4 years later from the Iraq incident…
3:47 in the afternoon, on a sunny Wednesday, in Washington D.C, inside the cinema…
They called him…the Devil Incarnate…
The audience were horrified, appalled, and completely blown over, after watching such a horrendous killing take place in front of their own eyes. They will still shocked, to witness such a disgusting act. In fact, it was something much like what was about to occur in the movie they had been watching - SAW. The difference, was that this was real.
It was completely gory, the killing done in such a creative style.
He came out through the screen, slashing through it with a knife. He held two desert eagles, and started to shoot them randomly, the bullets killing several people. People screamed loudly, the scene of absolute chaos.
Objective 1 achieved : Pandemonium.
Then, the man had jumped off the stage, his eyes wandering across rows and rows of people. It came to rest on a woman with auburn hair and blue eyes. Her name was Linda Chapland, and though she had been disguised well, the killer could still recognize her. She was a famous and prestigious film reviewer, her reviews often appearing in many newspapers. People took her reviews seriously - if she said they were good, then they were good. End of story. The man went up straight to the film reviewer. She was sitting in the first row, her eyes the picture of horror, absolute terror that bit at her, as the man pulled her up to the stage. Someone tried to stop him, but his gun was up and blazing, a headshot and no more of the man. He turned to Linda Chapland now.
“Hey, help me review my act. On a scale of one to ten, how painful is mine?” And suddenly the lights blazed on, shining directly at him. Then, smiling all the while, he drove the knife into her arm, and with a weird jerking movement, sliced it right off. Linda Chapland screamed loudly, the audience rooted to the ground in shock and absolute terror, afraid that they might be next. Some tried to escape, but the cinema doors had been chained shut.
They watched as the man systematically, and methodically, gutted the woman, performing surgery, with an object much larger than a scalpel, on her abdomen, practically pulling out the various organs and intestines. “Look what I found!” He exclaimed as he pulled out the large intestine and small intestines, and started to thread them around the stage in a word. DEATH, in capital letters. The stream of crimson blood became a fast flowing river.
By that time, Linda Chapland had already died - she had given her last interview to anybody. And then things started to happen fast, the doors burst open, police coming in from the back and front, surrounding him. But the murderer had taken a bow, nearly bending double. Then, shouting a joyful “goodbye”, he pressed a button on his belt. And instantly the place was consumed by dense smoke, and when the smoke had cleared, the man was nowhere to be found. No, he had vanished, like the devil itself…
This had been the start of numerous serial killings. There had been no link between the victims, they were all randomly chosen by the killer, sometimes commoners, sometimes actresses and other people of higher status. But one thing was made certain. This person craved attention, and he had not killed without any form of audience, be it the media, the police, there had to be someone to watch. He had started up a blog, or actually various blogs, keeping the world updated on his acts. Pictures had been posted himself killing the people, video feeds showing him slowly killing some one. The public, appalled by acts of such evil, had christened him “The Devil Incarnate”.
The man responsible for the acts now stood in a room, well furnished, with a huge plasma high definition television, and a large sofa. This was like many of his other houses in different states throughout the US. The house was a two room flat, one with a bed inside it and a computer by its side. The internet broadband modem was always on, and the computer was always in sleep mode. Inside the computer were 3 folders, one containing pictures of his acts, the other videos and the final one absolutely nothing at all. But on a closer examination, using the state of the art file decryption program, it would reveal lots and lots of numbers. The man carried these numbers in a thumb drive, wherever he went, as they were worth more to him than life itself. In fact, he had carefully obtained the numbers throughout the killings he had committed - the killings were but a smokescreen, while he had hired some people to break into several areas in the vicinity of his killings and retrieve the numbers.
He knew how the police operated, having a mole planted in the police himself. And they would most certainly focus on the murder, not the break-ins which only took some invaluable stuff. The invaluable stuff was also a smoke screen, if the burglars he had hired left the place “empty handed”, the police might become suspicious.
The room with the wide television had a display case, containing an assortment of weapons, two primed and polished guns sat on top, and a colorful variety of knifes sat there. The bottom drawer of his coffee table contained several smoke screen grenades. They had been custom made by himself, him assembling several parts from different companies under one of his false identifies. He wore a suit and tie now, the suit from Armani. He wore sunglasses over his eyes, and in his pockets featured various guns and knifes. 3 smoke grenades were also inside. Lastly, was an F-29 concealed inside - his getaway weapon. The foolish police had failed to notice that all his hit points had some kind of skylight or hatch above him. The channel he was watching now was of a beautiful young blonde reporter talking about his killings, describing him as a frightful man. He took that as a compliment, and pulled out a mini pocket camera. Taking a picture of her face, the camera instantly printed out her face. He flung the picture into the air, with a flick of his wrist, and quick as a flash, threw one of his many knifes right at it. The blade shot right through her head, the handle moving forward quickly, pinning the photo to the wall. She was next on his list.…
The man got up now, putting on expensive leather shoes he had only just purchased. Time for his next act.
Today, the woman would be going back to the scene of the first crime, looking for clues to address the public. Well, he’d give her a shock. Wouldn’t he? Smiling, he hailed a taxi, in fact giving the driver an extra tip. He was feeling pleased, pleased that his plan had been going along so well, pleased that the LAPD had been so stupid, so brainless. And pleased with the “compliments” the people had given him. They called him the greatest killer of all time. The taxi, a bright yellow one, had stopped slightly away from the scene of the crime - he didn’t want anybody getting too suspicious. He then walked to the actual scene. There was still the police tape cordoning off the crime scene. CSI, he laughed, having watched the show last night. Well he wasn’t the same as the ordinary killers, was he? He walked to a deserted alley close to the scene of the crime, pausing in his tracks as he removed a body bag from his pocket, unfolding the canvas like material. And then he heard the screech of tires outside, and he knew that his victim had arrived. She was here for her funeral. And early too! Concealed in the darkness of the alley, he took of his expensive coat, shoes and sunglasses, also removing his tie. Then, he gently took off his shirt, setting all the items onto the body bag. He was wearing a bullet proof vest underneath and a white tunic on it, with the words “Lets raze this place to the ground!” Written on it in red block letters. The man put the removed garments into the body bag, zipping it up and throwing it next to the dustbin. And then he heard a sound. Footsteps.
The man immediately ducked, as two hands, big and blocky, lunged at the spot where his head had been moments ago. Then he swept his right leg to the attackers groin, where he groaned loudly, and stumbled backwards. The Devil Incarnate was on him in a second, his hands gliding over to the attacker’s head. He grabbed the attacker’s head tightly, pressing hard onto it. “Look at me b***h. Remember my face. You’re dealing with the Devil Incarnate now…” And then in one swift motion, he held the man’s head tightly, while using his right leg to kick the man’s two legs away, sweeping them to the ground. The result was astonishing. The man’s head, still held in the same position, but the rest of his body being MOVED ROUGHLY to one side, the weight pulling down onto the neck. Resulting in the neck cracking. In an unusual and creative way…
The cinema had seen better times. The cinema was surprisingly single storey, with 100 seats inside, the thing not even sloping down like normal cinemas. However, it made good sales from the ticket booth outside the cinema - movies went at half price and people were allowed to bring outside food, food not purchased from their tiny popcorn stand outside, in. And the seats at the back were slightly higher, so though low class, the cinema was rarely seen empty, nearly all the times packed. At the center of the stage was an obvious bloodstain from the first killing, and the seats were punctured with bullet holes. Needless to say, they were closing down the cinema, already terminating the contract with the owners of the building.
It was this building which the Devil Incarnate crept onto the rooftop, scampering up the metal pipe, his feet barely touching the metal surface, quicker than lightning. In no time at all, his hands were touching the top and he had hauled himself up. Then he crept to the skylight, and peered inside. The blonde news reporter was now examining the scene, flanked by two police and a man holding a video camera. A smile crept upon the Devil Incarnate’s face, revealing polished white teeth that looked slightly fake. The woman was bending down now, her assistant looking peering at the spot she was pointing at. Time to make his move. The skylight, unknown to the people inside, slid open, and the Devil Incarnate attached his F-29 grappling hook with a magnetic clamp onto the roof, and slid down.
Things begun to heat up. He went down headfirst, his legs grasping onto the steel thread, his arms outstretched, grabbing onto the first police officer. The officer was probably in his late 30s, with a long goatee and deep brown eyes. He nearly shouted out, but the Devil Incarnate was faster, clamping his hand over the man’s mouth as he lifted the man up by his head. Instant hanging, the man went limp as he reeled the police officer up. Taking care to leave the officer’s hat behind, he got ready for his next move. He pulled on a ski mask, obscuring his face now, and pulled out a handful of shuriken - ninja throwing stars. He took one out of the pile only, and stuffed the rest back into the pocket of his vest. Wait and watch, he told himself.
And then the woman bent up, the second police officer turned his head in surprise. And in moments, all three had the same question going through their mind. Where was the first officer? And then the Devil Incarnate, the practiced killer, the dangerous man, made his move. Enter act 2.
It was like a scene from a ghost movie. The part where the ghosts body shows up abruptly, out of the blue and unexpectedly, startling the audience. In this case, the audience, were the reporter, the cameraman, the remaining police officer, and every other person who was tuning into this show. They wanted a show, and he would give them one. The police man’s body materialized in front of their own eyes, only this officer was more pale, his mouth open in a scream. And the officer was dead as death itself. Four things happened simultaneously. The reporter screamed, her face like one of those French impressionist paintings, the person screaming with their hands grasping their head, their mouth open. That kind of look. The cameraman went “What the f*****g hell” all too loudly, forgetting the fact that their might have been thousands of children watching this. The police officer reacted with his gun out, his face deadly, his eyes serious.
Well actually not so. It was more like dropping your gun in shock, your mouth ajar and completely losing your cool. The Devil Incarnate suppressed a laugh, and threw his shuriken at the dead police man, and it flew through the body, hitting home at the second police man’s chest. He fell down dead on the floor, his mouth still open in shock. And then the Devil Incarnate pulled out two twin blades, and burst through the dead man’s body. I hope you got this, Mr. Cameraman. He thought as he did so. And then it was butchering time, his blades spinning around, him twirling around gracefully and then sliding the long thin sharp metal up the reporter’s abdomen.
The cameraman was still in shock, exclaiming loudly, “Oh f**k, he burst through the body?” Once again forgetting his viewers. The cameraman was all for cowardly behavior, he dropped the camera, screaming loudly, “I don’t want to die!” Quite the theatrical overdramatic character, the Devil Incarnate made a mental note as he plucked the falling camera out of the air, and focused it now at the reporter-in-pain. She was swaying on her feet, looking at the pool of blood forming on the floor and the sword which had been pierced right through her. She found herself hyperventilating, taking large gulps of air in too fast. The Devil Incarnate taunted her, whispering in a cold tone, “You’re on TV dear, you wouldn’t want your audience to see you like this.”
Then, he spun around, seeing the cameraman running out onto the street. The door was still slamming close, the man still running straight, directly in front of him, save for the door, and hands up in the air, hair on end. “Ooooh a picture of fear!” He said loudly to his audience viewing the footage from the camera. Live TV, he loved it. And in a single fluid motion, he threw the camera up into the air, backwards, and as it flew up into the air, he slid out a second knife from his belt pocket, and flicked it towards the man, turning himself in and arc. The knife shot cleanly through the tiny closing gap between the door and the wall, and buried itself straight between the cowardly cameraman’s shoulder blades. And at the same time, the Devil Incarnate caught the camera with his other hand.
An incredible feat. Then he turned his attention back to the woman. She had removed the sword now, and was edging to the back door. “Come back here, you little b***h.” He said, his tone colder than arctic pack ice. Then he threw the camera right at her and it nailed her straight in her head. The lens of the camera broke, the glass cutting into the unconscious woman. The Devil Incarnate gave him 3 minutes tops before the police arrived. The police were inefficient, but not that badly. He pulled out something from his belt pocket again - nails. Then using a hammer which was in his pocket, he put the nail at the woman’s right hand, and with one hard whack, the nail went right through her palm. The woman let out a chilling scream of agony, and blacked out
immediately, after seeing the bloodied floor.
The most blood she could recall seeing was in some lame doctor show. She had blacked out also. It was ironic that she would die in pools of blood. The Devil Incarnate did the same for her other hand, then he held up his sword, pulling out his own video camera. Then placing it on a seat, he grabbed the sword, raising it high above his head, and attached it to the ceiling. Then he tied it there, and made a trip wire right outside the door. Time to give the police something to feel sorry about, he mused. Then, he pulled out the F-29’s handle out of the dead police man who had been hanging from the ceiling’s back. It had been firmly jammed inside, by the Devil Incarnate’s left hand. Then he reeled himself up, leaving the building. He retrieved his clothes at the back alley, bolted over the stone wall, and left the place altogether, leaving the near dead woman hanging, onto the stage pillar…
Moments later, the wail of sirens were heard. Footsteps rushing, stamping loudly towards the main entrance. The woman inside heard them, and seeing the trip wire, screamed loudly, shouting, “Don’t come in!” But it was too late. The handle, sprayed with blood, slowly started to turn, moving to the right. The woman could see it, and time begun to slow from her point of view. She thought she could see her own life flashing past her eyes.
And then the door moved open an inch, and the sword high above her moved down slightly. And then the police officer slammed the door open, gun held straight in front of him. The officers behind him and him gasped. The tripwire, activated, worked its magic, and the sword swept down. Straight into the woman’s head, the golden polished handle sticking out. And so her would be rescuers looked, mortified. This Devil Incarnate was good. Very good. For now he had showed the police a simple message. He didn’t even need to kill the victims. Someone could do it for him. In this case, it was them…
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