Thread: Sex and the Modern Psycho

As they approached the house, he pursed his lips gently. Another coked up asshole holding a gun to the heads of his wife and kid, demanding shit that he knows he's not going to get, waited inside. It never failed to amaze him, how these jackasses never seemed to understand just how little power they had in these situations. Did he really think a sniper would hesitate to put a bullet through his thick ass skull as soon as he got a clear shot? Fucking morons, all of them. Rolling his eyes, he pushed himself up against the side of the house, bringing the .45 in his hands up next to his head as he peered through the window. He could see the outlines inside, but it was hard to distinguish who was who, making it unsafe to take a shot from here. And the damn sniper hadn't given any indication that he had a clear shot yet. With a sigh, he spun back around the corner, making his way to the other side of the house, ducking under the windows to keep out of sight. Out front, the negotiator was busy spouting off whatever he could to keep the situation under control, trying his best to stall the moron inside waving a .22 revolver around like it made him the big man on campus. Getting into a better position on the other side of the house, he moved into a better position, waiting for an opening to make his move. As the man inside continued to wave the gun around and make his demands, the one outside saw his chance when the guy started yelling out the front door, hiding behind it to keep himself out of the line of fire, but he hadn't considered the windows across the room... It all happened so quickly that most people didn't even realize it until several seconds later. One moment the guy was making demands, and had leveled the gun at his wife's head as if he was about to shoot. The best part was, the asshole had looked up, right into his eyes, just in time to see the muzzle flare, the shattered glass, then nothing as the bullet planted itself firmly between his eyes. In a split second, it was over. In a split second, they had gone from hostage situation to frantic relief, the wife breaking down into tears, pulling her daughter close while her cokehead husband laid on the floor, half of his brains plastered to the door he had been hiding behind, the rest leaking out onto floor as his corpse grew colder by the second. Holstering his pistol, Caleb Randall simply smiled. It wasn't nearly as satisfying as the way he did it while working his other 'job', where the scum who used their financial influence to manipulate the system got to look him directly in the eyes as they bled out from a slit throat, or some other equally horrifying death. It was up-close and personal, and felt so much better, knowing that those bastards realized in their last breaths that justice had caught up to them. Right now, though, he had to step around the house to wrap this up. As soon as he came into view, the other S.W.A.T. officers began to cheer. The wife and daughter were already being escorted outside and led to the ambulance, the reporters were starting to swarm, it was chaos, but the kind he liked. The chaos that ensued after a crisis had been averted. After answering a few questions, he managed to slip away from the reporters, who had been there covering the situation as it had happened. This would make the evening news, but it wasn't like a bank robbery, where it would be the top story or anything. Once he was in the van and heading back to the station, Caleb started to unfasten his vest and remove it with a sigh, accepting pats on the back from his teammates and giving them the occasional smile and nod. He knew he would have to go through a hefty QA session with the Captain, and had a shitload of paperwork to do, but it would all be better in a few hours. As he stepped out of the station, now dressed in his civilian clothes, Caleb took out the keys and disabled the alarm to the 2010 Camaro SS that sat in the parking lot, silver with black racing stripes. Climbing into the car, he started the engine, closed the door, put on his seatbelt, and was soon heading home. He had a lot to prepare for, and little time to do it. Tonight was the night he would meet the asshole that had been taking credit for his work, face to face, and they were going to have a little talk that probably would end with a knife in someone's throat. He didn't mind at all. He made sure the clue he left at the scene of his last victim would be easy enough to figure out for the other killer, as only someone as twisted as he was could ever figure it out. Pulling up to his apartment building, he stepped out of the car, pausing to raise a hand, running it through his short, dark brown hair, that was just long enough to grab a decent handful. A pair of deep, steely blue eyes surveyed the building before he made his way inside and to the elevator. Soon he was stepping out and walking to his apartment, unlocking the door and stepping inside, closing and locking the door behind him. Within minutes he had stripped his clothes off and was in the shower, taking the time to bathe his medium built, tightly muscled body carefully, wanting to look his best when he slit the throat of both his next victim and the wannabe that was riding on his hard work. As night fell, Caleb relaxed, watching a bit of TV until it was time. Just a little before 730 PM, he was out the door and on his way to the parking garage where he kept his other vehicle, the one that wasn't quite legal, and couldn't be traced back to an owner. It was a late 90's model Ford Taurus, plain looking with no identifying marks to be found. Something that didn't grab attention. Climbing into the car, he grinned a bit to himself, now dressed completely in black, similar to his S.W.A.T. uniform, but without the logos of the police department. And he didn't carry any guns. When on this 'job', he preferred blades, as they proved to be much more satisfying. Soon he was on the road, heading out for a date with destiny...