admiring my work?

[facethekiller-blog]

     He was still a murderer, but she was still here.              And instead of screaming for help, all she did was nod at his response.

Elisabeth Fehr: The morning breeze was on her face, the air was fresh, and sun was filtering down on her. Her tears dried on her cheeks, and she hadn’t found energy to cry any more. All she wanted to do was sleep. She wasn’t sure exactly when it happened, but paramedics had pulled her to an ambulance, bandaging her wounds efficiently. They were apparently minimal; she would have to go to the hospital for x-rays of her hand, but the police wanted a statement first. They weren’t going to be able to search all the catacombs, they needed her to be specific. She couldn’t find the words to describe what had happened. The rooms were blurs of blood, the tunnels were just carnage. The police patiently waited for her to try and speak, giving her time to try and sort her story. The paramedic had wrapped a shock blanket around her and given her an IV to try and help her restabilize. But when the words came to her, when she thought she could do something for her friends, it was too late. Henri was holding the shock blanket tightly around her, telling his story.

Henri Olivier: Henri had attempted to stay by her side since they’d excited the catacombs and contacted the police, but he’d been pulled away for several moments to give a private statement and have his leg looked at. The whole time his eyes had been glued to Elisabeth’s form, watching her every move for any sign of betrayal. He trusted her, but he wasn’t stupid. It would take a while for them to warm-up to each other, but she’d come around. Before they’d left the catacombs, he’d told Elisabeth the story several times, and made her repeat it back to him to ensure that she had it. Appearing suddenly, Henri gripped the blanket around Elisabeth, standing protectively at her side as the officer came over to question them once more. Henri nodded, at the officer’s request, beginning to explain the night’s events as best he could. He told them everything–his version of it all. His students were missing. And then the next moment, they were dead. Henri had been one step behind all night, trying and failing understand who was behind the madness.. He knew better than to paint himself as a hero, but in his version of the story he’d played a hand in hunting down the killers--the French woman and her American lover. Henri had confronted the man, and nearly died, but had finally put an end to all of this. Tragically enough, by the time all was said and done only himself and Elisabeth were left. Truly tragic, to be the sole survivors of such an ordeal. It was only expected that they would turn to each other in this trying time–their trust limited to only one another.

Elisabeth Fehr: Once a version of the story that made sense was put forward, the police were satisfied. A search team would look for people, but it was rare that people ever made it out of the catacombs. They barely asked for her conformation on the matter, assuming she still couldn’t talk. All she had to do was nod. It didn’t matter that the person who had killed all the students was sitting right next to her. A humble professor and a small young student, they were the only ones who needed to survive. She knew there was no escaping this story, she could already hear it being recited for news reporters, for family members, for anyone who would listen. It was the truth now, she would believe it herself if she hadn’t lived through the reality. Clinging to her own truth was harder than she expected in the new haze. She didn’t want to say the wrong thing, she just wanted it to be over. The last police officer closed their notepad and left her with Henri for a brief moment before the paramedics descended upon her to go to the hospital. She opened her mouth to speak, her mind danced around words trying to invent a polite way of asking to be left alone. “Is everything okay?” She waited a moment before quickly adding, “For now?”

Henri Olivier: Where would they go next? Paris would no longer be the safe-haven it had once been in Henri’s mind–tainted with the memories of the night, and returning to America seemed out of the question. They needed to lie low for the time being. With Esme, and her parents, soon to be discovered dead, Henri would be inheriting his family’s fortune. He’d sell the estate, be rid of the childhood home. Maybe they could use the money to buy a cottage off the coast of Spain. Rome? Italy? The details weren’t important, so long as they were together. He had enough money to support them until the will came through, and everything was put into his name. They could get out of the country in the next few days, they just had to keep up appearances until then. Henri climbed into the ambulance as the paramedics stated they needed to take him and Elisabeth to the hospital now. They’d wrapped his leg, his stomach, and the bleeding had finally stopped. He watched as they sat Elisabeth in the stretcher of the ambulance, fear that she may still pass out, and Henri climbed in and sat in the seat beside her and the paramedic. He watched her, eyes laced with love and concern. “Yes, Elisabeth. It’s all okay now.” Henri smiled at her, taking her hand in his own and gently stroking it with his thumb. “We’re okay.”

Elisabeth Fehr: Her instinct was still to pull away from his touch, but he continued to hold her hand past the initial jerk away. She’d thought the paramedic would ask him to leave, that she would have time to herself. Just a few minutes to mourn for all her friends. But her luck was running short. He remained there, even as the ambulance started moving. Her family was a whole ocean away, when would they learn what happened? Would they ever noticed that she didn’t come back? Her parents’ explanation for her disappearance were already running through her mind. This was an easy way to get rid of the daughter keeping them together. Her life was dissolving before her eyes, and returning to the States felt like a faraway dream. Looking at Henri, she knew she wasn’t going to escape. It felt like he was always staring right at her, even as others talked to him. When she glanced over at him, his cold blue eyes were waiting for her. She couldn’t hold his gaze for longer than a few seconds, tears pricking at her eyes every time she tried. He was still a murderer, but she was still here. And instead of screaming for help, all she did was nod at his response.

[facethekiller-blog]

              “Pull the trigger and it’s all over. We both die.                          The night ends. Everything that happened here was for nothing.”

Henri Olivier: Henri needed to get out of here. There had been too many close calls in the past hour, and he was seriously beginning to doubt his competency. If Berger hadn't shown up when he did, and shot Zach down.... Henri internally shuddered at the thought. He was close to death--too close. Zach's fingers around his throat, and no energy left to fight, Henri had nearly accepted that everything he'd done tonight would go to waste. All the death. All the suffering. If he didn't make it to Elisabeth, it was all pointless. Hobbling through the tunnels, Henri had set out to find her. The trap that he'd set up, with several victims, should be over now. Elisabeth should have made her choice, and she would be able to understand now. She'd know how it felt to kill for someone you loved. She'd understand, he told himself. Suddenly he heard someone ahead and attempted to quicken his pace. "Fuck." He muttered, leaning against the wall. "Who's' there?" He called out, hoping to hear Elisabeth's voice.

Elisabeth Fehr: Elisabeth held her breath as the approaching person yelled, the adrenaline hadn’t left her system just yet, it left her shaking and over sensitive. She didn’t move a muscle until they talked again. The voice was completely unexpected, but it was familiar. She should have felt relief at the mere sound of Professor Olivier’s voice, someone that could help her out of here. Yet something was stuck in the back of her mind. She ignored it and turned the corner of the tunnel, still holding her bleeding hand. “It’s just me.” Her voice was weak from screaming, so she tried to get closer before trying again. “Elisabeth, Elisabeth Fehr.” As Henri came into view he looked just like her, beaten and bloody. She wondered if he had been through anything close to what she had tonight. If someone had made him choose life or death for people, if he would even believe her night. She cleared her throat, “Just me.”

Henri Olivier: He looked her over, his face creased with visible concern at her condition. As far as she knew, he hadn't seen her since before the party had broken up--but that wasn't quite true. He'd been the one to attack her and Amelia nearly six hours ago. Looking at her injuries caused his heart to ache. The black eye, bruised face. The slight limp she carried, from the bullet that he had grazed her leg with. Her small hand, broken and bleeding. She was like a wounded bird, holding it’s broken wing to her chest. "Elisabeth.." Henri felt a pang of despair as he inspected her black eye. He hadn't meant to do that--hadn't meant to hurt her. When she and Amelia found him, he panicked. He had to kill Amelia, that much was apparent, but Elisabeth wasn't supposed to see any of it. She wasn't supposed to see him like this. "What....what happened to everyone who went with you to find Cooper?" Henri found himself entirely unable to predict Elisabeth. People were so easy to read, so obvious. But Elisabeth? He could never read her--never predict the way she'd react to something. He watched her with wonder every day in class for months. It was what drew her to him. She was different. That's what he'd told himself. He resisted the urge to reach out and touch her, for the moment, his hand holding him against the wall. "Are they all...dead?"

Elisabeth Fehr: The reminder of her friends, all strapped to a carousel waiting to die, brought tears back to her eyes instantly. She nodded furiously as tears quickly streaked down her face. “I thought I saved Rosie, but I don’t, I didn’t-” She didn’t finish the sentence at the thought of all the bodies somewhere down here. She wanted someone to have survived, she’d waited for Rosie to come back for her. It hadn’t happened. “There were two girls I didn’t know, but Tristan and Liliana, and- and your niece.” She looked up at him, eyes clouded with tears, “I’m so sorry I didn’t save her. I don’t know what happened.” And she didn’t, the whole room had been a blur of horror. Her next words came out as barely more than a whisper, “I let them die.” She choked out a sob, she let his family die. She let her friends die. “It’s all my fault.”

Henri Olivier: Christ, she was tugging at his heartstrings. "No." He said in a soothing tone, his hand daring to reach out and finally touch her again. He gently lifted her chin so that she was facing him, his heart beating faster at the smallest chance to touch her soft skin. "You did everything you could, Elisabeth. You chose to save them, and you did from the sound of it." He assured her, finally--reluctantly-- letting his hand lower from her face. So she had saved one--Rosie? But something had happened, one of his traps perhaps. It saved him the trouble of killing her personally, at any rate. "Whatever happened after that was out of your control." His last comment was spoken in a different tone, it had a sense of finality in it. He looked down at her distressed expression. After a moment he risked another touch, his hand falling on her hair to softly brush it. "It was out of your control, I promise." He assured her, a soft shushing coming after his words as she began to cry again.

Elisabeth Fehr: She tensed as he brushed her hair, it was meant to be comforting but the touch made her recoil. The reaction was almost instant and she didn’t have any idea why; he was just trying to be nice and offer her some support. At least it had the desired effect of stopping her from crying, even momentarily. His presence alerted her brain to some danger, but she didn’t know what there was. There was no one else coming. It was just them in the tunnel, no noise coming from anywhere, no one rushing up to say they survived. “You don’t understand, they were shot and I didn’t stop...” She looked up at him, and something about his eyes made her step back slightly, brushing tears away from her face. “Did anyone make it back to the hostel?” It was just hope at this point that allowed her to even ask, allowed her to wish that someone would have made it out alive. Not everyone had to die down here.

Henri Olivier: He shook his head sadly at her question, knowing she wouldn't like the answer. Henri, now more than ever, needed to walk a thin line. He needed Elisabeth to understand him--needed her to love him back finally. And surely, she would as soon as she realized what all this was about. "Non, I'm afraid I think we're it." His tone should have been sad, terrified even after the brutality of the night. But his words were spoken with a degree of peace. "It's just us, Elisabeth." He repeated, looking her in the eyes and hoping she would give him a sign that she was listening. That she was hearing what he was saying. "They're all...gone. We can leave now, it's all taken care of. I took care of it for you--for us." Henri offered her a small smile, trying to get her to show him the slightest sign of need or appreciation for him.

Elisabeth Fehr: “No one made it back?” She didn’t want to believe it, people should have come out alive. It couldn’t be just them. “No one?” He didn’t have a reason to lie to her, not about her classmates. Yet, she clung to the hope that someone made it to the exit. She tried to process his words slowly, searching for something. ‘I took care of it’, her mind froze on those words, they sent her reeling. “What did you do?” Her breathing sped up noticeable, she was supposed to be recalling something, but she couldn’t. It was something important, “Took care of it, for us?” The sentence was wrong, she’d barely raised her hand in his class, let alone held a conversation with him. There was no them. “What did you do?” Her world was spinning, trying to recall memories that wouldn’t come forward. The panic spread through her, clawing at her throat, waiting for some cue. Her mouth moved without conscious thought, “What happened to Amelia?” And something made sense. The question was right. Saying it didn’t ease her panic, but it was right.

Henri Olivier: Henri had been watching her closely all night, waiting for the slightest sign that she was regaining her memories. Part of him was grateful for the sudden amnesia after he'd attacked her, he couldn't stand her remembering him that way. But another part of him needed her to remember--to know what he'd gone through tonight, for her. Elisabeth seemed on the verge of remembering, and that both delighted and terrified Henri. "They attacked me, they wanted to stop me from getting to you." He explained calmly, a soft smile tugging at his lips as if the whole situation was a fond memory. "They didn't want me to protect you--they tried to stop me. But there was no one left to save you, it had to be me." He reasoned to her. Her last question, Amelia, had brought a solemn look to his face. If he told her, she would remember. He knew it. Either she would understand, right then, or she would turn away from him. If the latter happened....it was all over. But he had to give her that chance--he believed in her, he knew she would choose right. She always chose right. "You can remember it now. It's okay, you'll understand that I wasn't trying to hurt you." he spoke softly, a hand reaching out to hold her own injured one. "Amelia tried to stop me. She didn't want me to protect you."

Elisabeth Fehr: His grasp on her hand was painfully firm, but it steadied her as she thought about what he said. “Protect me?” Her brow furrowed at the wording, Amelia had been…running; they were running. He’d found them in that awful lair, found them and chased them. She tried to pull away from Henri, his grip no longer steadying but a trap. He was the man who’d shot her in the leg, who’d punched her in the face with a wink. “That was your room. You killed her.” Her voice was soft despite the emotion that was surging through her. It wasn’t hate. It was pure dread. “You killed her.” She could feel tears once again slipping down her face. Her shoulders heaved with the sobs. She didn’t understand why he would do this, why he would kill so many people. Her knees gave out, sending her to the ground. Her memories were back and she wanted nothing else than for them to be locked back away where ever they had hidden. “I’m not worth that- all that.” People dying to get to her? To protect her from what? “I’m not better than any of them! I don’t want-” Her crying took over for a moment, the emotions twisting inside her. “I don’t want this!”

Henri Olivier: He watched as the memories began to come back to her, his breath hitching as she began to panic. No--No this was okay, he assured himself. She was going to panic, that was only natural. He couldn't blame her for being upset, she just needed a minute was all. "You need to listen to me, Elisabeth. You're not thinking clearly--you're not listening." He put the blame on her, never once incriminating himself. He was going to twist her around until he got what he wanted, if that's what it took. He was willing to see how far she would bend before she broke. He was ready to take that risk, to have her finally. "You had no one, Elisabeth. No one really saw you, and you were lonely and innocent, and vulnerable." His voice rose slightly with each adjective. "Do you know what happens to little girls that are left alone?" His eyes were wide with bewilderment, that she didn't understand he'd only done it for her. "You had no one--but me. I was the only one who could protect you. I was the only one who wanted to. No one else cared, that's why they let this happen."

Elisabeth Fehr: Every word sent another sob racking through her body, she knew she didn’t have many people but she hadn’t been alone. Had she? She didn’t have anyone that she called a friend, but her classmates had always been nice to her. No one ever said a rude word to her. But they weren’t her friends, he was right about that. She tried to stand, but couldn’t find the power anymore. Her attempts were pathetic at best. “Just- just…” Articulating what she wanted was impossible. She had no idea what she was thinking, and the more he talked the more jumbled her thoughts became. “I can’t- I’m not-” No complete sentence was coming to her, she needed words. She needed to speak to him, she kept freezing. All night she’d frozen and people had died. She’d refused to act and now there was no one left. She had killed them all, the idea made her feel sick, but it made her feel sure of her anger. Past the terror, it was the only emotion that felt clear. She propped herself up against the wall, trying to look up at the shadowy form of her supposed savior. “I don’t,” she tried to channel whatever force she had into the sentence, “I don’t need you.”

Henri Olivier: Henri had held out hope throughout her entire outcry, but when those final four words escaped her lips a hard coldness swept through him. His posture, tone, everything. It all changed in that moment, turning dark and apathetic. "Fine." He reached a hand down to her, yanking her back to a standing position before she could stop him. His left hand pulled a gun from his waistband, and stuffed it into Elisabeth's hands. "Fine. If that's what you want, then you've got it." He put his hands on her shoulders, easily dragging her into the position he wanted. He put his head against hers, temples aligned, and held the gun to the other side of her head. "You can end this, but it has to be your choice." He told her, his voice still bleak. "Pull the trigger and it's all over. We both die. The night ends. Everything that happened here was for nothing." He nearly spat the last few words, before swallowing. "I can still take care of it all though. I can still take care of us." He said, hanging on to the small sliver of himself that wished she may still change her mind.

Elisabeth Fehr: The motion was too quick, she couldn’t tell what was happening until the cold metal of the gun was pressed against her temple. She tried to pull away but he held her firmly in place, not allowing anything but the choice. Kill them both, or kill neither. It was true or false, pass or fail, and it was all her choice. A whimper slipped past her lips, betraying any courage that she could have found. Her base instinct was to survive. She didn’t want to kill herself. Her body relaxed against his, she was just so tired. Even now, it felt like the night was never going to end, she was never going to get out of here without him. Her finger wrapped around the trigger for a moment, she tried to muster up the power to do it. To win one for all the people who had died for her. But she couldn’t. Her hand went limp in his, and she buried her face in his shoulder to stem the tears that were coming. “I can’t.” Her voice was muffled by his shirt, “I can’t do this.” It was impossible. She couldn’t kill yet another person. There wasn’t no longer any will to fight. She was never the strongest, she was never the most popular. She was always alone. It wore down on her, and it always would. “They’re all dead.” It was a confirmation to herself, she couldn’t do anything more to hurt them or help them. Part of her knew that she was giving in, losing the fight. The other part just wanted someone to finally be there for her.

Henri Olivier: He'd been waiting for her finger to wrap around his for the first and final time. Henri was ready to end this all, he felt miserable. Used. Henri had done everything for her, and she was about to throw it away without a second thought. He felt her body press into his and closed his eyes, at least allowing himself to pretend that things would be okay. Then--then it all changed. It was all okay again. She let her hand slide from the gun, and buried her face into his chest. His hardened stance melted and he lowered his arms, holding her gently within them. Henri's face gradually warmed as he rubbed her arms, burying his face in her soft hair. Roses. It was the roses. Henri felt a wave of relief was over him, his heart still pounding in his chest. "I knew--I knew you'd choose right. I knew you'd choose me." Henri stammered, a warm smile on his face. "I said I could take care of us, and I can, I really can. Now and always, I'll take care of us." Henri was gentle now, happy and assured that things were finally right in their lives. He pulled back from their embrace, leaning down to plant a soft kiss on-top of her head. "I've thought about everything, all you have to do is go with the story. Elisabeth, as long as we stick together, everything is going to be okay."

[sakatari]

[facethekiller-blog]

                 "Is letting all those kids die worth it just to kill me?"

“Funny. But they can wait.        --It's not like you'd let us out of this hell if you weren't dead already, right?"

Henri Olivier: Henri leaned against the cold wall, eyes closed and hands over his face as he tried to forget everything that had happened tonight. Would he ever forget? Was this something you could just let go of? Although--the real question may be, was he actually going to get out of here tonight? For the first time, he was truly beginning to doubt it. Footsteps approaching caused him to lift his head, feeling vulnerable. "It's you, isn't it? I knew you would follow."

Zach: Trusty flashlight in hand, Zach wandered the tunnels. After the others had left the church, it didn't seem right to stay there. Didn't seem right to be out in the tunnels either, with everything that had happened. So many dead. He stopped for a second, putting a hand against a wall to steady himself. Kirby's body was still freshly imprinted in his mind. All that blood... Zach shook himself, kept going. Henri's voice startled him, and he flashed the light right up into the other man's face. "Me? What the hell is that supposed to mean?" He squinted at the guy - almost recognized him. Must've seen him at the rave. Or back in the church.

Henri Olivier: Henri lifted a hand to shield his eyes from the flood of bright light. Just looking at it made his head ache. Was he playing dumb? That didn't seem like Zach's style. "I know you've been watching me. You're not exactly subtle." Henri snapped, feeling on edge. Something was going to happen, something had to happen. They both knew they couldn't allow the either to get out of here alive. Not after all those deaths. "Wish I had a drink." Henri mused, sighing. "Rum would be nice. Maybe Whiskey."

Zach: Zach dropped the light, and - there. Yeah, he definitely recognized this guy now - just had to be in the right lighting. He raised an eyebrow. "You're one to talk," Sitting out here in the tunnels, it should've been easy to see through this guy. If Zach hadn't been so distracted... but gig it really matter now? "Well, you're a few hours late for that, bud," Zach laughed, twirling the little light in his hand as he did so. He needed something to do with his hands... needed something more dangerous. Should've grabbed that knife while he had the chance. "At least you've got good taste."

Henri Olivier: The light had been bright, but Zach finally lowered it and it allowed them each to look over the other. Henri's leg was wet with blood. He'd tied it off with a piece of fabric, but he walked with a limp from the pain. Fucking Kirby. She was always a pain in his ass, it figured she would be the one to nearly ruin everything. "So, what do you want exactly? Who did I kill tonight that has you so high and mighty for revenge?" Henri asked, his lips forming a twisted smirk. "Was it your girlfriend? Yeah? Is it really worth dying over some dead ass?"

Zach: Okay, so maybe he could've done this more calmly. Maybe he could've still run and got someone from the surface to help, not had to put himself in danger. But not after that last comment. Zach gave the guy a smile. "You have no idea, huh?" His leg flashed out, aiming for Henri's damaged one. A cheap shot, but at this point, honor didn't matter - take the killer down, by any means necessary.

Henri Olivier: He'd been expected more talk. Zach seemed like a big talk, kind of guy. The leg that flew out at Henri had been completely unexpected, and succeeded in knocking Henri off his feet. He felt back, against the wall of the catacombs and grunted as his head hit the bones behind him. "No! I have NO idea Zach." Henri spat back, a grin on his face as he revealed that he knew the man's name. "Do you want to know how I killed her? Do you want to know what I did to Delphine?" He laughed.

Zach: Zach stepped forward, drawing himself closer to the guy. "How did you- Whatever," Zach grabbed for the guy's shirt, asserting as much control over the situation as he could. Flashlight in hand, he simed a punch under the guy's chin, "I saw what you did," he snapped, "What the FUCK was that?" It was like he was punching that wall again, as if he had just realized Delphine's fate all over again.

Henri Olivier: Henri was too weak to fight back for the moment. He was too tired, to exhausted. He still held hope that things were going to work out as they should, put with the beating Zach was intent on giving him, the possibility that things would end sooner rather than later had begun to creep into his mind. He let out a groan of pain as Zach continued to punch him. "She was so sad, Zach. I just wanted her to smile a little." Henri's voice was near-hysterics, finally he dared to make a move and launched a headbutt at Zach. His forehead connected with Zach's nose.

Zach: The sound of Zach's fist connecting with Henri's jaw brought a twisted smile to the mechanic's face. "That wasn't a smile - that was - that was - ergh" There was an audible crunch as Henri's head connected with his face. Zach's own head shot back. He felt a trickle of blood start, then increase to a river as his head tilted back forward. But he didn't care. "She's not the fucking Joker, asshole." He spun the flashlight in his hand again, grabbing it so that he could bring the hilt down right on Henri's temple.

Henri Olivier: Henri had been trying to push Zach back, so that he could slip away from him. He knew it was a useless move--he was hurt. He wasn't going to make a run for it, and Zach sure as Hell wasn't going to let him try. Henri stopped himself short, instead raising his own fist, only Zach had already been in the process of making a swing at his head with the flashlight. It connected with Henri's temple, and Henri's fist blindly swung at Zach's left eye. "How do you want to die? I could give you a smile to match your girl." Henri taunted as his head reeled.

Zach: The sound of Zach's fist connecting with Henri's jaw brought a twisted smile to the mechanic's face. "That wasn't a smile - that was - that was - ergh" There was an audible crunch as Henri's head connected with his face. Zach's own head shot back. He felt a trickle of blood start, then increase to a river as his head tilted back forward. But he didn't care. "She's not the fucking Joker, asshole." He spun the flashlight in his hand again, grabbing it so that he could bring the hilt down right on Henri's temple.

Henri Olivier: Henri had been trying to push Zach back, so that he could slip away from him. He knew it was a useless move--he was hurt. He wasn't going to make a run for it, and Zach sure as Hell wasn't going to let him try. Henri stopped himself short, instead raising his own fist, only Zach had already been in the process of making a swing at his head with the flashlight. It connected with Henri's temple, and Henri's fist blindly swung at Zach's left eye. "How do you want to die? I could give you a smile to match your girl." Henri taunted as his head reeled.

Zach: Zach lost his grip on Henri's shirt when the man's fist connected, just below his eye. His head knocked back again, and he stepped away, letting out a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding. "I should be asking you that," As if he'd actually give the guy the death he wanted. Left eye closed, Zach brought himself back into the ring, flinging a fist at Henri's stomach.

Henri Olivier: Henri needed to end this, and certainly the sooner the better considering how much blood he was loosing. He didn't want to think about the possibility of blacking out here and now, and leaving his fate in Zach's hands. Henri doubled over in pain as Zach's fist landed a blow in his stomach, for the third time tonight the knife wound Rebecca' had given him in his side ripping open. He was barely standing, and knew that if he went down he probably would not be getting back up. If only he'd bothere to take his knife back from Kirby's corpse. "If I die here, you do too." Henri said though gritted teeth as he looked up at the other man.

Zach: "I can live with that," Zach chuckled at the irony of his own statement. Pulling his fist away, he brought his knee up, aiming slightly lower than where his last hit had landed. If Zach could just bring him down to the ground... but damn, if Henri wasn't stubborn about this.

Henri Olivier: Zach's knee finally knocked the wind out of Henri, and he fell against the wall behind him once more. He slid to the dirt floor, body aching as he finally fell. He looked up at Zach with malice in his eyes, but could only let out a chuckle. "You're over here, killing me. But you could be over there--" Henri nodded in another direction, "saving everyone who's still alive." He smiled up at Zach, blood straining his teeth. "Is letting all those kids die worth it just to kill me?"

Zach: Looking down at this murderer, Zach almost let it get to him. He didn't know all the kids, but some had grown on him in the past hour or so. "Funny. But they can wait." With Henri on the ground, Zach was almost hesitant to end him. The guy deserved pain, after all he'd done. With a grin, Zach dug a heel into Henri's leg wound, hoping for that groan of pain. "It's not like you'd let us out of this hell if you weren't dead already, right?"

Henri Olivier: Henri had been hoping he'd take the bait. And, maybe he would. But for the moment Zach was intent in his ways, and as he dug his heel into Henri's thigh he had to let out a low moan of pain--coupled with a string of laughter. "Oh--Zach. Zach you're going to regret letting all those kids die."

Zach: For a second time, Zach almost listened to him. Almost. How was he supposed to know that they were dying anyway? Henri could be lying, trying to get away. And that sure as hell wasn't going to happen. Zach let off of Henri's leg and crouched down, positioning himself the way he did working on a tire. Henri was weak, but Zach wasn't going to take chances - he couldn't risk getting knocked off balance. He wrapped his hands around the other man's throat. How easy would it be, to snap Henri's neck! As easy as turning a wrench - and quick, too. Too quick. "I guess we'll be seeing each other in Hell then, eh?" With that, Zach pressed his thumbs into Henri's windpipe.

Henri Olivier: Henri was too weak to do anything more than watch as Zach knelled beside him and wrapped his fingers around his throat. Henri lazily tried to push Zach's hands away, but there was little he could do to stop the other man at this point. His body was going numb from the blood-loss, and from the lack of oxygen he'd began seeing black spots at the corner's of his vision. Was this it? Was he going to die at the hands of some macho mechanic after all he'd been through tonight? This was fucking ridiculous! Henri's hands weakly held onto Zach's, his eyes closing. But then he heard a voice, a strong, authoritative voice. ‘Hey buddy--hands up! Let go of him, and take a step back!’ The cop yelled at Zach, gun in his hand as he looked at the scene before him and tried to understand what was happening.

Zach paused from his beating of Henri, his expression full of anger. ‘Do you know what this guy’s done!? Do you know how many people this monster has killed?’ The cop held his aim firm, repeating his command. ‘Take a step back, and we’ll get this all sorted out. I only wanna help you.’ He assured Zach. Slowly, against his better judgement, Zach let his fingers fall from Henri’s throat and stood back up. Henri took in a gasp of air, staying on the floor. ‘Are you gonna arrest the sonofabitch now or what?’ Zach asked, waving his hand at the cop. ‘Actually, that dumb-ass sonofabitch called me down here.’ The cop fired off a shot into Zach’s forehead, and perhaps before he’d even had time to register the words, Zach had fallen to the ground beside Henri. 

‘Quit being dramatic, Olivier.’ The cop tucked his gun back into its holster before walking over and giving Henri a hand, pulling him back up to a standing position. ‘Christ you look like shit.’ He laughed, looking between Zach and Henri. “Still look better than you.” Henri muttered, hands rubbing his throat. Looking at the other man, Berger, Henri was profoundly grateful to have such deplorable friends. A dirty cop was certainly just what Henri had needed to pull off his plans...then again, Berger wasn’t completely aware of what had happened here tonight. Henri had told the other man he’d simply planned to kill his niece, her parents. Just to he could inherit the family fortune. Berger was instantly in on the plan.

Learning what had really happened tonight....that not 3 people, but 36 had died... Berger would turn on Henri. No amount of money could prevent that. Licking his lips, Henri motioned for Berger to hand him his gun. “I’ve still got something to take care of.” He insisted. Berger looked apprehensive, but finally gave in and handed Henri the gun. “Thanks for taking care of that.” Henri lifted the gun and put a several bullets into his chest.

[facethekiller-blog]

hi kanye I hope your dick is fine, you have too much at stake with lis,

youralmostprofessionaldoctor

[facethekiller-blog]

The Killer asked Chatzy to choose between Esme Chastain, Elisabeth Fehr, Liliana Fitz, Zacharie Granger, Riley Hennessy, Kirby McAdams, Henri Olivier, and Tristan Renner Chatzy chose: Kirby McAdams

Kirby: Kirby paced up and down the tunnels, her footfalls echoing in the silence. It hadn't taken her long to flee the scene of the church, figuring they’d come after her next. Realistically, she couldn’t blame them if they came to that confusion, but she wasn’t always a realistic person. She was a pissed off person, especially at that moment. “They would’ve all done the same,” she muttered, running an anxious hand through her hair, “they just didn’t have the fucking balls. He looked like an asshole anyways.” She kept trying to distract herself, not wanting to admit that she was scared. She had no idea where Mani was, but she held out hope that they were still alive. She’d just seen them, after all. Nothing could’ve happened in that short amount of time, right? “Fuck, I’ve gotta find Mani,” she sighed, talking to fill the quiet up with her own voice.

The Killer: They'd stayed after Kirby had stormed out, joining the others in solemn silence to cover up Felix's body- who now appeared to be innocent. The church had been thick with tension, almost as if everyone were waiting for the next sick message. And then it came. Cooper's flim debut went over as well as expected, and it was only moments after that everyone jumped to action to rush to Cooper's aid. They'd stayed, of course. Electing them-self responsible to track down Kirby. She was probably terrified, confused- That was what they had told the others, anyway. Once the coast was clear, they made their way into the tunnels in search of the girl, and it wasn't long before they tracked her down from her muttering. "You don't seem too torn up about killing that man." They commented.

Kirby: Kirby nearly flinched when she heard the voice coming from the tunnel behind her. She quickly spun around, not relaxing even though their tone didn’t sound very accusatory. “So?” she asked, defensive, “Am I supposed to go fucking cry over him or some shit? Someone else would’ve done it if I hadn’t, and he fucking laughed. It was like he wanted us to think it was him.” She edged her hand to her back pocket, where her small knife still lay. She couldn’t take this person in a fair fight if it came down to it, but when it came to fighting dirty, she was an expert. “Why do you care, anyways?” she asked, narrowing her eyes at the other. “Did you know him?”

The Killer: They were surprised by the aggression they were met with, and it was apparent by the expression on their face. She sure packed a lot of anger for someone so fucking small, they noted. "I was just commenting." They said with a shrug, their tone relaxed. Kirby wasn't a threat- that's what they had told them-self. She was small, alone. Hardly someone to be worried about in this situation. "No, I don't think I did." They paused, their answer to her question coming slow as if they had to think hard to remember the answer. "And I don't care. Or, I do? Not in the 'Oh No You Killed An Innocent Man' way, at the very least." They assure her with a small wink. "Really, you did me a favor."

Kirby: The more calm and relaxed the other remained, the more ansty Kirby got. This wasn’t right, people weren’t supposed to be casual after witnessing a murder, especially when talking to the person that did it. “You came an awful long way just to comment,” she replied, slipping the knife out of her pocket and flicking it open, though she didn’t reveal she had it yet. She’d already killed one person tonight, another wouldn’t hurt if it came to that. “You.. don’t care..” Kirby replied, tilting her head like a curious dog before giving the other a glare. “So you’re the one doing all this,” she accused, her grip on her knife tightening, “I hope you enjoyed the show back in the theatre. Must’ve filled your sick heart with joy.”

The Killer: They had to give her credit- she caught on much faster than anyone else had in the course of the night. They watched her slip out the knife, they assumed it was the same one she'd killed Felix with just prior. Her comments went in one ear and out another, their focus more so on the pocketknife in her hands than anything else. What was she going to do with it? Stick them in the leg? They could probably hold out an arm and keep her from being able to reach them. The thought was amusing. Finally they lifted their eyes to her own, her last comment bringing them back. "I would have dome something a little more dramatic, but it worked." They reached into their pocket, pulling out the blade they had killed Liam with. "Your knife is a little small. Child size. I guess that's fitting." They laughed.

Kirby: Kirby watched them closely, knowing she’d never get away if she ran. This person was probably faster than her, or at least could run longer than she could. And now she knew who they were. She doubted they’d be letting her get away to tell everyone else, or leave and tell the police. “Maybe you should’ve done it yourself then,” Kirby said, holding the knife out in front of her when she realized he wasn’t buying her attempts to hide it. “Your dick is child sized.”

The Killer: They snorted at her comment, admittedly a little impressed with her moxie. She was intent on being a pain in their ass. "And you bark like a fucking Chihuahua." They replied, readying their hunting knife as Kirby had with her own. "Know why don't you shut the fuck up already, Christ." They lunged at her, their knife slashing down at her side.

Kirby: “You should see my bite, fucker,” Kirby snarled. She tried to dodge the blow to her side, the knife cutting her deep enough for the blood to start gushing immediately, but not enough to bring her down. She knew she wasn’t going to make it through this, the least she could do was give them something to remember her by. “Make me, if you’ve got the balls.” She slashed at him with her own little knife, obviously not able to do as much damage as they had, but what her cuts lacked in depth, she made up for with speed and enthusiasm.

The Killer: She had one advantage over them: Kirby had nothing to lose. She was going to die, here and now, and she damn well knew it. They, on the other hand, had no intentions of dying tonight. Kirby was willing to play risk, throw her defense out the window just for the chance to strike a critical hit. This was becoming interesting. "I've got out one Bitch's tongue tonight, I have no problem making that two!" They called to her, her knife slicing their thigh. It stung, but it felt good. Got the adrenaline running. It was hardly a fatal wound. They lifted their opposite leg, kicking her back from them. "You think a little prick is going to stop me!?"

Kirby: Kirby kept jabbing, almost blindly at this point. She’d only been in a real knife fight once before, and that hardly counted, considering it was with her drunk bullshit ex. A grin came to her face whenever the knife connected, and she let out a small laugh. If anything, this was an exciting way to go, the adrenaline was a beautiful blinding sensation, and she wasn’t scared. She had never wanted to die in bed at ninety anyways. “Is that not why you’re doing all this?” She asked, giggling again, “Little prick, gotta compensate? I bet people laugh at you. Hell, I’m laughing at you.”

The Killer: They pretty much set them-self up for that one, they had to admit. They rolled their eyes, using the opportunity to lash out with their blade and catch Kirby in the forearm. Fuck, she was short. It was throwing them off, making it hard to control their aim. "Really original. Honestly, congratulations. Those are superb final words." They mocked in a condescending tone, grimacing slightly at the open wound in their thigh.

Kirby: “Better final words, fuck you, you motherfucking fuck shit,” Kirby replied, putting all of her force into her next stab. She aimed for where she knew it would hurt most, hoping her words were distracting enough as she drove the knife into their crotch. /Now/ there was no way this wouldn’t haunt them for the rest of their miserable existence. “And there goes the people pleaser,” she couldn’t help but laugh again, skittering backwards away from them to avoid getting cut further, “Did I take the pressure off? Good luck ever getting it up now, you deserved that.”

The Killer: How eloquent. Their mouth was open, ready to issue another taunt or crude comment- But then she stabbed them. She literally fucking STABBED THEM, IN THE DICK. Their eyes were wide, honest to God fear as they realized this fucking midget could actually have just seriously fucked them. This didn't happen in real life- In real life you just don't get stabbed in the fucking dick. They let out a cry of pain as she stood, snark dripping off of Kirby's words as they looked at her with wild shock in their eyes. Their free hand shot down to their crotch, gently patting their thigh as they kept their eyes on Kirby. They let out a breath they didn't realize they'd been holding. She'd missed. She fucking missed. Kirby had stabbed them all right, and from the blood seeping from the wound in their thigh they had to think it cut an artery. "You stupid fucking CUNT!" They screamed, a string of laughter escaping their lips. "You Missed."

Kirby: Kirby held her bloody knife in front of her in a defensive position. She’d wanted to make her mark, and sure, she had done that judging by the blood seeping from their wound, but damn it would’ve been satisfying to castrate them. At least she wouldn’t have to live with the disappointment for long. “I guess you just don’t have enough down there to aim for,” she taunted, grinning, “I think I made you mad. Don’t worry, I wouldn’t have taken away anything anyone actually wanted to see. The whole crazy murder vibe isn’t as hot as you’d think, you kinda just look gross.” She kept talking, hoping to distract him as she came up with a plan. There was no way she was letting this asshole get the satisfaction of killing her. Time was ticking, and she knew she wasn’t getting away. She only had one option, though she’d like to have a little less hope before she decided to employ it.

The Killer: They swiped the top of their head with the back of their hand, sweat dripping from the exertion of everything they'd been through tonight. Christ they were tired with it all. Kirby's words were barely registering with them anymore, they were still internally assuring them-self that they had control of the situation. She cute them. They were bleeding. Badly. -But that didn't mean by any means that Kirby was getting out of here alive, and they both knew that. "Just die already!" They called, aggravation in their tone as they shifted their weight. They were watching her, in pain. Waiting for her to make a move.

Kirby: Kirby kept her eyes on them, not breaking eye contact. When whatever act she was putting on was dropped, there was nothing meek about her. She was a force of nature, her mother always said, nothing could stop her once she got an idea in her head. “Why don’t you come over here and make me, huh?” she challenged, edging a step backwards. Knowing she was going to die didn’t mean she wanted to, after all. If there was a chance to run, she’d take it. “Or are you too scared you’re gonna lose the family gems for real this time?”

The Killer: They gritted their teeth, making a clumsy lunge for her. Pain shot through their leg, and they let out a groan as Kirby barely escaped their grasp. "Where are you going? HUH? I thought you wanted to fight! I thought you wanted to take me down!" They screamed after her, dragging themselves behind.

Kirby: Kirby saw her chance and took off down the tunnel. Some of her cuts were deep, but nothing was a major hindrance to her speed. They, on the other hand, probably wouldn’t be able to run well with that wound. She didn’t bother replying to their taunts, knowing that if she got away, she’d be the real winner. If she got out of there, they’d be dead or in jail by the end of the night, and that would be a sweet victory.

The Killer: They were breathing heavy, following behind in what they knew was a wasted effort. Suddenly, they stopped in their tracks. "You're not getting out of here!" They screamed, the large blade in their hand raised high as they watched Kirby attempt to escape. Nostrils flaring from excretion, they let loose the blade and flung it through the air towards Kirby. They wanted to stick it in her head, but they knew the chances of hitting that mark were slim. Instead, they aimed lower, towards her back. They watched with held breathe as the knife buried itself inside her back, and she fell to the ground.

Kirby: Kirby screamed as the knife embedded itself in her back, falling forwards as her momentum carried her. She hit the floor with a thud, her ears ringing. The knife was in there deep, she had no idea if it would be fatal or not, but she knew she was as good as dead when they caught up to her. She wasn’t about to allow that to happen. She lifted herself up on one hand, the exertion sending stabbing spikes of pain through her. “Suck on this fuck, asshole,” she said, spitting at the ground, aiming as closely as they could to them. She took a deep breath before taking her tiny knife and stabbing it into her own jugular, blood starting to flow from the wound instantly. She fell back to the floor, life and strength draining from her quickly. At least they didn’t get to kill her, she thought, right before everything went fuzzy, then black.

The Killer: They'd walked to hurry with haste, getting only a few feet away before she sat herself up and looked at them with an icy glare. They'd stopped, if only to see what she was up to. When she lifted her knife, they realized she planned to take her own life- And by all means, they would let her. They stayed back, watching as she plunged the knife into her own jugular and dropped to the ground. Sighing deeply, they stared down at her as the life drained from her face. "Fucking Cunt." They muttered, turning away before their anger caused them to do something stupid.

[sylviadelacroix]

“I am used to girls screaming, and your screams—your screams will be sweeter than another’s cries of love.”                           — Holly Black

{ l i s t e n }

[metalpodcast666]

[facethekiller-blog]

Man's Relationship Advice Same As His Hunting Tips

[facethekiller-blog]

"If im stabbed do I get to keep the knife"

[facethekiller-blog]

You Meet The Most Interesting People Kicking Open Random Bathroom Stalls

[facethekiller-blog]

"We Raise All Our Beef Humanely On Open Pasture And Then We Hang Them Upside Down And Slash Their Throats"

[facethekiller-blog]

Serial Killer Admits He's Lost Track Of Pattern He Was Going For Originally

[goddammitnuwanda]

Tick tock goes the clock And all the years they fly Tick tock and all too soon You and I must die Tick tock goes the clock We laughed at fate and mourned her Tick tock goes the clock Even for the Doctor Tick tock goes the clock He cradled her and he rocked her Tick tock goes the clock Even for the Doctor…

Mark Gatiss, Night Terrors (via goddammitnuwanda)

@youralmostprofessionaldoctor

[facethekiller-blog]

The Killer asked Chatzy to choose between Adeline Carter, Esme Chastain, Elisabeth Fehr, Liliana Fitz, Zacharie Granger, Riley Hennessy, Kirby McAdams, Henri Olivier, and Tristan Renner Chatzy chose: Adeline Carter

Addie: Addie sat in the cold room, a blood spattered mess beside Dalton's body. Her face was streaked with tears. She was hoping for a miracle. That somehow this was all a figment of her wild imagination. It wasn't. She had to resist the urge to lie beside him on the uncomfortable floor. Would that be weird? Surely it had to be. She was tired and her eyes were sore from where she had tried to wipe her numerous tears away.

The Killer: They'd been curious as to what had happened to Dalton's body, it was one of the few they hadn't bothered to move. On their way back from killing Liam, they decided to drop by to see what had happened to it- and lo and behold there was a woman sitting with him. They approached slowly, cautiously. "Hey- What...? What happened to him?" They asked, as if they hadn't the faintest idea .

Addie: She looked up, her eyes blurry with tears. "Someone shot him," she said, her voice sounding thick and foreign. She didn't care who this person was or why they were there. Her mind was on the body next to her. She reached out and tenderly pushed a curl out of his eyes like she had so many times when he was alive.

The Killer: Was so honestly so dumb as to not understand that Dalton had done this to himself? Their brow quirked at her comment, but they shook the expression away. "You think?" They asked, sounding slightly skeptical as they took a few small steps closer. Their hands sat in their pockets, their body language entirely too relaxed for such a situation. "Because I'm not really buying it. I think he did this to himself." They looked down at her, a cocky expression on their face. "He was too weak to go on..or he lost his marbles. Take your pick."

Addie: "Oh, yeah?" she said, sounding bitter. "I found the asshole who did it to him." She didn't want to think about the possibility of Dalton killing himself. It had been a fear of hers for a very long time. "And even if he had it wouldn't have been because he was weak. Suicide is not a sign of weakness."

The Killer: They rolled their eyes at the woman, a chuckle erupting from their throat at her instance. "Oh, you've got it all figured out don't you?" They were curious. "Did you make 'the asshole' pay? Did you...kill them?" Their second question was asked with an impressed smirk. "You can tell me. I've killed people too tonight."

Addie: Addie didn't want to have to deal with someone heckling her. "Can you just leave me alone?" She didn't feel much at the moment, nothing but a numbness that went down to her core. Dalton. All she could think about was the future he would never have without her or not.

The Killer: She wasn't buying into their games, and they weren't going to stick around any longer. It wasn't fun. In fact, it was tiresome. They pulled their hands out of their pockets, quickly leaning down and wrapping them around Adeline's throat. Their grip was iron-clad, renewed aggression flowing through them. "Could have at least-" They muttered, between gritted teeth as they strangled Adeline, "-attempted to be polite."

Addie: Addie struggled against the wise grip around her neck, choking for breathe. She was already exhausted from fighting for her life once this night. Her hands weakly clawed at the ones encircling her throat. She thought about giving up. If she gave up she could lie down beside Dalton and rest and this night would be over with. She wouldn't have to deal with the aftermath. She wouldn't have to watch a slick black coffin get lowered into the ground. She would be free of the scars that tonight would surely bring.

The Killer: Adeline was fighting their grip, but it felt entirely half-hearted. Looking between her and Dalton, they realized she had more than likely already condemned herself to death without him. Utterly Pathetic. "He shot himself, and I saw the whole thing." They admitted to her. "He was a blubbering mess. He didn't give you a second thought before putting that bullet in his brain."

Addie: Tears ran down her cheeks as their words connected in her brain. She stopped kicking, stopped fighting. It wasn't worth it anymore. Part of her had always known he would do this. She'd be woken by his night terrors, held him to her while he cried. He had troubles she couldn't fathom and in the end she could not be angry with him for doing it. Love covered a multitude of sins after all and this was one of them.

The Killer: They held their grip long after she'd stopped moving, looking between her and Dalton with an expression of disgust. From just this instance, they could only imagine how toxic they'd been to each other. Dalton probably ruined her life at some point, and she'd forgiven him like the childish idiot she appeared to be. They released her body, tossing her on the floor next to Dalton. They were so close now. They could practically feel the sun on their face- Elisabeth in their arms. It would all be over soon.

[soundtracksfromfilms]

Visit Original Link

[facethekiller-blog]

soundtracksfromfilms:

The Social Network Soundtrack » Trent Reznor & Atticus Ros - In The Hall Of The Mountain King

[facethekiller-blog]

The Killer asked Chatzy to choose between Cooper Addison, Rosamund Augustine, Natalie Bronson, Adeline Carter, Esme Chastain, Elisabeth Fehr, Liliana Fitz, Zacharie Granger, Liam Hayden, Riley Hennessy, Felix Leclair, Kirby McAdams, Henri Olivier, Tristan Renner, and Emmanuel Sargent Chatzy chose: Natalie Bronson  

Natalie Bronson: Natalie felt like her heart was going to beat straight out of her chest. Ever since she and Greg had found what had been in that church (the very recollection of it made her head spin) , she couldn’t calm down. Her thoughts raced, and every fiber of her being was screaming at her to leave. Nothing felt right. She had left Greg in there when he wouldn’t leave, but that wasn’t her fault. She couldn’t take it. Panic. It was sheer panic that she felt. It was hard to catch her breath, and the tears that escaped her eyes were more from fear than from sadness. She shouldn’t have been near so many bodies. And they were people that she knew, too. How the hell had they all died? A bitter taste filled her mouth when she considered that someone might have killed them. But wouldn’t someone have noticed them gone? Wouldn’t have someone had heard something? She couldn’t comprehend it. She walked the corridors of the catacombs, her strides long and quick because she wanted nothing more than to get out of there. How she was able to turn down the right paths was a miracle- she was seemingly running on autopilot. She was focused on nothing but the thought of leaving. It felt like a weight had been lifted from her chest when she realized she was close to the exit. This was it. It seemed like the night from hell would almost be over.

The Killer: After dealing with Greg, they'd come back to find the woman who had entered the church with him ten minutes prior. They weren't ready for either of them to be spilling the beans about what they had done in the church, and needed to silence them both before word could spread and everyone realized sticking around was the last thing they should be doing. It had taken them longer than they would have liked to admit, but once they'd decided to stop thinking like themselves- a killer searching for prey-and instead began thinking like the woman they were after- a petrified college student, just looking for a way out- it took them no more than five minutes to pick up her trail. She was loud, whether she realized it or not. Probably in some form of shock, after seeing all the grotesque bodies of what were once her friends. Approaching from behind, they put on a concerned look. "Hey- Hey are you okay? Jesus, you don't look good." They commented, their face furrowed with concern.

Natalie Bronson: The sound of another voice made her flinch, and she spun around warily to face them. This wasn’t a part of her plan of getting out. She was supposed to make it to the exit, and leave. That was all. It was supposed to be quick, and then she would go back to the hotel. The idea of explaining what she saw left her tongue-tied, and a part of her was wishing that if she went to sleep, she would wake up and it would have all been a dream. No one was dead. This was a class trip. Nothing was supposed to have gone wrong, except for maybe someone getting too drunk on French alcohol. That was it. It hadn’t crossed her mind that she would see anyone else (that said, anyone it was likely for her to talk to was in that goddamned church, dead), and it took her a moment to gain enough composure to talk. She swallowed the lump in her throat, and probably gave what was an unconvincing nod. “Fine, fine, I’m just fine.” Her voice was high-pitched, and she couldn’t help it when it cracked at the end of her phrase. She reached up and tucked her hair behind her ears, managing a wavering smile. “I was just trying to get out of here. A little too partied out, you know?”

The Killer: No matter what she said, it was obvious to anyone that she was certainly not 'fine.' Not in any sense of the word. They gave her a skeptical look, a brow raised as their eyes ran over to ascertain if she had any injuries. She seemed unharmed, only scared by what she had seen earlier. At this rate, they'd begun to think there really was a maniac running around the catacombs- other than them self, of course. They'd come across at least several bodies that they knew for a fact they were not responsible for. Did they have competition down here tonight? The idea was...titillating. They ran their tongue over the lips, watching her for a moment before actually responding. "You're certainly lost, if nothing else." They nodded to a path on the left. "That's the one that leads to the surface." They began walking towards it, shooting a glance behind them to see if she was following or not. "I was heading there myself. Could use some fresh air, you know?"

Natalie Bronson: Lost? That couldn’t be right, the other person had to be wrong. Natalie was sure that she was going in the right direction. She had spent the night wandering around more than she probably should have, but the one thing that she did consistently was try and keep note of where everything was in relationship to each other. Maybe she hadn’t done as well at that as she had hoped to. Maybe she had been thrown off by her panic. She bit her lip as she looked around where they were in the catacombs. This night so far had lead her to believe that she couldn’t be sure of anything anymore, maybe she couldn’t be sure of herself either. Her shoulders slumped as she looked towards where the other person was headed. They seemed sure of themselves, if nothing else. Maybe it wouldn’t hurt to follow them. “Right, okay, thank you.” She exhaled, letting her shoulders fall in resignation, as she walked towards them. “Fresh air is definitely something I’m looking forward to.”

The Killer: Natalie seemed to be having some debate- either on the directions they had given her, or the credibility of their character. Either way, she surprised them by finally agreeing with their words and following them. She must had been more shaken up than they'd thought, not to question anyone they ran into at this point. They personally would have a bit of a challenging time trusting anyone after finding several desecrated corpses. They reached out an arm as she approached, lightly pressing her forward with them as they both walked. "Are you sure you're alright? You seem awfully on edge." They commented, wondering if she had seen anyone she was particularly found of back in the church. With as many bodies that were in there, surely she was close to at least one of them. "I wouldn't blame you, if you were."

Natalie Bronson: She froze feeling them touch her, and like normal she immediately broke off contact. What was out of character for her was that she said nothing in response. She just took a quick step sideways, never letting her pace slow down. “I said that I was fine,” she snapped, looking over at them with her eyes narrowed. “Why do you even care? I said how I was, so you should take my word for it, and stop pressing the matter.” They didn’t have the right to question her, and, though she wanted to, she didn’t vocalize that thought. She would usually have no reservation about saying whatever came to her mind, but that seemed like it would be a waste of time and energy, and those were two things that she didn’t have much of at the moment.

The Killer: Her response to their touch was more so amusing than anything else. She was fidgety; they would enjoy that. They shrugged at her outburst, trying their best to to seem like they weren't entirely enjoying her frustration. "Mm. No need to be so rude." They let their hand drop, watching Natalie's back with an acquired laziness. They'd developed the ability to gauge whether a person would cause them a terrible headache or not, while they were killing them, within the first few moments of speaking to them. It was just a matter of body language, tone. You just had to know how to read people, really. Predict them- and as a rule, people tended to be painfully predictable. "I was trying to be polite, I suppose. Isn't that what people tend to do?" They asked, as if they genuinely had no idea how to act in such a situation. "At the very least, I thought I would start a bit of small talk. I've had a rough night too, you know?" They commented, suddenly an aggressive undertone to their words. Even here and now, when they were supposed to be just another person no one was willing to treat them with the kindness and respect a human being generally had the right to. It was tiring. No surprise they'd begun to substitute murder for small-talk.

Natalie Bronson: Natalie exhaled sharply through her nose, fighting the urge to walk away. The only thing that kept her from doing just that was the fact that they seemed like they knew where they were going. She felt no need to give them any satisfaction by replying to them calling her rude, and instead she just bit her tongue. She had heard it before anyways. She had also heard worse. It didn’t bother her much anymore, or so she liked to pretend. Easier to pretend to be stony and indifferent to show every single little crack in her armor, she thought. “People do tend to be polite,” she agreed, though she spoke in a monotone, “but people also tend to realize when others want to be left alone.” Her voice had gained an edge to it, and she stopped walking for a moment so that she could turn to look at them. She crossed her arms as she stared, taking a moment to try and compose herself. “I’m sorry that you’ve had a bad night, too, okay? I’m just exhausted, physically and mentally. I’m sorry if I came off as rude. It wasn’t my intention.” But it hadn’t been her intention to be polite either. She said whatever came to her mind when it came to mind, hardly filtering anything. “Could you just show me the way out of here? Please?”

The Killer: She seemed un-phased by their tone, the edge in her voice even beginning to challenge them. Natalie's excuses meant very little to them, and they let it be shown on their face that her comments did little to change their opinion of her. "It's right up this path." They said coldly, allowing Natalie to walk ahead of them as they climbed to the surface together. They hadn't been lying when they'd said they were searching for a bit of fresh air. The catacombs had begun to reek of death to them, and it was beginning to drive them mad. Stepping out into the dark night, they inhaled deeply. No one was around, just as they had suspected. A few cars were near by, but they were empty. They slipped their hands into their pockets, touching the plastic bag that they'd hidden within as they eyed Natalie. "What now?" They asked, with a hunt of amusement.

Natalie Bronson: If she were bothered by their newfound tone of voice, she didn’t let it show. Instead, she stuffed her hands into her pockets, and followed the path they were on. Once she saw the lights from the outside begin creeping into the tunnel, she began to walk a bit faster. When the cool evening air reached her face, she let out a sigh of relief. For a bit of time, it had seemed to her like she was never going to get out of the Catacombs, and being out in the open air had taken away some of the anxiety she had felt. That wasn’t to say she felt completely calm- the fact that her friends were dead was still a very present fact at the front of her mind- but at least she didn’t feel trapped anymore. “Now?” She looked back towards the catacombs, and then let her gaze return to the person who had led her out. “Now, I guess I say thank you, and then we go our separate ways.”

The Killer: They listened to her words, offering a small nod of what appeared to be agreement. Waiting for her back to be turned, they pulled out the plastic bag from their pocket and stepped behind her. "We'll be going separate ways, but not in the manner that you're thinking." They quickly pulled the bag over Natalie's head, constricting it tightly around her as they pushed her closer to them so that they'd have a better grasp. The average human brain could only stay conscious for about two to three minutes when cut off from oxygen- and aside from what everyone seemed to think of Natalie, she was painfully average. After those three minutes, brain damage began to occur. The fourth minute, should the brain still be starved for oxygen, will cause reversible damage. Anything longer than that results in brain death. As they fought to keep Natalie in their grasp, they breathed heavily. "You'll be out in two, dead in four. Just give up already you stupid bitch." They cursed from clenched teeth.

Natalie Bronson: Natalie turned away from them to look at the street around them, trying to get her bearings. She could remember walking from the hotel to the catacombs, but she felt almost disoriented as she tried to figure out where she was supposed to go. She had been about to take a step forward when she felt the bag slide over her head. Immediately she started thrashing, trying to both reach up and tear the bag and to hit the person behind her. She knew if she started breathing heavily that it would only cause her to waste what air was left in the bag, so she did what she could to take slow and measured breaths. It struck her then, when the person said ‘give up already’, that this must have been the person who had killed all of those people in the church. Her blood ran cold, realizing that they had most likely been planning to kill her since they had approached her in the tunnels. It was a waste of breath she knew, but she couldn’t help but say, “Why?”

The Killer: She was doing better than they'd expected at staying clam. Natalie was fighting of course, it was the natural response, but her breathing was steady enough that she didn't up and use all her air in one go. Her question came out, sounding like a gasp, but they'd understood it. As they continued to struggle to keep her under their control, they pushed their face into her hair to speak into her ear. "Because you're all the fucking same." Their tone was nasty, as if they were hissing the words. They took a deep breath, inhaling her scent for a moment. It was wrong. There were no roses. "You're all a waste." They snapped suddenly, yanking the bag deeper across her throat.

Natalie Bronson: She couldn’t get free. She tried to pull away again, but the person holding the bag over her head had the upper hand in the situation, and it only made it harder for her to catch another breath. This was how she was going to die, she thought. The air in the bag was hot against her face, and she struggled to see anything through the plastic. It occurred to her that her only chance of getting away would be for someone to come across them, but she didn’t want to think that. It was unlikely someone would be out this late at night, and right then did not seem like a good opportunity to get her hopes up. She considered begging, but wouldn’t have the others had tried that too? She felt resigned to her fate as darks spots began to cloud her vision. She wasn’t going to give up fighting, but her breathing got deeper and shallower with every passing moment, and her attempts to get away became weaker.

The Killer: They felt her fight draining from her. Slowly, slowly, slowly. They held her tightly to their chest, and hushed her panicked breathes. "Shhh, shhh. It's over. Stop fighting." They nudged their face against her hair in some twisted form of comfort. They repeated their words as she began to fall into their arms. "Shhhhhh, it's over." Their head laid against her shoulder. "This is a long time coming, I'm sure." They muttered, lowering her body to the ground as she began to pass out. They gingerly placed her in their lap as they kneed down with her, and continued to hold the bag over her head.

Natalie Bronson: Maybe this was for the best. Die now, and not let more people grow to dislike her. Besides all of those who she wanted to make reparations with were dead and gone anyways. She didn’t have anything to live for. The only thing that had been keeping her going up until this point was a small hope that she could fix things. Now that would never happen. This was good. Die young, leave a pretty corpse. It was growing harder to form coherent thoughts, and she figured that she was close to the end. With one of her last breaths, she let out a strangled, “I’m sorry.” She wasn’t sure who exactly it was directed to, there were many who should have heard it from her, but it felt right to say. She struggled to take each breath after that, and finally she fell still.

The Killer: They watched her take her final breathes in their lap, their eyes turning curious as strained to let out her final words. Part of them wanted to know the context of her words; what did she feel the need to apologize for? Surely, there were many things this girl had done in her short time that deserved those words, she hardly seemed a tame daughter. They knew her type well. She was trouble. The only way to rid yourself of trouble like this, was to kill it. Plain and simple. They pushed her body off of them onto the gravel floor, pulling out their pocket knife. They reached into Natalie's mouth, pulling her tongue out before sticking the small blade in to slice it off. They watched their work with a unhappy expression, a contained anger within them. "Girls like you play games. I'm sick of it." They muttered, sticking Natalie's unattached tongue down her own throat. "Sick of all the trouble you cause."