Killer

Michael - 14
Edith - 16
Killer - probably around 29 or 30
Timeline: In the midst of chapter 6


“Who?” Michael spoke calmly despite being surrounded by one of the largest groups we’d ever faced.

The name of the man in charge was known as “Killer.” We'd been told that he was from the Lost Territory. It was commonly accepted that he was the first son of the Original Experiment, the one who'd originally started the Revolution. They said there was a look to his eyes, the same look they said had been on his father when he'd been young and forming the Southlands.


We were there because Killer was becoming too strong a force for Michael and the others to ignore. Although he was a nomad, like us, he seemed able to convert people to follow him too quickly and fervently.

He sat before us, a hint of an arrogant smile on his lips. Behind him stood a girl who looked at us with eyes large in fright. She didn't see me, her eyes were only on Michael.

Killer glanced around the room and I could see a few of the weaker ones flinch. “Her.” He nodded to a girl hardly older than me who stood off in a corner. She was barely clothed so that her ribs pressed against her skin was highly noticeable. There was a wild terror in her eye that I’d never known even on that worst day. Everyone was a danger to her. Even me.


Michael only glanced at her and she pressed into the wall fearing the sight of him.

There was a familiar sound from behind me-- the familiar shredding of clothes and more, the gasps of the men near-by him, the scent of blood. The girl tried to press herself through the brick wall. Her eyes grew wider in fear and she started to whimper as if she didn’t have enough energy to even scream.

My head didn’t turn. I caught Michael’s eyes. There was no emotion on his face when he said, “Don’t look.”

I could hear one of the heartier guys behind me say, “I’m not cleaning that up.”


Killer seemed impressed. He wasn’t the least bit disturbed. It was another clue that something had to be off about him. We were invited to stay to dinner, just as Michael had hoped.


“Don’t speak, even if he speaks to you. Keep your eyes down on your plate.” Michael had said before we were to head downstairs to be ushered into Killer‘s private dining room. “I can’t leave you behind.”

It was the first time I’d seen Michael so tense. Any situation we'd gone into previously, Michael had always known that he could handle it. But this time, something about Killer seemed to unnerve him which worried me.

We were lead by one of the men from earlier through underground tunnels and down one flight of stairs until we were finally ushered into the room Killer used for his private dining room.

My eyes did not scan the room. I did my best to do as Michael had said I should, and I kept my eyes down. Still, I caught sight of the girls from the audience chamber. The hungry one sat in a corner watching us wearily. The other girl sat at the table in the spot next to Killer.


Our plates were already waiting for us and we sat down in front of them. Michael took the spot nearest Killer. I caught sight of the the girl in the corner clutching at her stomach in pain as we sat with our plates in front of us.

Killer's voice was deep and dark, yet smooth. It reminded me of a small pool of water, still over the top, but covering a large hole that would swallow an entire leg if you stepped into it. He made the normal inquiries, whether Michael had liked the room he'd provided and if he'd had any problems with the others before they started to get into the reason we came here.

"I need help with a problem," Killer was saying. "If you'd be willing to help me, I'd find the way to be willing to help you."


My eyes barely glanced up, only enough to catch the light eyes of the girl in front of me, and for the briefest of moments, our eyes met before we both looked away. Or maybe I was the only one who looked away.

"The Southlands have more than enough resources to fight a war with the Neutrals, if that was what you really wanted to do. But they're working with the Neutrals-- the same people who created the labs that supposedly tortured the old guys. If you'll help me stop them, then I can promise you I'll use my... abilities for the good of your cause."

It struck me how dull her eyes looked. They were the same eyes I saw from time to time when I looked in a mirror. In that instant, I felt a bond between the two of us without words needing to be said.

"You want to take on the Southlands? But isn't he your father?"


We were two like souls at the mercy of forces more powerful than either of us. Clearly taken care of while those around us suffered. I stared at my untouched plate. The girl in the corner still watched us hungrily though she made no noise, not even a sniffle.

"Biologically, yes. The man raped my mother. But he's already disowned me in favor of his chosen successor. Bennet is difficult to get past, even for me. I could use your help with him. So I can have a fair shot at my father."

"You want to kill him. But his power--"

"His power is nothing really. Most powers are negated with me around. His dog, Bennet, happens to be one of the few who aren't affected."


Something about his voice caused a tingle in the back of my neck that almost made me shiver. My eyes jumped up from my plate to the spot Killer sat. His eyes were deceptively warm, hiding the coldness and cruelness that I could sense from him. I could see the curiosity in his eyes by the candle light for the second his eyes held mine. Quickly, I forced mine back down to my plate which only called his attention to the fact I hadn't touched my food.

“What is with your pet? Is she not hungry enough?“

Michael's voice was flat, but I could hear his anger barely contained. "It's the one in the corner. She doesn't like eating when others can't."

Killer ignored it if he caught it. "Very odd one. You must not be treating her properly."

“I need her to look good if we’re going to fool anyone.”

“I’ve got some better looking ones. We can do a trade.”

“No.” Michael was thankfully quick to respond.

Killer’s voice was too jovial and friendly after that. There was a quiet pause before he said, “Tell her she can feed the girl.”

I could tell that there was something going on that was over my head. Not being able to see their expressions, I had no way of knowing what exactly was going on. Michael caught my eye and gave a small, curt nod.

By then, I wanted to be anywhere other than under Killer’s watchful eye at the table.


I stood up, careful not to glance at Killer again, grabbed my plate, and slowly made my way over to the corner where the girl stood. Her wild eyes glanced from me to Michael and Killer behind me. “No…” her voice was only a terrified peep.

I stopped before her holding the plate out to her, but she cowered in the corner, afraid to take it.

“He will hurt me,” she whispered in terror.

The “he” could only be Killer. It was then I realized I was only aiding him in his torture of her. I couldn’t go back to the table to face him, and I couldn’t stay standing in front of her with a plate of food she wouldn’t touch.

Michael’s cold voice cut through the air making me and the girl jump. “Let her eat.”

Killer still had that tone of amusement. “She can eat. I’m not stopping her.”

There was a tense silence at the table behind me. The other girl at the table said nothing, but I was sure I could hear her ragged breathing in time with my pounding heart.

The girl in front of me watched the table with large eyes. Quietly, I heard Killer say, “Fine. Eat.”

Cautiously, the girl glanced from the table to the plate in my hands. She looked as ready to cry as she was to eat. Slowly, she reached out to take the plate from me and then she began to shove food into her mouth.



Breathing did not come easily until we were outside in the setting sun, Michael tugging at my hand, pulling me to a safe place to teleport away. He'd agreed to work with Killer just before we left. Said he would gather the others and they would be in contact.


My mind ran wild with fear at Michael and Killer together. As I followed in the dark behind Michael, I remembered That Night and the things I'd already witnessed him do. He had never tortured or harmed young girls as long as I'd been by his side. What would he do now? What would he become?



"I'm not working with him." Michael said it to me in the dimly lit room once we were back in friendly territory. He spoke those words to me as I lay still, trying to fight back the nightmares on the edges of my consciousness.

Quietly he added, "I had her go to sleep. She won't wake up."

Perhaps he meant it as a comfort that her mysery was over now. The one poor soul who would haunt my memories always present and in the background as she had been at Killer's. Because she didn't have a Michael, because the light eyed girl's protector was her torturer. And my protector had snuffed out her life casually rather than find a way to save it.


On to Chapter 1 of new Story: Paula -->


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Scrap 2

Sometimes I have conversations with my characters. I am not afraid to admit it because I am sure a few of your sit them down when they're being difficult or when the words just aren't coming easy. (Or sometimes when you lose focus and forget what the hell you're trying to do.)

Anyway, the last of my little posts before I start serious updates again. So Michael as a character is very difficult for me to pin down myself. But there were three pieces that came out of nowhere.

Once again, don't put too much weight on them. And I'm leaving them unedited. So they're all technically in second draft form. Without pics. Continue on if you're curious.




He remembered that first day in the house. She'd tried to take the smaller room-- the one slightly disconnected to the the house by an open walkway, sticking out from the house. The small octagonal room.

"I should get this one." He'd said. "I can see if anyone approaches." A reason she couldn't argue with.

He'd told her to take the one with the green furniture. It had mirrors. Matching furniture. Probably had been a girl's room once. He told her so.

"But this one has the balcony."

"It looks over the garden," he'd said.

She'd haltingly stepped over to the balcony to look down at the plot of land where the weeded garden grew.

"But shouldn't you have this one?"

"I won't be here very often."

The last room had two beds, twin sized. She'd looked at them sadly. He hadn't been able to imagine what she'd been thinking about. Did they remind her of the people who had been here before? Of the children who'd once slept in these beds? Maybe it was some memory of her own she'd never shared with him.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Don't say a word," Gina thinks as she runs her tongue along his upper lip. "Don't react. He could be watching you."

His lips are too firm, unyeilding. No Name wouldn't notice, but Gina would without his having to touch her mind. The barbs tossed at Edith are mostly for his benefit, but she has no way to know that. She sits in the old chair awkwardly trying to take up as little space as possible in the large old chair. Somewhere in the room there was an absense, a black hole he couldn't sense. It was there with them in the room, that much he knew, but the room itself was full of darkness. Edith was the bright spot in the room, slowly growing fuzzy.

Gina lapped at his upper lip while remembering dirty things. His hand on her hip tightened. He needed to concentrate. She was becoming fuzzy, fading as she got up, one last look at him and she left.

He pulled away then, though they stayed close. He had to focus. She was disappearing.

Then she was gone. Completely gone. The absense of her is silence. It strikes him hard the absense of her mind buzzing near by. It was like music, a revalation that comes now in its absense. He never read her thoughts, but they leaked out like music softly playing constantly.

In the silence, there is one note still playing far away. A note in the background still playing, her note.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

She opens herself to him, completely vulnerable, completely at his mercy. Softly, the fingertips from her hands run along his torso, feeling the muscles under his skin as he positions himself. Her breath is shallow, frightened nervous. Still. The same as she was their first time when she didn’t know what to expect.

He could never hurt her. There isn’t a question about it. He had considered it; he had almost thought he could manage it when she was only a mind he connected to-- a thought in the dark without a body or a face. A stupid child who shared everything she had with him out of loneliness and a dream of being a good person. He’d been sure that to get to those who’d hurt him, he’d be able to destroy her slowly, torture those who’d hurt him.

Then he’d seen her, her eyes wide in shock and fear. She’d done nothing to him. She was a good person who hadn’t realized that it was possible someone could hate as much as he did. She had no clue, no insights into the thoughts of those around her.

He couldn’t harm her. Couldn’t even conceive of it. She isn’t at his mercy; he's at hers. With each touch, each kiss he begs her forgiveness, Hopes that it isn’t fear that brings them together. But he won’t change, and he can only ask for her forgiveness.


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Scrap 1 : The Dream

So first of the scraps. I'm pretty much going to leave these as they are, so don't put too much weight on them. They're just sort of a fun quick writing session that spilled out and surprised me.


Michael sat up in the dark, pushing the covers down.

“M--”

“Don’t.”



I’d forgotten myself. His little Suzie’s utterance of his name had seeped into my own brain. Mentally, I used it to have something to call him. Vocally, I’d only said it once fully before he told me not to.

His breath was slowing down from its slightly rapid pace. He ran his hand across his eyes.

“Are you all right?”

“Yes.”

I’d asked expecting that answer. He wasn’t all right. If I didn’t know him, I’d say it was a bad dream. But what kinds of things could he dream of?

My instinct was to distract him. At the same time, my instinct told me to not touch him. Michael would let me know if and when he wanted to be touched.

“What do you dream of?”

“Who says it’s my dream?” He shoved the blanket off and sat on the edge of the bed.

“Is it her dream?”

Michael didn’t say anything at first. I didn’t expect him to. “Yes.”

It surprised me. I hadn’t really expected an answer. I sat up, unsure of what to say. For the moment, I felt close to him as if he’d actually opened up his own mind to me. But the wrong question would shut it again.

“What does she dream about?”

“That Night. Me.”

Then I couldn’t stop myself, instincts be damned. I slipped up carefully, crawled to him and wrapped my arms around his shoulders and across his chest. I didn’t know what he meant by “that night” so ominously spoken. Their past was something he didn’t talk about. It was something no one spoke of. Though I know Soldier was there for it.

By the time I saw her for breakfast, I hated her. She lived in her own little world completely oblivious to what had been done for her by him. Did she see him as a monster? He’d only protected her, sheltered her from the actual cruelties in the world.

“Better set another place, Suzie.”

She had no idea. She was ignorant. Sheltered. Innocent. And only because of him.





(Ends at Chapter 3 Arrival)

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Bloopers, Clues, and everything else

I tried very hard to take myself out of this story completely, even trying to remain impartial when I replied to comments. That was very hard, and I'm sure that I didn't always succeed.

So here's where I let you know what I was attempting to do. I am completely biased, but just because I'm the author that doesn't mean that anyone who saw it different was wrong. (This is something we've covered in the comments, but just in case someone doesn't read those, I want to make that clear.)



So first off, 'cause this is fun, a blooper.

As I took the picture, I noticed this but kept in because it was too cute:

From Chapter 4

Look in the back, waaaay in the back. Can you see a black shirt and a yellow shirt?

No? Try this version:

Can you see them now?

Here's another "hint":


When I was getting the pictures for the dream chapter, I ended with them standing near each other thinking the other alluring. HOURS later, they were still there when I came through with young Edith and Michael.





Things I tried to do throughout the story:

Text - first off, no one but Edy ever calls Michael "Michael" out loud. I tried to hint at that in Chapter 3 with Gina at the table and Edy's little dig, and out right show it in Chapter 9.

No one touches Edy except for Michael. There are only two exceptions, one doesn't end well. The other...


Visual -

Michael is not pleased here. And you can't really tell, but Madam (the blond in the back) is looking a little worried. (Chapter 9)


I tried not to be obvious about it, but he was meant to be watching her, keeping an eye out on her, at the end of Chapter 3 here when the others arrived.


Drew caught this one in the middle of Chapter 7! It was meant to be much cooler. I wanted to have Gina reaching for him and him pushing her away. But any time I had her suggest they cuddle, no matter what I did, he always accepted. Bastard. When I had him reciprocate, she would refuse even though they had just been cuddling seconds before.


No real story behind this one from Chapter 4. I just think this is the perfect picture for how I see their story. Edy is looking away and Michael is concerned. She doesn't see it, and he doesn't know what to say to her.


Test Shots


In my head, after writing enough about a character, I have a general idea of what the character should look like. With Sims 3, I will create a character based off of what I see in my head and then run them through test shots-- I guess sort of like casting a part in a movie.

Well, Michael started out as a teen sim originally. But then I wanted him to be taller than Edy. The only way to do that at the time was to make him an adult and leave Edy as a teen even though she's two years older.

So then I had to run them through test shots of all sorts. These were some of the pictures of them I got.




Doesn't this one almost look like a romance cover?



This last one was my favorite. Looks like he's ready to kiss her forhead as she worries (which she does so well).


After the test shots, I realized that Edy had a tendency to appear worried in most anything she seemed to do. Maybe I'm just imagining it, but I swear she does. And then I knew the sim was perfect.



So what the heck happened?


As a final note I think, I'd like to give Moondaisy the prize for guessing out loud exactly what I was doing! She read the quotes in the pictures and pieced everything together in one swoop over in the comments to Chapter 7:

"I have no doubt that Edy is the 'sacrifice', but whose?

"Michael could have very well pretended not to notice Dave, to bait him with Edy by letting her stay in the room for a drink. He may actually have let the other experiments tease her and created the impression he was totally absorbed with Gina... for Dave to let his guard down."


Exactly what I was aiming for. But it goes wrong when she completely disappears, something he hadn't expected would happen.
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New Beginnings

Note: Completely a picture entry. These are some of the pictures I took originally for the last chapter which I ended up changing over the course of the story. But I thought they fit together perfectly to make a separate entry that tells its own very short story.

Since this is sort of the week for bonus/scraps, this is what you get for the kick off.

Warning: Highly suggestive theme if you can't guess from the preview pic, but nothing graphic.

















On to Bonus/transition piece: Killer -->


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Chapter 12 Dream

I open my eyes and I stand on the river bank I remember from the village Michael and I visited with the Old Man. Michael stands to the right of me, his blue eyes resting on me casually.


“Edith…”

“Shhh.” The last thing I remember was going to sleep, so I’m sure that he is invading my dreams. Perhaps it’s better this way rather than meeting him face to face. I can feel him through our connection. “Is this a memory of mine you’ve pulled?”


He looks out over the silky water smoothly flowing from one end of the dream scape to the other. “No. This is your dream. I'm not controlling it. You are."

“Then why are you here?” There’s an underlying anger with my words that surprises me.


He glances at me sharply, surprised by my surprise at my own anger. “You might not believe it, but you called me. Plus,” this he says in a low tone with a bit of amusement, “Mark won’t let me talk to you.”

I almost laugh. “Since when have you listened to anything Mark says? Or anything anyone says for that matter?”

Through our connection, I feel pain from him as if some hardly covered wound were being poked with a dirty stick.


The water continues rolling smoothly along reflecting fractured moonlight with every ripple. Its soft burbling fills in the silence between us.

He stands very near me, his dream self very crisp and clear-- quite unlike the dream selves of our youth. Of course, he’s probably very aware of what he looks like by now.


“I have an idea of something we can do,” I say.





“A picnic?”

I can’t help my smile. Another memory-- my mother and I in the park sharing a picnic basket.

“What’re we going to eat?”

We sit down and I reach forward for a plate with one perfectly prepared hot dog sitting on top, just the way I like it. Michael reaches forward, a rare smile on his lips.


"What?"

"You can have anything in the world and you want hot dogs."

I look down at the hot dog in my hands and remember sunny days spent with my mother in the park. "Michael, why didn't you ever send me back to the Neutral Territory?"


Michael puts his plate down on the blanket. My own plate rests heavily in my hands. “I did look into it. Your father had all traces of your existence removed. As far as the Neutrals would be concerned, you’re a non-person.”

I swallow carefully, trying not to cry in my own dream. It still makes no sense to me. "Why didn't you give me to one of the villages?"


Michael pulls up his knee, resting his arm on it. "They get raided. Sometimes they end up giving away people."

A stray image, a thought he pulls back right away, rides on his last ominous words. It is familiar, associated with a name, but it happens so quick I have no time to examine it.


I stand up. “I think it’s time for a change. Just because I can.”


“Aren’t you going to ask me anything about No Name?”


It takes a second before I realize who he is referring to. Even more surprisingly, I find myself saying, “No.” I can't remember the name he told me or even his face. All I can remember from that night is a factual account of what happened. Yet something is different this time. Michael has killed right in front of me before without showing any discernible concern.

"Something was different this time though. For you."

Michael becomes very quiet, his thoughts focusing. "You disappeared the night he had you."


"How did you find me then?"

Michael hesitates. He doesn't want to say. A lingering trace from the night with No Name, from that moment he held me crying in his arms. I cringe when I remember, but it isn't exactly that he's thinking about. Through the connection, I can feel his steeling himself. "We have a bond that isn't conscious anymore."

So is that what he meant when he said that I called him? Then I remember the seeds on my nightstand, the ones I hadn't noticed until I put my head down on my pillow. My last thought had been to ponder the obvious token, a gift I'd assumed was his asking for forgiveness. A clever way to have me fall asleep thinking of him.

We both stay still, unspoken words tumbling into the silence between us. In the dreamscape, through our connection, the unspoken words are thoughts and feelings we both try to hold back. I am surprised by what I can barely sense from him-- guilt, worry, even a little fear and all of it ready to swirl around me like the eye of a storm. But he holds most of it back widening the gap between us.


Then I surprise myself. As my head becomes dizzy from the threat of being crushed under his feelings I reach out into the void between us and grab his hand. The move surprises him too. The possibility of our well placed dams breaking suddenly disappears and there is silence.

We could continue dancing around the pain, pretending it isn’t there, holding back the emotions, but we are circling-- never getting any closer and never able to move away. One of us has to stop the spinning before it’s too late and we’ve both gone too far. The pain is real, it’s there for both of us, not just me.

Maybe that one has to be me. Maybe that’s why I’m really still here. Because he doesn’t know how to, so I have to show him.


I step close to him, wrapping my arms over his shoulders. His hands fall naturally around me, one thumb gently running along my cheek as the other falls onto my back, resting protectively around me without a need to draw me any closer. In the dream world, standing together closely, there is a warmth that slowly builds in the back of my head until it becomes a fire that consumes us.

**************************

~Fin (For now)



I am outside
And I've been waiting for the sun
With my wide eyes
I've seen worlds that don't belong
My mouth is dry with words I cannot verbalize
Tell me why we live like this

Keep me safe inside
Your arms like towers
Tower over me

Cause we are broken
What must we do to restore
Our innocence
And all the promise we adored
Give us life again cause we just wanna be whole


Paramore - We are Broken (see playlist at bottom of page)



Onto Bonus Picture entry -->


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