Strutting down the corridor in quite a joyous mood, the maniacal faux police officer slid his hands along the rusted iron doors that lined each side of the musty, dank corridor. Things were finally about to get interesting. For years he had been waiting to be set free, and now, his time had finally come.
It must have been at least a decade since he felt as alive as he’d felt the night he set that store-robbing fool free. His bloodlust was practically at a boiling point, and murdering the occasional ma-deki every few months did far too little to quell just how much he desired a real hunt. A real treat!
His fingers scraped up the dirt and dust that covered the walls and stained the large iron doors, and each time his fingers made a little bump here or a little bump there (all accidental of course! No need for torture now, there was far too much to prepare!), a little shriek, a violent scream or even a little cry would be let loose by the cellar’s unfortunate inhabitants, each begging to be set free.
Those who really got a taste of what he had to offer, on the other hand, were begging for the only true joy he could offer them.
Sweet, delectable death.
He did a little skip in place, unable to contain his excitement. His boots made a loud enough splash on the somehow always wet floor to let the entire corridor know that he was here. This, much to his delight, brought a cacophony of wonderful sounding cries and bitter fears. He smiled, almost giggling in celebration of their warm welcome. But today, he had a special quarry, and everyone else would simply have to wait their turn.
He finally came to the gate that housed a special guest. He tapped the door twice, and the gears all shifted in place, unlocking the door which slowly swung open on its own. He smiled as he entered.
There was light.
It was rare for any of the prisoner’s to have their own light. He didn’t like it. It was a terrible blight on the integrity of his art.
On the bed, in the middle of the room, she sat quietly, with an expression of anger so vile-looking, he almost couldn’t restrain himself from jumping her and having his violent way with her pretty body. She had gifts in all the right places, with a figure fit for a goddess. Her breasts were wonderfully shapely, as was her bottom. Her skin was delectably smooth, and her crimson red hair shone and shimmered like the embers of a calm flame. By god, she was beautiful, but surely she would have looked so much more beautiful if he could only tear open her abdomen and adorn her neck with a scarf made of her own intestines.
Her body would be an exquisite display of erotic and torturous ecstasy.
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BUT! This one came with special orders. One of those orders being, HANDS OFF, which absolutely killed his mood every time he reminded himself of it when he entered this particular chamber.
She didn’t turn to face him when made his way inside, and she didn’t turn to face him when he moved in close to smell her. Would he finally get that arousing scent of fear from her? Or would it still only be that disgusting aroma of shampoo that permeated her significantly cleaner cell?
He took a whiff, and clenched his fists harshly.
Shampoo. Gross.
He took a step back and decided he would not stay any longer than he needed to. She was a buzzkill, and he did not need that on such an exciting and momentous day.
“Hmm… I’ve been sent to let you know, your boyfriend has finally lit the flames of progress. Soon, things will fall into place, and you will have your freedom.” He paused, waiting for any sign of a change in expression.
She maintained her stern look forward, but it was hard to deny the slight shift in air that took place at the mention of the “boyfriend”. It was indeed a very exciting day.
“Things are going to get very good from here on out, my dear. I suggest you prepare yourself for a change of scenery. The winds of fortune are finally upon us.”
He smiled, and with this smile made his exit. He tapped the door once more. It slowly closed, and he could swear he saw a little tremble in their special guest. Something indicating that she had finally been moved.
Before the gate firmly shut, he felt a sudden strong grip on his neck, slamming his face into the dirty, rank-smelling iron. She’d teleported, and so efficiently that he didn’t even sense the use of mana in a corridor designed to suppress the magic of its occupants.
“Your boss seems to think my shampoo smells lovely, Satoshi,” the woman whispered menacingly. “Do not forget your lowly place.”
“Forgive me, Miss Watson! I meant no disre–” he squirmed frantically before she slammed his head once more. His ears rang in pain, and he may have bit his lip harshly, because he felt a warm liquid dripping down his chin.
“Listen to me, you cowardly fuckstain. If you even so much as think to come sniffing around my cell again, I will rip your throat out through your chest and make you swallow it. Your desire to kill me is no secret, but do not think my imprisonment warrants you any special privileges. My lodging is temporary, but your role as less than a filthy sewer rat is permanent. Never think otherwise.”
She let him go, but he kept his head against the gate and dared not turn to face her.
“Tell your boss that I will be the one who brings in Max Tenebri,” she said, putting a hand to the iron before leisurely walking through both Satoshi and the gate.
She turned, her crimson red hair flowing as she twisted to look at him through the slits in the iron gate to her cell. Her hazel eyes were fiercely trained towards him, but it was clear that she was pleased to finally be let out at some point soon.
“He is, after all,” she smiled, “my boyfriend.”