the sides of his face. “Ya look like sumone who'd do well in a brawl, so ya do. And don'tcha be thinkin' old Gorn didn't see them shiny guns o'yours. But if ya mean to raise a lil' bit o' hell, somebody beat'ya to the punch.”

“Is that a fact?” Victor asked, less out of curiosity and more out of politeness. Getting up to the elbow in local crap wasn't exactly his idea of good times.

“'Tis,” the old man said, clucking his mules forward. Victor didn't notice the change in speed, if there was any. “Some sicko's been killin' a buncha peoples, some lady of the night they say. Nasty stuff, too. Rippin' their innards, choppin' heads, cuttin' their little willies and titties. At least that's how I heard it.”

“You don't say?” again in that far away tone.

“I do!” Gorn insisted. “And locals, they don't be doin' nuthin. Not enough guards after all that warring. Shoo, they say they be doin' their best, but all they're really doin' is hopin' it'll all just go away. Somebody should prolly do sumthin about that.”

“Aye, somebody should.”

“Sum hero mayhap. That Ravenheart fellow, he wasn't half bad. I betcha he'd fix this in a day. Shame he's nowhere to be seen. Fell into the earth that one. But he was a real deal.”

Victor smiled, but didn't say anything (though that didn't seem to stop the old man from prattling on, listing what sounded to the soaked gunslinger as the world's longest list of heroes and do-gooders). Heroes and villains, that's all it boiled down to for most people. The fact that the vast majority of others lived in the endless shades of gray didn't seem to register. People needed heroes to look up to and villains to blame for their own failures. It made the world a simpler place and the bitterness of life easier to swallow.

With the raspy voice of Gorn the World's Slowest Farmer going on and on just like the rain overhead, the walls of Gisela started to blot out the rest of the landscape, swallowing them completely. It was bound to be one hell of a vacation.

***

As it turned out, Gorn (despite his endless yammer) actually managed to downplay the buzz that this brutal murderer created in Gisela. Three days have passed after he parted ways with the old man and his decrepit mules, and his ear was already full of talk about this Gisela Reaper. Information differed from one speaker to the other, but most of them agreed that a woman was doing this mischief. There was even a name circling around, Cassandra, though it meant little to Victor. Some said she was possessed by a demon, some said she was a demon, some said she was gods' righteous vengeance, some said she was a hot piece of tail. Wanted posters were all over the streets, but the shabby drawings that were supposed to represent the murderer were little better than child's drawings. What was rather easy to discern, however, was the sum promised to whoever put an end to this stalking horror. A thousand dead, two alive. Enough even to draw attention of a man on vacation.

Sitting in some nondescript inn in some nondescript part of a dirty, lawless town, Victor studied the poster and milked his pint of bitter. His coffers weren't nearly full enough to simply disregard something like this. But on the flip side he wasn't nearly tired enough of his life to go playing the knight in white armor and get his throat slit. So he drank and he mulled.

[Requiem of Insanity]

The moon.

How many nights had she spent looking up to the sentinel of the night, offering him her total devotion to the darkness and her heart forever. He was the lover she couldn’t touch, that tease that always nimbly dodged out of finger touch. Silent words spoken to her ears, a feint whisper on the wind, a feint sound in the night. Always did the moon offer her a playmate, always did she find the one the moon wanted to hear. Her playmate would be the soloist, she would be the conductor, and the moon the audience. As one they would create the brilliant requiem; the Requiem of Insanity.

But tonight the moon did not show, the stars did not shine, and the clouds covered the land like some dark omen. Upon the trail of pitch black strode a pair of dusty walking boots, a three foot sword strapped to her back, a pack of metal clinking in the still night with the crickets, and the promise that son, soon she would indulge in her hobbies.

Cassandra Remi had never visited Gisela before. She had heard about the grand tournaments, the massive armies and the cults of personality to lead them. Of Max Dirks and Letho Ravenheart. They meant little to her in the end. She avoided the grand theatrics of the world wide tournaments, the glories of the citadel and the like. Her path was upon the road with her dark, deluded, dutiful lover. Her deepest ambitions made manifest. He followed behind her, whispering sweet nothings into her ear that she swooned and giggled at like a childish school girl. The moon and her attentions, what more could she ask for in faithful lovers?

She had been walking for hours down the road leading to Gisela, avoiding the usual traffic of caravans and wandering swordsman and other people out to become the world’s next greatest hero or villain. It always was curious to her to see these people, the one’s who would go out to gain glory at the price of eternal damnation. But to each their own she figured.

At long last the road began to brighten up as she neared a town. The sound of local activity began to creep out towards her and she felt the grip of her dark companion squeeze her shoulders in anticipation. Today would be a good day. A few hours rest, a little bit of information scrounging, and then Cassandra would be on the hunt preparing to add another verse to her terrible song. The only thing in her way was finding the target.

She had a lot of people to go with, some mafia lords, a few rapists, one child molester, two murderers, and the usual evil doer with the heart of coal. All she had to do was pick one. Her hand drifted up to her chin where she tapped it lightly in contemplation. Which would scream for her? Which would give her the perfect pitch? She shrugged her shoulders and let out a devilish smile. Why not try a few?

At long last she entered the rim of the town, which was always standardized in most villages. A bar, an inn, and a local shop to re-supply upon. She noted the buildings were made of brick and mortar, which made her a little happy. The screams could be muffled if she managed to find a place that was far out enough. She darted around a few people as she calmly walked into the masses, her hazel eyes brimming the scene.

Her dark companion cooed to her, pointing out people with dark desires similar to hers. Her lover was unique in that it could point out people’s darkness within them. Most people had the obligatory darkness, nothing to huge and was normally represented by a tiny mouse or other small creature. Those who had darkness like hers usually had full grown creatures, or just an overly long shadow. A select few had darkness like hers, a humanoid shape that could talk with her. More often than not however, nobody could communicate with their ambitions like Cassandra could.

She stepped up to the court fountain, where a small boy was shouting at the top of his lungs the local news. She fished out a gold coin flipping it into the boy’s hands and snatching a paper for herself.

“The real news is on page four, m’am!” The boy said quickly showing her his copy of the paper. Her eyes lazily scanned up to the heading. Gisela Reaper Reaps Once More! Aside from the terrible attempt at alliteration she lifted her hand to hold the article steady. Her eyes scanned down the page, reading all about this serial killer who murdered their victims by way of torture, mutilating their bodies and leaving them to rot until found.

She walked away, thanking the child with a gruff word as she stepped towards the inn. She found her fists were balled up and her knuckles were white as her breath became ragged and hate filled.

“So you heard about the latest killing?” someone said off handedly walking near her with his friend.

“Yeah, Bitch struck again. I’m not going anywhere alone anymore,” he looked towards Cassandra. “You alright there, miss?” Cassandra shook her head. The two slowed their steps down.

“You want to let us know what’s up?” One asked. The other stepped to her other side.

“Maybe we can help?”

“There’s a monster on the loose!” Cassandra shouted at last, her frustrations clear as day as she nearly slapped the nearest native. They both took retreating steps as they lifted their hands in defense. She waved them away and changed course towards the bar instead of the inn. It was pretty late in the evening and her muscles were sore, but she didn’t care. Her dark companion lifted a single hand to her shoulder and she shrugged it off in spite.

“You don’t understand!” Cassandra seethed. “If there is ANYTHING a serial killer hates, it’s a damned copycat!” she ripped the tavern door open and moved to a table near the back tossing her gear and sword upon the wall sitting with a humph of frustration. Her dark harbinger wrapped his arms around her arms, and she felt a bit of her tension release.

“A copycat!” She spoke in spite. “A damned copy cat!” She pounded her fist on the table. Pain etched up her pinky finger and she retracted her hand to her mouth where she kissed the digit and shook the pain away. “It takes years to perfect your craft!” She continued on. “To get the right methods down , to create an atmosphere for the kill. Then, just when you think nobody else is watching, someone begins to replicate your work of art!” She crossed her arms over her breasts and pouted.

Her dark companion whispered softly into her ear, and her eyes grew alight with conflict and rage. “I AM NOT ACTING LIKE A CHILD!” She shouted at the top of her lungs. All eyes on the room turned to her, and Cassandra let out a peep of embarrassment as her face flushed red. She lowered her gaze a bit to her stomach as she took in a deep cleansing breath. Her companion gently stroked her mind with his talons, whispering to her. She opened up her paper and began to read it slowly, her mind already made up on her new playmate.

“Well this is a problem…” Cassandra muttered. Her companion looked upon the page and began to howl with laughter. “Can’t exactly torture myself to death, now can we?” she mused as she looked at her own wanted poster.

[Rayse Valentino]

Rayse slammed his fist on the table, "What do you mean you're gonna be laying low?!"

In the dark back room of Gisela Inn, Rayse Valentino was sitting down with one of the local crime lords of the town. Wearing a new jacket with a custom-tailored pair of brown pants, The Contractor was looking suave... for nothing!

"It's like I said," replied the crime lord. "With this whole reaping business, we can't move around freely. It's really getting out of hand."

"Damn it, Jaan, damn it! This was a done deal a week ago!"

Jaan was a young man wearing a black hoodie to obscure the top half of his face, his dark clothing matching his demeanor. The room lacked any notable features, being a secure, empty place with just a few chairs and a table for covert men to discuss covert business. After all, unnecessary objects in a supposedly neutral meeting place made people nervous.

"I know," Jaan lamented. "But circumstances change. With the city guard sitting on their thumbs, business is being driven away in force. No one wants to talk to us."

It was a simple deal: War had caused a lot of damage to the city, and some of it was expensive to repair. Jaan's group coerced the owners of various damaged property to sell it off for cheap, and Jaan would either renovate them as safe houses or other illicit locations or resell them to investors. Rayse's job was not only as an investor to establish a small output for The Company, but delivering some manpower to help cover a wider radius of the city. Yet, this was going all wrong!

"You're not going to make a move until this 'Reaper' is taken care of?" Rayse asked.

Jaan's eyes peeked out from under his hood, "I want her alive. Two of her targets have been some of my good friends. I want to see her suffer, if I can."

"She? How do you know it's a woman?"

Jaan shook his head, "I can't reveal my sources. All I can tell you is her name is allegedly 'Cassandra'."

There was nothing Rayse could do but leave. However, he didn't want any other organization to step up to Jaan's deal if he left Gisela for a while. This was a fantastic opportunity for both him and The Company, and he couldn't let it go to some no-name opportunist who just happened to be at the right place at the right time... Not that he matched that description, of course. So, either he could wait in this dump until this whole thing blows over, or he could try to end this himself. It didn't take him long to decide to do something rather than nothing.

Wanted!
The Gisela Reaper! 2000 crowns if alive, 1000 crowns if dead. If interested, please inquire within.

Room 213, Gisela Inn.

[The Cinderella Man]

For an inn that bore the name of the very city it was situated in, the Gisela Inn was a rather unimpressive establishment. The building itself was a huge thing made of unmortared stone that stretched its massive girth at the side of the main avenue like a carcass of some ancient beast, dwarfing all those adjacent to it by at least two full stories. It was almost as big as the fabled Peaceful Promenade up at Underwood by Victor's estimate, but lacked the refined finesse of its more familiar counterpart. Instead of the hand-carved arched windows there were plain, square holes in the lifeless stone; instead of the bright red terracotta on the roof the soaked thatch the color or dung; instead of a merry tune played by flute and fiddle there was something somber coming out of the taut piano wires. Part of it was the rain, Victor knew, the goddamn heavy rain that kept pouring over the city as if gods themselves hated Gisela and wanted to wash it out like a stain. It shrouded even the loveliest sights in dreary, melancholic tones. But even without it the Gisela Inn wasn't a place that somebody would call an architectural wonder. Not by a long shot, not even on the brightest day of spring.

Nonetheless, Victor Callahan shouldered his way past the batwing doors and out of the rain, still not entirely certain what he was doing here.

The decision to go for the gold and damn the hiatus – You'll rest when you die, bastard, his sister, who was growing up to be quite a philosopher and quite a bitch in her spare time, liked to say – came to the gunslinger the way all hard decisions came to him. He flipped it around, tossed it about in his head, weighed the pros and cons and maybes, flipped it some more, gave up, drunk, slept, did it all over again. And, as always, all the pondering amounted up to either getting off your ass and head for the Gisela Inn or staying to ogle the waitresses. And since the waitresses were sorry looking things pushing forty with dugs sagging almost down to their waist and money was money, he got up. He had some time and bullets to spare.

Entering the main room was like stepping into the blacksmith's furnace, eye-watering smoke withstanding. There were two hearths on each side of the spacious room, all blazing fiercely as the flames devoured fat logs that scattered hundreds of fireflies every time a knot popped. Between the four hearths was what looked like a countless amount of tables and chairs and patrons lazing around, spending the money they didn't have, and this is where most of the smoke came from. It seemed to hang above the heads like a magical mist, halfway between the rushes scattered over the floorboards and the wooden beams that held the high ceiling. The chandeliers that hung from the heavy beams were ridiculously complex things made of gold-painted metal and intertwining wires, with oil-fed flames burning low all over the curves. They were a little bit of grandiloquence that stood out of the rather simplistic design, like an expensive set of earrings on a hooker with bad taste.

Still, bad design aside, it was a clean place, or at least as clean as an inn filled with folk such as these could be. Instead of solemn rangers and inhospitable elves and bawdy lumberjacks, Gisela had dirty farmers and loudmouth fisherfolk and louder mercenaries. Pretty serving maids too. That part at least they haven't screwed up, Victor observed as a long set of tanned legs passed him by, carrying a wooden platter filled with dirty mugs. Not as pretty as in Saddle Ablaze back in good ole Radasanth, but then again Saddle Ablaze was the type of establishment that wasn't quite a whorehouse, but it was pretty damn close. Like a cousin, once removed, it was related, but not in the most direct manner.

Disregarding the obvious fact that he knew way too much about the bars and shitholes of Althanas, Victor made his way through the crowd and towards the stairway that led to the rooms on the upper floors. He was let through to the first floor – which was basically the ground floor copied and pasted one story up – but when he swung around to the stairs a second time, a rather manly looking woman stopped him by lowering the shaft of her halberd. She was a fierce looking thing, nearly as tall and broad-shouldered as the ex-prizefighter himself, and though her face wouldn't win her any beauty contests, she wasn't entirely unpleasant to look at. Her eyes – fierce and determined and the clearest shade of blue he had every seen – tried to cut him down, but only found agelong sturdiness in his own.

“You a patron or visitor?” she asked, her accent revealing heritage not of these lands. Fallien, Victor assumed, but Althanas was a big place and he had seen but a fraction of it in his time.

“Visitor, I guess,” he said, his hand slipping past the flap of his worn leather coat. She stiffened a little at his motion, but before long he had a piece of paper out and she was back in a more relaxed posture. He showed her the poster. “Looking to earn a coin or three.”

She grinned, her smile a clear sign of mockery. “Meat for the grinder,” she said, raising her halberd. “Another one we'll find in the gutter come tomorrow.”

Despite her obvious insult, he smiled, but it wasn't a honest smile. It was a wry ugly thing, this simile, his lips an open scar in his face revealing more teeth than they should. His hand, returning the poster to his breast pocket, caught the hem of his coat on the way out, displaying the pistol shinning an obsidian sheen. Her eyes seemed to catch it too, the sight wiping the mockery off her face.

“Nah, toots. I did my time in the gutters.” He dropped the flap of the coat back in its place and made his way past the warrior woman. “Now others get a turn.”

After the first two floors filled with stink and shouts and bad music, the third one was a stark contrast. Consisted mostly of hallways with doors that differed only by the numbers printed in golden letters, it would've looked like a whole new establishment if not for the sounds of commotion that followed him up the stairs. Victor tracked down the one with two-thirteen printed in this maze of red carpets and polished wood, considered knocking, but then opted to just open the damn thing and make his entrance. Inside, a black haired man waited for him.

“Evening,” Victor said, unceremoniously. “I'm here to hunt the bitch down.”

[Requiem of Insanity]

Red blotches stained the ceramic bathtub as Cassandra hummed to herself. She lifted a sharp comb upwards and flicked her wrist, dropping more red liquid into the tub. She lazily looked upon the meager attempts for a bath stall in her room. She had decided to spring for one of the more elaborate rooms of the inn, but by elaborate it meant she would get a continental breakfast in the morning and two fluffed pillows with half decently cleaned sheets.

Luxurious, the room was not. It was a miserable attempt at some blind man’s attempt at taste. Walls covered with a violent intrusive yellow clashed with striped purple and orange drapes by the window. A solitary white table with two brown oak chairs stood tall in the center of the room atop a Fallien desert rug, the only piece of furniture in the room with any value. Her bed was held aloft in the corner, two extra long twin beds with clashing floral designs of pink and white were slammed next to each other over a box spring designed to accommodate them both.

It was however, functional for her needs. Learning she was a wanted individual made Cassandra rely upon her survival instincts. She purchased the higher cost room to elevate herself from the riff raff, while giving her personal own vantage point through the window. She received a room upon the third floor, towards the front of the stairs. She had to be escorted by the bus boy, a prepubescent little cuss who made passes at her while talking to her breasts and her breasts alone. His tip was a gentle twist of her finger, inviting him to come into her sanctum with a seductive smile and a wink of her eye. He took two steps inwards and she slammed the door, hard, on his nose. She could hear his cussing through the thick wood, and she even smiled as she saw tiny droplets of blood leak underneath her door.

She managed to flag down a carrier boy from her window, dropping her coin purse and a list of materials she needed the carrier to grab for her at the bazaar. She quickly ordered up a bath, and servants had just finished drawing all the hot water by the time the carrier had arrived. Naked and immersed in the refreshing warmth of the water she casually looked to the night sky sighing that her sentinel of the night, the moon, was not near.

Another flick and red droplets floated along the surface of her water. She smiled to herself as she moved her pinky out and touched the surface gently. The red droplet faded out in concentric circles as she continued to hum, bringing her hand back to her hair as she ruffled it out a bit. Red stained everywhere as she smiled, looking upon the mirror in front of her. The color draped down her cheeks and face, as if a war mask was painted on her face. She teasingly lifted her hand out to her own face, longing to touch.

A hushed whisper fluttered on the breeze the wind drew in, making her shiver in excitement as she watched her dark companion form up behind her in the mirror. His hands draped down around her neck, softly massaging her soreness away. He lowered to her ear saying sweet nothings only she could hear causing her to giggle like a child. Her lips curled back as she brought all her hair up, inspecting every inch of it.

“I died it red, my love…” She cooed as she let the droplets stain the floor with little care. “We have yet to try being a red head. I heard they get into all kinds of naughty trouble…” She giggled again as he whispered into her ear.

“My love,” she said standing up letting the water cascade down her flesh. “Oh how I wish, wish upon a shooting star to hold you with my own arms, feel your embrace with my own fingers.” she grabbed the towel, noting it wasn’t exactly clean either but shrugging as she wiped herself down. Her curves glistened off the candle light and she bent low to rub at her ankle as the towel slowly moved up her thigh.

A sudden growl escaped her dark lovers lips and she immediately dropped the towel reaching to the sink grabbing one of her knives. “Who’s there!” Cassandra shouted towards the window. Silence. She left the towel behind her, damning modesty as she inched her way closer to the main bedroom. With a gesture from her head her dark ambitions howled moving outwards into the night air. She was now within the center of the room and her fingers reached towards the lantern lifting up a match and striking it along the side of the table. After the room became illuminated she scanned her surroundings for signs of intrusion. Her dark companion filtered back into the room, his gaze still looking outwards upon the street below. Cassandra turned sighing to herself.

“We should concern ourselves no more with this,” She said angrily. “Whoever was peeping has long since fled. No sense in worrying about it any longer. They would dare not risk a second peak.” She opened her bag and pulled out a pair of black flannel pants and a white short sleeved shirt that was tight and rode up her belly. Sticking a finger to her chin she began to think as she slid softly into the bed. At least it wasn’t terribly uncomfortable.

“I will need a new identity for this performance. I chose red hair because I have never used that color before, and I can’t rely on any of my other roles. No, this must be a unique production for our copycat if I am to catch them off guard.” Her twisted lover roamed the room one last time before gently standing guard behind her, his hand stretching to her arm and resting upon her shoulder.

“Nobody makes a fool of Cassandra Remi…” She breathed darkly. She snuggled into her blankets and felt the wave of sleep wash over her as she yawned loudly. After her dark companion tucked her in she closed her eyes and finished the last few thoughts on her new disguise.

No one… she repeated to herself.

[Rayse Valentino]

It was a cheap room, lacking in any meaningful description. The walls had an old brown paint job that was chipping away, the single bed in the corner was small and unaccommodating, and the only furniture consisted of a bed stand with a gas lamp and a coat rack. Getting two chairs in here actually required getting them from downstairs, as well as a wooden stool for which to put a bottle of whiskey and two glasses. Rayse sat in one of them backwards, his elbows resting on the chair's back and a cigarette in his mouth.

He was starting to think that the way he handled the job poster was all wrong. To get anybody interested, they had to come here, which meant there was no job waiting for them if he wasn't here. Sitting in a forgettable room all night wasn't exactly his idea of a good time. If he could get at least one good investigator-type person, he could at least take down the poster for now and try to find out what he could by himself. This place was no Radasanth, and it was certainly no Knife's Edge. This serial killer clearly wanted attention to pick a place that would get so spooked. Attention from who, though? Did she revel in the fear it generated? Was she some sort of pseudo-vigilante? Rayse cursed himself for having to deal with such an annoying affair.

The door swung open without much of a warning as a man much older than The Contractor walked in. At first glance, he looked like a bouncer that wandered into the wrong room. A weathered mercenary, perhaps? Rayse expected someone who looked more like a detective, with a neat suit and tales of past captures. Maybe he simply set his hopes a little too high.

Seeing that the man had recently come from the pouring rain outside, Rayse pointed to the coat rack and offered him a seat, pouring the scotch into both of the glasses. He noticed that Victor was eyeing the room suspiciously. Rayse didn't exactly have the resources to set up a more professional meeting place, and it showed.

"Let's get down to business," he said, smoke seeping out of his mouth. "I'm Rayse Valentino, and you're... ?"

Victor took a seat, taking a glance at the booze but not doing anything about it yet, "Victor Callahan." It was not unusual for people to want killers found due to the status of the victims or how they were affecting local politics. Considering how the people running the town were trying to ignore it and all of the dead looked like small-time criminals, offering this much and setting up the offer in such a vulnerable way seemed very foreign to a place like this. Rayse was short on time, and high on cash. "You don't look like you're from around here."

The Contractor was pleased that he seemed astute enough for that sort of observation, "It seems these people can't take care of their own problems. It's bad for business, you see. If I have to end this scourge personally, so be it."

Without the coat, Victor's choice of clothing was not too different from Rayse's typical get-up. In fact, he was starting to wonder if Victor had somehow managed to rummage through his things before coming here. His muscular look was quite interesting, as far as this job went. At the very least, he seemed strong enough to hold his own.

"So," Rayse mused as he took the cigarette out of his mouth and spun it atop the tip of his finger. "What makes you think you'll catch the killer?"

[The Cinderella Man]

Well, at least he's not a dumbass, Victor thought, eying the man over what looked like a freshly opened bottle of hard liquor. From his personal experience, whenever wanted posters went up, nine out of ten times there was a moron footing the bill, the kind of overly-eager, twitchy-eyed, sweaty fatso that lacked the minerals to do his own dirty business. That kind mostly hired on sight, twice as eager when they caught a glimpse of the heat he was packing. They didn't ask questions, didn't ask for reference, didn't do much of anything save rubbing their hands together, thinking they caught God by the beard.

But this Rayse guy was different. For one, he was young, so much so that Victor's first instinct was to answer his question with one of his own. Just what do you think you're doing, kid, playing all grown-up and dealing with murderers and shit? But he kept the question safe behind his still gaze; he doubted it would help him land this gig. Another was the question itself. Spoken with nonchalance of a man who does this every day, it left little doubt in Victor whether or not this guy was full of hot air. No, he spoke of business and looked like he meant to do business. Walked the walk and talked he talk. It was almost enough to impress the aging ex-con. At his age, Victor was still chasing tail that was far out of his league and dreamed of becoming the heavyweight champion of Althanas.

“Serial killers are easy,” the gunslinger finally responded as if he knew what he was talking about, as if this was just another job in a long dull line of them. He picked up the glass, giving the liquid a sniff. Whether or not it was good stuff or not, he couldn't tell; all hard liquor smelled the same and tasted like hell to him, but he was pretty good at looking like he knows what he's doing. After a lifetime of doing your best not to look like a loser, you picked up a few things. He downed the liquid in one go, buying himself enough time to come up with the reason why serial killers were easy. The drink sent fire down his throat and settled in his stomach.

“They ride their hot streak until they either make a mistake or get tired,” he continued, pouring himself another glass. It tasted like shit, but the rain was cold and the whiskey was warm going down and that was good. Almost downright divine. “And from what I heard of this chick, she's just getting warmed up. There have been what, six or seven murders so far, at more or less regular intervals?”

The man in the only other chair in the room exhaled the smoke out of his lungs, then simply said: “Six.”

“And all in the poor districts, where the guards are twiddling their thumbs at alehouses and she can run rampant. She's not stopping; she's having too much fun,” Victor said with a trace of a grin cracking his grizzled, two-day beard. Maybe he wasn't a fancy private eye with a monocle and a tophat, but he knew poor districts. They were all the same, same rundown houses begging for some upkeep, same littered streets where people walked fast during the day and not at all when the night fell, same desperate looks from those unfortunate to wind up there. It was his territory.

“So what's your plan?”

Victor swirled his drink a bit, thoughtful. “Hit the Slums, ask some questions. Ask them hard.” His free hand clenched in a fist as if in demonstration, he looked at Rayse again. “She's not a demon or a ghost. There are witnesses, I just need to flush them out. The beggars are our best bet. You'd be surprised of how many things they know, given the right incentive. But when I do find her, I can't assure you that I'll actually catch her,” he finished, hinting at the pistol in one of his holster and the shotgun in the other. “I'm not much of a trapper.”

He drank from his glass again, this time tasting the liquor before sending it south. Silence ensued. Victor assumed the other guy was weighing his options. He decided to help him on the way. “Look, judging by that bottle over there you either didn't have all that many people asking to help you out, or you did and they all turned out to be very light drinkers. Either way, one of us is out of luck. So, are we in business,” he finally asked, outstretching his hand over the makeshift table that held the booze. “or should I thank you for the drink?”

[Rayse Valentino]

The cigarette was becoming expended. Rayse had heard enough. This guy seemed like the type that waited around, letting the killer do her thing, then finally decided to cash in once a wanted poster came up. The Contractor wouldn't have it any other way. He caught a glimpse at Victor's holsters earlier, but there was no telling what was really in them. Anyone who came in here packing heat was not kidding around. It wasn't often that anyone carried that kind of weaponry around at all. Who was this guy, responding to a wanted poster like this?

Rayse extended his hand and shook the gunslinger's, "Looks like we got a contract." He got up and opened the blinds on the singular window, looking out into the rainy, cloudy sky. "I'll be here at noon for about an hour. If you need me at any other time," he turned and and grinned. "Cause a fire somewhere. I'll be there." He walked over to Victor and pulled a note out of his pocket, handing it to him. "This is the neutral drop-off location, for payment and delivery. I'd prefer her alive, but I'll take what I can get. Any questions?"

"Unless you got any more info, no," Victor replied.

"Have at it, then." After Victor left, Rayse went back to the window, but looked at the streets below this time, "This bitch doesn't know who she's fucking with."

[Requiem of Insanity]

Cassandra flexed her fingers out as she stretched her back smacking her lips softly. She looked towards the clock on the far wall, saw the time and grumbled. Though it was early for most people, it was late for her, the ripe time of eight thirty rolling to attention as the minute hand shifted with a tick. She jumped out of bed and went to the washroom and looked at her hair in the mirror.

“I think it looks marvelous.” Cassandra said lightly as she puffed her hair with her right hand, letting the locks bounce up and down. “Only the trained eye could tell it’s not my natural color. Good. Now to the papers. They should have been left at the doorstep.”

Cassandra wrapped a robe around her waist as she traveled to her entryway, opening the heavy wooden door and looking to see a large stack of papers tied together. She bent over, picked them up with a huff of energy, and turned back into her room kicking the door sut with the side of her foot. She dumped the stack upon the table and used a knife from the top of her bag to cut the string.

She scattered the papers out in chronological order as she reached for the complementary fruit basket grabbing an apple and taking a deep bite out of it. As the juices dribbled down her cheek she felt the dark intentions of her deluded lover peer over her shoulder, looking intently at the headlines and the first few paragraphs in the papers.

“Whoever this copy cat is got me down to a tee.” Cassandra mused. “Lacerated body parts, mutilated corpses, and never the same work twice. Each one had an unique flavor.” She heard a few whispers from her companion and she shivered in delight to hear his voice. “Yes, she does go after the bad ones doesn’t she. All her victims were suspect of child abuse. Strange that. Child abusers don’t usually meet my criteria. The regret they have is never the pitch I yearn for.”

Cassandra’s eyes skimmed the pages again and she smiled to herself taking another large bite. She used her free hand to swipe away the droppings of the apple that got through and lifted one paper up snapping it to attention with a flick of her wrist. She glanced from headline to headline until she found what she wanted dropping the paper backwards and reaching for another paper.

“Hmm, consistency is not something I pride myself on. Our copycat has struck the same well multiple times. The poor district. Like hell I would even look there more than once.” She sighed. “And I was beginning to respect our new playmate.”

Cassandra read over a few more papers, stopping only to eat her continental breakfast that consisted of two burnt eggs and burnt toast. She looked to the orange juice and was rather impressed that the juice was fresh, but the glass was obviously not clean. She shrugged indifferently chugging it down as she finished the last of her papers.

“She never deviated from the poor district. So that’s where we will go my love,” she said as crumbs from her toast fell down her face. Her lover chuckle to her and she smiled as she took a napkin and wiped her face. “Shall we get going?” She asked getting up and changing into her old sneaking suit.

She placed over her suit a worn out shirt, and placed a short miniskirt over the front. She debated on what to do next, and decided to place her parrying knife and cat’s claws upon her belt. She tilted the belt to the side to give her an edgy look, but one glance in the mirror and she could already tell her dark companion didn’t approve. She straightened it and nodded once leaving the hotel.

~*~*~*~

The poor slums of the town were what she expected. Run down homes, street urchins playing, and so many beggars it made her head spin. She didn’t particularly care for these types of people. They couldn’t understand the true meaning of the word regret. They wallowed so much in their own despair that to them torture was just living a normal life. She glared at those who approached her, looking out over the area with a keen eye. A small clap of thunder echoed over the hills and the rain began to fall all over again. Street urchins ran to their homes as the beggars wrapped their blankets tighter. Cassandra merely lifted her sneaking suit up to her nose and continued on as she lifted for her hair tying it in a haphazard ponytail.

Once she was set she walked out into the rain, feeling the pitter batter against her face as she looked over the alleys with an appraising eye. She wasn’t looking for the killer more than the places the killer would kill next. It wasn’t hard to find them, she was looking at a few prospects herself.

A tiny pull on her skirt made Cassandra bounce back as she slapped a the hand. A child pulled back in fear looking up to her with tear filled eyes the rain couldn’t hide.

“What?” She asked angrily.

“Have…Have you seen my mommy?” he asked. His eyes opened as he pleaded on his knees. “I miss my mommy!” Cassandra looked over the boy, finding a bruise upon his body through a hole in his shirt.

“Mommy beat you?” Cassandra asked with the grace of a mighty beached whale. The kid cried harder now, reliving his painful past and Cassandra sighed as she turned away from him walking down the street. “Get lost kid. You’re an orphan now. Mommy’s probably dead, cut up into tiny pieces. Better her than you, right?” She glanced back to see the kid standing still, shivering from the rain. She looked behind him to see a dark messenger of the abyss step forth, placing a gentle hand upon the child’s shoulder.

Cassandra cooed as she watched the child begin the initiation into madness. This was where the dark companion would stand over the child, watch over him as he made up his mind. Would he follow the life of darkness, or the path of light. She watched silently as the kid continued to shiver, then with a wrench from the invisible force he ran away, crying about how he wants to find his mommy. Cassandra shrugged as she looked forward again walking outwards.

“Pathetic.” Cassandra spat as she ventured down one of the back alleyways. She turned a corner looking down the edge of the town where the walls were the only thing kept in check from the decay around it. Many boxes were overturned and turned into mini forts that the kids would play in when the sun decided to shine. She walked inspecting each crevice of the terrain as her boots splashed in the puddles forming beneath her feet. Her hand ran out and touched the cool stone of the wall as her other hand reached to the buildings wall. She walked like that for a moment, then she felt something dark and uninviting near her.

She turned quickly, looking about the area until she landed her eyes upon a small cat. It’s eyes glowed with an ominous red before it darted down an alleyway. “Go my love!” Cassandra ordered pointing towards the direction of the cat. Though she wasn’t as experienced with it yet, she could tell when she met someone else’s dark harbinger.

Cassandra ran down the alleyway as her dark companion howled a baleful cry to the winds chasing the cat down far faster than Cassandra would be able to. Water splashed against her legs as she sprinted to keep up, turning the corner where she found a small run down shack with the door open. How inviting, she mused as she slowed herself to a walk. She waited to see her dark ambitions again before she proceeded forward.

The next thing she heard was a long, wailing scream that echoed down the alleyway and rushed over Cassandra filling her with a sensation that piqued her curiosity far more than a normal person would. An overwhelming desire to be near the screams flooded her heart and mind as she ran forward. She could see her dark companion urging her away from the door but she pushed right past him as she ran towards the scream, a look of lust upon her face as she pulled her mask down.

The inside of the shack had a hidden trap doorway that she blazed through without warning, running down the dark halls with no fear of what she was getting herself into. She heard another scream and her heart ached to be near it as she forced herself to sprint faster. Another scream echoed down the hall and Cassandra was beside herself as she clawed her way down the hall, pushing aside the silhouettes of boxes and crates. The cat appeared next to her, keeping pace as she ran, urging her onwards faster and faster as her dark companion tried to reach out to her.

At last she found a light at the end of the tunnel. The cat ran forward and turned the corner into the room as Cassandra could smell the blood in the air. She lost her mind I the frenzy of the screams as she pushed herself to every limit to be near those screams. Her lover called back one last time, but she already was in the room.

She looked inside, her face unable to hide the marvel she was seeing. It was an old run down butcher’s shop, chains hanging from the ceiling with large meat hooks upon the edge. There were several slaughter tables and upon the one in the middle of the room was a lone woman who was beyond recognition.

Her face was horribly mutilated, one eye ball hanging out the socket as the other eye was missing completely. Her lips were cut open down the middle and her body was a caked crimson mess. She looked upon the body with admiration and little disgust. She personally wouldn’t have been this messy, but whoever this killer was had a unique style all their own.

She immediately looked up and searched the room for anyone, but she was all alone with only the killer.

Before she could take a deep sigh she could hear pounding on the door.

[The Cinderella Man]

Contrary to what people usually thought, screaming was a good thing. At least it meant that the victim was still alive. Sure, it was a kick in the gonads when you showed up just minutes too late, with the body still warm and the smell of the murderer still in the air, but it was still better than finding a corpse seven days old, bloated with gasses and with no clues to go on. That was why, when Victor heard the scream, he saw it as an opportunity to close this deal early and not as an outcry of some poor dying soul. It was a wretched way to look at things, but it was a wretched world he lived in and he picked up a few things from it as he slouched through it.

He ran into the shack, shotgun locked and loaded, but found nothing but dust and scurrying rats. The trap door was wide open, though, and from beyond it a hurried shuffling of feet could be heard. Victor followed it, gun drawn. It seemed the kid was right.

[Fifteen minutes ago...]

“Look, Garius...It is Garius, right?” the bulky man spoke in a demure tone as he flicked the thick gold piece upwards with his thumb. He caught it as it came down, set it up against his thumb, then flicked it again. And again. And every time he did, the eyes of a scrawny sack of bones that stood before him followed the spinning coin with an almost deifying look. The rain was constant around them, ceaseless, soaking right through the poor man’s rags until he looked like he just took a swim in the river. Victor was better protected by his leather overcoat, but his hair was so wet that thick rivulets ran down his neck and further down his back. “I can help you. All I need is some information.”

“I tole you, mistah...” the graying man tried to say, but Victor cut him off just as he clutched his fist around the coin again.

“So you did. And yet three of your friends told me otherwise. Told me you saw the wench. More than once.” The last bit seemed to strike the man particularly hard. He seemed to grow a bit, straightening his back until he almost didn’t look like too much skin stretched over too small of a skeleton.

“’Tis a lie! I nevah...” he insisted, but then Victor took a step closer, then another and then they were face to face, close enough for the gunslinger to smell the rotting teeth in the beggar’s mouth and the unfortunate man to smell the scotch in his. “A’ight, a’ight, fine. I saw the bitch. But jus once, as I tole the guards. She walked right past me in an alleh, thought I was a-sleeping, maybe didn’t even see me.”

“And where did she go?” Victor backed away a step, less because he was satisfied with the answers and more to get away from the godawful stench of the man’s breath.

“Dunno. After all tha screaming, I wished is was a-sleeping, if ya knoe what I mean. So I jus ran away.” The man was visibly shivering by now. Part of it was the rain, but Victor felt there was more to it. There was genuine fear in the man’s eyes when he spoke of his encounter with the Gisela Reaper, and that meant something coming from a man who didn’t have much to live for. Still, the information was useless.

“I-I-I could tell you where to find her, ser,” another voice spoke, coming from farther down in the alley. Victor didn’t notice anyone there earlier, and when the owner of the voice showed his face, it was pretty clear why. The boy that stepped forward was diminutive and skinny and barefoot, edging closer to the two in tiny footsteps. His face was a testament of fear and desperation, his eyes red and swollen from crying.

“Is that a fact?” Victor said, moving away from the elderly beggar who allowed a sigh of relief. He flicked the coin towards the boy, but the urchin let it fell without making a move to catch it.

“I don’t want your moneys,” he said, more spine in his voice then there was in the beggar’s entire body. Victor figured, the way life was going for this kid, that wouldn’t last; life would drain it out of him one piece at a time, one day at a time. But it was still good to hear it.

“What do you want then?” he asked, sitting on his haunches before the lad.

“I want you to kill her, ser. She said my mommy is dead. I want you to kill her good.”

[Now...]

Despite the decrepit state of the shack, the door was sturdy enough to take two hits from his shoulder, the rusty hinges holding onto the wood with stubborn desperation. The third one broke them off, though, tearing off chunks of the door frame with them. Beyond them, a nightmare scene awaited. The room was probably a meat factory of some sort once upon a time, but it was clear that no meat saw this room for a while. Not until now, anyways. The chains and hooks that hanged from the ceiling were old and rusty, the deep sinks filled with dust and debris, the porcelain tiles peeling off the walls, making them look like a mad man’s checkers board. And in the middle of this place forgotten by time was a thick slab of wood with what might’ve been a woman once. The sight would’ve probably made Victor gag if not for the vixen that stood next to it, looking perfectly content with herself. It was his quarry. It was the Gisela Reaper.

“You get one warning, bitch!” he told her, lining up his shotgun with her body. Her pretty damn fine body, the male part of his brain didn’t hesitate to add, couldn’t given what stood before him. She was certainly a sight to behold, this redhead, with a body made for loving, a face made for breaking hearts and legs made for kicking you in the balls. Shame there was something seriously wrong in the old noggin, a malfunction that messed up the entire system. “I don’t want to shoot you, but I will if you don’t come with me peacefully.”

She’ll do this the hard way, he thought immediately afterwards. Her kind always did.

[Requiem of Insanity]

Cassandra looked to the shotgun and she looked to the man wielding it. Her heart beat like racing horse in mid stride, unable to focus her thoughts as she began to panic. Guns were not really her method of choice in the world for they were far, far to noisy for her tastes. But that didn’t mean she couldn’t respect the damage they did. At that range she would be lucky to move a few feet before the second volley found purchase inside her back as a permanent room and board.

She could feel her dark desires reach her, placing a gentle claming hand upon her shoulder as she took a few short breaths to try and calm her nerves. She could use her love to try and hold him, but this man seemed to steep in his experience to be affected by her dark companion. Options going even more south she began to look around the room.

“You keep those pretty eyes on me,” the man said as his muscles began to tighten around his upper arm. Cassandra looked deep into those tired eyes and came up with an idea. She carefully lowered her head in a nod, making it clear she was all his to command as her eyes flashed with seductive intent.

“Whatever you say,” she said softly moving forward moving her hips to the side like a graceful dancer, her legs limbering up one in front of the other in a walk that made people believe in a god. “I’m all yours to command…” she said softer, her tone hinting and inviting.

As she made her way over to him her hand whim fully fluttered towards her hip, each movement carefully planned as she lowered her fingers to the edge of her knife. She glanced at the doorway back the way she came, it wasn’t very far off, a lucky throw and she could be out. She just had to make each moment count.

“You going to lock me up?” she said in a tender agonizing tone like she was being tortured to live without her aggressor’s touch. “Tie me down and give me the,” her tongue licked her lower lip in a slow, teasing manner. “Rough treatment?”

Her fingertips rounded the edge of the blade and slowly she lifted it up. “You going to give me a harsh lesson?” she purred gently as she lifted her hands up, hiding the blade behind her forearm holding only the balanced edge in her fingertips. She walked slowly forward, one hand softly dropping to her lip where she bit her finger enticingly.

“You caught me red handed,” she whispered so only he could hear, making each honey word known only to him and him alone. The shotgun lowered only a fraction of an inch, and she smiled to him, her eyes beaming wide as she looked right at him. “What naughty things are going to make me pay for?” she breathed as she was parallel with the door.

The gun lowered only half an inch more, but it was enough. Her hand rolled and the blade twirled into her hand where she tossed it jumping sideways towards the door. Hit or miss, she didn’t care at all. All she cared about was rolling back to her feet and sprinting forwards as fast as she could, thankful she didn’t bring her back pack. She was just through the narrow door when the first shot went off, pieces of the door frame exploding off and showering her with splinters as she ran, pushing her body beyond any limits she may have had.

The tunnel was still dark, but she could feel her dark companion with her, guiding her towards the correct direction to go. She bounded down the dim lit hallway, passing the crates and tossing anything she passed behind her to slow her pursuer down. She leapt over a crate and kicked off the wall sprinting towards the light at the end of the tunnel and out into the open.

Her heart raced as the rain began to fall down, splashing her face as she looked for anything to help her hide. Great job, Cassandra, you’re in deep shit now… she thought as she ran down an alleyway.

[The Cinderella Man]

“Son of a BITCH!” Victor growled through his clenched teeth as he ran out into the dim hallway and after the murderous whore. His shoulder slammed against the wall, making the rotten wood quiver, but he didn’t even feel the pain of the impact; his left forearm hurt too damn much. Small wonder considering that there was still a bloody knife sticking out of it, sending pulse after pulse of pain through his system. Still, it was a good thing. Well, better than the alternative at any rate. If his reflexes hadn’t kicked in when they did, he’d be running with a knife stuck in his face instead of his arm. His right was still operational, though, but by the time he brought the shotgun up again and pulled the trigger, the bitch already darted around the corner and his shot exploded against the far wall.

That’s what you get, you fucking idiot. That’s what you get for thinking with your dick. Oddly enough, it wasn’t his own sarcastic voice chastising him as he sped through the hallway, stumbling over some scattered crates. No, this time around his mind opted to replay the words of Arslan, his old boxing trainer back in Scara Brae. He had been up against Mikel Sundry, a quick little shit that kept scampering around like a fairy and poking Victor with a left jab until he broke his nose. And the only reason why the big old ugly didn’t hammer Mikel down sooner was because Delilah was in the crowd, cheering him on, smiling that dazzling smile at him between rounds and wincing every time he took a hit. It took a couple of slaps across the face to get him back into the fight back then; right now, the knife stuck in his arm did the job.

Do it quick, it’ll hurt less. It was a lie; it hurt like a bitch when he gave the knife a yank. No time to wrap the wound up, though. He’d have to pause his pursuit, holster his weapons, find some cloth, and by the time he did all that the bitch would probably be lounging back in her room. No, he had to take care of business first, take care of the pain later. He shoved the shotgun back into the holster, whipped his pistol out and swung around the corner and towards the exit. By the time he reached it, his toes and knees ached from bumping against all the debris the little hellion left in her wake, but he was satisfied to see that she wasn’t able to slip away from him completely. He was out of the shack just in time to see her dash for the nearest alley.

Victor didn’t run directly after her, however. There was no way he could flat outrun her; he was never much of a runner and she looked about a hundred pounds lighter and ten years younger than him. Instead he ran towards the dangerously leaning house around whose corner she disappeared, shouldered his way through the boarded doors (the wood so rotten and dry it gave away as if it was cardboard), made his way through what might’ve been a living room once upon a time, cut straight through the kitchen where a couple of hobos were sleeping and jumped out of the window and into the street. The sound of shattered glass and broken wood caught the redhead just as she was to swing around another corner, making her snap her head backwards just in time to see Victor regain his footing. And there was a smile on her face, wicked and enticing and not at all scared, a smile that almost made him feel like he was the prey and she was the hunter. And then she was gone again, disappearing behind the shabby fence that wrapped haphazardly around a two-storey house like crooked teeth.

He ran again. Jumped over the fence on the one side, breaking through it on the other side, caught a glimpse of her fine ass, cut through the yard littered with garbage and old furniture, stumbled over a dusty sofa, came up short on the other side again, ran some more, huffing and puffing like a steam engine, always a step behind. This is pointless. Gotta get ahead of her somehow, he thought, pausing just a second to catch his breath. Yes, but how? Even with cutting corners, he was still too far behind and he was already feeling the fatigue creeping into his muscles. He looked around, caught a glimpse of a stack of crates, the porch next to it, the crumbling house behind it. Up. He had to go up.

Up didn’t seem like such a brilliant plan once he was on the roof. Most of the houses in the slums were little more than shacks and even walking across their roofs was a lottery at best. He did his best to evade the thatched ones, but several times his foot went through the terracotta tiles as well and once he almost slipped on some moss and fell down onto the street headfirst. Still, he was gaining. From above, he could easily see the pattern in her movement, a crisscross path that seemed to lead towards the market district. And by the looks of it, she was slowing down as well, most likely because she could no longer see him on her tail. With the rain and wind and an occasional roar of thunder as his allies, he followed a diagonal path almost parallel to the woman below.

Before long she felt safe enough to walk and by then he was ahead of her, looking for a good place for an ambush. Not far ahead of him, the roof tiles gave way to a set of charcoaled support beams of a house that seemed to burn down not long ago. The ashen smell of smoke was still strong in the air as he slipped down from the roofs and into the black skeleton of the house. The house itself stood at a “T” shaped junction, and if his calculations were correct, the bitch would soon be coming down one of these streets. He checked the chamber of his pistol, shook of some of the rain out of his hair and kneeled behind one of the glassless windows. There would be no hesitation this time, no warnings, no ogling. Time to think with a bigger head for a change.

“You don’t happen to be waiting for little old me, now would you?”

The voice came from behind him, and immediately after it came a whistling sound of a spinning blade and an explosion of pain in his back. “Son of a...” was all he had time to say, and then the second blade came and he was throwing himself sideways onto the blackened rubble, firing blindly. He didn’t see if he hit anything, couldn’t. The pain in his back only intensified from the sudden movement, clouding his eyes with all the pretty colors and evicting any coherent thought from his mind. But when no more blades came looking for his flesh and there was only the rapid tap-tap-tap of the rain to be heard, he was able to regain his bearings.

She sat in the corner of the roofless room, the blood gushing from her thigh in a steady stream. And yet that smug, come-and-play-with-me smirk was still on her face, as if somehow she still had the upper hand. When he got close enough, he found out the reason for that wicked smile. She made a lunge at him with another knife, but this time she was a bit slower and he was prepared, first dodging the slicing strike, then trapping her wrist with his wounded left. “There’s been quite enough of that, wench,” he said, bringing the barrel of his gun close to her face. He didn’t shoot her, though. He definitely considered shooting her, especially after she made him run, and especially after the hole she made in his back. But there was also the matter of an additional thousand gold pieces and he had her in the proverbial bag.

Instead, he elbowed her in the jaw, knocking her lights out. He hated hitting women, especially pretty ones, but just this one time it was quite a pleasure.

((I figure Rayse can post next. When Cass wakes up in your post, Paul, you can make it so she's tied down to a chair, bleeding in some abandoned house, with Victor trying to fix his own wounds. If you want to, we can work out some dialogue, even though I trust you with bunnying him. I figured he would have to patch her up if he doesn't want her to bleed out, and that ought to be interesting. ;)))

[Rayse Valentino]

Sitting at the bar of the Gisela Inn, Rayse reviewed how he spent his morning. With a half-empty glass of light beer and an ashtray with half a dozen spent cigarettes in front of him, he looked through a financial report of the storehouse he bought. It was a spacious one-room deal with no windows, hidden amongst taller warehouses and near this inn. He oversaw The Company's movers take some supplies into it, despite Jaan's warnings that business was still stalled. The bar was mostly empty, with some people having meals in the dining area nearby. So, when a beautiful woman sat in the stool next to Rayse, his curiosity was piqued.

"You look like a busy man," she said, flicking the bangs of her long blond hair. "Working hard?"

Rayse was taken aback by her appearance. At a perfect few inches shorter, her frame fitting tightly within the confines of her denim dress, her alluring smile was something he hadn't seen in a long time. Her sharp yellow eyes almost glared at him, but his eyes weren't focused on her face. What were the odds of finding a chest like that before noon? His mind ignored the fact that the clouds still obscured the sun.

He decided to try to impress her as he said, "Me? I'm a manager kind of guy. I work the boys to the bone." He was using the word 'boys' colloquially, but she took it to mean that he ran a child labor camp of some sort.

"Oh!" she said in surprise, almost unable to hide her excitement. "You must be a big, important man. Care to buy me a drink?" Rayse grinned and ordered one for her, and as the barkeep delivered it, she lamented, "Shame that it's raining- it's just so hot and humid out there." Lifting up her hands to run them through her hair, her cleavage inadvertently lifted up and gave Rayse a view he couldn't ignore. While he was looking down, she slipped something into his drink.

Shaking his head, The Contractor went back to his drink and finished it off. When he looked back at her he started to become suspicious. Her seductive looks didn't have quite the same effect, and he remembered that it was still morning and yet he was being hit on. Something wasn't right, and he felt it in his gut.

"Sorry," he said, suddenly standing up. "But I..." THWACK!

He fell to the ground and lost consciousness.

* * * *

The next thing he knew, he was lying down on a table, unable to move. His mind was still foggy from the drug, but he quickly saw the straps on his arms, legs, and waist. Not only that, he wasn't wearing any clothes.

"Wow, I didn't think I was this freaky," he said, misinterpreting the situation. The only light was from a few candles on the floor, but it revealed some boxes in the immediate area. He lifted his head a little and looked around. "Is this... my storehouse?"

"Astute," came a voice from the shadows. "Too bad for you."

Wearing a dark sneaking suit, it was the girl from earlier. He couldn't see her outfit very well, but assumed it was some sort of dominatrix getup.

With a hint of disgust in his voice, Rayse said, "Oh man, don't tell me I'm secretly into this stuff..."

The girl realized that he was getting the wrong idea and angrily pulled out a knife and jabbed it between his feet, trying to make a point.

"Whoa now!" he yelled. "What are you trying to do, kill me?!"

"Exactly," she replied.

Earlier today, she had her own work rudely interrupted. Unable to finish quenching her dark desires, she tried to get another victim as quick as she could. Unable to return to her old workplace, she had to improvise with this storehouse as well.

"What the hell did I do?" Rayse wondered.

"You never asked me my name. It's Cassandra."

Claiming to be his girlfriend, she got the barkeep to help her carry him near here, where she took him the rest of the way to this storehouse. Rayse's ignorance was washed away with this new information, and his eyebrows lowered in concern. Was this her? The one he put a bounty on? Did she tail him after he put it up? He doubted he would get any answers, and he didn't care. Actually, he was relieved since this meant he wasn't some masochist.

"You made a big mistake, baby," he smiled. "You should've just fucked me when you had the chance." Suddenly, his arm lifted up and the part held down by the straps turned to fire as it passed through them, reforming back into his flesh as the straps fell to the table. After mimicking this action with his other arm, he pulled up the rest of his body and hopped off the entire, much to the dismay of his would-be captor. "You just saved me two grand."

Clearly agitated, the would-be killer started backing up toward the door. Rayse spotted this and started running after her, but she was already out the door and onto the street. He was about to follow her when he realized his nudity. A few seconds later, his pursuit began with hands fumbling the belt around his pants, his shoelaces untied, and his shirt over his shoulder.

He barely saw her turning into an alleyway as he continued to gain on her. As he turned into the same one, he saw her climbing over a fence that divided the alleyway into two. Running after her, he knew he didn't have time to scale the fence, and couldn't as quickly, so he just kept up his momentum and passed through the fence, his body turning to fire and reforming on the other side. At this point his clothes were back in order.

His chase lead him into another street where he was about to catch her when she jumped completely over a large wagon and into another alley. Rayse also tried to jump over it, but ended up knocking over half a stack of produce and nearly tripping himself. They had reached the Gisela Inn, and he stood frustrated at the base of the building as he saw her scale the side of it with her bare hands. He bolted for the door and ran up the stairs, making his way to the attic and then up onto the roof to see her jumping from one roof to another. His pursuit ended, however, when she made a cat-like leap to another roof that Rayse couldn't replicate. He slammed his fists on the side of the roof as she disappeared out of sight.

He may have squandered his only opportunity to ever find her. He wasn't someone who lamented his losses for very long however, as he lit up a cigarette and exhaled a long plume of smoke into the air. Starting to get wet from the rain, he noticed that he had a pretty good view of most of the town from here, and that allowed him to notice the rising smoke from the slums.

Rayse couldn't believe it, "How the fuck? Didn't I just lose her?"

He considered that it could've just been a coincidence, but didn't want to take that chance. Making his way to the source, he didn't know what to expect.

[Requiem of Insanity]

Cassandra’s eyes opened slowly as she blinked over and over. First thing she noticed was her head was in pain as the earth seemed to crack inside her brainpan. Next thing she noticed was something wet ran down her leg. She winced as she tired to move the leg, feeling a spike stabbing pain along with a warm stickiness from her other leg. She closed her eyes as she began to think over all the things that recently happened.

She recalled running away from some ugly guy. Recalled trying to stab him and learning he was a brute and thick headed. Then she thought about how she was going to kill him, but his gun taught her otherwise as she tripped last second and was caught by his massive fist and knocked in the chin shuffling her brain around.

Dammit Cassandra, she thought sullenly. Just HAD to kill him…just HAD to chase him and stab him…couldn’t just left him be. she pursed her lips into a pout, her eyes narrowing as she sighed in defeat. Her dark intentions swirled around her, not saying anything but his aura speaking volumes.

I told you so. he wished to chant like a child’s song. Well Cassandra would have none of that. She had problems with being wrong, let alone being told she was wrong by the man she loved. Her thoughts were spilt open as she heard the sound of cringing behind her. She tilted her head and attempted to tilt her body, realizing she was strapped down into the chair. Before she took a look at him she quickly took in her surroundings.

Wherever they were it was a drop off point. Some pre-ordained spot to make a trade. Her brain slowly began to contemplate things and she realized the trade was her, the Gisela Monster of legend made manifest. Her eyes began to scan the horizon seeing the emptiness of the room they were in. There was an overturned table, a rotted rug on the floor near the door and a hole in the thatching on the roof that let the grayness of the outside world look on in.

She returned her attentions back to her captor, hearing him seethe in frustration. Her eyes looked upon his body, seeing him with his shirt off and looking at the numerous scars and battle wounds he had. If she were into that sort of thing, she figured he would be desirable. Instead all she saw was the few soft parts of his flesh where he didn’t have a cut. She would make nice little incisions there for him as payment for his hospitable service.

She noticed one hand held a cloth that was died red with the blood, a small saucer filled with red water and one bottle with the cap off that released a liquid onto the cut in his arm. It bubbled white for a moment and he cringed again as he slammed his cloth onto the wound as he sterilized it. As tough as the man was, he seemed to be avoiding the real fun in doing it all at once. He just softly tortured himself a little bit at a time. He stopped what he was doing as he looked her deep in her hazel eyes. She flashed him a seductive smile and the smallest hint of red flushed his cheeks before she shook his head dropping the bottle and cloth and grabbing his shirt.

He seemed to learn that she wasn’t so nice when she was being seductive.

“You wake up fast,” he commented kicking another chair so it slid across the wooden floor and stopping before her. “Guess it’s part of the job of being a serial killer.”

“Serial killer?” Cassandra said, confused her lips curling with the words to show she truly had no idea what he was talking about. Her captor smiled to her, then lowered his grin into a scowl as he slapped her wound on her knee. She hollered out in pain and glared daggers into his eyes as she let out a yelp of pain. “ASSHOLE!” she didn’t’ know what else to call him. It seemed like a good word.

“Hurts, doesn’t it?” he asked as he tapped her wound with his hand forcefully. Cassandra’s eyes lit up in agony as she felt a few tears warm up in her eyes. “I don’t’ like it either, consider it payback for the knives you chucked at me.”

“Well if you were a good little idiot and just died it wouldn’t have hurt so much.” he rolled his eyes as she looked down to her wound, feeling a new gush of blood leave her body. She looked back up to him. “Well, don’t just stand there, sterilize it and patch it up!” She ordered to him.

The look on his face was indescribable.

“Who the hell do you think you are, huh?” he asked, leaning in closer to her. “Barking orders like you some hot shot bimbo princess. Currently, tied up like that you are nothing more than a two dollar hooker.” he leaned back in his chair, the wood creaking as he crossed his arms over his chest before he winced in pain.

Cassandra smiled to him again, a seductive smile as she lowered her face just a little, letting her mouth part just a bit in an inviting manner as she mustered up a husky voice. Before she could speak he slapped her wound once again.

The look on her face was indescribable.

“OW,” she shouted. “Would you PLEASE knock that off?” she asked forcefully though her grinding teeth. He just smiled to her getting up and walking past her, patting her on the head like she was a cute kid. Cassandra huffed her anger out as she used one leg to position herself and started trying to bunny hop the chair to turn it around.

“What are you doing?” he asked lifting a gun up levelly to her chest. “Stop it,” he said more forcefully. Cassandra ignored him as she scooted and jumped the chair over to her bag. “What the hell do you think you are doing?” He insisted as he took a warning step towards her.

“Well if you won’t sterilize this wound I’ll just do it myself!” she bounced the chair again and this time a leg snapped and she fell like a sack of bricks, her arms soar as hell and her wounded leg on fire as she landed right on it. Her face was being pinned into the ground and she whimpered to herself as she rolled to the side just inches from her bag. She inched a finger towards the strap and just as she was about to grip it her captor picked it up and held it above her head in a teasing manner.

“Aww, did you want this?” he asked in a mocking way. Cassandra did, so she aimed her free leg carefully and kicked like a mule. His shin left the feet from under him and he fell forwards flat landing right on top of her, the bag skidding across the ground letting all sorts of contents out.

So now she was pinned to the ground, and mounted by her jackass captor. She rolled her eyes until she felt something violating her. Slowly her head turned, and she saw his eyes look to her as well. With a careful wink she felt the urge to vomit rise as he pushed himself off of her, very, very slowly.

“Imbecile!” Cassandra roared, making him move even slower. “Get off of me you prepubescent jerk!”

“I hear you like to cut people up, this what you do to them? What you did to the lady in the butcher’s shack?” Cassandra gave him a death glare, her eyes burning with such fierce hatred that he actually got off her.

“Don’t you ever compare me to that,” she felt all her anger boil over. “FUCKING copycat ever again.” she breathed out. She felt her body lift up as one as her captor removed one of the bindings on her before tying that binding to himself. “What are you doing?”

“Well we are out of chairs with arm rests thanks to you, so now I’m going to just hold you here to me.” Cassandra’s eyes lit up and she pleaded for him not to make the obvious joke.

“So if I said you had a nice body…”

(Hey Letho, have fun, ask your questions, try to seduce her. She’s pretty straight forward. PM me if things need to change please. )

[Rayse Valentino]

"Well I'll be damned," said Rayse, walking into the room with a cigarette in his mouth and his arms crossed. "Tell me... how the fuck did you do it?"

Some garbage was on fire in an empty space in the room, letting the smoke rise through the hole in the thatched roof. His would-be monster was lying on the table, now turned over so it stood correctly. Attached to Victor's arm was the killer's and a rope binding them together. He stood over her like a mortician, his fists bruised and his expression grim.

Suddenly, the ropes around his arm loosened and fell to the ground, with his body following suit. Surprise filled The Contractor's face as he rushed over and examined Victor, who just dropped like a rock. He spotted some green liquid draining out of the gunslinger's forearm, with a tiny puncture mark that was barely noticeable.

Rayse turned the man over and shook him, "Victor! Wake up! What the fuck is going on?!"

"Great, another one..." came a groan from the table. Cassandra sat up, her eyes tired and her hair halfway covering her face.

Rayse stood up. His perfect plan was unraveling before his eyes. This woman didn't look like she just arrived here. While her appearance was startlingly similar to the girl who just tried to off The Contractor, he could see it in her hazel eyes: This was someone else.

"It doesn't look like you can move much," Rayse said, his eyes narrowed and chewing on the cigarette butt. "Let's keep it that way."

'Ignoring the fact she just somehow managed to knock out Vic, either those scientists are right and time isn't linear... or this is someone else. Maybe I still have something here.'

"I don't know if you're her twin sister or something, but I'm leaning towards killing you just in case unless you give me a good reason not to. Don't think I'll be as careless as him."

[Requiem of Insanity]

This was just turning into one bad event after another. It took all her guile, all her skill to slowly prepare the poison to put Victor to sleep. She hadn’t the time to strengthen the dose to kill the mercenary. Still, it was apparent that the vial did the work and she was freed. Only to look into the eyes of her new captor. His threat was rather plain, simple more than anything. Yet she could see in his eyes that were lit by the small embers of the ash that he was more than capable of killing her off and calling it a day.

“Look, whoever you are,” Cassandra said brushing the hair out of her eyes. “I pretty much am having the worst fucking week of my life, accentuated by this jackass here. He shot me in my leg, I’ve got a copycat killer fucking with my name, and everyone and their grandmother is apparently trying to kill me! So, do me the favor of getting in line!” She growled as she stood up, her hands reaching for the table to stabilize herself.

“So, she is your twin?” The man asked, a disinterested tone belying his intent to want to know more.

“No, she’s…you know what, never mind that.” Cassandra angrily swiped her bag from the ground and ripped out a globe filled with a blue liquid. She popped the cork and dabbed the applicator to her wound. With seething grunts of pain she covered her wound before capping the bottle and tossing it back to her bag. She knelt down, grabbing a knife.

“Careful with that, darling, I already was under the knife once today.”

“I just need some bandages. Your jack ass friend here just volunteered his nice shirt.” She ripped at his pants and pulled out a bit of the cloth before cutting a long strand. She took the rip and tore at it until she had her prize, wrapping it around her leg. “So messy,” She whispered. “Knives are far more precise and don’t leave as much a mess.”

“All better now?” The man was lifting another cigarette out. He stopped for a moment, then lowered the pack to the Gisela Reaper. Cassandra looked to it, before shrugging and grabbing one of the cancerous sticks for herself. It was a rather long day.

“Much better, thanks.” Cassandra puffed as he lit the tobacco.

“Don’t puff, breath,” He told her. Cassandra gave him a dark look, but obeyed and within seconds the white stick was lit and she was coughing up a lung. She took a moment to stabilize herself, for it had been years since her last drag, and slowly let out a deep cloud of smoke around her face that swirled like a devilish imp to her whim. She looked down and saw the man still held a knife in his hand, but his casual demeanor put the serial killer more off than Victor. He wasn’t taking her seriously, but probably because he knew he could easily take her. Cassandra also knew she had no prayer at the moment.

“A reason, you asked?” Cassandra asked her captor as she sat upon the table and placed both her feet on Victor’s back, dusting the ash over the man’s face. “I’m assuming you want this person killed,” Cassandra hazard a guess as the smoke trailed in a wake around her fingers.

“I do,” The man admitted.

“Then I got a plan to do this.” Cassandra said as she leaned forwards. “You said you were on the knives once today? I can only assume that means my copycat killer has caught you. If she truly is like me that will drive her nuts. An escaped victim is more than just a stain on her honor, it’s a damn liability. You saw her face, you know her habits, you can break her. You are simply put, the biggest man in the world to her.”

“Flattering,” He mumbled.

“Let her capture you again.” To this the man merely laughed.

“Uh huh, let me get captured again and then what? Let you run away? I’m not stupid, and I’m-”

“I’m not insinuating you are! How do you think I feel knowing my name is being bastardized by some bimbo who can’t keep her hard on for me down! My name once struck fear in the world, but now, because of her blunder my name will be skewed! My deeds will be diminished and all that I worked for will be nothing! And she can’t even pick her own god damn motiff! She has to rip everything I am away for herself! Well I’ll rip everything from her!”

“Bitter a wee bit aren’t we?” The man chuckled. “Still not really seeing a reason to trust you. Cute story though.”

“I want her dead.” Cassandra whispered to herself as she took another puff of her cigarette. “You don’t know what it’s like to have everything you work for smeared.” To that, the man at last made the first movement of the night that startled Cassandra. He lowered the knife.

“Rayse,” He said offering his hand.

“Cassandra,” She shook his hand. This was such a weird day, but she may as well go with the flow. Normally she would have stabbed him by now. Yet her dark intentions kept her nerves calm as he whispered to her to trust this man.

“I do have a pretty good idea what it is like to have an operation tarnished by some unwanted attention. I think you and I can do business here,” Rayse lowered his hand to his jacket and pulled out a sheet of paper. “This is the stupidest thing I think I’ll ever utter, but,” Rayse looked deep into her eyes. “I want to hire you, the real Gisela Reaper, to kill the copycat for me.”

Cassandra looked to the man before she grinned from ear to ear. “Why, Mr. Rayse, that is the happiest words I have ever heard…” She said dumping the cigarette on Victor’s back and grinding her heel on it. “Where do I sign?”

[Rayse Valentino]

So there he was, back in the bar at the Gisela Inn, very legitimately drinking glasses of Merlot wine. It was one of the first wines that Rayse had ever tried, and the one he could drink the longest without getting too drunk. Although after sitting here for an hour, he had enough of it in his system to get a vampire drunk. It is half past midnight now, and the place only has a liberal sprinkling of patrons left. There is something depressing about drinking alone, even though he is doing it deliberately.

You can tell a lot about time from a bar. The drunks who try to stay until they kicked out have nothing to lose, you count on them you'll just get kicked out with them. The ones who still think they have lives saunter out about this time, buzzed and ready to go home to beat their wives. Rayse picks up the bottle of Merlot and walks out the door, into a brave new world that reeks of burning garbage.

The best part about the seedy side of town is how easy it can be to get lost. No two buildings hug each other, and nobody bothers to make the streets go far enough in, so there's a maze of alleys home to the worst kind of scum. Anyone going in there at this time of night either has a death wish or a plan. Rayse has the latter, but he isn't letting on about it. He takes another swig of the Merlot and wanders in, looking over his shoulder in that drunk paranoid way. He's edgy, or at least he looks edgy, but it doesn't matter. Anyone can see that he's not in the mood for trouble.

He turns a corner and his face meets a brick.

[Alyssa Snow]

The Cindarella Man - 660 EXP - 55 GP

Requiem of Insanity - 792 EXP - 66 GP

Rayse Valentino - 880 EXP - 66 GP

[Alyssa Snow]

EXP & GP Added!