"I use to think that praying to a god would help ease the suffering in a dying world. Ya know, for those innocent people that get murdered, robbed, beat, extorted, kidnapped, or otherwise wronged. Even for myself and my losses. After my Mother and Uncle were both killed, I prayed. It didn't seem to help though, as I waited for days and months. Still, my family's killer was at large, and I was left sitting there in my apartment, wondering. In a world of good, why is there so much evil? Then a thought came into view. Maybe if someone dedicated, someone who could cross the line to show evil it cannot prevail, maybe people could have hope. Well boys and girls, I took that step and crossed that line. I'm no hero. I don't beat down crooks and leave them tied up for police, alive. I don't even let the criminals get another chance to change their ways. I don't just "fight" evil, I terrify it, I slay it. I am the scourge of all who are wicked, because I am far more wicked then they. I may stand and fight for the good of man, but I do not limit myself by the rules of the rightous. I have no rules to break. When the local news on T.V., shows a short story about another small mob or gang that has been slaughtered like cattle, the criminals watching feel it. A chill to the bone, a shiver down the spine. I walk in their minds and I whisper in their ears. I 'am' a living nightmare, I am Skorn." - Jack Hunter AKA Skorn
It was a normal day in Jack Hunter's life. He got up, ate breakfast that his Uncle had prepared, kissed his sick Mother on the cheek and left for work. Jack's Mother, Vera, was sick and dying from cancer, diagnosed just two short months before. She was put through alot of treatments that left her bed ridden. Pancreatic Cancer is serious, and she was in the fourth stage of the disease. Most people don't live long once it has spread, and even with treatment, people don't last long even after that. Jack knew this, so he took every moment he could spare and spent it on his Mother. Jack's Uncle Robert was a kind man, unlike Jack's father who was in prison. Robert took care of Vera during the day, and worked nights as a security officer. When Jack was home after work, he was taking care of Vera bedside, and never thought anything of it. To Jack it wasn't taxing, it was a duty as a son.
"Jack, honey come here." Vera asked with a smile across the room. Jack walks over to his mother and sits next to her, "Whatcha need Mom?" he says grabbing her hand. "
"I need my medicine, could you be a sweaty and get it for me?" Vera asked with a warming smile at Jack.
"Sure thing Mom." Jack said as he stood and walked into kitchen for a glass of water.
"Damn. Ma, I need to go get your prescription, shit I knew I forgot something." Jack said from the other room.
"It's okay Jacky, it should be ready still at the store, they are open. It's no big deal, Robert will be home soon anyways." Vera said.
Jack walked in from the kitchen saying, "Ma, I can wait until Robert gets home, plus th-"
Vera cuts Jack off, "Son, you worry to much. I'm sure I will be fine until you get back, Robert will be home very soon."
Jack shook his head, "No Ma, the crime rate in this city is too high to leave you here alone. Just the other day old man Harris next door got his door kicked in, and he was home. If that ever happened here and somthing happened to you..."
"Jacky, I'll be fine, the phone is right here, Robert gets home in fifteen minutes." Vera reassured Jack.
Jack just sighed, "If your sure. I'll be quick, keep the phone handy Ma, I ain't kiddin'."
Jack leaned down and Vera pecked his cheek, then he grabbed his coat and keys briskly heading out the door to the car. As he slid his key into the door of his car, Jack looked over noticing a van that he hadn't ever seen before across from his house. He stood there with his key in the hole and stared at the van, it's windows tinted too dark to see in at night from that distance. Jack bit his lip and turned the key, sliding into the car and starting it up. As he pulled out, he pulled far out enough to shine his lights onto the front of the van. It was empty as far as he could see, so he continued off to the drug store.
Twenty minutes later Jack was on his way back home, cruising through his neiborhood, when he saw it. Red and blue lights, a croud of people and police. His heart started to beat harder, and his adrenaline pumping more and more. As he got closer to his home, he realized his worse nightmare.
Jack parked up half way on the curb not paying any attention. He threw off his seatbelt and flew out of the car door, rushing towards his home. Several Police stepped in his way but he threw his momentum and speed through them and the caution tape. The Police rushed him one of them saying, "Hey buddie, get your ass back here, this is a crime scene!"
An officer grabbed Jack's shoulder and Jack replied with haste in his voice, "This is my house, my Mom, where is she, is she okay!? Is my Uncle around here, where is he?!"
An older man with a long coat with a badge on it approached Jack whilst smoking a cigar, "You must be the son, Jack Hunter?" the man asked with a puff of his cigar.
"Yea, I'm Jack, sir please, tell me what the hell is going on here." Jack demanded with his reply.
The old man took the cigar out of his mouth and spat on the pavment, "I didn't want to be the one to tell you this son. So many times I've had to break the bad news to good people. Your Mother Vera, and Uncle Robert are..." he said with a slow nod. "Gone."
Jack just looked at the stretchers being wheeled out, he ran over to them. "Wait!" an officer yelled.
Throwing a sheet halfway off Jack saw the body of his Mother, he winced and looked into the house.
The living room was a mess, bloody handprints on some of the walls, and two pools of blood saturated the carpet. Jack covered his Mother back up and he felt his legs weaken as he fell to his knee in his yard. He felt like vomiting, and at the same time intense anger and rage. He thought 'Why me?' out of all the people in the world. His Mother Vera, she was already sick and even that time left, was robbed of him. He could only imagine his uncle Robert struggling with the murderer and loosing the fight. Then in his mind he remembered, that black van with tinted windows. It was now gone from his street he noticed, it must have been the killer's vehicle.
"I know things must be hard to take right now, you okay son?" the older officer asked Jack with a hand on his shoulder.
Jack just sighed with tears running down his face, "My family is dead, and they might not have been if I hadn't left. If only I had waited.."
The officer interjected, "You might be dead too had you been home Mr. Hunter. Listen, come down to the precinct with me and we can talk, let’s work on catching this guy, that’s what’s most important now."
Jack just nodded and stood up with the help of the officer, "Jenkins, Chief Jenkins is the name. Eddie, I'm taking Mr. Hunter to the precinct, can you handle the rest?"
"Yea I got it sir." a younger officer hollered back.
Chief Jenkins and Jack rode quietly to the precinct. Jack just watched out the window of passing street lights, the amber color flashing over and over. He was still in shock and still couldn't fathom that this happened. This was his worst case scenario, and it was now real. The only two people in his entire life that he could call family were now another percentage in a growing rate of murders. At the moment he couldn't feel, he was just, numb.
They arrived at the precinct and went inside. The men and women inside were busy and rushing around the place. Chief Jenkins beckoned Jack inside his office and then shut the door, cutting off some of the noise from outside.
"Do you want any coffee?" Jenkins asked.
"Sure." Jack replied still watching busy people blankly through the shades in the office.
Jenkins walked out of the room and shut the door behind him. A man opened the door shortly after and laid a folder down on Jenkin's desk. Then he walked back out quickly enough that Jack didn't even see his face.
Jack looked at the file on the desk, it had Hunter's Case #193. Jack couldn't help it, he slid the file towards himself and opened it. He didn't really see anything that he thought was useful. The only thing Jack read of the file was that the killer had no intention of theft. Nothing was out of place in the pictures that were with the file as well. Jack thought that this killer must be purely evil, to have only one goal in this whole ordeal. The only task the killer wanted to accomplish was killing everyone inside the house. No other reason, not personal gain, nothing. In all of the pictures Jack looked at, none of the valuables were even touched, not even his Mother's jewelry box. Jack immediately went from feeling numb, to feeling anger. Anger because the man that so selfishly took the lives of Jack's family, was nothing but a psychotic killer. Angry at the fact that same man is out there in the city, still living his life, still untouched. Jack flipped the folder closed and slid it back over to the other side of the desk.
Moments later Jenkins walked in with two Styrofoam cups filled with steaming coffee.
"I didn't think to ask if you wanted cream or sugar so I just got it black." Jenkins said putting a cup in-front of Jack. "Black is fine. Listen Chief, I know that this whole case is a priority and all, but. What’s the chance of this being solved?" Jack said grabbing his cup from the desk.
"Well I'll be honest. This kind of case in this city, is one of those hard ones. I don't know what our people have found yet as to the killer's DNA or fibers." Jenkins said as he spun his chair around and sat down.
"So the chances are low." Jack said with an understanding nod.
"I didn't say that Jack. It's just that this kind of thing is random, nothing was stolen. In theft murders we usually track down stolen items through pawn shops, or fences we keep tabs on. In this case the guy was just a class A homicidal maniac, and really there aren't many ways to track him. DNA though, that’s where we hit gold most the time, that and prints." Jenkins explained sipping his coffee.
Jack just stared into his cup of coffee, seeing his own reflection waver in the black liquid.
"You must have been a tight-knit family, just you three. I'm pretty close with my ma, and that has me locked onto this case. The law will win in the end Jack, even with all these rules and regulations, I'll bend them to find this prick." Jenkins said flipping through the file on his desk.
"I think I need some sleep Jenkins." Jack said setting down his cup of coffee.
"We got bunks here if you want Jack." Jenkins said trying to be polite.
"Na, I'll get a room somewhere Jenkins, but thanks for the help, I hope you do catch this killer." Jack said.
Jenkins nodded, "I'll do my best. Let me at least drive you to your car."
Jack nodded to Jenkins and they both left the precinct.
Days later, Jack was still grieving over his losses. He hadn't slept much except for a handful of hours. He was on anti-depressants and sleeping pills, but none of them helped. He was in a daze of flashing images, just happening over and over in his head. It was like a daydream that he couldn't escape, he hadn't gone to work, or even left his hotel room in a couple days. He just sat in his bed staring into his T.V. but not really watching it. Out of no-where the news caught his attention. He snapped out of his daze and watched the T.V., scrambling for the remote to turn it up.
The news lady on the T.V. spoke as she shuffled papers, "Two days ago the murders of two people, a man and a woman, shocked the metro. The killer, who is still at large, has yet to be narrowed in on. The killings happened around eleven-thirty in their home. Officials stated earlier today that the case is being studied hard and it is still an on-going investigation, with all of effort possible. There is a twenty-thousand dollar reward for any information that can catch this person. There are yet to be any photos or sketches, as no-one saw the murderer-" Jack turned the T.V. off.
"Fuck this. FUCK THIS!" Jack stood up and threw the remote into mirror near him.
The glass shattered onto the floor and Jack stood over the shards of glass, looking at his shattered image on the floor.
Jack says into the mirror with an en-raged look in his eyes, "This world is so full of evil. Then someone should thin it out a little, to show evil there is a price greater than jail. A price paid in full and to the fullest extent of punishment. No laws, no policies, no regulations to get in the way. Justice, vengeance, what the fuck is the difference. What is the difference between killing, the reasons behind taking a life? The only difference is who is doing it and why. If there is a God, he is not going to smite evil. Is he willing or able?"
Jack walked over and grabbed a shard of glass from the floor, it was shaped like a claw.
"If God won't do it, then someone should. He's just going to have to sit on the bench this time, just give me some help, just a clue." Jack said as he held the glass shard.
Then like a sign, out of the silence Jack heard a 'thump' from a passing vehicle’s bad muffler. He peered out of the shades of his room, and saw the black van. He quickly dropped the glass and grabbed his coat, running out of the room. He got outside of the hotel and jogged down the street to see the van pulling into the driveway of a house.
Jack walked down the block, not really thinking about what he was going to do, or how. He just walked at a quick pace, up to the van. Someone was still inside of it doing something in the back. He didn't even think twice before opening the back doors to the van and jumped inside tackling the person down. He wasn't even thinking if the person was his family's killer, he wanted the man to be that killer.
As the two wrestled around in the van, Jack felt a sharp pain in his shoulder, he was stabbed. Then all at once Jack is kicked out of the van, the man holding a knife in-hand jumps out. Jack stood up and got ready for a fight, only to see the man running into the house and shutting the lights off inside. Jack just thought, "This must be him..it has to be." as he followed cautiously.
Jack swung the door open to the house, it was pitch black inside. Jack had the feeling that the killer would pull a stupid stunt from behind the door, it was easy to guess. Moving slowly inside with one hand on the door, jack felt something press against it from the other side. With a quick and strong step Jack pulled the door towards him, then pushed it against the wall as hard as he could. "Uhhg!" the man huffed along with a solid smack against the door. Jack slammed the door several more times against the dark figure before finally shutting it. The man slid down the wall and slumped over to one side, he was out.
Jack fumbled for a light switch, finally finding one and flicking it on. The room lit up brightly, and Jack could see a bloodied face of a man, with a knife in one still clenched hand.
Jack quickly grabbed the knife out of his hand and began to drag him into the kitchen.
Finding a convenient rope lying in the other room, Jack bound the man to a chair tightly, ankles to hands, then to the chair.
Jack smacked the man upside his head with the handle of the knife, "You're him aren't you!"
The man blinked awake, looking around and then struggling against his restraints, "I can hear you child, your scared, yes?" he said as he grunted, pulling against the rope that bound him.
Jack just flipped the knife over and put it to the man's throat, "I ain't scared of you, you're a fucking coward."
"I guess it's time to kiss and make up." the man sighs, "Yep, I killed your mommy and your uncle, they were sweet though, weren't they?" he said with a chuckle.
Jack just smiled with a crazed look in his eyes, "I fucking got you, I got you. You do realize, I'm gonna fucking end you, don't you?!"
"Everyone gets caught eventually little boy. Now I can say hello to your Mom again, she was so polite. Sick too wasn't she?" the killer said with a smile.
Jack threw a strong right hook to the killer's ear, connecting with a smack of bone and flesh.
"Ow!!" the killer yelled, his head bouncing off the blow as his ear started bleeding.
"Fuck you! You think you can just kill people, kill innocent loving people and enjoy it, huh, did that feel good motherfucker?" Jack said cocking back another fist, throwing yet another punch to the same ear. The punch connects with wet smack this time.
The killer groans and winces from the extreme pain, "Yea....I did didn't I? Oh yes, I did enjoy it too." he forced a smile against the pain.
Jack just stuck the killer in his gut with the four inch knife.
The killer gasped as the blade sank through flesh, "Uuueh!"
Satisfied with the pain his family's killer expressed, Jack smiled, grabbing the killer's chin and forcing him to look into his eyes.
"So.. how many did you kill before now, hmm? Five, ten? Do you feel differently now that you feel that pain?" Jack asked while looking into the rolling eyes of the killer.
"All of them.. I enjoyed.. savored all those moments... like you do now.." the killer said with loss of breath.
It hadn't occurred to Jack until now, but he did enjoy this. Torturing this killer scum, was like releasing all his anger and rage. For him though, it was different than just mindless killing he thought. He was doing good in a way, at least in his mind.
"Don't try to make me sound like you. You are a fucking bastard that killed innocent people, just to enjoy it." Jack replied.
"T-touching... my killings.. were on the news... I'm famous.. people know me now." the killer grinned against his pain.
"People despise you. They don't know you, they only know that good people died for no reason. Other than your own selfish, wacked out desires. Tomorrow, people will know that punishment goes beyond jail. No judge, no jury. My work starts with you now." Jack said looking at the killer in his eyes.
"You.. won't kill.. me.." the killer shook his head, "You're a good boy." the killer tried to chuckle.
Jack looked around the house, for something quick. The killer must have all kinds of objects of his trade lying about he thought. Jack walked into another room and looked around, finding a fire axe lying on the bed, he grabbed it.
The killer was still struggling to get free as Jack walked into the kitchen, despite his stab wound.
The killer looked down and noticed the fire axe in Jack's hand.
"Let me, share a moment I treasure, with you boy. Your mom-" the killer said as he was cut-off by Jack.
"No fuck head, let me share my moment, with you, it's a quick one.." Jack hefted the axe up behind his shoulder, and prepared his swing, "See you in hell!" he added.
"Likewise.." the killer said smirking as the axe arced across his necks path.
With one swoop, the axe cleaved the killer's head clean off.
Jack just stood in place as blood spurted from the neck of the twitching body of his enemy.
Jack realized how much of a mess he had made, dropping the axe, he began trying to retrace his steps and clean up. In the end, Jack found it too much of a challenge and decided to burn the place down. It was fairly easy to spread a fire, Jack set the bed in one of the rooms on fire and walked back out into the kitchen.
He then grabbed a trash bag, and tossed the killer's head into the bag like a trophy and departed.
It was a couple days later, and Jack was back at work in his store, shortly after his Mother and Uncle's funeral. Before his Father went into prison, he had signed his electronics store over to Jack. It wasn't a big store, but it paid the bills. It saw enough business in a day that it was slightly hectic at times. The store was more of a random collaboration of gadgets, electronics, and other items that one might never need, and some that everyone should have. Sometimes for hours Jack sat around and tinkered with stuff. Taking things apart and putting them back together was part of his trade. Within his knowledge, he would even repair some items people brought in on occasion.
Jack was just sitting around messing with a DVD player, trying to figure out why it didn't work, when Jenkins walked in to the store. The electronic door bell sounded and Jack stood up to attention. To his own surprise, Jack didn't feel nervous at all, even knowing what he had done.
"Heya Jack, how’s life going for you?" Jenkins asked.
"Fine sir, still, ya know." Jack said scratching the back of his head.
"Yea, I know it ain't easy son. Listen, I got some news you might want to hear." Jenkins said digging into his pockets, then pulling out a picture, "Do you know this guy?"
Jack took the picture and examined it. It was the man he had exacted his revenge on days before, and also burnt his house down, "Uh, can't say I do sir, sorry."
"Okay, it's a good thing though. This is the man we think to be your Mom and Uncle's killer. His name was Mike Calintino. His house burnt down a couple nights ago, and we had to do a DNA test to check who he was. So just as a gut feeling, I had it tested with the extra DNA we found at the crime scene in your house. Seems he was the man we were looking for. Thing is Jack, his body was missing it's head, strange eh?" Jenkins asked.
"Damn right it's strange. So what happened, he was killed by another killer then?" Jack said with his eyebrow raised.
"That’s our only guess, might of been a revenge slaying. Thats some random fucking luck. G'damn psycho got himself carved up in the end. Isn't that some shit? Well, I wanted to let you know personally, and I wish ya good luck Jack, later, call me if ya need anything kid." Jenkins said as he walked out the door, "Bye." Jack said as Jenkins waved, the door bell going off once again.
"Yea, ain't that some shitty luck." Jack said to himself as he sat back down, tinkering with the DVD player.
Months later, after digging Mike Calintino's skull up from a wooded area around the back of his old house, Jack was ready to take action. He was tired of the same shitty life, day in and day out, living life without making a sound. Watching the news as more crimes popped up, more innocent people being shot or stabbed, children vanishing never to be found, bodies of good people found in the river. Carther City was turning into a hell hole with no signs of hope. No change would come, not even the police could keep up with the murders. Before they could solve one case, a couple more piled onto their stacks of cases in a day’s time. On top of that, the police were getting paid off, pretty well most of them. Mobs just kept pushing their rackets, and small gangs terrorized the streets, mindlessly beating people to death, shooting, robbing, and stealing.
Jack was sickened that his home, was one of the hottest crime zones in the country. It wasn't always that way though, not all the time at least. It was like criminals ran the police out of the streets. Mobsters paid crooked cops to turn their eyes away and allow the nonsense to happen. Everyday people getting the shitty end of the stick, as Mobs poured money and resources into forcing them to move out of their homes, so they could knock them down. Building casinos, bars, prostitution rings, fresh warehouses in which to do their shady business. Jack wasn't blind, he was waiting for the right time to start his new career. A career that had been consuming his energy and time for months, as he prepared. Day to day training. Pushing, and punishing his body to new heights of ability. Jack was training himself, preparing for a war that would likely consume his mind in the end. He couldn't help but think, as he fashioned his skull helmet out of a man's decapitated head, that he was no better. Maybe it was true, but his mind felt whole, not broken. Though he had stepped the boundaries and lines that held most people together, he was still sane. In a way he just adapted his mind to that of a killer, but chose his reasons for taking life differently. Jack cracked the skull apart in it's set fragments, carefully. He rearranging the bones, and fitting them with spacers made of metal and plastic. He added a specially designed under-veil made from Nomex to hide his human face under the helmet. Also he spent time integrating a pair of carefully placed red LED lights into the eye-sockets, in a way that put them out of sight, but light the helmet up with a switch. The eye-sockets would appear to glow red in this result, and could easily be turned on and off with a switch on the back of the helmet, powered by small batteries. Jack had wasted no time, he polished the bone with a special polishing head, so that the skull was a pearl white. The helmet consumed at least two weeks of Jack's time, but it was his symbol. He adorned his enemies skull, into a helmet, so that the image of death hunting you, was always apparent. Jack saw that he would not be able to simply fight using brute force, that would only stoke the flames of crime. No, Jack's plan was to instill fear, and panic. He now saw just how useful it was to use fear. It was a natural weapon, and he had realized this. It was proven, that fear and intimidation in prey, forced them to make mistakes. When a person is scared, startled, or shaken, they don't think clearly. If you can make yourself something like a wraith, something that seems in-human, like a demon, you are physically fear. Jack's ability to employ fear was not just in a creepy suit, or a real-human skull for a helmet. His plan was to use fear of death among appearing as a frightening figure. He would need clever ways to do this, and he already had his plans. In his first stage, Jack developed a leather motorcycle suit much like that of the ones made for crotch-rockets, he had turned into armor. Interwoven plates of metal, flexable and light enough to move in, along with pads on elbows and knees. He added in shin guards as well as small shoulder pads with spikes he welded into plates. He had designed skin-tight gloves with knuckle guards built into them, so he can strike with no damage to himself. Though in making these measures of protection, Jack knew getting into a fight with people that have guns would be death if he was shot. While the suit provided a lot of impact protection, it was not made for ballistic penetration. That too, was a part of his plan, not to simply fight head on. His plan, among using fear to confuse and frenzy, was to systematic elimination, much like a game of chess. By using stealth to move around enemies, he would place simple, but effective and deadly traps. He would lead enemies into them by running from them and directly through a trap, the enemy would follow and meet his end. The rest of the enemies, if present, would see the death of a fallen comrade, and feed off of the fear of seeing the mess. In effect, making gunfire more in-accurate from fear and adrenaline. Fear is not understanding, so Jack found a way to be misunderstood through theatrics. Much like some heroes in comics that would use gadgets, Jack would have to rely on his own wits to disable, distract, and kill his enemies. Although, among having these other measures like traps and mind games, he would employ simple and brutal slaying by hand. For this he can't be afraid to get dirty, he would need to shed a lot of blood, even lop a couple heads off to effectively scare a grown man. For this Jack fabricated or bought several hand-to-hand melee style weapons. On his belt in a double sided sheath, he had two push-knives, he could easily grab both and with each punch deliver several inches of stab wounds. One of his fabricated weapons he would employ was his spring-loaded wrist knife, seven inches of treated and razor sharp steel. On a custom integrated slab of magnetic plates, he has his hand-scythe, a very large and equally sharp weapon. With him he would carry a small pack around the back of his waist with types of traps, usualy simple and small. One nasty trap that Jack had worked on in particular was the doorway-wire. A very strong tensile strand of steel that can easily and quickly be placed in almost any type of doorway. If a man were to run into this doorway-wire and not see it, they would be likely to be missing a head, or at least be gushing from a throat wound. Jack believed though, that he would need some type of quiet projectile weapon for distanced enemies. For this he fixed up an old crossbow that could fire bolts at just ninety pounds, easily able to kill any person not wearing ballistic Kevlar. Jack was ready for his first night of 'work'. He had prepared as much as he could for this, and he intended this to be a successful night.
Jack stood outside, on the roof of a known gang hangout, after climbing the latter on the side of the building. It was a dark and cloudy night, and in this area of town there were almost no street lights, or police. With all of his gear strapped on, and his adrenaline pumping, Jack strapped his skull-helmet around his head.
"I feel.. different with this on." Jack said quietly to himself, the jaw bone of the skull moving with his every word.
"From this point on, I'm now Skorn." Jacks voice switches to a guttural growl, "It's time for the show to start." Skorn finished as he opens the door to the roof stairwell.
Immediately as Skorn walked down the stairs, there was an electrical box, most likely the breaker.
Skorn whips out a pair of wire cutters with the handles coated in molded rubber. Flipping the buildings power switch off, he then snaps all the wires, and removes all the fuses, then continues downstairs. Meanwhile...
"What the fuck man, what happened to the lights?" a ganger said from the darkness of the hangout.
"Fuck if I know, go upstairs and check it dumbfuck." another ganger replied.
"It's probly a fuse ya morons, send Garret and Stones upstairs and fucking fix it." a voice said in the darkness.
Two gangers approached the staircase with their lighters as the only light source. All that could be seen were the walls with paint peeling off them, and the faces of the two men.
"Man, we need a real hangout, ya know what I mean, look at this shit hole." Garret complained.
"Yea, this place is pretty weak. Smells like fuckin' shit too heh." Stones replied with a chuckle.
The two thugs finally got to the power box and popped it open, and then seeing the wires and fuses tampered with.
"Garret, look, some mothafucker is messin' with us. These are all cut, and the fuses, yo lets get back man." Stones said nervously.
Garret pulls out his handgun, "Why don't we just find 'em and kill they're asses, eh?"
Stones nodded and pulled out his pistol as well.
"What the fuck is takin' so long assholes!" someone yelled up the stairwell from the ground level.
"Someone cut the lights, we 'bout ta cut them though!" Garret yelled back.
"Lets go find 'em." Garret said looking back.
The thug looked back but couldn't see anything but darkness, "Stones, what the fuck you doin', where'd ya go?!"
"Shit, stupid ass." Garret said making his way quickly to the stairwell.
Then out of no-where a blood curdling scream came out from one of the darkened rooms behind.
Garret panics and aims behind him, "What the fuck, Stones are ya back there, Stones c'mon shoot ya gun off!"
Then several gunshots go off, sounding like someone unloading a clip at a target, along with screams.
Several more thugs come running up the stairs to meet up with Garret, "What the fuck is goin' on?" one of them asks.
"I don't fuckin' know, someone’s got Stones, c'mon lets find 'em, spread out in pairs." Garret orders.
By two thugs search the rooms but find nothing but a pistol and brass case lings, "I got Stones' gun!"
Then at the end of the hallway near the stairwell to the floor, a slightly slump figure appears.
"Kill that mothafucker!" one of the men yell as he fires down the hall at the dark figure.
All of the men open fire on their target down the hallway, then one of the men slump over from behind.
"What the fuck, ahhh fuuck!" Garret yells as a decapitated head rolls out from one of the rooms behind, along with a large pool of blood.
"I can't see shit, wha's goin' on!" a thug yells.
"Mothafuck, Harry is dead, they got Harry fuck!" Garret yells.
One of the men approach the figure everyone was firing at, "Fuck guys, fuck we killed Stones man, fuck!"
"Where are you!" Garret yells.
All of the gangers are grouped in the almost pitch black hallway, when out of no-where the sound of growling.
"Wha' the hell." Garret says squinting to see anything at all, "What’s happening?!"
"Fuuuck, ah my fuckin' leg!" a ganger yells in pain as he falls to the ground.
Standing over the man is a figure with two red, glowing eyes, and his skull-face just barely visible, "You will die like cattle.." the figure says with a guttural voice.
The men all panic, but none of them have ammo to reload, and they all emptied they're guns down the hall.
Skorn swings his hand-scythe and catches a goon in his throat, spattering blood all around as Skorn cackles.
"Fuck this shit!" Garret says as he throws a punch at Skorn.
Skorn easily steps to the side and extends his wrist-knife into Garret's belly, then cutting to one side, spilling his entrails for all to see.
The two men left both panic and try to run, Skorn just laughs as they run down the hall.
One of them runs down the stairs only to catch his neck on a doorway-wire, effectively decapitating himself. The thug following that man stops in his tracks and goes back up the stairs only to see Skorn moving towards him down the hall. "Fuck, I don't wanna die, I don't wanna die like this please!" the thug says pulling out a pocket knife to defend himself.
Skorn growls down the hallway as he begins to jog at the thug.
The thug stands and readies for a fight with pocket knife in hand, Skorn just throws his hand-scythe at him.
The thug is caught in his mid-section and just drops to the floor groaning in pain, as blood pools from him.
Skorn walks up, plants one foot on the thug's shoulder, and pulls the scythe dragging it out and opening the man up.
The thug looses consciousness and gurgles as his body twitches, and then stops lifeless.
Skorn collects his blade and walks back down the hall to the thug with the wounded leg.
"Please don't fuckin' kill me man, ple-" Skorn cuts the thug off with a boot to the mouth.
In a gutteral tone Skorn speaks to the terrified man, "I am not a man, I am Skorn. I am death. You will live, and only because you have a task. Tell those around you about me, so that my nightmare can spread into their hearts. If you do not, I will find you, and make you cry in pain for hours, before I kill you."
Skorn grabs the man by his hair and drags him down the hall, then throws him down the stairs, narrowly avoiding the doorway-wire.
After meeting the man at the bottom and removing his wire, Skorn adds, "You will beg for hell if I have to find you." and lightly stabs the man in his wound once more, the wounded thug screams in agony, and then Skorn departs out of the building.
The next day, Jack is sitting in his store, watching the T.V. and waiting for the news. Jack wasn't tired at all from the night before. It was most likely due to training brutally before hand for months. Once he actually went out and tested his skills and physical prowess, he found it was easy. The stealth part he thought, was the hardest part of it all. Though with more practice, it would get easier. After a few customers came and left, Jack took some time in the backroom of his store. He was working on a new repelling system, one that he could use to move quickly through floors of buildings by accessing windows from the outside. Then as he was sitting there, Jack heard the news out at the desk, he got up and ran to it.
"Last night several members of the local gang, The Reds, were attacked and killed by what one survivor says, was a demon." the reporter lady said as the screen slides into view of the ganger Skorn left alive.
"He had these red eyes, burning eyes, and his head was a skull. He, it whatever that was, killed them all. He told me to let everyone know he is Skorn." the still shaken man said into the camera. The reporter slides back into view, "Police have not yet taken any action towards this 'Skorn' character, but assure vigilantes aren't a far out idea with the city's growing crime rate.”
The screen changes again showing Chief Jenkins talking outside the building of the The Red's slaughter, "This town has enough problems to worry about, but now have a couple less, no-doubt we will look into this matter, the department has no further comments at this time."
Jack turns the T.V. off and smirks, "And so he was born." he says walking into the back room.
"Fuck that guy. He’s some dude that dresses up like it's Halloween, then kills people. Vigilante or not, I ain't holdin' up operations here because of this Skorn freak." A well-dressed man says into the phone, as he watches the news. "I'm Francis Yavos, I ain't scared if some asshole kills some low level soldiers. He comes near me and my operations, I got it handled Terry. Yea later." Francis says slamming his phone down on the receiver.
Francis pulls out a bottle of rum from his desk and a sawn-off shotgun. Laying the shotgun down on the desk, he pours himself a drink in his glass. *Knock Knock* someone sounds at the door.
"Come on in." Francis beckons.
A black man, dressed in pimp clothes struts into the room with a woman, with his cane occasionally knocking on the floor.
"Clairance, it's good to see ya, how was the flight?" Francis asks before sipping his rum.
"It's always good ta see Clairance muthufuckin' Sevenpenny. The flight was low class, fuckin' insultin' for a man of my importance." Clairance says with as a scantly dressed woman pulls his chair out for him, and taking his fur coat off for him.
"Sorry to hear that Clairance, I got some news though. You heard of the Skorn story yet?" Francis asked with his eyebrow raised.
"Shit muthafucka, I knew that before I touched the goddamn ground. Some bitch wearin' a skull mask, an' choppin' up ma fuckin' pee-on's. I thought we had this town in check Francis, people gonna realize we ain't untouchable and shit with this kinda action on T.V." Clairance explained as he snorts cocaine out of his hidden compartment in his cane.
Francis says with a nod, "Yes well, I doubt this character will live long, we use guns."
"Those muthafuckus he chopped up last night was usin' guns, sheit. I ain't gonna be caught dead without my fuckin' piece." Clairance says, brandishing his World War II, gold plated Luger.
Francis chuckles and shakes his head, "You always did have taste for style Clairance."
Clairance nods, "No doubt. Lets talk bussiness, how’s my half of shit workin' out here?"
"Pretty well. The strippers we have also turning tricks, bring in more money than expected. The local police love the club so far, it pays for their loyalty." Frank says pouring himself more rum.
"Well them bitches better be workin' their keep. Coarse, I always pick the best whores, I got that piamp sense." Clairance says touching his finger to his nose wth a chuckle.
"Well, this piamp is gonna go enjoy his club, I trust you'll be there later on?" Clairance says standing up, his female servant throwing his coat back over his shoulders.
Francis nods holding up his glass of rum, "You can count on it Clairance, I just need to take care of some things. I'll be there around seven, that cool?"
Clairance looks serious at first, then his face changing to a smile, "Yea, yer always cool muthufucka, I'll get some un-touched bitches for ya, peace." Clairance walks out of the room, his woman closing the door behind them.
Francis grabs his phone and dials a number and waits. "It's Francis, listen, Clairance is coming to the club so get some high-end protection there tonight. Yep, okay ciao." he hangs up the phone and leans back in his chair.
Jack was sitting around in the back of his shop drawing up more plans for things, and checking his gear. Then an idea popped into his head. He hadn't thought about it until now, he would need a talker, an info man. Jack needed someone that knows who the small, and major players are in the city. Some of which Jack knew of already, but he didn't know where they all were. If he was to actually hurt the bigger players, he would need strategy. Jack would have to ruin several types of dealings the mobs and gangs dealt with, and find out who worked with who. If he could make even two enemies fight each other, it would bring one of them down without manual mass slaughter. Although Jack wasn't afraid of getting his hands dirty, he is still only one man. One man that is severely low on resources to spend night after night. Tinkering with his zipping-harness, Jack also realized, he needed a parts manufacturer that he could order from. For even that though, Jack would need money that he didn't have. He isn't a wealthy man, and he doesn't have any contacts that could cut him deals. As he sat there attaching his belt to the zipping-harness, he kept thinking over on the only way to make money fast. Take funds from mobs for his own use. Was it right? Not in the eyes of the law, but neither was it right to slay people, even in the name of good. Jack didn't care, he had taken steps that most wouldn't even dream of. He had done things that cannot be undone, things that some would think horrible and sick. That was his burden to carry, Jack knew this at least. He would try his best to not cross the line and become what he hunts, even if that line is very thin. That was the challenge Jack thought to himself. That was the main rule of the game, be the hunter, not the prey.
It was a cold and rainy day. The kind of day you might see in movies. Dark, sick looking clouds, and heavy rain. Steam was rising from the sewers and manhole covers on the streets. When most stores got no business, Dirte Dave always did. See, Dave ran the most shadowy, and corrupt pawn shop in Carther. It was a place that would take a nice purse, wipe the blood off of it, and sell it the next day. For obvious reasons, Dave rubbed elbows with some big time thieves and even the little shits that thought they were pros. Dave knew lots of deadbeat types though. Thugs that work with the local mob making side cash breaking into jewelry stores, all the way down to purse snatchers and muggers. It's always about who you know in Carther City. Many people consider Carther a safe haven for crime and no punishment. Criminals all dream of a city where crime is evident to the fullest degree. Carther is that city. Paranoia is not even evident in the people showing. They seem comfortable, Jack thought. Jack stalks the store, ‘Dave's Pawn and Loan’. It's quiet and lonely, no souls around to be seen. Many of the town's inhabitants are missing. It's a dark day and a rainy one at that. Everyone stays home, but one lone soul is watching, waiting. Jack Hunter is sitting in his car across the street, keeping his eye out for anyone entering the store. As Jack waits, night grows closer, and the light of the sun grows dimmer. Soon enough it's night, and the lights of the city flood the street with un-natural glow. Suddenly as Jack watches from his car, people begin to show and crawl from the shadows. Moving to the door of Dave's Pawn, the people creep. In a matter of seconds, more and more show going in and out, even though the store is closed and well past hours. Jack feels in his instinct that all these people are criminals in some way. The city of Carther is so saturated with these souls, that Jack sitting across from the building would not startle anyone, not even the most paranoid. Not to mention most police are on bribe to turn and walk away from illegal merchants.
After several hours, Jack got out of his car and walked to the back of the building, and donned his suit, thus becoming Skorn. Quickly he walked through the back ally way he found the rear entrance to Dave's Pawn. It only took Skorn thirty seconds to pick the deadbolt on the door and pop it open. Inside the back store room there were several shelves filled with firearms that were missing the numbers due to someone grinding them off. The newer stuff was pushed towards the back of the store. Most of it was your usual burglary items, TV's, stereo's, ect. Skorn watched quietly from the back store room, until finally the last person had left, Dirte Dave was standing at the front examining some freshly stolen rings.
*Creeek* the door leading to the front room opens. Dirte Dave spins around only to see darkness in the doorway, the light switch was next to the door on his side, he eyed it as he could feel his heart throb. Dave pulls a .38 revolver from under the counter and clicks the hammer back, shaking, levels it at the shadowy room. He walks closer to the doorway, while aiming the revolver he flicks on the light switch, only to see nothing, at least not from the doorway. Dave inches into the room, it's bright enough with one light on that he can see behind the shelving units in the back, and there is nothing.
Dave finally notices the back door is open. "Sonova bitch, motherfuckin' thieves, shit!" he runs to the back door and looks out into the ally way, he aims at both ends of it, but doesn't see anyone, just rain pouring, and steam rising from the sewers. Dave clicks the hammer of his pistol back down and turns to walk inside, he looks around, seeing that nothing is stolen, he found that very strange, he neglected to see that the door also wasn't pried open. He slams the door and turns the bolt, as he fidgets with the door, the light turns off in the room, as Dave turns the door to the front of the store clicks shut, another person is in the room, and he knows it. Dave runs to the bathroom off to the side and slams the door, before he can latch it, a voice meets his ear, very, very close to him.
"Business is good, isn't it Dave?" a scathed sounding voice seems to brush Dave's ear along with a steaming hot breath.
"What, are you frightened Dave, you have a gun though, you could try to shoot me, but we both know that you aren't fast enough at this point. I can repaint this dull bathroom with your entrails, so easy, just one sharp stab, a twist, and a rip."
Dave stammers, "Wh- what da fuck do ya want huh, who da fuck are you, are you a copper? I got The Family payin' yous off, why are you sqeezin' me?"
"DO I sound like a cop? I certainly don't move like one do I?", Skorn flips the light nob up a little, only letting a small flux in power to the bulb, the room is very dimly lit, but Dave can see the skull head, and he wants so much to piss, but won't let Skorn have the satisfaction.
"Sh-sh-shit, whadya want huh, you come to kill me, for what, I didn't hurt anyone man!" Dave stammers and testifies to his pure innocence.
"You, are corrupted, you are impure. Don't insult me by calling me a man, I am far from a man Dave. People wonder if hell exists. Well it does, I am hell. I just give you a taste of it before you leave to the longest part. Do you think I'm a man, can a man do what I do? Well maybe the definition of a demon in-part, is realy just a man that has no boundries. I am far more wicked than those I punish, for I have to be, Dave. A man cannot fathom, the things I do, even the most deranged serial killer, the coldest gangster, they can only dream of what my hands bring. Trust me when I say, you would be hanging by your tendons spewing nonsense had I come here to do just that, I have no patience for the convicted." Skorn finishes with a gutteral growl that barely sounds human in any way.
Dave's legs get weak, and shake with tremors of fear. His heart smashes against his chest. His stomach wants to spew its contents. His pants are slightly damp now. Dave knows all there is about Skorn. The dirty merchant was also a store of information on just about anyone that deals, steals, pimps, rapes, or kills. He knew a fare amount of Skorn and all of his deeds, criminals on the street aren't into the supernatural, but the Satanics love him. Dave knew that his life, if Skorn chose to take it, wouldn't be over very quickly, it would be taken with enjoyment. Although Skorn's presence made most criminals nervous, most of them were to stupid to stop what they were doing, besides, what were the chances skull head would show up and slay them all at a drug deal?
Skorn grabs the back of Dave's half bald head, and rests an extremely sharp Ginsu knife against his throat.
"I will have information from you when I need it. This is not negotiable, the deal is final. You break this bargain, and I will defult to my first service, and you will become famous on the evening news." he cackles in a low tone.
Dirte Dave gulps, "Y-yes, just don't friggin' kill me, I'll do whatever ya want okay?"
Skorn turns his head keeping his eyes on the frightened man, only giving a *Hmmm...*
"Give me some meat to carve, puppet." Skorn says at the back of Dave's head.
"Lemme think, um-uh... " Dave sputters.
Meanwhile, on the outskirts of town...
*Ping, ping, ping, pang, ping ping ping* A large beast of a man hefts a hammer up and rests it on his shoulder. He stood inside a warehouse, part of an old shut down steel foundry. A time ago, the foundry was one of the Nation's largest most productive steel mills, and had many well paid men and women. Out of the rising crime in Carther, came the shutdown of many industry, most of which was due to a change in management, criminal management. Kalmin's Foundry, had a respectable owner at one time. As with all men though, money changed him. He was paid to let the foundry go, along with all of the workers, men and women, who all had families. First there was a strike, then Mr. Kalmin, the owner, packed his bags and got on a flight, leaving all of his problems behind him. The foundry closed, the shouting and yelling soon faded away, most of the angery workers cooled down, and continued on with their lives.
Except one. The most loyal, hardest working man of them all. He was large, burly, and built for heavy lifting and grunt work. A man that even the meanest mugger in Carther would avoid eye contact with. This man stayed behind, he was living in a shack on the edge of town when the mill was still operational. He would get up, fry some bacon, and make two pancakes for him and his hound. He shaved, combed his hair, brushed his teeth, patted the dog and left for work. He would stop at the same truck stop every morning. Grab a pre-made sub for lunch, a coffee for the rest of the way to work, and the newspaper. Though he didn't care for what happend in the world around him, he did care about the deaths of the men, women, and children in the city. Where he lived just him, trucks, and the State Patrol were the only people that were around. He lived forty miles from the mill, and twenty from the truck stop. He couldn't stand the violence and noise of the city, he had seen plenty of it in his life. He had found a place so secluded, even his past couldn't find him, and he liked it that way. The articles in the paper, didn't get him to rise up in anger, he only felt discust at the people doing these things. He pondered on it at work some times. After the truck stop he flew down the two lane interstate road in his barracks truck, an old war relic he gotten his hands on. He liked it in part because if he wrecked he wouldn't die, and it carried his tools, most of which were too damn heavy for a lesser truck. He would pull into work and park, slide his time card into the punch, and put on his hardhat and heat sleeves. After a day worth of work, he just went home to his dog, washed, ate dinner, and layed in bed, trying to sleep. He was troubled, angry at the world, and strangled by his past.
Now there is no work at the foundry, at least for other people. It was void of people except for himself, the place had a mechanical life of it's own. A small hot coal pit sat and hissed, as the large man pumped the bellows under it. The soft orange glow was enough for him, he hated daylight. He was smacking a piece of metal flat, tongs in one hand holding the hot metal, and a hammer in the other. Why was he still working here? What is it that he is doing?
The big man's squinted eyes study the metal he works to shape, it seems as though he doesn't get tired, or hot, he just works. On the way to the his warehouse home, he had hit a bull with his truck, not much of it was left to call it a bull though. He kept the horns of it, something about the bull at the last moment stuck with him. The animal seemed calm, not confused by the truck coming at it. The old bull just stared at the large man driving the truck, it's horn blaring the entire time. The man felt that he could somehow relate to it in it's last moment. It was as if it had lost it's way, and not just in terms of where it was at. Like it lost itself. What was it there for anymore? Alone from the rest of the herd.
The large man grunts as he sticks the metal back into the hot coals, looking over at the horns, still a little bloody at the bases. He didn't know if that was how the bull felt though. He only knew that was how he felt himself. Working on metal, not being paid to do so, just because there is nothing else left. He had been places in his past, and done things always with purpose. Now he was a lost soul, he was starting to feel tired of feeling nothing. It was making him angry inside, to not have a plan, a job, a friend. He still buys those newspapers, and studies the stories of murders and cops doing nothing. He no longer had his dog, do to mobsters showing up at his shack to destroy his home, they shot his dog too. His old faithful dog, about the only social interaction outside of work. Even at work though, it was so loud and noisy, the voices of other workers were like whispers. When the mill was giving notice to it's workers they would be losing their jobs, the large silent man stood with the screaming crowd of workers. Only there to make sure none of them were hurt for doing the right thing, he hadn't much of a voice. One of the mill workers yelled at a mobster from the outside of the fence. The mobster swung the gate open, and savagly beat the man with a club, until the large man stepped behind that mobsters last, and final swing. The man grabbed the club, and easily hefted it out of the mobster's hand, then punched him in the chest, sending the bastard flying off his feet, into the fence, and onto the ground. No gangster back then would shoot him infront of people, the police weren't that well bribed yet. So they carried off their wounded as the large man helped the beat up worker. After that, they sent the goons that destroyed his shack, and shot his dog. He wasn't home of coarse, he was getting groceries, what little he bought. The man had money from working, in fact he had quite a bit. He just didn't want anything except what he needed, and only what he needed. The shack burning down, that didn't worry him because he could of easily built another. The last straw, was his dog. He moved into the foundry, and since, no mobsters had any plans of using the place. They were still getting money together so they could plow the mill over and build their casino. The large man looked over and read the top headline of the latest event in the paper. "Crazed Vigilante Slays Gang", he read, his brows angled down and he nodded to himself, shoving the paper over next to the bull horns. He thought, "This metal can be better used.."
"Alright. I told yas what you wanted, am I clear to uh, live?" Dave asked Skorn with a pitifull look.
"As long as you breath, you owe me names of those who should die, when they are all dead, or flee this city, you are free of your payment to me." Skorn growls back.
"All of 'em dead? That's a lot of people to ya know, kill. What about just, most of 'em dead?" Dave attempts to haggle.
"Not a matter of discussion, when all of them are dead or gone, you are free. At least you know I won't kill you if you bestow your vast knowledge of soon-to-be-bodies when I ask it from you." Skorn tilts his head.
"Yea, yea, it's a damn good deal I think, I mean shit, you don't make deals from what I hear, heh, right?" Dave asks feeling as though it was a mistake.
"No deals, no comprimise, no second chances. The only reason I need you is to make my job easier, otherwise I have to torture people to talk, and that takes up my time." Skorn walks over to the back door and opens it.
"You're a man though, I mean uh, human right? I mean, that shit about yas bein' a demon and all that ain't true is it. You wear a suit, with a skull from a man or some shit, and you need me cause you're flesh and blood." Dave blabbers on before catching himself and stopping.
"I don't even know if I'm a man anymore Dave, honestly I don't know. When you have done the things I've done, as many times, each one you feel a part of yourself slip away, and then just emptiness and hate remains. Maybe what people think of as demons, aren't so far removed from what a man can become. This skull belonged to a man once. He took a life, and I took his. Maybe the horns and horse hooves aren't so different from what I have become. This appearance, removes me from myself. I don't feel like the person who once inhabited this body when I am wearing this helmet, so I must be a demon." Skorn steps out into the rain.
Dave runs over to the bathroom and grabs his revolver, then to the back door. He peers outside, and Skorn is gone from the long ally. "Impossable!" Dave thought. Dirte Dave wouldn't consider himself a gullable moron, but Skorn did not seem at all a man. He looked like a man, he wore a suit, uses sharp blades to dice people. He's sneaky, almost impossably sneaky. Dave beleived at one point that anyone who thought Skorn wasn't human was an idiot, now he wasn't even sure himself. Especialy after looking down at his revolver, and seeing it as useless against Skorn. He thought, after Skorn left he will likely slaughter someone that night, why not send a warning? No, no, bad idea. Then the mobs know he is a snitch to the famous king of slaughter. It wasn't the mob he was worried about coming after him though, it was bones-for-a-head.
Rain fell hard atop the police station. It seemed like the rain dodged Skorn though, as he perched perfectly still waiting on his prey. Tonight Skorn would not kill 'this' target traditionaly, otherwise he would no longer be a dark savior in the eyes of the public, he would be a cop killer. No, he needed the essential, physical proof of this rapist cop. There he was, leaving the precinct. Shoving his hands into his coat and getting into his car. Civilian car of coarse, for the cop didn't want to seem to stand out. This officer didn't have a family at home, just bottles of booze and some dirty magazines. Skorn knew this because he was just there. He zipped down from the roof on his harness, and waited. The car didn't start, Skorn made sure of that. The cop would need to find another ride. The officer got out of the car and slammed the door in anger. He patted himself down as he ran for some shelter from the rain. Pulling out a cell, he dialed a number, said some words, and hung up. It was easy to guess, he called for a taxi. Eventually the cab showed up, and slowly rode off with the officer in the back. Skorn got into the officers car, pulled the wire box open, and put back the chip needed for the car to start. Moments later, Skorn was tailing the cab from a distance. He wasn't worried about anyone seeing him with his helmet on, it was too dark and late. The cab stopped at a local strip club, it was still open for a couple more hours. The cop was in civilian dress, but he added another part of his look, that didn't seem right for most. A ski-mask. Skorn watched from afar as the lawman kept his eyes on the doors to the strip joint. Seemed this guy is a regular rapist, and hardly missed a night, even if it was storming outside, all easier to muffle a scream and have your way.
In no time, a stripper was leaving her place of work, she was expecting a cab in a few minutes, or a ride from a friend. The security stood only for moments before going back inside the club, leaving her unwatched. It wasn't long and the masked man ran out from behind her and covered her mouth, he began to drag her with a hand on her mouth and the other on her waist. Skorn slipped out of the car and had clambered to a roof just above the soon to be rape scene. He took his time, the cop did, taping the woman's mouth over, and handcuffing her hands. He was stronger than she was, so he had no trouble holding her down while he did it. Right at the moment of a flash of lightning, there was a *Click*, a couple of them in fact. Pictures, tickets to pay for slaughter of flesh. These wouldn't exactly prove anything, yet. Skorn needed the ski-mask off his face, that wouldn't be a problem though.
For less than two or three seconds there was an audible *Zip* above the rapist, and rapee. Then a thud that sounded exacly like a boot smashing a man in the head, and the exiting breath *Pfuuh* of the man.
The cop smashed into a puddle and was dazed, landing flat on his back with full force. The poor stripper girl turned over only to see Skorn's back, but she didn't scream in a muffled fashon, she didn't even try to stand and run, she knew exacly who he was, and what would happen. There was a faint cry, a slight pouting from behind Skorn, it wasn't fear, the reason the girl cried was gratefulness. She wouldn't be raped that night, because of the dark hero that came from the even darker sky.
Skorn ripped the mask off of the officer, though the rape fiend struggled and tried to fight, he was absolutely no match for Skorn. The cop is tossed like a ragdoll head over feet, onto his back again, except now he was next to the still-bound stripper. Skorn took yet again another picture, this time getting both people in the frame. Now, it was on to bussiness. There was a common action done to cops who made problems for the local mobs. Skorn wouldn't take any flak from killing this cattle, for his style tonight, would mimic that of a mob slaying. He couldn't afford to have people look down apon him now. Even though the officer was guilty of serial rape, the news and local authorities would call Skorn out to be just another killer, so he was going to do this the easy way.
A little while later, the man is strapped inside of his own car, the one Skorn had driven to the soon to be crime scene. The cop sputtered and yelled at Skorn, but he was duct-taped to his seat, and all he could do was curse, the moment was a blur for Skorn. The man's voice just seemed to blend in and turn into static noise. A flash grenade was strapped to the corrupt officer's chest, and the inside of the car was soaked in deisal fuel. Skorn tipped his head back and cackled as he pulled the flash grenade pin and walked away into the night. The car, obviously exploded, the man inside was dead before Skorn could make him suffer, but the plan was solid. News would make the slaying out to be mob related, until the pictures Skorn had were sent to the reporters directly. Skorn had used chemicals to erase the stripper's face from the photo, so that she would not be murdered or harassed by more corrupt police. The department's bribed officers would get the point of it, that the police are not untouchable, whether or not vengence was by the hand of Skorn, or some