The first time I killed was out of curiosity. I wanted to see what happened at the moment of death. I’d read about serial killers enjoying the point where they took someone’s life to the point of sexual release. I didn’t understand that and still don’t. I didn’t get a thrill out of watching the first one die. I mean, I’m not an animal.
I switched to seeing if killing someone who really deserved it would help me want to kill more. I did research and found the biggest piece of trash in our neighborhood. The walking epitome of everything society abhors. I found the little piece of shit walking smugly around like he was something. Like there was something great about him. What would possibly make him think that? Drug dealer, pimp, thug, thief, if anyone deserved killing, it was him. I have to say, I did enjoy killing him. Watching that smug face turn from predator to prey right under my hands was enjoyable, but only because he really needed to be dead. Society doesn’t need people like him. As it turned out, I did enjoy killing the right person.
But then my subconscious got a hold of me. how did I know that these people were guilty of their crimes? The media hasn’t really been known for straightforwardness and truth recently. Criminal cases are sensationalized at best. I couldn’t be everywhere and sit through every trial. I would need a system for choosing my victims. I still wasn’t sure if I needed to kill or just enjoyed killing those who I didn’t like, because that’s what it came down to. I had to deal with my own subconscious and just come to terms with the facts. I would never know the truth if someone was guilty or not. I would just have to try to research as best as I could and then trust my gut.
And honestly, there was a lot less interest from the police when the pimp/drug dealer/thief died. So I focused on taking out criminals, especially the ones who preyed on humanity. Rapists, drug dealers, thugs, etc. Those have always been my domain. I’m their boogeyman. They know someone comes for them at night.
I’ve had some fun with it, too. If I know they are prone to attack a certain area, I make myself look like a victim they would want to attack. I walk around their neighborhood, putting myself out there for them to attack. I’ve even had a few that could legitimately be categorized as self-defense killings. They would have killed me if I didn’t take them out first. OK, self-defense might be a stretch, I never let it go long enough to where I’m any danger. Surprise is where my strength lies. As soon as they choose me and try to intimidate me, I strike.
I’ve varied the way I kill them, too, so it doesn’t look too suspicious. I definitely have my preferred methods, but I try to reserve those because I don’t want to leave an M.O. to track me down by. I don’t want some psychologist pretending to understand my motivations. So I’ve done everything from stabbings to shootings, to running them down with my car. I only did that once. The cleanup was a real pain. It’s harder to get blood off of a bumper than you would think. Plus, there was the damage, and the potential to be seen – I don’t need that in my life.
I have enough to do to keep in top shape so I can take out the biggest and baddest thugs out there. Although I’ll be honest, this isn’t about some old-world fair fight. This is about killing them. So I don’t worry about fair. I worry about deadly force early and brutally. I’m sure someday my luck will run out, but it hasn’t so far. I’ve been able to clean the city pretty well of the scum. Although I have to admit, if you scrape off the top layer of shit, another layer just forms up where the first one was. It’s frustrating, and there are days where I wonder if what I’m doing is having any effect at all. There seems to be an endless supply of people willing to operate outside the law. If one kingpin goes down, his right-hand man is quite willing to step in and keep his work going. A few months ago, I had to take out a whole gang one at a time over a week. By Wednesday, I was so angry that these guys wouldn’t just change their life that I burned down their house with them all inside. Drastic measures.
But I still can’t say I enjoy the killings. Actually, if anything, this path of mine has robbed me of all joy. All I see is the worst of humanity. I never get to see the bright side. I don’t get to see kittens and puppies. Maybe I’ll get a kitten. That would be good to come home to at the end of the night. I’ve always liked animals, anyway. It’s people I’ve had a problem with. But I think that’s about to change. As I write this and think through my work, I realize I think I’m facing burnout. This is a thankless job, I’ll have you know. There’s no one thanking me for making this city safer, and although there seems to be an endless source of shitbags willing to take over the top spot, there’s a reason these guys weren’t at the top of the evil pile, to begin with. They just aren’t as bad as the guys before them. So yeah, I think I need a vacation. At least a change of work venue.
I’d like to try helping people instead. I’ve spent so much time down by the soup kitchen and shelter, I’ve seen all the suffering that goes on. That’s what got me focused on the assholes in the first place. I watched that original piece of crap beat on an old man for nothing. So that’s what I’m going to do today. I’m going to volunteer at the shelter and see if I can help out. I have abilities other than killing. Plus, if I’m around, and something goes wrong, I know I can handle it. Yeah, that’s what I’m going to do. I feel better already.
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