tampered | Log; On-Going

The air was cold, but of course being dead and being separated from the spirit of fire could easily do that to a man. Stanley wandered around the streets of the City shivering, crying, and uttering insanities under his breath. His God, his lover had cut herself off from him for nine days. In his moments of sanity, oh so fleeting he had checked the network.

Lobsel Vith's punishment is too light. said one.

Stan had punched several holes in the wall, and bashed his head against the wall. That was then, this is now. He hugged himself tighter trying to become warm. Stumbled about in a daze, and in that daze he found a doll.

And a diary.

Most men would have been suspicious, but not Stan. No, Stan in his delusion was insane, and in his insanity he raced to the note and read it.

Then he collapsed to his knees, kissing the paper, and crying out to the sky "ALA NAGNYA!!"

With a moment of joyful weeping he picked up the note and doll and raced to the warehouse, where Lobsel Vith was to meet him.

The Dark Passenger hid in the shadows, waiting for his prey. At the moment that Stan stepped into the building, he sprang from the corner, shoving a syringe of M99 into the man's throat.

Watching the man collapse from the tranquilizer, Dexter took a moment to let everything seep in. It felt...amazing to be back to work. He felt alive, he felt like himself again.

He dragged the man to the prep-table. Shrink wrapped and ready to go. Two very large trash cans were set up behind it and in front of it, a smaller stand with some knives and an electric saw, all the tools Dexter would need.

The walls and floor surrounding the area was also covered in plastic wrap. This was necessary so that no drop of blood was left behind.

The Dark Passenger was ecstatic.

Removing Stan's clothes (standard procedure,) he chucked them in one of the trash cans before lifting the unconscious man onto the table. He grabbed a roll of duct tape and the extra plastic wrap and made sure Stan was secured tight.

Now, the Passenger waits.

When he ran into building he suddenly became succumbed to the darkness. When his senses slowly came to back him the first thing he noticed was the cool air all over his skin.

all over my skin? Stan thought, trying to move himself but unable to. duct-tape Stan would have thought this to be another one of Lobsel Vith's kinky games, but he didn't feel her presence. Had he been tricked? Of course this wouldn't be the first time it's happened.

Then he noticed him in the room.

"I do say, if you plan to rape me you have me tied in completely the wrong position." Stan smirked.

They say those who laugh are often the ones most fearful.

Dexter actually laughed, "I'm terribly sorry, I'm new at this."

The truth was, Dexter's "perfect" arrangement was all that it was, and his work was almost finished. There was only one more step before the real fun began.

From his pocket, Dexter pulled a clean glass slide. His other gloved hand reached for the scalpel on the cart beside him.

The first slide for his new collection. His first trophy.

He made a small incision just below Stan's right eye, then placed the scalpel back on the cart, picking a clean syringe up in it's place. He used it to extract a tiny bit of blood, then pushed a drop out onto the slide in his other hand.

"I suppose you know why you're here," Dexter said, covering the slide and putting it in a ziplock bag for safe-keeping. "You've confessed enough, don't you think?"

When Stan saw the scalpel coming towards his eye he winced, and when Dexter made the incision below his right eye he yelled.

"What the fuck dude?!" Stan hissed, so violently wanting to rub the new wound below his eye. Unfortunately the duct tape prevented any movement. Damn, and the wound was starting to itch. "You know the least you could do is scratch this wound." he sniped.

Stan heard the question. He realized why he was here. To be punished, no doubt by that whore the pseudo-Alessa. A rush of thoughts entered into his mind. The first being that he probably deserved this. His second thoughts though were not so kind. When Walter Sullivan had killed Henry Townshend the love, and would be father of Alessa's possible future child Alessa had screamed and made threats saying that she would kill Walter. Did it happen?

No! Stan was privy to looking at the network. After Henry's wake he browsed around and found out that while Henry's wake was going on Alessa had been talking to Walter, and even flashed him.

Great! Walter kills Henry and Alessa flashes him I kill Vincent, and I have a distinct feeling I'm going to be tortured. he thought to himself.

"So, where is the bitch anyways?" Stanley asked.

If there was any reason why he hated Alessa, this Alessa it was because she was a hypocrite. She would always talk about wanting to bathe in people's blood for the honour of that other Xuchilbara, and that was ok. It was ok for her to ruin lives, but heaven forbid anyone kill her family and it was revenge.

"I suppose now you'll become one of Xuchilbara's followers or some such shit." Stan remarked. "But, then again killing and torturing was always so much better than love."

Stan paused.

"If you're going to torture me and kill me I haven't got all day. Where's Alessa?"

Dexter raised an eyebrow. "She told me she'd show up in time..." he answered, "I never promised I wouldn't start without her."

Dexter glanced over his shoulder to see if she was around, before continuing.

"I never said anything about becoming anyone's mule. I wanted to do this for my own sanity," he said before admitting, "I don't believe in gods."

Stan was right. Torture was better than love. Dexter didn't have the ability to love, let alone feel. The only time he felt himself was when he was surrounded by blood.

This was one of those times. Dexter needed this kill, to satisfy the Passenger, the backseat driver of his dark and twisted mind. He needed this particular kill because it was one that followed the Code.

The Code of Harry was a strict law that Dexter followed when choosing a victim. He would only pick victims that deserved this fate. Other killers, only those without reason or regret.

Stan gave out an exasperated sigh. "You don't believe what is all over the city. Fuck, and they call me insane." Stan proclaimed, rolling his eyes.

"Oh, for your sanity? Right. Let's see here. Vincent pisses me off, I kill him for the sake of my sanity. I get punished. You get to kill me for the sake of your sanity and it's all hunky dory." Stan growled.

"Hey everyone what's that smell?" Stan sang out loud.

"HYPOCRISY!! HYPOCRISY!!" He shouted out loud.

Dexter snarled, "I never said I was any better person than you," he muttered, picking up a small but sharp knife.

"But as for you, you can't admit you didn't have this coming--" Dexter grunted, stabbing the knife down hard into Stanley's hand. Dexter always started with hands.

"Why did you kill Vincent?!" he demanded, in a much meaner, darker tone of voice.

When the knife stabbed Stanley's hand the man let out a scream, and then started to laugh. When he was done laughing he looked at Dexter (as best as he could considering his position.)

"Back in Silent Hill. The one I come from, children of the cult were often punished. The cult had a water tower prison where they would lock up children for the most pitiful of reasons. If you ever cried they would take you to the torture room and torture you. Break your fingers, beat you, and even stab your hands." Stan explained while smirking.

"In Brookehaven hospital they would lock you up in a padded cell for doing the slightest thing wrong. Patience would brutalize patients, and don't even get me started on Vincent." Stan seethed at the name.

"No, the fucking bastard never did a physical thing to me. But he was coerced by Leonard Wolf to have me locked up, for not conforming to their ideal beliefs. Vincent knew I shouldn't have been locked away, but he did it anyway." Stan glowered, but then continued, "Is that why I killed Vincent? No, but does it really matter?"

Stan then started to recite a poem.

"Ah, but what must you think of me?
Do you hate me? Are you afraid?
As though inviting you to the agony
at the play's end, if you wish, you
could destroy me---I wouldn't care."

Alessa had been watching the display from the shadows, choosing to remain silent. Every word that came out of Stanley's mouth disgusted her. In her opinion, he was a very poor excuse of a human being, and killing him would only make the world a better place.

"It seems our guest does not know the meaning of true pain," Alessa said, stepping out from the shadows. She had a very special surprise in store, but chose to wait until a little bit later before she revealed it to the others.

Her dark blue eyes narrowed at the sight of the naked psychopath before her, and she could feel the old stirrings of blood lust begin to course through her veins. This fucker deserves to be punished, she thought.

"Have a little bit more fun," Alessa said to her companion. "I can wait a little bit longer. Besides...it will be interesting to watch another artist at work."

As soon as Alessa stepped out from the shadows, Stan greeted her with a sneer. "Will, fucking well if it isn't the pseudo Alessa." He then mimicked her in a high pitched whiny voice.

"You killed Vincent!!! Waaaah!! I kill you, because I'm a selfish bitch!! And and!! I like get to kill people, and you must like worship me! But, but you cannot kill anyone cuz that is a no no, and makes me so angery and want to like kill things!! Grr!! I hate you Stan!"

Stan then started to crack up laughing. Truth be told he was scared, he didn't want to die. However a total of 25 years of torture of every kind could have this effect on a man.

Dexter rolled his eyes before smacking the side of Stan's face to shut him up.
"Quiet," he ordered him, "It'll get you no where."

Dexter removed the knife he stuck in Stan's hand with the same amount of force he used to get it there in the first place. "If you don't shut up, I'll make a new hole..." he muttered, switching the knife for a larger one.

"Oh, and keeping silent will?" Stan asked being serious.

"If I talk I get killed. If I'm silent I get killed. Wow. By the way, no offense but I've been slapped harder by fags in Brookehaven."

Stan continued, this time more sarcastic.

"Oh boy! I always wanted a hand piercing! Now I can look more like Jesus!"

Alessa's time in the City had granted her with different gifts. She had grown from almost a child to a grown woman in a short period of time. However, with even the most self-controlled person, there is always a point where they will snap. Now that Vincent was gone, Alessa had no one to let out her anger to. All of the pent up rage and frustration transformed itself into a huge surge of annoyance.

Her blue eyes narrowed, as several barbed wires tore through the floor behind her, moving to hover above Stan's face. "If you don't shut up, I'll sew your fucking mouth shut, you piece of shit." Her voice was dangerous and unmerciful. He obviously didn't feel any remorse whatsoever.

It was time to show him some real pain.

The barbed wire hovering over him however scared him. He'd been threaten by people wanting to sew his mouth shut. He didn't want that.

"Fine, I'll shut up!!" He roared.

Then he snapped his mouth shut, and proceeded to grind his teeth. He rotated his expressions from glaring, to happy to sad and to deadpan.

"Much better." She replied, and the barbed wire backed off just a bit. Alessa glanced over at Dexter; he seemed to be waiting for something, and she could sense his impatience. Apparently Dexter was a man who killed with class, and did it quickly. Alessa, however, wanted to see this man suffer. She loved seeing the punished suffer. And so did someone else...

But not yet. It was too soon.

She drew forward and gave Stanley a piercing look. She waited for only a moment, and then sent a barrage of mental images into Stanley's mind. Lobsel-Vith, dying, her blood pouring from her throat as zealots drank her life source. Brookhaven hospital, and the people who had tormented him so, the padded rooms. Wish House, and the men that would hit him, and abuse him. Lobsel-Vith, leaving Stanley forever as she doted her affections on God Herself.

You are WORTHLESS. You are NOTHING. There is NO PURPOSE FOR YOU. Instead of dedicating yourself to a worthy cause, you fall into madness and cry for pity. No one loves you. NO ONE. The so-called "love" of your god is a facade, for Lobsel-Vith IS A GOD OF MALICE. She will eat up the world, and then, her followers will cry out for redemption, and they will slaughter her and bathe themselves in blood to wash away their sins, she thrust these mental thoughts at him. You are less than human, an insect that should be crushed into the dirt. YOU HAVE KILLED AN INNOCENT, AND FOR THAT, YOU MUST BE PUNISHED!

Alessa closed her eyes, and sent all of the overwhelming hatred she had for the man in front of her to the Underground. It transformed into a beckoning call for one and one only. The silence of the warehouse was deafening, and then the room became darker than it had before. A screeching sound that made skin crawl echoed down the nearby hallway, accompanied with foreboding steps.

"My guest is arriving," Alessa informed Dexter. "Do not be afraid. He won't hurt you."

Dexter put his knife back down almost immediately and backed up to a corner. If this is the thing he heard about, he didn't want to be anywhere in the way.

Impatient wasn't the word. He was enjoying this, it was just...much different from what he was used to. That, and he had always thought his first assisted murder would be with someone else...someone he adored...very, very much.

His eyes squinted in effort to see through the darkness, to see what it was that was making those sounds.

As the images onslaughted Stan's mind, he feigned horror and shock. Unfortunately for Alessa, what she failed to realize is that Lobsel Vith didn't actually bleed blood. No, she bled fire.

Therefore, Stan knew the images were bullshit. Best let the dumb bitch think she was winning.

"No! She fucking loves me, and I love her! Maybe in your Silent Hill, Lobsel Vith represents malice! But our Silent Hill's are different! So don't FUCKING CLAIM THAT YOU KNOW SHIT ABOUT MY FUCKING SILENT HILL!!!!!"

Stan's rage was boiling abit too, when Alessa had said he was nothing. He would have said alot more too, but the room started to grow dark and the sound of high pitched scraping noise started to fill the room. In his Silent Hill there was one presence that could cause a shift in worlds, and that was Valtiel.

However this presence wasn't as holy. Stan, became a little nervous.

Her eyes narrowed. She couldn't sense the fear coming from him. Nervousness, yes, but no fear. Anger boiled up inside of her, and her disgust at this man's egotism was beginning to grow more and more. She willed the barbed wire to move closer to him again, their sharp tips inches from his face.

The scraping grew louder, and then abruptly stopped as a tall masculine figure appeared out of the shadows, several nurses flanking him. His grotesque face (which only Xuchilbara, Scarab, and Alessa would only ever see) was hidden by a large triangular helmet, caked with dried blood. He thrust his giant knife into the concrete floor, grabbed the nearest nurse and promptly tore off her arm with his bare hands. Bending over slightly, Pyramid Head began to write with the bleeding appendage, the blood red words contrasting greatly with the white floor.

ORDERS. NOW.

Alessa turned to Stan, her face thoughtful. "......The Jury...cannot sentence a punishment without the Judge. I promise you, this will not be pleasant. My Guardian wishes to coat his knife in more blood. This will get quite messy." She turned back to Pyramid Head, the two regarding each other calmly and with respect.

Make him know the true meaning of fear, Alessa murmured mentally to him. The grotesque creature promptly inscribed another bloody message on the floor.

THY WILL BE DONE.

With the barbed wires inches from his face Stan became both worried, more nervous, and just a wee bit disgusted. He hadn't even done anything, except acted scared. Unless, Stan thought. If she's the alternate Alessa from the other Silent Hill then she may have powers too.

Then his expression became one of dread. Fuck, I bet she can read thoughts. Shit, Coleman. If you think worried thoughts she'll gloat at you. If you think happy thoughts to block the fear she'll probably do something with those barbed wires. Fuuuuuck.

Not actually knowing if Alessa could read his thoughts, Stanley begin to think of images of war, forest fires, people being bludgeoned to death, rivers flowing with blood. But, it was at last that he saw what Alessa's surprise was.

"Executioner..." he breathed softly, with a tinge of fright in his voice.

Back in his Silent Hill he had read text about the Toluca prison and how the executioners would dress in executioner garb and wear red triangle hoods. There were also stories, that the Red God Xuchilpaba had created several angels in the form of these executioners. They were however created to offer salvation. To show sinners their fate if they didn't repent, and also created from the town's idolterous affairs. This beast however was more intent on punishing more than anything. It sickened Stan, but shamefully scared him a little.

He was afraid that this second death would tear him and Lobsel Vith apart forever, and that more than any death or blood torture would be far more painful. He whimpered alittle.

Just a little afraid...

The Dark Passenger stood in the corner of the room, scalpel tight in hand, staring at the display before him.

It was almost...beautiful.

But the paranormal, wire, helmet, undead monsters, were all new to him, and he could only stand there, frozen, and watch. It was almost as good as partaking in the killing himself.

Though The Need was not quenched, not yet. Not until he could drag that scalpel across the width of Stanley's neck.

Pyramid Head pulled his knife out of the concrete promptly, dragging it across the floor in a long screech, pausing at Stanley's side. His hands grasped the handle of the knife, and he held it over his head, poised above Stanley's abdomen. The knife was heavy, and the creature's arms shook slightly at the large weight, but Alessa knew he would hold that knife up till the end of all worlds if he had to.

Alessa slowly approached Stanley's head, and motioned Dexter to come to Stanley's other side. "....It takes at least four minutes for someone to die from a stomach wound, and eight for a slit across the throat." Alessa made a slicing motion across her own throat to demonstrate. "....It is possible to survive a cut to the throat, depending on the blade, but given your current circumstances...I doubt that will be likely. This will be a most unpleasant experience. Four minutes of pure agony and pain. For Vincent, for Henry....for Xulchibara."

She glanced at Dexter. "Are you ready?"

Dexter stepped closer, trying desperately to hold himself back from saying something terribly cliche like, I was born ready, which wasn't terribly hard, now that the Passenger was in control.

He gave Alessa a nod, his gloves hand clenching the knife, almost trembling in anticipation.

The monster on one end, Alessa on the other end, and Dexter at another side. Stanley stared at the knife hovering over him. Why wasn't the monster going to chop into him? What was going on?

But, Alessa wanted him to suffer. this isn't right. She's punishing me for Vincent and Henry? What the fuck?!?!?! I never did a fucking thing to Henry! Unless this bitch thinks hating one of her kind is a huge crime. Fucking. fuck!

"Well if you're going to watch me die, could you do it already?" Stan snapped.

There was no warning whatsoever. Not a blink of an eye, a bat of an eyelash, the tightening of a jaw, clenching of fist, or the sped up rhythm of a pulse. The barbed wire sliced through the air, weaving through the sinner's lips, neatly sewing them shut. Blood poured from his wounds, but Alessa didn't show a single sign of satisfaction.

Kill him. The mental words hit Pyramid Head's consciousness like a thunderbolt, and the large knife impaled the man right through the stomach. The abomination twisted the hilt of the knife, digging the blade into the man's body. The scent of blood consumed the two's senses, and a small smirk slowly formed on her face once she felt the blood spatter her face.

It was so beautiful.

Dexter's eye twitched. The man, still alive in front of him, the thirst, unquenched. The Need....

The Need would be fullfilled.

Dexter reached across the man and dragged the scalpel across his neck in one smooth, easy slice. Blood flowed out of the wound and seeped under the plastic wrap that bound him to the table.

Dexter did not smile, he did not move, and he did not look at Alessa, or the creature aiding her. He just watched the blood.

First the barbed wires seering through his lips, shutting them tight. Pain, pain whence known, the fact of life.

Then the blade, the large blade in the stomach. Oh, God! It hurt! The seering pain ripped through his body like a destructive fire. Blood splattered his face, and he gave a muffled scream.

Finally the blade across his neck. Blood spurted forth in cold spasms. He gave out a muffled choke, but the pain was great. Unbearable. Death not coming, and Stanley was impatient, and he couldn't speak. Oh, this reminded him of...

A man offered a serpent to the sun and prayed for salvation.

"No! Please no! Don't do that to her!!" another memory flashed in his mind.

More memories of endless torture came to his mind. Images of the one he loved...no he wasn't going to think that. It was not the physical wounds, but the memories that plagued and hurt him. If he couldn't come back. Who would protect her?

Alessa. Oh, God! Your judgment is almost complete. There is no repeal for me. I'm sorry I killed Vincent! I'm sorry! No, I won't expect forgiveness. Not from you. No.

Abihuga falghen ha

And with that last thought. Stanley Coleman died.

And here I die...satisfied

Stanley's eyes had glazed over and she knew he was dying, that death would come to take him away soon. She moved from where she stood, coming to Pyramid Head's side. With only a moment's hesitation, Alessa pressed her hands in the side of the gaping wound, covering her hands with Stanley's crimson blood. She drew her hands up and placed them on Pyramid Head's metal helmet, and slowly began to paint it red with the blood provided. There was a mental murmuring of pleasure and satisfaction from the large creature, and it almost seemed to reverberate in the air like a silent purr.

Soon, Stanley was dead, and Pyramid Head's knife and helmet were once again painted red. The creature removed the knife, holding it with one hand again. "...It is done," Alessa said to Dexter. "I expect his circumstances will be different in comparison to Henry and Vincent's," she observed shrewdly, "so there is no need to hide the body. Too many people were upset at Vincent's death to even care that Stanley died.

"I suppose I will see you later, then?" She asked him in a conversational tone, as if they had been killing together for many years.

Dexter looked to Alessa, "No need...?" he trailed off. He always tightly packed a couple of heftys and threw them into the deep blue. Only once, however, did one of those bodies find it's way back to the killing spot, and it wasn't on it's own.

Dexter nodded, finally. Maybe it was better this way. It would show the city that punishment would find it's way to those who deserved it.

See her again? Dexter supposed he would. Alessa was another person he didn't have to hide from. "I'd like that." he managed to mumble, thinking about his empty apartment since Rudy's disappearance, and the depressing, ignorant girl who took the empty room since her boyfriend died. He was completely fake to that girl. He felt sorry for her.

Alessa gave him a small smile. "Be careful on your way home," she told Dexter. The warning wasn't meant to imply that her creatures would follow him home, but to alert him of the possible dangers that the Yellow God could and would cause them. "Goodbye."

With that, she turned on her heel and left Dexter with the corpse, her monstrous friend trailing behind her, dragging the large knife across the concrete floor to make that nervewracking screeching once more.

Log; On-Going

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