I Am The Captain
- Joined
- Mar 17, 2011
- Messages
- 19
WARNING: OVER 18 ONLY FIC!! READ AT YOUR OWN RISK!
Chapter 1: Blood letting
("Unholy Confessions" by Avenged Sevenfold plays as opening theme)
I pull my trench coat closer to my, feeling the slight warmth it radiates flow through me. I hear the faint heartbeat, dull, sluggish, and unafraid. From my perch I look up and across; it's coming from a few buildings up, a littered alley of depravity. Pulling the collar around me again, I leap; black against the indigo sky above me, a shadow against the blackness below.
I perch on the edge of the roof, watching silently, hearing the dull thump of it's heart beating as it walks a little faster; it senses the danger the alley, not me, but the normal dangers; thugs, muggers, rapists. In this city, they all flock like locusts to crops. I'll be damned if there's still a pure, untainted soul that wanders this city.
They surround it and the heartbeats pick up slowly; it knows it's been spotted. As they shout at it and push it about, it trembles and cries, a little high-pitched scream escaping into the void of the night. There's my cue.
I jump down from my viewpoint, silent and slowly; they hardly notice me; black on even more black. I break one of their necks, the snap ringing out sickeningly, satisfyingly. Their prey screams in fright even more, trying to move away, its heartbeat skyrockets, the adrenaline flowing freely; they've forgotten it, converging onto me. Talk about chasing shadows.
I smash a gauntlet onto one of the thug's heads, the crack splitting through the night. The other thugs, a little afraid and heartbeats soaring, try to slow their attacks, but I jump out like the bogeyman, dragging one into the shadows of the alley. I pick them off one by one, the fear spreading infectiously through them. The last one decides to get smart and use their prey as a hostage. Big mistake.
"Stay back, whatever you are!" he threatens, holding his hostage by its throat; the heartbeat is constant and sharp, threatening to rupture. "I mean it!"
I walk from the shadows I love and face what little light there is given from the moon. Both hostage and thug gasp as they see the bogeyman that I am.
"W-w-what are you, the friggin' Batman?!" he yells in disbelief, his grip slipping slightly on his prey's neck.
"Wrong."
I break his hand in three places, each snapping sound a euphoric sensation. Well, at least I think I broke it in three places. All I know is he's screaming and screaming, clutching his limp hand while the prey's heartbeat fills my ears. It is deafening. The screaming and the heartbeats. He runs off, hopefully to tell his mates how he met the bogeyman, or Batman. Christ, the Batman?! Do I have pointy ears and a cape?!?
His hostage, its heartbeat slowing slightly, adrenaline still flowing through the arteries, looks at me in a relief, mostly fear.
"T-thanks fo-"
"Save it." I cut it off brashly, my back turned to it.
I stand there and let its' heartbeat rise a little from the tension.
"What…what are you?"
Its heartbeat fibrillates as I sink my fangs into the fresh and juicy arteries in its neck, the blood pumping forcefully and freely with each sip into my mouth. Its heartbeats flatlines and I know I can feast without the screams; God, I hate it when they scream; I used to like it but, well, now it's just annoying. You hear one scream you've heard 'em all. Blood runs slick through my fingers and down the corpse, I lap up as much as I can stomach, no point in wasting a perfectly pure and untainted meal; no disease in it's crimson life.
I drop the corpse to the floor, a dull thud resonating in the alley. I look around before I decide I had better hide this one; not that many people would care if they found it; they'd chalk it up to the gangs of thugs and rapists that prey on Goth City.
"Another day, another demise."
***
"…the mayor commented on the growing number of violent murders…"
"…body of nineteen year old Nancy Callahan was found dumped…"
"…gun crime is on the up and the city's jails cannot cope…"
"…I vow to put these monsters behind bars…"
"…honour killing of…"
"…found slumped with his wrists slit…"
"…and today the weather will be the usual cold and grey…"
It makes me laugh. All this misery and in between you have some fat bimbo, false smile plastered on her fake tanned face, telling us the trivial thing of what the weather will be like today; it's always cold and grey, just how I like it. Even the usual newscasters smile as they talk of how many people were murdered or found dead the night before, while the evening news casts tell us how many have died after the morning news. It's a wonder this place isn't a ghost town.
But like I've said before, this place breeds violence; thugs kill the innocent until it's thugs killing fellow thugs, with new ones coming to this infested boil everyday to make up for those that leave it dead. No one leaves this place alive…well in one piece.
I turn off the TV and think about some sleep; the sun creeps up through the blinds so I close them and go to bed the wrong way around, laying my head where my feet should be. Why, I don't know, all I know is my head canes like hell if I don't sleep this way. At least I don't sleep fully upside down; that might actually kill me; not to mention the impracticality of it; if someone barged in they'd definitely have to die; this way they just think I'm some idiot Goth kid.
As noon approaches, I decide I'd better show my face. I get up and go to the bathroom, not bothering to glance in the mirror, what's the point if my reflection's always fuzzy? I can barely remember what I look like, not that I care. From what I can remember, I have long brown hair, which I chemically straighten in long downward strands; dark brown or green eyes, I can't really remember. There's a silver ring piercing on the right side of my bottom lip; I remember how badass I felt when I had it first done.
I put on my usual wardrobe; black sleeveless tee shirt, black jeans that aren't too baggy or too tight (I thought about leather trousers once, Keanu Reeves wore some cool ones in some Shakespeare movie adaptation, but decided it was a bad idea after watching an episode of Friends); then the jewellery: a dog collar of studs on a wire close around my neck, with a loose necklace of long, metal spike around my neck, and a wrist strap with metal studs, with a wrist band on the other arm. Finally I strap on my boots, adding about an extra foot onto my five foot eleven frame; they're black with beefy buckles, metal studs on the front of the sole. I grab my keys and sling my bag around me after putting on my long leather trench coat, my civilian one, not the other one. It hasn't got as many buckles and straps, not to mention it isn't as cool looking but it's not like anyone knows what I do with my spare time. I run back in and grab my dark shades; cannot go anywhere without these!
I waltz into the main hall, heading for my biology class; as you've probably guessed, anatomy is a great thing to study, helps with my extra curricular activities. I remove my black trench coat and change it for my customised med coat; dyed black with flecks of red. I enter the lab and check the progress of decay on my samples I'm studying. The stench is rancid but I manage to note the progress; should be able to put it to good use soon. After that, I'm out and taking notes at the lecture I'm ten minutes late for. Skeevs doesn't even acknowledge my tardiness or the fact that I'm here; gave up on me a long time ago even if he's surprised at my skills in this class. If he only knew.
After I breeze out of the lecture, I go to the art hall and whip out my sketch book, putting onto paper my thoughts of yesterday. I capture the alley perfectly, substituting myself for one of the thugs I killed. No one comments on my work; I know they think I've got some gift with detail, but the stuff I sketch and paint puts them off. No matter what the subject, I manage to somehow to make it suit my own style of twisted reality. My classes finish for the day and I rush back home for some sleep; big night tonight.
As I walk through town towards my apartment, I feel the stares of the people I pass, my trench coat whipping around me in the breeze. I've grown used to the stares and looks of horror; I like standing out, brandishing the Goth look in their faces. What really pisses me off though is that half of them think I'm some wannabe Emo kid.
Emo's, the plague of the earth with their crappy, angst filled **** and razor blade suicide threats. If you're gonna preach about suicide and how your life's so ****, go the **** ahead and end it, one less Emo to have to listen to bitching about how their life is a 'black abyss'.
God, I hate them and their music.
***
I'm out with someone who I would call my friend, if she weren't such a slaggy *****. She's five foot five, with a body most guys drool over, the fact she's a Goth somehow makes her more appealing but you wouldn't hear them ever admit that. Us Goth's are a minority, ever since the invasion of the Emo's, and this college is Jock in the majority. She flicks her red hair in my direction and I push her forcefully away from me; she smiles and I manage to cool down a bit, she's just messing about. This is a rare moment when I'm just content with doing sweet **** all. The hunger hasn't come yet, but it will soon. I've thought about maybe sampling a bit of her, don't think she'd mind; she'd probably welcome it, probably try a bit of my blood as well. But there's no telling what diseases she may carry, my instinct powers aren't always that good.
"So you gonna take me home ?" she asks mischievously.
"No, you're a big girl Lexi, you'll be alright." I say, taking off my shades as the sun finally vanishes.
"What, in this city? Who are you kiddin'?!" she laughs. "You think you'll be able to live if I get killed by some random wanker?"
I pity any guy who tries it on with you, let alone if they tried to kill you, I think to myself.
"Fine," I give in. "Let's go Ms A'Cerate."
"How gallant of you."
I take her home, not that I need to, she'd kill anyone who tried to hurt her; Lexi comes off as all girly, but underneath the Goth hardbody, she's a black widow. You see all these vampire seductresses in films, well that's her. Except she isn't the real deal.
After I drop her home, I walk about; night is my time to live properly. I notice someone shuffling about the streets, my hearing picking up his heartbeat from all the others out there. It's odd, my senses seem to subconsciously pick my meals for me, but they've never picked up one like him before. I begin stalking him, the heartbeat getting clearer the closer I get to my prey. He stops in an old crack den, shivering and his breath cold and frosty. His heartbeat is fluctuating, even though I'm pretty sure he doesn't know I'm here, it's odd. He must be on some sort of drugs; E or MDMA, I dunno, drugs were never really my area of expertise. I jump through the rafter, snapping through the broken wooden floorboards of the first floor and to him on the ground floor. His heartbeat rises incredibly as he whirls around to see me. He's pale and white, either from the drugs or my entrance. He doesn't recognise me 'cuz I'm not in costume; we can soon change that. I notice his hand that I broke is in a giant white cast, and is held up by a sling. He sees me looking and a faint glimmer of recognisation enters his dim eyes.
I uncover my left wrist and show him my black sweatband. It has a purple and mauve tribal 'V' design on it.
"Darkness cover me."
My clothes are replaced with a huge, tightly fitting trench coat; black with purple interior and spiked shoulder pads and bottom hem; two buckles to fasten it together. The collar whips around my head as the helmet clamps around my skull. I get metal knee guards with purple centre caps; my boots get harder and the spikes migrate up them to replace the buckles; the forearms of my trench coat are encased with black gauntlets, purple strips running horizontally along them with 3 spikes jutting out on each gauntlet. All this in a flicker of darkness.
The thug almost wets himself, a sliver of piss stench in the air. I almost burst out laughing; the fear is like a drug to me. He finally gets the balls to run, yelling for anybody, somebody. I walk the path he runs, up the stairs and past the empty and dilapidated rooms; the stench of death and decay enhancing the shadows and my powers. He runs frantically, his heartbeat too high and fast for him to be bale to cope for long. He runs into a room and onto the balcony. The only escape I either the ground below or through me.
"Y-Y-You!!!" he yells terrified.
"Y-Y-You!" I mimic him, enjoying the fear he radiates.
"G-G-Get away from me b-b-batm-!"
I yank him up by his collarbone, as he screams in agony, feeling my sharp claws into the soft flesh ands scrape along the bone.
"Do you know who the hell I am?" I yell at him, my voice booming and roaring against the onset of a storm. "I'm the goddamn Vampire Ranger!"
"P-Please don't kill me! R-Ranger's don't kill! You're good guys!!"
"Who said anything about me being good?"
He wets himself. I look down and cackle as he laughs nervously before crying out as I scrape his collarbone again. I reach down with my free hand and yank with all my strength.
He howls, the agonising scream rising higher and higher as I almost rip his balls off; an alternative way to bleed to death fast. I stop and let him catch his breath; his heart is about to give out, so I yank again, harder. His heart ruptures and his balls come off, blood pouring out in torrents. It's diseased, hepatitis B I think, but I'm not gonna find out. For some reason my instincts singled him out, but not to feed upon. I try and think of it as one of my ambivalent acts, a good deed in a city so corrupt; but even my good deeds are as bad as my evil ones. I don't dwell on it, no one will care.
And he was scum anyway.
("I bleed for no one" by A Fall from Tragedy plays as ending theme)
Chapter 1: Blood letting
("Unholy Confessions" by Avenged Sevenfold plays as opening theme)
I pull my trench coat closer to my, feeling the slight warmth it radiates flow through me. I hear the faint heartbeat, dull, sluggish, and unafraid. From my perch I look up and across; it's coming from a few buildings up, a littered alley of depravity. Pulling the collar around me again, I leap; black against the indigo sky above me, a shadow against the blackness below.
I perch on the edge of the roof, watching silently, hearing the dull thump of it's heart beating as it walks a little faster; it senses the danger the alley, not me, but the normal dangers; thugs, muggers, rapists. In this city, they all flock like locusts to crops. I'll be damned if there's still a pure, untainted soul that wanders this city.
They surround it and the heartbeats pick up slowly; it knows it's been spotted. As they shout at it and push it about, it trembles and cries, a little high-pitched scream escaping into the void of the night. There's my cue.
I jump down from my viewpoint, silent and slowly; they hardly notice me; black on even more black. I break one of their necks, the snap ringing out sickeningly, satisfyingly. Their prey screams in fright even more, trying to move away, its heartbeat skyrockets, the adrenaline flowing freely; they've forgotten it, converging onto me. Talk about chasing shadows.
I smash a gauntlet onto one of the thug's heads, the crack splitting through the night. The other thugs, a little afraid and heartbeats soaring, try to slow their attacks, but I jump out like the bogeyman, dragging one into the shadows of the alley. I pick them off one by one, the fear spreading infectiously through them. The last one decides to get smart and use their prey as a hostage. Big mistake.
"Stay back, whatever you are!" he threatens, holding his hostage by its throat; the heartbeat is constant and sharp, threatening to rupture. "I mean it!"
I walk from the shadows I love and face what little light there is given from the moon. Both hostage and thug gasp as they see the bogeyman that I am.
"W-w-what are you, the friggin' Batman?!" he yells in disbelief, his grip slipping slightly on his prey's neck.
"Wrong."
I break his hand in three places, each snapping sound a euphoric sensation. Well, at least I think I broke it in three places. All I know is he's screaming and screaming, clutching his limp hand while the prey's heartbeat fills my ears. It is deafening. The screaming and the heartbeats. He runs off, hopefully to tell his mates how he met the bogeyman, or Batman. Christ, the Batman?! Do I have pointy ears and a cape?!?
His hostage, its heartbeat slowing slightly, adrenaline still flowing through the arteries, looks at me in a relief, mostly fear.
"T-thanks fo-"
"Save it." I cut it off brashly, my back turned to it.
I stand there and let its' heartbeat rise a little from the tension.
"What…what are you?"
Its heartbeat fibrillates as I sink my fangs into the fresh and juicy arteries in its neck, the blood pumping forcefully and freely with each sip into my mouth. Its heartbeats flatlines and I know I can feast without the screams; God, I hate it when they scream; I used to like it but, well, now it's just annoying. You hear one scream you've heard 'em all. Blood runs slick through my fingers and down the corpse, I lap up as much as I can stomach, no point in wasting a perfectly pure and untainted meal; no disease in it's crimson life.
I drop the corpse to the floor, a dull thud resonating in the alley. I look around before I decide I had better hide this one; not that many people would care if they found it; they'd chalk it up to the gangs of thugs and rapists that prey on Goth City.
"Another day, another demise."
***
"…the mayor commented on the growing number of violent murders…"
"…body of nineteen year old Nancy Callahan was found dumped…"
"…gun crime is on the up and the city's jails cannot cope…"
"…I vow to put these monsters behind bars…"
"…honour killing of…"
"…found slumped with his wrists slit…"
"…and today the weather will be the usual cold and grey…"
It makes me laugh. All this misery and in between you have some fat bimbo, false smile plastered on her fake tanned face, telling us the trivial thing of what the weather will be like today; it's always cold and grey, just how I like it. Even the usual newscasters smile as they talk of how many people were murdered or found dead the night before, while the evening news casts tell us how many have died after the morning news. It's a wonder this place isn't a ghost town.
But like I've said before, this place breeds violence; thugs kill the innocent until it's thugs killing fellow thugs, with new ones coming to this infested boil everyday to make up for those that leave it dead. No one leaves this place alive…well in one piece.
I turn off the TV and think about some sleep; the sun creeps up through the blinds so I close them and go to bed the wrong way around, laying my head where my feet should be. Why, I don't know, all I know is my head canes like hell if I don't sleep this way. At least I don't sleep fully upside down; that might actually kill me; not to mention the impracticality of it; if someone barged in they'd definitely have to die; this way they just think I'm some idiot Goth kid.
As noon approaches, I decide I'd better show my face. I get up and go to the bathroom, not bothering to glance in the mirror, what's the point if my reflection's always fuzzy? I can barely remember what I look like, not that I care. From what I can remember, I have long brown hair, which I chemically straighten in long downward strands; dark brown or green eyes, I can't really remember. There's a silver ring piercing on the right side of my bottom lip; I remember how badass I felt when I had it first done.
I put on my usual wardrobe; black sleeveless tee shirt, black jeans that aren't too baggy or too tight (I thought about leather trousers once, Keanu Reeves wore some cool ones in some Shakespeare movie adaptation, but decided it was a bad idea after watching an episode of Friends); then the jewellery: a dog collar of studs on a wire close around my neck, with a loose necklace of long, metal spike around my neck, and a wrist strap with metal studs, with a wrist band on the other arm. Finally I strap on my boots, adding about an extra foot onto my five foot eleven frame; they're black with beefy buckles, metal studs on the front of the sole. I grab my keys and sling my bag around me after putting on my long leather trench coat, my civilian one, not the other one. It hasn't got as many buckles and straps, not to mention it isn't as cool looking but it's not like anyone knows what I do with my spare time. I run back in and grab my dark shades; cannot go anywhere without these!
I waltz into the main hall, heading for my biology class; as you've probably guessed, anatomy is a great thing to study, helps with my extra curricular activities. I remove my black trench coat and change it for my customised med coat; dyed black with flecks of red. I enter the lab and check the progress of decay on my samples I'm studying. The stench is rancid but I manage to note the progress; should be able to put it to good use soon. After that, I'm out and taking notes at the lecture I'm ten minutes late for. Skeevs doesn't even acknowledge my tardiness or the fact that I'm here; gave up on me a long time ago even if he's surprised at my skills in this class. If he only knew.
After I breeze out of the lecture, I go to the art hall and whip out my sketch book, putting onto paper my thoughts of yesterday. I capture the alley perfectly, substituting myself for one of the thugs I killed. No one comments on my work; I know they think I've got some gift with detail, but the stuff I sketch and paint puts them off. No matter what the subject, I manage to somehow to make it suit my own style of twisted reality. My classes finish for the day and I rush back home for some sleep; big night tonight.
As I walk through town towards my apartment, I feel the stares of the people I pass, my trench coat whipping around me in the breeze. I've grown used to the stares and looks of horror; I like standing out, brandishing the Goth look in their faces. What really pisses me off though is that half of them think I'm some wannabe Emo kid.
Emo's, the plague of the earth with their crappy, angst filled **** and razor blade suicide threats. If you're gonna preach about suicide and how your life's so ****, go the **** ahead and end it, one less Emo to have to listen to bitching about how their life is a 'black abyss'.
God, I hate them and their music.
***
I'm out with someone who I would call my friend, if she weren't such a slaggy *****. She's five foot five, with a body most guys drool over, the fact she's a Goth somehow makes her more appealing but you wouldn't hear them ever admit that. Us Goth's are a minority, ever since the invasion of the Emo's, and this college is Jock in the majority. She flicks her red hair in my direction and I push her forcefully away from me; she smiles and I manage to cool down a bit, she's just messing about. This is a rare moment when I'm just content with doing sweet **** all. The hunger hasn't come yet, but it will soon. I've thought about maybe sampling a bit of her, don't think she'd mind; she'd probably welcome it, probably try a bit of my blood as well. But there's no telling what diseases she may carry, my instinct powers aren't always that good.
"So you gonna take me home ?" she asks mischievously.
"No, you're a big girl Lexi, you'll be alright." I say, taking off my shades as the sun finally vanishes.
"What, in this city? Who are you kiddin'?!" she laughs. "You think you'll be able to live if I get killed by some random wanker?"
I pity any guy who tries it on with you, let alone if they tried to kill you, I think to myself.
"Fine," I give in. "Let's go Ms A'Cerate."
"How gallant of you."
I take her home, not that I need to, she'd kill anyone who tried to hurt her; Lexi comes off as all girly, but underneath the Goth hardbody, she's a black widow. You see all these vampire seductresses in films, well that's her. Except she isn't the real deal.
After I drop her home, I walk about; night is my time to live properly. I notice someone shuffling about the streets, my hearing picking up his heartbeat from all the others out there. It's odd, my senses seem to subconsciously pick my meals for me, but they've never picked up one like him before. I begin stalking him, the heartbeat getting clearer the closer I get to my prey. He stops in an old crack den, shivering and his breath cold and frosty. His heartbeat is fluctuating, even though I'm pretty sure he doesn't know I'm here, it's odd. He must be on some sort of drugs; E or MDMA, I dunno, drugs were never really my area of expertise. I jump through the rafter, snapping through the broken wooden floorboards of the first floor and to him on the ground floor. His heartbeat rises incredibly as he whirls around to see me. He's pale and white, either from the drugs or my entrance. He doesn't recognise me 'cuz I'm not in costume; we can soon change that. I notice his hand that I broke is in a giant white cast, and is held up by a sling. He sees me looking and a faint glimmer of recognisation enters his dim eyes.
I uncover my left wrist and show him my black sweatband. It has a purple and mauve tribal 'V' design on it.
"Darkness cover me."
My clothes are replaced with a huge, tightly fitting trench coat; black with purple interior and spiked shoulder pads and bottom hem; two buckles to fasten it together. The collar whips around my head as the helmet clamps around my skull. I get metal knee guards with purple centre caps; my boots get harder and the spikes migrate up them to replace the buckles; the forearms of my trench coat are encased with black gauntlets, purple strips running horizontally along them with 3 spikes jutting out on each gauntlet. All this in a flicker of darkness.
The thug almost wets himself, a sliver of piss stench in the air. I almost burst out laughing; the fear is like a drug to me. He finally gets the balls to run, yelling for anybody, somebody. I walk the path he runs, up the stairs and past the empty and dilapidated rooms; the stench of death and decay enhancing the shadows and my powers. He runs frantically, his heartbeat too high and fast for him to be bale to cope for long. He runs into a room and onto the balcony. The only escape I either the ground below or through me.
"Y-Y-You!!!" he yells terrified.
"Y-Y-You!" I mimic him, enjoying the fear he radiates.
"G-G-Get away from me b-b-batm-!"
I yank him up by his collarbone, as he screams in agony, feeling my sharp claws into the soft flesh ands scrape along the bone.
"Do you know who the hell I am?" I yell at him, my voice booming and roaring against the onset of a storm. "I'm the goddamn Vampire Ranger!"
"P-Please don't kill me! R-Ranger's don't kill! You're good guys!!"
"Who said anything about me being good?"
He wets himself. I look down and cackle as he laughs nervously before crying out as I scrape his collarbone again. I reach down with my free hand and yank with all my strength.
He howls, the agonising scream rising higher and higher as I almost rip his balls off; an alternative way to bleed to death fast. I stop and let him catch his breath; his heart is about to give out, so I yank again, harder. His heart ruptures and his balls come off, blood pouring out in torrents. It's diseased, hepatitis B I think, but I'm not gonna find out. For some reason my instincts singled him out, but not to feed upon. I try and think of it as one of my ambivalent acts, a good deed in a city so corrupt; but even my good deeds are as bad as my evil ones. I don't dwell on it, no one will care.
And he was scum anyway.
("I bleed for no one" by A Fall from Tragedy plays as ending theme)