CHAPTER 13

BONKERS I

This wasn’t a hunt; it was a bloody joke. Or rather, a bloodless joke. The three hooded women had exited the shop, their hoods dropped and stuffed into their handbags. They were… well. Dull. Three nattering middle-aged women, no different than any of the others. If they had been from Earth, they would have been going to brunch and yoga and complaining about their husbands over mimosas.

They walked through the streets with a casual swagger. All the other women were sure to wave as they passed. It was pedestrian in the extreme. Betty spent a few minutes fighting the feeling that she was following the wrong people.

It had taken her a minute to activate Shift Form and scramble into some old clothes found in the closet.

Was she following the wrong people?

Not that she would mind killing them anyway. She had always hated this kind of woman. They had no real problems and so got bored. And then they stuck their noses in their neighbors' business.

The thing was, the voices were the same. They made little snarky comments to each other after each person they waved happily to. Her husband is so lazy; she is so above herself, and so on. They laughed and smiled while their words dripped poison.

Hell, even if they weren’t killing people, they were going to die!

Betty resisted the urge to whistle happily to herself at the happy little thought. She was sure hardened Slashers weren’t supposed to whistle as they stalked their prey.

She followed the three women for an hour before, one after the other, they peeled off and into their own large and expensive-looking houses.

She had their addresses now. A little breaking and slashing was in order.

Betty went to scout out the first house, freezing on the border as an alarm sounded as her hoof crossed the boundary line.

“You there! What are you doing on my property?” Sharp and angry voice. It was definitely the one from her stolen store.

Betty turned with a bright and eager smile on her face.

“Hello, I am new to the area and was hoping to find babysitting work!” She turned the wattage up on her smile.

“Well. Didn’t your mother teach you to keep off other peoples’ lawns?” Sharp said with a huff of irritation.

“No, I’m sorry. My mother died when I was young.” Betty said. What? It worked on talent shows… why not here?

“Oh, you poor dear!” The smile was nowhere near as kind as the words. “Why don’t you come inside? We can talk about that babysitting job.” Her smile was creepy.

“Really? Thank you!” Betty beamed at the woman.

As she walked towards the woman she had dubbed ‘Sharp and Angry,’ Betty got her first clear look at her from the front. She was kind of short and dumpy. And her horns were definitely a little on the short and stubby side. Everything about her was almost. Almost normal height, almost normal weight, almost well dressed. But nothing quite worked.

The worst was the smile. Her smile was supposed to be kind and reassuring. But buried in the rictus grin was a viciousness that she could not quite hide.

Betty was also pretty sure her middle breast was slightly larger than the others. It made her look like her chest was pointing the whole time.

Bovinian - An’dre’ahna / Female / lvl 20

Class: Matron

Class: Broodmare

Betty tried not to gag at the class Broodmare. The look must have shown on her face but, thankfully, was misinterpreted.

“What’s your name, girl?” An’dre’ahna asked, almost kindly.

“Bet’ti,” Betty did her best…. But she was still guessing here.

“Call me An’dre’a. And don’t worry, child.” She put an arm over Betty’s shoulders, “I don’t bite.”

I do, bitch, Betty thought to herself as she smiled shyly at the woman. Betty was good at acting. She had to be. Hell, most women were. They had to act just to get through the day without killing someone. The careless smile as they are cat-called. The polite refusal to the grope-y stranger. The cheerful comments about how much you love the knuckle-dragging mouthbreather your friend is dating. Women learn to act very early.

They aren’t given a choice, even by each other.

They moved into the large, opulent house. Betty noticed the silent feel to it. She had been expecting there to be servants.

Then she noticed the dust. It was there, in the corners and on the pictures on the walls. A second look revealed the truth.

This place was nowhere near as well off as it appeared. Betty mused it was probably beyond what this woman could afford.

Hence no money for servants.

Also, no sound of children.

They had walked past the local school on their little parade through the town. It was closed. No kids.

Betty smiled as the woman led her deeper into the house, wondering what her game was.

Betty was happy to play along.

She got a full tour, An’de’a beaming and trying to sound off-hand as she led Betty past what were obviously her prized possessions.

“And where do the children stay?” Betty asked eventually. She was bored of this dull woman and her creepy smile. She wanted to get things moving.

If this cow, no pun intended, had kids, then Betty was Mother Fucking Teresa.

“Eager, aren’t you?” An’dre’a said with a happy laugh. It even sounded genuine this time. “I like that!” She led Betty through the house again and to a door in the kitchen. Her hand rested on Betty’s ass as she leaned past her and opened the door. “Just in there, dear!”

Betty ducked her head and stepped through the door. She was expecting the kick in her ass and pretended to go sprawling.

Game on!

“Stupid little whore!” An’dre’a snarled. “I’ve got you now! You can be a good girl for Mommy and get treats,” She smiled, “Or a Bad little bitch and get pain!” She kicked Betty. “And in here, Mommy can hurt you as much as she likes! No one can hear you scream, whore!” An’dre’a laughed with vicious glee.

“Oh, that’s handy.” Betty got to her feet. “Makes this next bit a lot easier.” She grinned and let the Shift Form skill go. She rose to her full height, which was close to seven feet, with all her levels and points in Body.

She punched An’dre’a in the face, hard. Something crunched, and the woman let out a squeal of pain. Before the woman could run, Betty grabbed her flailing arm and spun, sending the Bovinian flying into the far wall.

Betty smiled.

She liked it when victims provided their own murder rooms.

It was handy.

Betty yelped as something slammed into her shoulder. She kicked out, sending An’dre’a to the floor again, and looked to see what the woman had hit her with.

“Bitch! Did you just hit me with your rancid fucking dildo?”

Betty shivered in revulsion at the extremely large and evidently well-used length of rubber.

Her eyes darted around the room before she turned, enraged, to the Bovinian woman still trying to pull herself to her feet.

The story has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.

“There. Is. No. Sink. In. Here.” Betty growled as she walked over to An’dre’a and grabbed her head by the stubby horns. “THERE.” Thump, she slammed the woman’s head against the wall. “IS,” Thump. “NO!” Thump. “SINK!” Crack.

She let go, and Slasher Stepped away as An’dre’a’s corpse slid slowly down the wall. Her face was completely flattened, and the brow pushed in at an unhealthy angle.

“Bitch!” Betty kicked the corpse across the room before marching out the door, slamming it behind her.

She took slow, deep breaths as she calmed herself.

Twenty minutes later, Betty was drying her hair after a long shower. She had just gotten dressed and was browsing through the upstairs rooms, looking for anything useful. It was surprising how little mattered when you were a Slasher. She could just kill for money, shelter, or anything else.

No, what mattered to her was knowledge. Anything that revealed more about this world she wanted.

Knowledge was power, and Betty… had discovered a deep hunger for power.

Unfortunately for her, this house was a total bust. There didn’t seem to be anything here. From what she could make out, the books were all about celebrities and diets. Well, not all.

She had found a stash of books in a cupboard, but they were not helpful… and kind of disgusting.

This woman’s porn tastes were disturbing, even to a Slasher.

She browsed idly through the downstairs as well, but everything there appeared to be decorative. And gaudy as HELL.

Betty was a little disappointed in herself. She had lost it in there, and the kill lacked the elegance and style she had come to expect from herself. Where was the art in it? Where was the style? She had to do better.

The front door slammed, hooves clicking through the entrance hall. A male voice called out, then headed up the stairs.

Betty hesitated. She could simply slip out the front door, but…

Hooves came back down the stairs and moved towards the kitchen, where she was hiding.

Betty activated Shift Form and started filling a glass of water in the sink.

“Who are you?” A male voice asked.

“I’m Bet’ti,” She said as she turned. A middle-aged man in what appeared to be a Bovinian business suit stared at her from across the room. He was thin and almost as short as her Shifted Form. His eyes darted about, looking panicked.

“An’dre’a invite me in,” Betty said, aware she was barely making sense. “She asked me to come in, I mean.” She smiled at him, waiting to see what he would do. She could get him before he got to the front door if he tried to run.

“Get out!” He whispered, “Quickly. And never let my wife invite you in here again!” He came over and started pulling her toward the door. “She is not a nice woman.” He grabbed her backpack, which had Hacky and Stabby in it, and shoved it into her arms. “Please, run! I will try and keep her busy.”

“Oh, don’t worry,” Betty said, planting her hooves. The poor man almost fell over as he suddenly found himself unable to move her along the floor.

“Please! I’m trying to help you!” He said desperately.

“I know, but she’s super dead.” Betty smiled at him. “I beat her head into the wall until she stopped moving!”

The Bovinian man gaped at her. He looked at the door, then back at her. Betty slipped her hand discretely into her backpack, gripping her little Stabby tightly.

“Out the back, then.” The man nodded. “Quickly.”

It was Betty’s turn to gape in astonishment.

“But, I killed your wife?” She tried. This was not going according to the script.

“Yes, thank you. I’m sure she made you do it. The woman was sick, and no one would believe me, but you must go!” He pleaded with her. “I must find a way to cover this up, and I have work tomorrow.”

He almost died when he reached into his pocket but was too distracted to notice Betty’s aborted movement as he pulled a wallet out of his trousers.

“Don’t you want to call the….” Betty hesitated. She still didn’t know what the word for police was.

“No!” The man shook his head as he grabbed everything from the wallet and pushed it into her hands. “You were never here! Just go and forget you were ever here.” He hesitated. “I hope she didn’t hurt you too badly?”

“No, I’m fine,” Betty said in confusion as she was gently prodded out the back door in the kitchen. “Okay, bye, I guess.”

The man almost committed accidental suicide again when he hugged her suddenly. “Thank you, I’m free of her now. But you must go!”

“Okay,” She shrugged. “I guess I’ll go.”

She turned and walked away, looking back over her shoulder occasionally. The door was closed, and no sounds came from inside.

The fuck just happened?

Betty had never exactly been the trusting sort, and becoming a Slasher in an alien world hadn’t improved matters. She had made her way onto the roof of a building across the street and laid down to watch the house.

Hours passed, and no one came or went. No flashing lights, no storm of reporters, if they even had them here.

He really wasn’t reporting her.

Huh.

Betty grinned. Maybe it was an Artistic Slashing after all. She had evidently gotten away with it, and the husband was disposing of the evidence as she watched. He was industriously digging a series of holes in the backyard flower beds. Betty stayed and watched until he started to bring out large parcels of something wrapped in a thick plastic which he buried in various holes.

Good enough.

Betty Slasher Stepped down from the house she had been watching from. She aimed behind a large shed in the back garden as lights were on inside. She peaked around the side, looking for a clear path out of the yard when a glint of metal caught her eye inside the shed.

She slipped into the small hexagonal wooden building and moved towards a gleam showing through a pile of old cloth. Pulling it aside, her breath caught as she found something beautiful hidden beneath the rags.

With trembling fingers, she reached out and pulled free the long, blackened metal machete. It was enormous by Bovinian standards, which made it a perfect fit for her true size. Its handle was broken, but she could fix that. She cradled it in her hands as she held it close.

“Hello, Slashy, I’ve been looking for you.” She gave the metal a little kiss and ginned in the darkness of the shed. A quick search of the shed showed no supplies to fix the ailing machete.

Never mind, she thought, I’ll fix it up back at the shop.

She had to wrap it in rags a few times to hide what it was before she could stuff it into the backpack with Hacky and Stabby.

Those other two women could wait… she had a little crafting to do.

==============

The walk back had been a special kind of torture. She had to keep to a casual pace, despite wanting to rush back and get to work immediately. Betty kept an eye out as she went, taking a winding path so it would not lead anyone following her scent back to the shop.

She had no idea if they even did that, but better safe than sorry. By the time she finally arrived at the skylight entrance to her borrowed little shop, she was almost sweating with anticipation.

Luckily for her, the store had a nice selection of supplies. She had the handle wrapped tightly in bright red tape in no time. Next came wrappings of white leather cut from an old jacket she found in a closet. Once the handle was done, she set to work sharpening the blade to a razor edge using a whetstone from the kitchen.

The final touch was taking a tin of black paint and repainting the blackened metal until only a line of brilliant silver steel showed along the edge.

The white glow that flashed over the completed weapon made her squeal in excitement.

‘Slashy’

Soulbound.

Self-Repairing.

She laughed and grabbed the rest of her weapons. They looked great! She stood in front of the grubby mirror and posed. Hacky in one hand, Slashy in the other, and Stabby around her neck. She looked awesome!

Finally, she had all her tools. All she needed now was a badass outfit to go along with her new weapons.

Her mind drifted to the large display in the window. It was very tempting, but she wasn’t sure it was quite right. The jacket, yes. The rest? She wasn’t sure.

Should she go the boiler suit route? That one had certainly been done, but it had the advantage of being a single bit of bloody clothing to wash, as opposed to many.

Not many people considered the laundry habits of the Slashers. The very idea of slashing in a wool sweater was a nightmare. Betty shuddered at the thought of trying to get blood out of wool. Leather certainly had the laundry side beat. Wipe-down outfits would be great, but… leather required caring for.

This required thinking about. It had to be something that she could actually get rather than make; she was no good at making her own clothes.

Betty groaned. She had a sinking feeling that tight t-shirts and tighter shorts were in her future. Lots of them.

She went downstairs and grabbed the leather jacket. It almost fit, almost. The problem was the arms. They were just too short.

Damn it!

She growled and willed the damn jacket to fit… and it did.

Betty blinked.

Outfit Claimed!

Signature Look obtained!

Jacket of the Slasher, T-shirt of the Slasher, Shorts of the Slasher!

Soulbound.

Chameleon Cloth.

Self-Sizing.

Self-Cleaning.

Self-Repairing.

Optional Item Unlocked!

Mask of The Metamorph!

Betty stared as her clothes resized, shifting to fit her perfectly. A plain white mask appeared in the air in front of her. She reached out and took it. It was a smooth oval with eyeholes. It was… underwhelming.

She Investigated it.

Mask of the Metamorph -

The three things that define a Slasher are the weapons, outfit, and, most importantly… mask!

The Mask of the Metamorph is the fledgling Slasher’s best friend! It will continue to change and evolve as you do!

Shape, size, color, and features change as needed to become your favorite mask ever.

Betty had her doubts but lifted it to her face as she looked in the mirror. The oval shifted, becoming a plain white version of her face; a deranged smile stretched across it as blood-red trails ran from the eyes and the corner of the mouth. Betty blinked, and the features changed, smoothing into a stylized woman’s face with that same smile and blood trails.

She looked into the mirror again and saw a Slasher staring back at her. Her hand fell from the mask, which stayed in place despite nothing holding it on her face.

Betty posed again with the mask on her face, her outfit suddenly seeming to be a part of her, and her weapons in each hand.

This time there was no doubt.

She was a Slasher, and it was time to hunt.

She still had two targets out there, waiting for her…

Let’s not keep them waiting, eh?

Betty grinned beneath the mask.