Thread: Internet Killers [	Mr Quixotic & Dovakitten]

RE Internet Killers Very Dark Content The urge was building. He could feel it in every fibre of his being, and it had begun to consume his thoughts. Soon it would be the only thing he could think about. The only thing he wanted to think about. That desire to hurt and maim. To make a woman beg and plead for her life. To cause her to scream in terror, and bare her teeth in agony, as blood-stained tears flowed down her cheeks. To watch her eyes, and see the dawning realisation within them that it wasn't a dream, that he wasn't a man capable of compassion or mercy, and there would be no last-minute stay of execution. What aroused him, more than anything, was that look. The one that flashed across their faces as the last shred of hope was torn away, and they accepted, finally, that they were going to die. At least death would relieve them of their pain. The first time he'd dared act on his impulses - impulses he couldn't recall ever being without - had been just on a year ago. The next, eight months after that, and now, only four months later, he knew that he'd soon need to do so again. The initial victim had been a prostitute, snatched off the streets, raped, throat cut from ear to ear, and dumped by the side of the road. The second he'd taken more time with, but still not enough to completely satiate his needs. A runaway, who'd naively accepted his offer of a ride. The man had felt no guilt or pity as the blood drained from their bodies, and life faded from their eyes. He'd watched, unmoving, until he was sure they were dead. It had taken the young hitch-hiker almost an hour to succumb to her wounds. Both times, he'd removed a trophy. Afterwards. No remorse, no regret. Just satisfaction, relief, and the feeling that a void within him had been partially filled. If only temporarily. The one sensation he experienced which could remotely be called an emotion, was a slight sense of fear. Not of himself, or the acts he had perpetrated, but at the possibility that he may be caught, and imprisoned. He had no record, and his fingerprints were not on any file or database, but one never knew what evidence he'd left behind. However, the man had been careful, and as time went on without a knock on the door, his confidence grew. He'd murdered twice, without consequence. He could do it again. As often as he liked. Still, the fear that lingered in the back of his mind was enough to stop him from acting until the urge simply became too strong to resist. In the meantime, he had his videos, and the message-board. Which he logged onto now. His fingers clicked the keys, and the man scanned the screen as the page came up. He had no concerns, the connection in his apartment was totally secure. That was his job. Internet security. To all appearances, he was just another average, mid thirties, brown-haired, blue-eyed, white collar professional, who'd draw no attention in a crowd. The only negative his peers ever uttered was that he wasn't much of a socialiser. A hand brought a can of Pepsi to his mouth as he saw the usual names logged on. A bunch of big-noting assholes who got off talking about what they'd love to do, but didn't have the balls to carry out. Swapping fake snuff videos, and pretending to know how it felt to take a life. He was sure none of them did. Then he saw it. The thread which had aroused his curiosity when first posted. Is anyone truly capable of doing these things? Sometimes I wish I could be closer. I wish I could be part of it, but I don't think anyone on these forums could be. The phrasing had piqued his interest. Not someone claiming to have committed an act, or expressing a desire to do so, but whose wish was to be close to them. Part of it. The more he'd thought about it, the more convinced he became the author was a woman. Unusual. The man's hand moved to position the mouse pointer on the reply button and click, then he leaned forward to type These men are all talk. They wish they could be like me. To really and truly have taken a life. To have been there, and have felt the power. To play God, To BE God. Those videos don't do it justice. You have no idea what it's like. Have you seen a pig being slaughtered? Heard it squeal? That's how they really sound when you stick the knife into their gut, and twist. You couldn't handle the reality, honey. The man fell back in his seat with his eyes fixated on the screen. He hoped the use of the final endearment, and any reaction it induced, would help confirm if his intuition was correct about the person at the other end of the screen being a woman. That was, if they were online, and dared respond at all.