(( WARNING. SUBJECT MATTER IS ADULT IN NATURE. READ AT YOUR OWN RISK

Check out my IC sister thread: Extra, Extra! Murder in Millennium City!

This thread is simply meant to be for the reader's amusement, as it is a first person view into the mind of our mysterious villain. None of the information provided here is blanket-approved for IC use, but if you see something you like, PM me and we'll see what we can work out! OOC love on how much you think I'm a sick freak is welcome!

Love you guys.

~XOXO DD))

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The bible teaches us many things. It teaches us compassion, generosity, humility, and a championship of God on high. It tells us that God loves us, and that he has a special task for each and every one of us in his divine plan. I am a big proponent of this, because when I was very young, I experienced something that is almost indescribable.

One night, as I slept in my father's grandiose house, Jesus Christ came to me in a vision. He told me that he loved me, and that I had a special task to accomplish in this life in the name of God. He told I was to destroy the evil within men's hearts, even if it meant destroying the man himself. I was to be a crusader for all that was good and decent in the world and the most prolific fighter of evil ever to come along since the creation. He touched me in blessing, purifying my soul from the touch of the First Evil, and gave me the means in which to find the corruption in this world. I wept with the simple joy of this, because I knew everything he was telling me was right.

All my life until then I'd always felt so detached from the people around me. I felt that I was going to be different, special even, and that my path was higher than that of the petty crooks around me. I may have been the daughter of a filthy, disgusting vampire, but I was also the daughter of God, a good Catholic girl just like my mother wanted me to be. My father indulged my religion in his house, or that is what he thought of it as, just a cute indulgence. I think that even without his general approval of my doings, God would have sought me out and taught me his law so that I might be the one to uphold it.

As I grew, so did my understanding of my mission. At the tender age of sixteen I was given another tool of my trade – a breathtakingly horrifying knife, all sharp edges and hard curves and glittering surfaces. With it I came to realize that when my mission had been completed, my nasty little precious – for that's what I call it – would be the last thing I saw before I left this Earth for the Pearly Gates. I might be the crusader, yes, but I was still tainted like the rest, the abnormal blasphemous offspring of the dead and living. But God does not begrudge me my parentage, but warns that when I have won this war my ultimate sacrifice will be needed to ensure that this sort of overwhelming evil never sets foot on His earth again.

I am to be the key that forever locks humanity in the Garden of Eden again. What an honor.

The day is fast approaching in which this will happen. My efforts are slowly expanding across the globe. There are nearly six billion six hundred ninety-two million thirty thousand two hundred and seventy-seven people on this planet now and one woman is just not equipped to harvest the bad from the good of such a large populousness. And so my sphere of influence spreads outwards, bringing the death of evil with it and a promise of salvation everlasting for those who are pure and loyal to God Almighty.

Ever since that day – you know, the day I found my path in the arms of the Lord – Christ has made me hyper-conscious of this horrible smell all around me. Gives me a headache, mostly, because it’s so strong, and always present…

The smell of them. The humans, the men and women and children of His earth. Most smell the same – two parts fool, one part hopeless, one part afraid, and another good six parts just plain ass – but sometimes the smell is much different simply due to an abrupt change in my prey’s location. These are the places in which I can thrive, because the fear takes over these pathetic excuses for a dignified existence. You know the places – dark alleys, abandoned houses, hell anywhere dark it seems. But there’s one that you wouldn’t normally think of, I suppose, when thinking of places people fear.

But the nose knows. And so here I am, striding down past the empty pews of this cathedral in Millennium City towards the stand of votive candles under the statue of Mary, Mother of God. A young priest comes bumbling out, nodding at me as I light a single candle and bow my head, letting my hair hide my face for the moment.

I've been going to churches for years. Especially Catholic ones – my mother was Catholic, and I believe she is in heaven next to Mary and Jesus, smiling down at me and the work I do. To this day, nearly eighty years after her death, it's my mother's rosary beads that I still wear. Right now I can feel their comforting weight around my neck, the bronze crucifix hanging between my breasts right over my heart. They bring me the greatest measure of peace I have ever felt. I take them off and simply marvel at their worn, smooth surface in my hand as I stand there, murmuring a quick prayer before getting down to work.

Good. The priest has gone into the confession to sit like a pretty little duck until I am ready for him. They were all so predictable, these fools, all the with same stain of sin upon their souls, all with that same stink of fear that they’d be found out. Even this one.

I slip the beads over my head with a sigh, tucking them tightly under my shirt and walk towards the confessional, my sensible but stylish heels clicking oh so sharply on the hardwood floor. I stop a moment, turning to gaze at the Crucifix above the altar. Man oh man, you have to give Catholics this – they sure do love their blood and gore. Jesus on the Crucifix is about the most wretched thing I’d ever seen, and I hear it scares the hell out of most children the first time they see it. Wouldn’t surprise me, no sir; but I suppose that image is truthful…I hope…and meant to inspire humility amongst the lesser.

I walk into the little chamber and sit down meek as a mouse. That little door slides open.

Good. Just a pretty wood carving. Fool. “Forgive me Father, for I have sinned. It’s been…thirty years since my last confession, well, my last complete confession.” To his credit, he doesn’t jump or turn to look at me. If he had, he might have seen my nasty little precious being slipped out of her sheath in my boot.

“Why, daughter, has it been so long? Have you lost your way?” His voice has a quavering note in it. Maybe he saw the knife. I shake my head woefully, eyes brimming with unshed tears.

“I have done things…dark things, wicked things…evil things, Father. I feared God would burn me the instant I stepped foot inside a church.” Ever the consummate actress, I analyze my own voice – did I sound remorseful enough? Scared enough? Maybe. Wouldn’t hurt if he was one of the idiots who wouldn’t realize what had hit him just yet.

“Daughter…” Damn, there’s that tremor in his voice again. Got to Plan B.

“I just…” I let the tears roll, turning to look at him through the small window in the wall. I contort my face into the best thing I can think that resembles fear and remorse and just cry for him to see. Men are such suckers for big blue crying eyes.

“I know, daughter. Are you truly sorry for what you have done?” His voice was soothing now, softer and richer. There was no fear in the air now. My nasty little precious was already dancing in the hand he couldn’t see.

I attempt a woebegone look – sucker, he actually smiles at me, the sinful bastard – before I speak again. “Are you truly sorry for what you’ve done, Father?” He cannot see the smile on my lips, or the outline of pearly white distended canines pressing into the reddest part of that smile. I told you men were suckers, every last single one of them. I don’t look up.

“Daughter, what do you mean?” His voice is beautiful, right then and there, at least to me. I have to see the look on his face, my blood is practically boiling over in a frenzy just to see the look on his face…That’s my sin, you see. I have to see the fear. It’s better than all the drugs in the world, all the sex, all the everything. It’s that look that makes the reek worth it.

I raise my gaze slowly. The fear on his face is as naked as the blade in my hand. It is adrenaline that hits my system as I stare for a moment, giving me the rush I so crave. He thinks he’s safe with that wall there. Thinks he’s safe inside the church where he would dare to commit his sins. It is easy to see why God wants this done – cull the herd first, He says. But if the culling is too much…He has a very Yankee attitude about the next step…then everyone must be culled. Everyone must die. Even me.

I came to terms with that years ago, and it’s never stopped me. I do not fear death.

Crazy things go through your mind when you're shattering a pretty wooden carved panel between you and your prey in an attempt to grab them by the throat, don’t they? Maybe not so crazy. I don’t know. I put my nasty little precious to his throat and whisper to him softly that if he wants to live, he’ll do as I say. He nods, terrified beyond measure – oh god, what is that smell? Bastard voided himself, not nice. This earns him a pretty little psychic blow by yours truly to knock him out mostly so I can hose him down before I continue.

He will be the first to be called in for the wickedness and evil stamped upon his heart. And I will leave him as an example for his so called flock that the war is coming. I will paint my message upon the very walls of their safety, and I will paint my message upon their hearts long before they ever see me coming.

You see, I left Paris because I had culled the first of the herd there, and the sport of hunting down the wicked was so mundane that I could barely stand my tedious chore. I left the city in the grip of chaos and violence strong enough to ensure its eventual downfall. And so I have come to Millennium City, the shining city of the West to do the same – to destroy the evil I see abounding amongst its streets and flying through its air in the forms of those insufferable heroes. I will exterminate the smell of its wickedness and blight upon this world.

My message is clear as the blood writing on the wall of this cathedral:

Venio.
Conor.
Vincam.
Resurgram.

I am coming.
I will endeavor.
I will conquer.
And I will rise again.

Isn't it amazing that human beings have an almost infinite capacity to take in and believe bull shit? Especially when said bullshit is spouting from the mouth of an attractive woman? It is just mind boggling to me that though I am able to see through all their petty lies and deception, they can never see through mine? Is my mask so solid that it has become a part of my real face, or do I have to face the rather depressing fact that maybe people are just that stupid.

Take for instance Maxwell Kaufman, Sr. Everyone would say he is a success and upstanding pillar of the community. He owns one of the largest car dealerships in Michigan partly because his advertisements are just that catchy and cheesy. You know the ones, with the magician and the disappearing rabbit? “We make high prices disappear!” is the company slogan. If you dig a bit deeper, you see that this disappearing act is because of Max's Motors ability to pass off nearly every defective car as in “perfect working order”. The amount of settled law suits, BBB complaints and personal letters against Max's Motors is simply staggering.

Max Kaufman, Sr. is nothing more than a crook who has caused the death of at least a dozen innocents because of his need to make a sale.

You'd think the buck would stop there, as it were, but it doesn't. Max's perfect family is just as screwed up as he is. His wife Olivia has had one abortion and is a closet alcholic on top of being an adultress. His oldest son, Maxwell Kaufman, Jr. has spent the last 22 years of his life being nothing more than a menace to society. Four arrests for possession of heroine with the intent to sell, one assualt with a deadly weapon, and a DUI. The youngest son, who isn't even Maxwell Kaufman Sr.'s child, is on the verge of a verdict for domestic abuse when he beat the shit out of his girl friend because she got pregnant. Unfortunately, because of the brutality of his attack, she'll never walk or be able to have children again.

These disgusting excuses for human beings live in such splendor and wealth, content to do whatever they wish to the people around them because they feel they are privileged for some reason. Just looking around at it right now makes we want to vomit.

...Well, perhaps I should amend that last train of thought. These disgusting excuses for human beings lived in such splendor and wealth.

Now only senior is alive. His eyes are wide with terror as I pontificate to no one in particular. The look on is face is quite delicious right now, it makes me want to sing with joy. Terror, disgust, and a sense of impending madness. I think I want to keep him that way while I prepare his last supper...Not that he'll get to eat it, but it's the thought that counts, as they always say.

Some people find it touching that in times of great tragedy, people come together and bridge the gap between race, gender, sexual preference, etc that would normally divide them. Case and point, the silly little gathering they gave for St. Xavier's recently. The rich and the ridiculous schmoozed together in City Hall and offered applause for mundane and canned speeches given in an effort to touch hearts and minds while really accomplishing neither. The rich think it makes them look better to give obscene amounts of money to the downtrodden. As if anything could make those piles of rotting flesh look decent and moral to the eyes of the righteous.

It was a tiring affair, and I'm glad I didn't have to stay too long. It was uncomfortable having nose plugs shoved up my nose as far as I could get them to avoid sneezing all evening and possibly puking on their fashionable shoes simply from the horrible odor they give off.

And my goodness, we even had heroes in tights there. The thought of it even now makes me want to expel my lunch violently; they looked so pitiful in their latex or whatever those uniforms are made of. Most didn't exactly fit into their “costumes” and were eying the waiters circulating food like a dog would eye a T-Bone.

But I think I made a very fashionable splash to the party for a few. Especially when they discovered the Kaufman's. I made a very beautiful mess there, so beautiful in fact that I have a feeling they'll never forget it. I watched them crawl all around it, watched their fascinated horror and their outright disgust. I even left him a note, but if he'll figure it out, I don't know.

Perhaps I'll send them a little something more soon. I think Overwatch needs something else to have to decipher.

The community at large is starting to get an edge to it. An edge of fear, as palpable as the smell of car exhaust throughout the city everyday. It permeates the air all around me, and it makes me giddy with excitement – so excited that I cannot even now, help but touch myself in secret and seductive ways. The crisp exhilaration of an orgasm is almost too much to bear these days, but there's still something lacking.

I wonder if that singer will be at the coffee house tonight? Perhaps Adrian will be there – now wouldn't that be delicious. Oh, my. I can almost feel it again, surging through me, at the thought of such a thing.

The moon rides high on the horizon, a ghostly ship tossed upon ghostly seas. The stars hide their shine tonight from the fury of the full moon, but that doesn’t bother me. It is not their small, insignificant faces I came to see tonight – I am here at my window to witness the moon’s pallid glow sweeping across this sad and dejected city. And the moon, she rewards me with the sweet kiss of pale light across my naked flesh, sending a shiver down my spine and a soft whimper in my throat. Sweetest of lovers, my moon, must you taunt me so?

In my bed across the room, my lover stirs restlessly, absently reaching for where I was laying. He is perhaps the only human being on this planet that doesn’t outright annoy me, which is why I have taken him to my bed more than once. He is a kind and gentle lover, full of passion and fire and tenderness. In the circle of his embrace, the crushing need I feel to wipe out all the non believers fades to a distant memory – my shrink would tell me this is what contentment feels like. Perhaps it is. Perhaps.

“Baby?” He calls out to me, his strong, dark frame moving beneath my thousand dollar sheets. He’s looking at me with something akin to concern on his face, but I don’t think it’s real. If he ever found out who I was, or what I did, he’d never be concerned for me ever again. The fact he could never love me, the real me, well...frankly, I don’t know why it does, I mean it shouldn’t, it’s not like a give a rat’s ass about what happens to him, well…it still hurts a little bit. “What’s wrong?” He asks, moving towards me and my window.

“Just thinking, my dear. Go back to bed.” I shake my head and go back to staring out the window. For a moment I think he has indeed gone back to sleep, until his dark arms wrap around me and pull me close, his lips finding my neck with a sickening ease. I know he’s not trying to start something. Maybe he is. I don’t know anymore. The world is so confusing nowadays.

“Anything you’d like to talk about?” He murmurs into my ear. Part of me wants to get on my knees and beg for forgiveness and confess to every wretched sin I have committed…but I won’t let myself. I am better than this, better than him, better than most of this world.

“Just…trying to figure out what I’m going to do without you for a few days.” He takes the bait and becomes that sappy, slobbering imbecile I desperately want to like…and I think I might.

“I know, baby. Do you really have to go to London?” He kisses my neck again.

“Yes. But I’ll be back before you know it – one of the great things about money is I can charter a plane back as soon as I’m done.” But that’s not where I’m really going, but you’ll never know the truth, Adrian. At least, I hope you never do. What started out as a chess game I could win is now one where I’ll be the one in check if I’m not extremely careful.

“Good. I’m going to miss you.”

“And I’ll miss you, darling.” The sad part is I really mean it. What’s wrong with me? I’m the avenger of Christ, the destroyer of lives, the killer of the unholy…and I’m all weak-kneed over a man.

“Now…come back to bed and let me show you how much I’m going to miss you, mmm?” He picks me up gently and pulls me back towards the bed, and I’m more than willing to participate and worship him even as I myself am being worshiped.

You’ll have to wait another day, Vibora Bay. But I’m coming to get you.

I thought I would enjoy Vibora Bay more than I am – what with all the pre-apocalyptical notes in the air, the insatiable blood lust lacing every molecule of every being, and the unending supply of victims – but I’m in my hotel room (a very shabby chic, if I do say so myself) sitting on a bed that costs less than my dinner reservations last night did and all I can do is wonder. Wonder what he’s doing, how he’s feeling, if he’s thinking of me too. It’s bordering on pathetic, this infatuation I seem to have with Overwatch Adrian Larn, but everything I do to stop it isn’t working. It’s like there’s some tumor within my brain, writhing and wriggling, begging for me to let it out and release its toxic contents. I bite my lip hard enough to draw blood, but even that doesn’t help. I can feel my canines poking into my lower lip, but the heavy feel of them in my mouth just…doesn’t feel the same.

The world has changed, or I have changed. Personally, I think the whole place has gone bat shit crazy, but that’s beside the point. The lunatics may have always been running the asylum, but I just never noticed.

I force myself to move past Adrian for the moment. There are things to be done, knives to sharpen, people to kill, and that’s what should be consuming my time. I pull out my blade, she’s just as sharp as when I cut on that poor, ignorant diva slut of a hero. Good. We’ll be gutting people again soon, baby. I promise. No more of this hiding and skulking and trying to impress imbeciles.

I already have my target in sight. A monster of a man, all hard edges and gleaming lines he is, with an attitude to match. But his greatest fall is his temper – which he is prone to lose more than occasionally. Everyone in Vibora Bay knows not to cross Psykin, because he will return the favor. An orphanage had to cancel a photo op with him because the children had a stomach bug running rampantly among them, so what did that piece of shit hero do? He mentally raped the director and caused the children to have terrible nightmares for weeks. True, they could never prove it was him, but we all knew. His aptitude for predicting large scale assaults by the gangs of Vibora or the workings of Therakiel were just too important to the authorities to lock him up where he belongs.

Psykin is a special project for me, you see. I don’t like men who hurt children. And he’s about to find that out forcefully.

Has Adrian called yet? No. Damnit. Focus, woman! Keep your mind on the kill, not on the man. You are not some pandering princess with nothing better to do than obsess over some hunk of meat that will be nothing more than a memory soon?

I’m in a foul mood now. God help whomever gets in my way.

(( As interest in this plot seems to have ...died... I'm going to go ahead and wrap it up some time this week. Thank you to everyone that had a hand in it early on, and I'm sorry that this just wasn't something the community wanted/needed.

All the best
~DD ))