Thread: Internet Killers [	Mr Quixotic & Dovakitten]

RE Internet Killers Very Dark Content He switched off the television, and sat back to stare at the computer screen. With the light's off - the man liked the dark - the only illumination came from the glow of the monitor. His fingers lightly tapped against his thigh, and his brow furrowed in thought. The woman had definitely made him curious, and his initial inclination was to think that it was some kind of trap. He'd heard the authorities sometimes trawled the boards, in search of perpetrators, or for information. That possibility didn't concern him in the slightest. To all intents and purposes, his posts originated from the desolate outback of Australia. A place named Wolf Creek. His thoughts were disrupted by the ping of a message arriving. When he saw that this time it was a PM rather than a reply to the thread, he shook his head in amusement. The bitch was making it easy for him, and his tracking software immediately began to chug away on the hard-drive. Software most people didn't know existed - another advantage of his profession. He'd have her IP address within minutes. As he waited for the application to do its work, he read the message. The man expected another taunting reply, and wasn't surprised to see that she still didn't believe him. However, what really caught his attention was the third line. I'm looking for an experience. I want to see a woman tortured slowly. I want to hear the sounds and smell the smells. I want to know what death looks like. He felt a shiver run down his spine as he read that. One of excitement. I want to see a woman tortured slowly. I want to hear the sounds and smell the smells. I want to know what death looks like. He whispered the words to himself, slowly, as if savouring the taste of them. Many times he'd had a similar fantasy. Of being able to share his experience. In a way, that's what he did on the message boards, but to actually have someone with him when he took a woman? When he tortured her, and brought her to the brink of death, only to give her hope, before taking it away once more. That would be the ultimate. His hand shook a touch as it reached the keyboard. Contrary to the popular belief of psychopaths, he was capable of feeling many emotions - the man enjoyed nothing better than a lazy Sunday afternoon appreciating the latest comedy, or cheering his favourite sporting team on- empathy and pity were just not amongst them. Maybe he wasn't a psychopath at all. Just because he enjoyed raping and killing didn't mean he was crazy. Subject Pig Squeals Message Why should I care if you believe me? I'm the one who has lived it. Who has looked into their eyes, and laughed in their faces as they screamed like a stuck pig, and begged me to let them live. Then, later, begged me to let them die. Me. Not you. I know . You can only imagine. I'm not sick. My parents aren't divorced. I wasn't abused or neglected as a child. I'm not some poor white-trash who has had a hard life, or suffered trauma. I do what I do, because I want to. Because there is nothing better, more arousing, than holding the power of life and death in your hands. It's what I am. It's who I am. It's what I do. That's the difference between you and I. You think you want it, you think you want to know. But, do you really? Once you hear those screams, you'll never forget them. If you're wrong, that sound, and the look in their eyes as they finally resign themselves to death, will haunt your dreams forever. If you want to know, I can show you. But, I ask again, do you really want to know. Are you strong enough? He was testing her, just as she tested him. His eyes scanned the message, and the cursor hovered over the send button. Then he moved to open his favourites folder, and inserted two hyperlinks below the next line of text. What am I capable of, what have I done? He'd book-marked every news article on his previous victims, and that was what he sent now. Unsolved cases. The first, a street-walker who'd been raped, strangled, and her throat cut with enough ferocity so that she was almost decapitated. The other, an eighteen year old runaway, whose partially decomposed and mutilated body had been discovered in a nearby forest by an unlucky couple on a weekend camping trip. Message Sent The man waited. Ten minutes. Twenty minutes. A glance at his tracking software brought a smirk to his face. Her IP address had popped up and, what do you know, she lived in the same city. A half hour passed before he hit the refresh button to double-check that his computer hadn't frozen. Another ten minutes, twenty more. A full hour had passed. Fucking whore. He must have scared her off. His eyes darkened, and his fingers drummed the top of his desk.. Taunting him, calling him a liar, then running away when things got too hot. He laughed without mirth. And she thought she could handle death? If she wanted to play games, he'd play right back. Her IP address soon led to her home address and, from there, her name. Analise Helm . It rolled off his tongue. Not long after, thanks to the DMV database, he had a picture. The man took in her features, the long brunette hair, and bright green eyes. She was attractive, and appeared normal. Then again, so did he. Appearances could be deceiving. He printed the image as he sent a further message. Subject Pig Squeals Message I hope you slept well. I was thinking that maybe we should talk face-to-face? What do you think Analise, would you like that? Message sent That should send a scare through the bitch. He had a full schedule tomorrow during daylight hours, but his evening was free. She wanted him to prove himself, he was more than capable of doing so. However, she'd also need to pass his test. And if she decided that she didn't want to play any longer? Not a problem, he'd ensure she received the experience first-hand. He couldn't lose. The man shut down the computer, and headed for bed. He slept like a baby.