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<span>Spoiler: <span class="bbCodeSpoiler-button-title">Robyn</span></span>
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</div></div><br/>To say the Robyn Cyril Clarke had lived a hellish life was to underappreciate the suffering that he’d gone through. He’d had a pleasant enough childhood, having loved his mother more than anything in the world and having been able to at least tolerate his father. He’d lived a happy life, at least until the day that the voices had slithered into his delicate little head. They’d whispered horrible, terrifying things to him, guiding his little adolescent hand onto the handle of a butcher's knife and across the sleeping throats of his dearest mother and kind father.<br/><br/><i><span class="fixed-color" style="color:#ff0000">‘Life is hell. None of the demons reside below the surface anymore they all exist here, and they’re out to make the lives of the pious miserable. You’re releasing your parents, allowing them to escape to paradise.’</span></i><br/><br/>They’d whispered as he’d watched the deep scarlet liquid spill from their necks whilst they woke. Robyn had felt like he should cry as they gasped and sputtered, choking on their own clotted blood and clutching at their throats whilst staring at their blood-spattered little angel, but he didn’t shed a single tear. He’d felt bad, perhaps even sad, but he hadn’t felt as though this was something to mourn over. The voices told him that this was how it was meant to be, how it needed to be, and he took comfort in their solace and as he’d looked down at dear old mum and dad he hadn’t cried. He’d smiled.<br/><br/>After the warmth had fled from the bodies of his only family and they’d gone rigid, his new friends had guided him into the nursery that held his two infantile siblings: Genevieve and Finnigan. They’d looked so calm, swaddled up in blankets and snuggled down into their cribs. Robyn had slid little Geni’s throat and plunged his knife so deeply into poor little Finn that he was nearly split into two. He’d spent a while then admiring his work, watching the blood seep from the bodies of his family was an oddly cathartic experience for the young man, and he couldn’t help but admire the deep red shade of the bodily fluid. After that, the sleepy little serial killer had retired to his shower. There he’d scrubbed himself clean and discarded his bloodied clothes; he’d dressed, packed a few things into his little brown book bag, and traipsed out onto the streets. He’d been frightened at first, but comfort was given by the whisperings:<br/><br/><i><span class="fixed-color" style="color:#8000ff">‘We’re your family now, little bird. You needn’t fear the world, as we will guide you through it’</span><br/>
<span class="fixed-color" style="color:#0000ff">‘</span><span class="fixed-color" style="color:#0080ff">Quiet your cries, dearest Robyn, and dry your tears. You miss your mother but she is happier now.’</span></i><br/><br/>It took a long while for him to grow totally comfortable with the voices, but over the course of time, he grew used to them. He might have even said he began to enjoy their company at some stage, and whenever there were brief bouts of silence he found that he grew uncomfortable. He eventually was able to deduce that there were three. Two of them were more androgynous, though he preferred to refer to them as women as they seemed more maternal, and were often the ones to offer comfort and advice, and then there was the third. He was harsh, and violent, and was the one that most frequently guided his hand in the cases of his murders, which were plentiful. He'd even granted them names over the years, though they didn't respond to them;<span class="fixed-color" style="color:#8000ff">Juniper</span>,<span class="fixed-color" style="color:#0080ff">Holly</span>, and<span class="fixed-color" style="color:#ff0000"> Luken </span>were what he called them. They were his only friends and all the existing family he had left. He grew to truly love them as he believed he may have once loved his parents, and perhaps even his little pair of twin siblings. Even the frightening personality in his mind he grew fond of, he helped to maintain his discipline and to guide him through his most gruesome of tasks.<br/><br/>Speaking of gruesome tasks, it was just about that time again for Robyn to free another poor soul from the confines of its flesh prison. He’d taken a particular liking to this man. He was a gentleman who he’d peg somewhere in his mid-thirties most like, named Adrien. He’d taken Robyn in off the streets one night after finding him in a particularly foul predicament, nearly frozen to death leaning up against one of the heavily worn brick edifices on South 59th Avenue in Cicero, Illinois. Adrien himself lived just down the road from where he’d found the little bird, in the apartment complex 5900 on South 59th, and so after stumbling across him, he’d decided to take him in and give him a place to crash for a little while at the very least. Now, the men quickly found that they took a fondness to each other; or, at the very least Robyn took on a fondness for Adrien and Adrien enjoyed the wonders of Robyn’s compact little body. It became a mutually beneficial relationship for a time. Adrien got to use Robyn whenever he wished, in whatever manner he wished, and Robyn obtained a warm, dry place to stay during the frigid winter months. Good things could only last for a time, however, and his voices were quick to remind him of that fact.<br/><br/>Adrien had taken Robyn in on December 28th, just after the dreadful holiday referred to as Christmas. On that day, unfortunately, the day that a stranger had shown him such undeniable kindness, Robyn had chosen his next victim. It was already February 20th, and on that evening, though it was still cool enough outside to be uncomfortable, Robyn knew it was time to move on to the next, and so he had to finish the job. He was sleeping beside Adrien, having just finished a rather long, but fairly pleasant LSD trip together his temporary companion had dozed off beside him. Their bodies were both grimy with sweat, semen, and some other bodily fluids, but Robyn figured he could clean himself off after the deed was done. He’d have plenty of time to shower and get dressed after Adrien had been freed, and he’d prefer to get it all done and over with whilst the man was peacefully asleep. He carefully slipped from beneath his arm and made his way from the bedroom and into the small kitchen, where he retrieved his weapon of choice: a freshly sharpened butchers knife. It was a quick and relatively method of killing, and the young man still couldn't help but find great pleasure in watching the blood of another being drain out of a slash through the jugular.<br/><br/>Being so intent on completing the ceremony of sorts, Robyn didn’t waste any time in making his way back to Adrien’s bedroom, and he carefully moved to settle on top of the man, his own legs straddling his hips. He was so focused on his work, carefully placing the tip of his weapon upon a particular spot just below Adrien’s jaw so he could make an aesthetically pleasing ark downwards whilst making his cut, that he didn’t hear a brief knock on the door. Following the knock, the door was pushed open, as neither man had bothered to lock it in their drug-induced fit of passion on the way back into the apartment. By the time he heard a voice emanating from the living space, there was already blood spattered over his lean form, and his knife had already made its way about halfway through the course of its downward arc over Adrien’s throat. Robyn perked up, his brow furrowing as he paused in his efforts, the body beneath him beginning to stir, and them immediately starting to thrash about beneath his minuscule weight at the realization that there was a bit of steel plunged into his neck, and he was beginning to choke on his own blood.