Monday, January 16, 2012

Where Was I...?

Seeing as how I have nothing better to do this evening since I am... recuperating, as it were, I've decided I might as well explain what became of my old friend, Jerome.

First though, I would just like to say that I would love to personally thank whoever invented the taser. I think... using a rat would only be appropriate to fully convey my feelings in the matter. To strap a small cage which would contain the rodent around the little genius' stomach. Intense heat could then be placed above both specimens. Allowing the skin of one to burn and blister... as well as kicking in the survival instant for the little rat. Causing it to burrow into the abdomen in attempt to escape the heat...

I wonder how long I could draw that out for...? Would be interesting to see.

Ah, well, at least the officer Requiem had been worried about has been dealt with accordingly. Got a little rough around the edges this time, but... that would be part of what keeps things interesting, wouldn't it? It's not as though I haven't had worse. Or that I truly care for what level our targets stoop to... but I was delivered not one, but two jolts of the irritating bastard of a device today. I think I'm allowed to complain a touch, yes?

Quite honestly, I only think of the assault as an inconvenience I could have done without. To make me this tired, that is. I'd rather be on the road again. I've been in company for too long... and I do prefer my solitude oh so very much...

But here I am yet again - getting off topic. You'll have to excuse me for that for now. In any case, I'm sure you're not interested in hearing of that little incident. The most important thing to know at the moment is that I will be back on the move soon. Just taking an evening to regain some stolen energy.

Now, to get back to the point of this post...

December 9th, 2011... to January 6th, 2012.

Twenty-nine days.

That would be how long Jerome White, also known as Tripwire, remained in my loving care for.

Twenty-one of those days he spent compressed into that little torture device I mentioned earlier. Unable to move. Not even so much to scratch an itch. The pain throughout his body would have been constant. Upon entering week three, he'd already begun to mumble to himself. Got a little bit on the twitchy side. Moved his head around a little oddly as though he couldn't quite focus... or perhaps he was focusing on things that were not there. That is a possibility. Being in solitude with no way to tell the passing of time for weeks on end does not bold well for one's mind. However, it is not as though I left him alone the entire time. Of course not. That would be far from hospitable. And, yes, I did provide him with plenty of water and basic nutrition. I would think that would go without saying for this length of time... but I suppose the obvious is better stated to begin with than having to answer later.

A few of you gave such wonderful suggestions on how to end his miserable existence. Some of your ideas,  I used. Others, I did not. For instance... )*SERVE*(, if I wanted to "give him a taste of his own medicine" I would drop him off at Morgan's headquarters wrapped in a bow. Or Ferus, for that matter. However, since I happen to be a Proxy that holds itself to some degree of standards... well, we played different games. But I'm certain you will approve all the same.

Rest assured, everyone, I took all your thoughts into consideration.

When I last posted, I told you how I took Requiem down to where we had Jerome stashed away for a rainy day. Let me see... if I can put into words what sight he had upon opening that door.

As I said, the man was cowering in the corner of his room. Trembling from head to toe. Curled into himself in some vain attempt at comfort and warmth. He wore no clothes to hide the measure of work I'd already put into him. The first of many wounds being a pound of flesh which I took from the muscles in his legs.


Conveniently made escape for him near impossible.

And gave Kali and Loki enough to peck on for a few days. Of course I gave them the chance to dine right from the source as well, but that would never be for too long.

I had then begun removing pieces of him. Starting with his nails and, joint by joint, taking his fingers away. Letting him keep one and two-thirds of a finger on his left hand to make the loss of his other arm up to his elbow that much more reflective. Literally SEEING how much was taken is so much worse than trying to remember what was once there.

I then used that arm by tossing it into the backyard of a Spook assignment.

Crystal would find her Jack Russel chewing on it later that evening.

It had taken me three hours of driving to get there and another three to get back. At least, the expression on her face made it worth the time. Did a few other things to mess with her mind while I was there, but nothing of extreme interest.

She wasn't the only Runner I insisted on involving either. There was a boy named Ivan Knox. Had just turned eighteen a week prior, if I recall correctly. I was assigned to him as a Spook as well, but I allowed myself to be a bit more... drastic. I picked the sweetheart up and brought him to my little home away from home. Tossing him to the cold, concrete floor upon our entry into the basement without a trace of ceremony. With wrists bound his back, he scrambled only to sit up. To put his back against the wall as I went to attend to Jerome in the same manner I always did. Ivan watched. Never uttering a word as the other male alternated between whimpering and screaming. I kept an eye on our audience as I worked. Impressed, to say the least, at the strong front he put out. Ivan was only small. Not weedy, exactly, but small for his age. And yet his expression barely betrayed him. The only part that screamed of his own fear... was his eyes. Greenest of green. Like a forest canopy in the summer. Eventually, I couldn't help but shift my attention completely onto the Spook. Ivan stared back. Obviously scared, but strong. Unfaltering. He had a spine. Unlike Jerome.

As a crouched in front of Ivan with blood-coated gloves, I asked if he had preferences which piece of him I removed first. I expected him to shrink... but instead his lips only pressed tighter together. Not giving me the pleasure of conversation. It would have been rude if I wasn't so amused. He was so young. I used to teach kids his age. And yet... unflinching. Brave beyond his years. Or, perhaps, merely stupid.

That would be when a thought occurred to me. One which you helped with, Brooklyn. My dearest Gargoyle. You're invading my thoughts during working hours. Shame on you. But I really need to thank you, seeing as how it worked in my favor so well.

You see... I remembered your comment. The end part, anyway. I truly did want to use your suggestion from the start and, in that moment... I couldn't possibly think of anyone better for the job than Ivan himself.

I gently caressed the boy's face as I gave him the proposition. Feeling his jaw tighten as I left smears of hot blood where I touched. I told him I would bring him home without a scratch... but, first, he had to gain some 'get out of jail free' tokens. Jerome's teeth. Not all of them. Just a few. And then Ivan could leave. Simple. But the little statue that was Ivan refused. The single word coming out strongly... but his eyes told a different story entirely. A desperate story. One that was looking for an excuse. So I started talking. Like I tend to do. I spoke of Jerome. Who he was. What he had done as Tripwire. I questioned the fairness that a morally correct person like Ivan... condemn himself to torture and death for the sake of someone like that. I mentioned Ivan's own family. Questioning leaving his little brother on his own to face our Father... when Ivan could so easily be there for him...

Within twenty minutes, I had Ivan untied. Positioned in front of a whimpering Jerome. Pliers in hand. I kept one arm around Ivan's shoulders for support. My other hand holding Jerome by the hair - cranking his neck back. He begged the boy not to. Begged for mercy. Pleaded and cried...

I could see the boy hesitating, so I simply leaned in to whisper in Ivan's ear. Asking if he thought Tammara... had begged Jerome to stop as well.

Ivan ripped out his tokens for freedom one at a time.

Screams and choked wails tearing from Jerome.

Tears streaming down Ivan's pale face.

I could tell he was drawing near to breaking down, and since we had a nice little pile going... I didn't ask for him to take them all. I let him stop. The poor dear was shaking so badly he could barely stand so I could take him home. I literally had to help him walk as he rung his blood-splattered hands together again and again. The screams forever echoing in his head. The sensations forever crawling up his arms. I could tell then I'd... no... that WE - Gargoyle and I - had just given him a nightmare that would haunt him until the day he dies at Father's will.

Multipurpose is always best.

As for Jerome himself, well... I always made certain to burn his wounds of the bits and pieces I removed to stop the blood from flowing and claiming his life that way. He'd scream, beg, whimper... and I would talk to him so sweetly during every session. Brushing my fingers through his hair. Across his cheek. Making certain I had his attention. He would shiver so much that, at times, it made it difficult to be accurate with what I wanted done.

At one point, he had begged me for a blanket. That he was so cold.

So... I happily warmed things up for him.

I stuck a match. Kissed his temple. Then lit his clothing on fire. His pleads and screams fell on deaf ears as I stood back to watch the flame build in strength as it consumed his clothing and hair. The scorching heat ever-rising. Caressing the flesh beneath until it was charred black and his screams began to choke in his throat. Only then did I put him out. Fire extinguisher. Followed by a bucket of ice water over his sizzling flesh.

He didn't complain about being cold again.

He also couldn't recognize himself in a mirror again if he tried.

That would be the sight that Requiem opened the door to. A man who had become as mutated on the outside as he was within. And yet he still begged for his life. I'd only ever heard him ask for death ONCE. All the other times... it was for mercy. For life. To be spared. If only to be taken into the embrace of His Family again. If only to Serve.


A fear of what awaits after death is terrifying to some people. Jerome just happens to be one of them.

Requiem found the begging to be too much to listen to, however, and decided to remove Jerome's tongue before we did anything else. I was rather grateful for that. And so when we took him from that little room and brought him into the lower chamber in the basement of the church's basement... the sounds he was making only slurred together more when he saw what fate would claim him.

My new toy.

To bring a new meaning to His Embrace.

It stands nine feet tall. Positioned against the far wall of a room that is only lit by the presence of a thin trench of flames which burns along the border of the chamber itself, leaving the room a bit darker than others. The light of the fire shimmers off the black surface that IS the majority of the instrument. Unlike the conventional style that this particular item has held itself in throughout history, the body is curved in. Having a more 'slender' figure, if you will. In fact... it is crafted in nearly His exact image. A pale head nearly at the ceiling itself. Carved so the light reflects where the features should be, but is left faceless to stare down those who approach it. But it is more than just His image, you see...

Because, with one half of the body swung open as it was as when Jerome first saw it... the light of the flames also glimmered among the long, thin spikes which decorated the inside of the device.

It was perfect. Exactly as I had imagined. And Requiem had outdone himself with the atmosphere of the room itself. Faint carvings decorated the walls and ceiling in the images of trees and a canopy overhead... and across the floor stretched the same operator symbol that Requiem had hanging around his neck. I felt the need to remind him later on that he would NOT be claiming credit for this idea.

Jerome's final struggles to free himself of our holds were lost as we took him across the floor. His time with me had left him weak, and even when he refused to stand or walk to his demise... well, we simply dragged him. Forced him inside the device and strapped him in. Once his wrists, ankles, and neck were bound in place, I took a last moment to reassure him... that all of the needles were strategically placed to miss major organs. And the spikes themselves would slow blood loss by remaining inside him after penetration. So his death would be exactly as he deserved it: Slow and painful. His hysterical shrieks and jerks to free himself were only silenced as Requiem and I each took one of the two doors and pushed them closed. Heavy bloody things. But as the doors shut, Jerome would be forced further back into even more needles behind him. Gasps of the pain and choked breath were soon all that came from the inside as the doors were latched together and he was in the full embrace of our Father's image. Pinned into place from all sides. Alone with his agony in the dark as he would slowly bleed out.

I couldn't help but smile when I glanced upon the look in Requiem's eyes. They were beautiful. Nearly shimmering. All the pent up anger that had been in his system seemingly washed away as he took steps back. Taking in the full glory of the scene as the first drops of blood trickled from the small holes in the bottom of the device to be gathered in decorative jars placed around its base. Fit to be used in an assortment of many rituals I know my kin practice... or as a prop for missions, for that matter.

It was just as I had specified.

Requiem knelt on the floor and prayed. I stood and listened.

Listened to my friend.

Listened to the muffled whimper of a true "monster."

This had been on the third of the month.

Jerome died on the sixth.

Requiem has been doing much better since then. Still obsessed to get his hands on the Runner that dared to attack his subordinate and church... but better. Even enough so to return to his old obsession which involves the hundreds upon hundreds of photos of religious figures from all over the world stuck up on the walls of his office. News articles. Statistics. It's so good to see him go back to his old mindset.

Sister Fuchsia is still recovering, but is now back at the church. I made certain to visit her each day in her quarters. She never once placed blame on my head for her injuries. A true sweetheart. I hope all my kin pray for a quick recovery for her.

Come dawn, I will only be in the company of my closest friends of Chaos and Destruction.

It'll be a good day.


  1. That was beautiful. I take pride in the fact that you did, in fact, listen to your followers' suggestions. Thank you. You made my night.

    1. You're quite welcome, sweetheart. It was my pleasure. I assure you.

  2. That's fucking sick. That's the... christ, it's disgusting. You're disgusting, you're no better than any of them. You can't do something like this out of anything but free will, so what the hell are you?!?

    1. Why, hello to you too, my brother. I was wondering when I'd hear from you again.

      Come now. Surely you don't mean that. Jerome was a man who used his own little sister as a sex toy... are you going to tell me he did not deserve what came to him, Spencer? Are you truly so apathetic that you don't care for dearest Tammara? That you'd ignore that level of monster who'd tear innocence from someone so young? Their own blood?

      Or... by "disgusting"... do you really mean "fascinating"? Did the devil on the edge of your mind grin, I wonder? I'd love to know the truth. Question is: Are you capable of it? Personally, I am not but a humble servant. But you... you are something else entirely, aren't you?

      Sadly, you know as well as I do that we can only give an introduction into what level of Hell awaits people like him in death... but we can all only do our best, isn't that right, Spencer?

  3. -laughs- Right, like anything you've done is any better. The guy was a sick, sadistic murderous fucker that deserved his end. Are you going to tell me you feel pity for someone like that? Wow. You're a hypocrite.

    1. Drawing it out like that, fucking... making implements, you tell me who deserves that, deserves to be strapped down and slowly killed like an animal. You fucking tell me what gives you the right to take away someone's dignity like that. You... fuck i cant do this

      this fucking transcends punishment

      And as for you, Nightscream, you're a sick, sick bastard who deserves an even worse end then the ones you lovingly bestow on other people. PEOPLE.

    2. so what you're saying is that people exist who deserve punishment like that? You can't have it both ways, Spencer, either abhor it or wish it on someone else, you can only pick one.

      Nightscream, kudos as always on a good read, I'm glad you're getting back out on your own, sometimes the best company is simply that of yourself. And clever jon with the hunted boy, pyschological pain is always the most permenant.

      See you around

    3. Spencer, sweetie, I hate to say this, but.. if you say Nightscream's so awful, then you technically qualify right along with her. Sorry. Also, for the record, I'm pretty sure the bastard did worse to his victims for fun. All the time. <3

      Free, thank you for making the rebuttal for me. I see you're still kicking, it's a joy to see you around. As I said: he's a hypocrite. An obvious one.

    4. You.. all don't see anything wrong with this?
      its different
      it's fucking different why cant you SEE THAT


    5. @Dia, you are truly my #1 Fangirl. Incidentally, I'd still love to see that fanart of Kali and Loki. Was that just friendly banter or is it still on your "to do" list?

      @Spencer, my newest toy has been in commission for MONTHS. It had nothing to do with Jerome. Happy coincidence, I suppose you could say. A very happy one, indeed. As for my own end... perhaps I'll give you the opportunity to take a swing at me yourself. Interested, sweetheart?

      @Freedomcaged, aren't hypocrites fun? Thank for the compliments, as always. I'm glad you approve.

    6. ... stay the hell away from me and my team.

    7. What, you thought I was kidding? Nah, I take my fangirl responsibilities very seriously, I'll have you know! Also, I had forgotten all about that fanart, caught up with my other work and all. But now that you've reminded me.. do you have a photograph for me to work from, or would you like me to work free form? Free form'll take longer.

      Spencer, dearest, in case you were directing that toward me.. it's not my fault your team was too busy to help me when I needed it. You'll have no problem from me, staying away from you.

      And as an addendum: No, it is not different. It is exactly the fucking same. Bad people do bad things to good people. Bad people do worse things to each other, I thought you knew this? Stop acting like you're a damn White Hat and like you're protecting the innocent. He was scum, and yes, the world was better off without him. Traitorous fuck.

      Just because it isn't a "good guy" taking out the trash, doesn't mean it didn't need to be done. At least I'm honest with myself about what I am. You, and the people like you? You're playing pretend in the dark, with capes and stupid catch phrases.

    8. Actually I would contest that. Of course it's diffrent, every person, every victim, every murder is diffrent. There are millions of tiny little diffrent details about Nightscream, about Jerome, about Requiem, about Ivan, about how exactly Jerome was tortured, about how exactly he died, about what he did and what he was like prior to this that you will never know. And because you can never know those exact details you can never say that some people deserve that treatment and some don't. If you are okay with that kind of treatment in any situation than you never have a right to judge its use unless you were actually involved heaivly with the entire event. If you knew Jerome personally and you can vouch for him being a better person than Nightscream then you're justified, but somehow I don't think that's the case, so make up your mind: are you o.k. with torturing people or not?

      Yes Tide, I am still around, I'll post on it later.

      I alway enjoy a good show, Nighscream, and that was an impressive event.

      I feel as though we might be abusing this new reply system blogger has set up if this is all going to be on the same thread.

      See you around

    9. ill tell you who deserves it.

      anyone who takes advanttage of somones weakness, not to kil lthem, but just to scarr them. and not even to serve a purpose. for fucking fun.


    10. @Dia, I'm afraid with my circumstances being as they are, I never got around to taking a photo of my friends. Loki tends to be a bit more playful than Kali, but other than that... personally... I'd be interested in seeing how you envision them in your mind. Sound good to you?

      @Freedomcaged, well said, my friend. I do try to give as much detail as possible, however... my posts tend to bridge onto being "chapters" at this point as it is. I wouldn't want to start writing a book every time I kill someone. And maybe just a touch abusive. For a few moments, I thought we'd finished with the little "@" signs.

      @OB|SERVE|ATION, your statement holds credibility... though, at the moment, it is far too vague. Nourish the thought and expand the concept. Right now, you're including school yard bullies in your Death Sentence. Some may deserve it, some not. Each case to be judged as differently as the very minds of those involved. If we label them as broadly as they label us... we are no better than the nonsense they spew.

    11. Sounds perfect. They are ravens, aren't they? Just checking.. Also, I love how an entire thread sprang up over just these comments. -.-

  4. yes, in indsight it was a foolish idea.....

    ....i simply believe in "eye for an eye, tooth for a tooth" methods. hence why i dont go around bashing everyone i hates brains in.

    quite nice though...........was the contraption similar to an iron maiden?

    1. It is a good philosophy, but can easily get people in our lines of work into trouble rather quickly. Hence your discretion into "Brain Bashing" and mine into matters of rape. It's not something I feel like I'm missing out on, to be honest.

      Yes, it was born from the concept of the Iron Maiden. Beautiful, no?

    2. indeed...i can diefinatley understand not wanting to go for that sort of method....shit i dont even like being touched by people i dont hate......

      also the contraption, from your description, was quite beautiful indeed, both conceptually and visibly (petty as it is, i enjoy aesthetics greatly. it gives the object the visual to match its greatness)....and the amount of time you say it took him to die.....

      well, he certainly learned his lesson. well done.


    3. Thank you. I do try not to disappoint.

  5. Why do you all come to the blogs of the people you know are 'evil' and try to judge them for what they do? What is the point? They won't change because you condemn them, they'll simply laugh at you and keep doing what makes them happy.

    Especially this one. This lady, with her pretty birds, knows enough secrets to keep her securely happy in her job.

    1. What is life if one cannot smile, hm?

      Personally, I rather like the little bickering wars. Gives me an open viewing into the minds of several different people all at once. And even if they are only here to inform me I am "evil" or "sick"... it only tells me I hit a sore spot, as it were. Not bad information to have, correct?

      Also, I find the fact I have my own defenders is glorious. It amuses me to no end.

    2. They're playing their little parts in front of you, and you just get to watch while they do your job for you. Information gathering? Bah, who needs it? Just post an inflammatory post about something or another. there. Work done for you.

    3. I'm starting work on the drawing tomorrow. I'll let you know how it goes, yes?

      Remind me who's the playful one, again. I want to label them correctly once I'm done.

    4. Loki is more playful in comparison to Kali.

      I look forward to it.

  6. Awww, look at them fuck around with their fancy language. They speak!

    Siiiiiick fucks. Then again, I'm a pretty sick fuck myself, so I hardly can judge. Tellmyou what, Fitzgerald; when you can prove to me you didn't stomp an innocent runner's head into fucking jelly, I'll join your little fucking crusade. 'till then, you're just as bad as all of us.

    1. It's called "English," sweetheart. The Official Mutt Language. Nothing fancy about it. Or are you referring to how I don't tend to swear every third word?

      Most people are rather "sick," I find. It's just a matter of who will admit it and who prefer to pretend themselves justified. There truly is a thing or two to be said... for seeing yourself within someone else. Some simply can't handle that level of clarity.

    2. I find it convenient, to see who are the liars and who are truthful with themselves.

  7. Reading this has brought me such joy!
    Haha congratulations, you made me squee

    1. Only doing my not-so-public duty, but thank you. I do love to hear my work is appreciated.

  8. It would be really great, if blogger would actually tell me when these things updated, so I didn't have to remember to look for them. I'm a full week late to this. I'm ashamed of myself.

    I suppose this is the part where I'm supposed to be apalled that you actually used my suggestion. But then, I'm not an idiot. I knew who I was talking to and I knew that meant that anything I said might very well be carried out. So if I didn't think the man deserved the pain, then I wouldn't have said anything at all. Perhaps the full gauntlet was a bit overkill, but... I suppose you know better than I regarding this particular victim.

    You did choose an interesting means of utilizing my suggestion though. That admittedly bothers me a bit... but, on the potentially bright side, poor Ivan may well come out a stronger person for his time spent with you. I regret nothing.

    1. Well, it could be said... that there were TWO reasons I used to call myself "Gauntlet," my friend. Jerome wasn't the first. Won't be the last either...

      Your mentality pleases me a great deal, Brooklyn. It honestly does. I had nearly been worried that you would back down. It's... nice to speak to a Runner with a spine. One that says what they mean. Makes things less predictable for me.

      My most sincere apologies if you expected me to be disappointed, of course.

      As for Blogger... you are not the only one with issues. Half the time it forgets which blogs I'm attempting to keep an eye on. Your blog being one of the ones that tends to do a vanishing act. Your shame is unneeded.

  9. Hey Screamer, baby? Your artwork is done, though I need an email or something to send it to.. if you don't mind.

    Unless you'd prefer I post it? Might do that anyway.. ;)

    1. If you like to send it to, that would work. It's quite a nice piece. Thank you, sweetheart.

    2. Never a problem, I'm just happy you reminded me to do it before I forgot again. Sending now.