Man with no Country (Wraith)
<h1 id="title">Elliquiy Role Playing Forums</h1>
		<h2 id="linktree">Play-By-Post: Bondage, D/s, S&amp;M =&gt; Bondage: Human Solos =&gt; Topic started by: Malrunar on 27-10-2010, 01:42:28</h2>
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				Title: <strong>Man with no Country (Wraith)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Malrunar</strong> on <strong>27-10-2010, 01:42:28</strong>
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				He had felt a hot rush of bile burn the back of his throat when he first laid eyes on her, a sensation that made his voice raw when he had pressed forward to speak to the whore. But now he was whistling, now he was pleased, now he felt a warm sort of peace.<br><br>Jack, because that’s who he was, whistled a nameless tune that felt right as it passed through his lips, calming his nerves as the knife he weld bit into flesh. The woman squeaked and struggled beneath him, shifting and straining with nowhere to go. “Everything is based on perspective. There is only one absolute truth, and that is that there is only one absolute truth. So who are you to say what I did was wrong?” Deep he pressed the knife, razor sharp, sliding it quickly across the throat. First the left side; the skin split, it showed the barest line before hot blood rushed to the surface, bubbling through the opening he had created. He mirrored this on the right side, whispering.<br><br>“Why did they hunt me so voraciously? What did I ever do to them? Who put them in charge of people’s lives? Are they god?” The woman’s eyes were beady things, as if the sockets were too small and the orbs were constantly straining to push free. Fat, unfit for her frame, just like everything else was about her. Blood came in rivers, warmed his hand against the chill in the air at this late hour.<br><br>It was fascinating in a way Jack couldn’t dream to describe, and for a moment he sat there as the body twitched and choked, wide eyed as she struggled and drained away for him. He almost forgot his verse, which continued silently now as it left his lips. "They seem to think they can judge me for taking away another’s life. But the only person who’s judgment will ever matter to me. Is the one dealt by the creator above…”<br><br>A fish. She reminded him of a fish sitting on the bank, unable to get below the waves. She flopped and twitched, mouth opening and closing as it fought for breath, succeeding in blowing bloody bubbles. A fillet, just as the master of this art had done… that would make this perfect.<br><br>“But it doesn’t matter to me. What kind of creator lets people destroy what he makes?” This line came as a curious musing, a brow lifting in question, but Mary Ann Nichols didn’t answer, she gasped and gurgled and began to still. A gleam of light flashed, and he made a cut across her arm with the blade, then a second across her breast, a third on the other, and a fourth on her forearm. “I’ll explain with a story: Once upon a time I saw a child building a sand castle in the park.” He cut with each emphasis, breaths growing in pants with his building elation.<br><br>“Another child came and kicked it over.” His blade bit deep just to the side of the belly button, dragging down as it ripped the skin, leaving a long jagged wound before he fish-hooked it toward the opposite hip. “The creator sat and cried whilst the destructor stood. Tall, proud, and laughing…” The blade fell from his hand, and for a moment the only sound was his panting. Then his chuckle accompanied with, “He was in control.”<br><br>* * *<br><br>The Ripper leaned against the wall while gasping, clutching at his racing heart as if it would pop from his chest. Was he going to have a heart attack? His palms were sweating, his forehead was beaded with it, hell, even his shirt was pitted out and growing a 'V' on his chest and back as if the middle aged man just had the workout of his life. But…<br><br>But he felt good. He felt… alive. Unlike the buxom bitch before him who was sprawled on her back in a pool of her own blood. It seemed black, even against the grit of the alley they had stumbled into. Newsprint outdated and in various stages of decay were littered about, occasionally broken up with trash bags, wood pallets that were long ago abandoned. And now a dead whore…<br><br>He laughed, a trembling rush of a sound, the sort one made when they had the thrill of their life. His hands wouldn’t stop trembling but he felt good. This wasn’t the sort of high Jack was expecting. Where was the guilt? Where was the regret? The sorrow? The horror?<br><br>He had blood under his nails.<br><br>“One day men will look back and say I gave birth to the twentieth century.” He quoted Jack. Yes… the artful master was right.<br><br>Slowly he stood, feeling weak in the knees but content. He smiled, and felt a tug pulling low in his stomach before a shiver traced a path up his spine. Yes, he knew just what he would do now. He’ll get cleaned up. Then he was going home to make love to his wife.<br><br><br>(http://i307.photobucket.com/albums/nn313/NovemberWerewolf/Female%20Characters/Sam.jpg)<br><br>Pale fingers lifted, rubbing at equally pale blue eyes that burned beneath the flutter of dark lashes. Long hours she could get used to- this wasn’t exactly new to her, after all. But there was something about Gotham City that was quite draining and no matter how much coffee, tea or caffeine loaded beverage she could get her hands on, Samantha couldn’t quite seem to wake up. Her world was moving in a drone, a blur of days so that she was never entirely sure where one ended and another began. Was this the third day straight she was awake, or only her second shift? Wasn’t it the same? Either way it’s been too long since she’s crawled into her own bed, and even longer since she was able to sit down, breathe, and do as she pleased.<br><br>There was still unpacking to do. Three months in the city and she’s been overwhelmed from the start; memorizing routes, streets, new procedures, who to avoid and attending all of those medical seminars which were supposed to keep Medics in the field ‘up to date’ with the latest Joker gas or other such travesties. And now there was this; a bloody mutilation that seemed oddly familiar somehow. Perhaps putting a finger on it would have been easier if Sam could keep her eyes open…<br><br>Cold air flooded the cabin of the ambulance, leaving Sam blinking with mild confusion as her partner, Sean Pride, slid back into the driver’s seat and slammed the door behind him. “Christ… I don’t understand why they make us come here so damn early just to wait.”<br><br>She passed a hand over her face, yawning into her palm. “Procedure. Can’t give you a better answer than that.”<br><br>“Well they should change it. Sarah is already pissed that I missed our date, if I don’t come home before she leaves for work, I’ll be left on the couch.”<br><br>The thought made her smirk, a quick flash of her lips before it dissolved away into nothing. “Oh please. If you’re on the couch it’s only because you were too lazy to walk to your bed. Besides; think of the makeup sex. Supposed to be worth it, isn’t it?” This won a smile out of him, and the man who looked so much like Bruce Willis flashed her a wink in his best Hudson Hawk impersonation.<br><br>“There is that…”<br><br>“So, then, how much longer are we supposed to wait?”<br><br>“About an hour. The ME still hasn’t arrived. The guy has been stuck working on some mob killing or something. Once we get the O.K we can take the body to the hospital… and pray that we aren’t rolled over into another shift.” Samantha cringed. She really didn’t think she’d be able to do 4 days of this…<br><br>She unbuckled her seat belt, and opened the cap. “Where you going?”<br><br>“I need some cold air. I’m too tempted to sleep.”<br><br>“There’s some 5-Hour energy in the back. Toss one of those back. It’ll be something.”<br><br>“I’ve had so much Vitamin B in the last 72 hours that when I do get to sleep, my dreams are going to be rather… unpredictable.”<br><br>“But you’ll be asleep.”<br><br>Small blessings. Samantha closed the door, shivering instantly in the chilly fall night. There was frost on the ground; already Sam was rubbing her hands together in order to give them warmth, moving along the side of the ambulance to the rear doors. A tired sigh escaped her lips before she opened the doors and stepped inside where the gurney awaited for the body, already propped with the black plastic bag. With a deft hand, she grabbed one of Sean’s 5-hour energy drinks and untwisted the lid, taking the shot of vitamins and minerals, before sitting in the open hatch, having to swing her legs since they couldn’t touch the ground.<br><br>Now she had to wait.
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				Title: <strong>Re: Man with no Country (Wraith)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Wraith</strong> on <strong>04-11-2010, 17:08:59</strong>
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				Shadows. Gotham was a city of shadows. Its alleyways and its dens, its skyscrapers and its mansions, they were all places of shadow. <br><br>He crouched on the ledge of the third storey of a four-storey apartment complex overlooking the alley. A faded fluorescent bulb above a side door threw a ring of light into the darkness. He could see the blood pooled there, thick and dark. The body itself lay in the shadow, a vague shape, distorted and broken…inhuman. <br><br>The ambulance stood at the mouth, the back doors opened, spilling some more light, pushing back the shadows just a little. He could see a female paramedic sitting there, swinging her legs, a bottle of something in her hands. She was relaxed. This was routine. <br><br>He needed to get closer and take a look at the body. Cops would be crowding the place soon. He’d overheard the male talking on the phone. There was some holdup, but it wouldn’t last for long. Gotham Police might have been a bunch of corrupt thugs, but they didn’t leave bodies lying about. <br><br>He’d been tapping into the police radio frequencies when he’d heard this report. A woman had been found murdered brutally, in an alleyway; the body was heavily mutilated. The policewoman giving the paramedic unit the details had sounded so bored. This was routine. <br><br>Something about this had struck him. Normally, he reserved this night to check up on gang activity around the city, pick up info from his agents. The only thing that stood out about the murder was the degree of mutilation and in Gotham that was nothing new. He immediately thought of Zsasz, but that maniac was in Arkham. A copycat, maybe? It was too early to tell, too early to theorize. He needed to find out some facts. <br><br>He leapt. The chill air whipped his cape up and behind, stiffened it. The drag slowed his fall as he landed lightly in the shadows behind the body, against the wall. He stayed silent, looking straight at the female at the back of the ambulance. She didn’t react. He hadn’t been seen. <br><br>He tapped the edge of his cowl. A thin film of glass clicked into place above his eyes. The world turned green and then burst into colour. The light sources were now too bright to be looked at; they were automatically filtered. He could see the blood better now. It was a viscous thick texture. It had cooled. Blood cooled very quickly however; it meant nothing by itself. He turned his head and looked at the body itself. <br><br>The sad thing was that he’d seen worse…far worse. Her throat had been slit. Viciously. He could see the gaping black wound. She was naked too. That could indicate rape. He would have to get closer and see. There were cuts on her breasts, he could see and her abdomen had been ripped open. Needless violence…extreme rage or sadism, either could be the reason. <br><br>He looked up at the ambulance. The woman could see the body, he knew. He would have to take a risk. He could simply ask Gordon for a copy of the files when the post-mortem was done. But that could take days. He couldn’t afford that. Mutilation like this…so systematic; there was always the possibility of it being a serial. He couldn’t waste time waiting for the police to pull through. <br><br>He stood up, shut off the infra-vision. It was time to show himself. <br>
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				Title: <strong>Re: Man with no Country (Wraith)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Malrunar</strong> on <strong>10-11-2010, 22:41:05</strong>
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				The cold air played wickedly across her skin, causing the tiny hairs to rise in attention, trying to vainly create to coat of protection against the chill. She had her jacket inside the front seat, but part of the appeal of the cold was that it chased away the tired ached in her body. Mostly… a hand lifted to pass over her face, seeking to wipe the exhaustion away yet again. All Sam managed to do was sooth a little of the tension that was building up around her brows.<br><br>It’s been a long three days, made only longer with the fact that she had yet to sleep during any of those hours on her clock. She could look at the overtime, maybe celebrate the increase on her paycheck, but if she was doing this for the money then Samantha wouldn’t have dropped out of medical school the day before graduating. You didn’t need money when you had sixteen million dollars sitting in a bank account, collecting dust and interest. Her inheritance had only been touched in order to get herself here in Gotham… and now that she was here, cold, exhausted and watching the mutilated corpse of a woman while waiting for the police, she wondered why the hell she chose this gods forsaken city out of all of them?<br><br>It was the furthest away from California she could get without needing a passport. She had one, of course, but there was a part of Sam that didn’t want to leave the US, as if not doing so she could openly say that she ‘wasn’t running’. Even though she was… Idly she began to wonder if her mother, one of the most renown movie starlets in the world, had any idea where her only surviving child was. Isabella Adams would throw a fit if she could see her daughter now, looking exhausted and a little worn, wearing the standard navy uniform of a paramedic and a sweater with “GCFD” printed on the back. She’d argue that she wasn’t ‘back in health’ after the shooting that occurred last year. Thinking about that had her absently rubbing low on her belly, fingering the scar that lingered to tell of her survival of that incident. There was a second one, higher up and near her collar bone. The bullet had just missed her heart. She was lucky, or at least that’s what he doctor had said.<br><br>She didn’t feel so lucky. She felt miserable and scared, Sam hadn’t stepped foot in a bank since…<br><br>With a grumbling sigh, Sam lifted her hand again and mused the short locks of her hair, once again trying to push sleep away as well as those things she struggled so hard not to think about. She was so determined to look for distractions that the sudden movement –black on black– had taken her off guard. Her heart was in her throat before she could brace herself, muffling her soft gasp so that it trickled out in nothing but warm vapor.<br><br>She hopped off of the back of the ambulance and began to cross over towards where the body was before she could even think about it. Which… was just stupid. After all, how did Sam know that this wasn’t the killer returning to the scene of the crime? How did she know that it wasn’t one of the many homeless that filled Gotham’s streets, doped up on the latest drug?<br><br>She didn’t, but the woman had already died such a horrible way, she deserved respect, not to be picked apart by the city’s rats. “Hey!”<br><br>Or Bats…<br><br>He was much taller than she expected, making the woman who stood at a solid five foot five feel so small in comparison. Her heart stopped completely, her eyes were wide but calculating, taking in details and analyzing them, even if there was a flash of wary caution. He was dangerous, he was unpredictable, or so everyone had told her of the Batman. He was hovering over the dead woman’s body but despite that creepy fact, she didn’t jump to conclusions and blame him for doing this.<br><br>Sam froze and swallowed hard, but after a second of staring into the dark pools of his eyes, she heard herself speaking, sounding reasonably calm, if a little intimidated. “You… shouldn’t be here.” Not even a month in Gotham, and Samantha was in the presence of the Batman? It felt surreal. “The police aren’t far behind.” He was supposed to be arrested on site, not warned off. Yet, she wasn’t an officer and Sam really hoped there wouldn’t be any more violence.
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			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Man with no Country (Wraith)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Wraith</strong> on <strong>28-01-2011, 22:38:23</strong>
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				The wind threw his cape back, slowing his fall, giving it an unreal grace. He hit the asphalt silently, the pads in his boots muffling the sound, his body rolling forward to absorb the impact. He had done this so many times. It was second nature now. But there was never room for complacency, not for him, not in this business. He stopped, coming to a crouch, still safe in the shadows, right across from the corpse and from the para in the ambulance. <br><br>He didn't waste time. There was no point in sneaking around, trying to remain unseen. Even if the para was blind, he wouldn't escape her notice. He had to go in quick and get out. He stood up, his left hand moving down to the utility belt and unclasping the pouch that held the camera. He thumbed it, turning it on and moved forward. <br><br>Shadows shifted. His cape swirled behind him in a gust of cold wind. The corpse seemed to glimmer in the half-light. He crouched beside her, ignoring for now the blood that had soaked into the ground, ignoring the bile that still rose at the sight of that gaping wound, ignoring the anger, the ever-present anger. There was work to do. <br><br>“Hey!”<br><br>She'd noticed. Batman glanced up at the woman approaching him. Their eyes met. She seemed scared and unsure. Made sense. He looked down again. No time. The body had been ravaged by a blade. The knife marks were unmistakable. The violence done...his lips curled. The possibility that this was a serial was becoming more real. He snapped away with the camera, making sure to capture every single wound, zooming in to take in the details of the grooves and the depths of strikes. <br><br><br>“You… shouldn’t be here. The police aren’t far behind.” <br><br>He looked up at the woman again. She wasn't interfering then. Good. He hadn't really expected her to run at him screaming or anything, but people often reacted unpredictably in his presence. She could have easily alerted her partner, called in the police. He had been spared the additional hassle. <br><br>He crouched down and quickly took out a few more things from his belt - a couple of test-tubes, some cotton. He daubed some of the blood from the ground and from two of the wounds on the woman. He did it swiftly and precisely, careful not to taint the crime scene with any residue. He had half a mind to check the woman's vagina for semen samples, but he suspected the para would not be so accommodating if he tried that and for good reason. Perhaps there was another way. <br><br>He stood up and took one last picture, this time of the woman's face alone. Identification. Done. For now. <br><br>Batman looked up at the paramedic. She seemed tired and vulnerable. The unsung heroes. He hid in the shadows and people called him an urban legend. These men and women went out and risked their lives in broad daylight much of the time. Few ever remembered they were there. <br><br>"Thank you." He said, inclining his head. "May I ask your name? There might be a favour you can do me...and this woman." 
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