Untitled Two

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He saw Me. That could be a problem. Not just saw me, but saw Me. The Me that was going to kill him. Now newly alerted, he kept his distance from me, so I just melted. Melted into the background, invisible to everyone else, just like I have been invisible all these years. No one notices me. I notice everyone. The party was getting to a wrap, and he had completely forgotten about me. Just like everybody else. Except this time, it meant his death. His slow, painful, bloody death. Luckily, he didn’t think I had the guts to slice his open. Unfortunately for him, I did. He was hosting the party, and his parents were out of town, so I didn’t have any trouble hiding while all the guests left, and coming out while he was alone, resting on the couch, tired from all the night’s activities. Of course, he never really saw me leave. But then again, he never really knew I was there. Not counting that moment. Exiting from my hiding spot, I crept behind him surreptitiously, and violently covered his mouth and nose with a handkerchief containing BZ (Agent 15). He put up a fight, but it was completely and utterly useless. He fell, limp, unconscious, on the ground.
He woke up on the couch, gagged with a bandage that had attached spikes on the sides, which would sink through his cheeks if he tried to speak, and with both hands tied to the couch, and both legs tied to the Device. I snuck it in the house in the gift box, posing as his birthday present. Let me take a moment to wish a very happy birthday to him. Now, to his slow, painful, bloody death.
He was one hundred percent conscious and in complete control of what he did. I warned him of the spikes on the sides of his mouth, and I told him to, simply, not talk at all. I skipped around the room, taunting him, his eyes showing complete panic and chaos, and anger at my nonchalance, at my casualness. He would pay. I jammed his head into the Device’s headrest, and told him, simply, that he would die of blood loss if he tried to get out. He was going to die of blood loss anyway, but he didn’t know that. Yet. I strapped his head in the Device and set it to level one. A crown of spikes started to dig into his skull, not too deep, just deep enough to hurt, just shallow enough to not kill him. Blood rained from his head, out of exactly seven holes. The Device finished its work on level one, and I allowed him four minutes of agonizing pain and waiting to see what was next.
I took a lamp that was standing on the floor a few feet away and used its metal rod to break both of his anklebones, smash his knees, and render his hands useless. Level two. Power drills (which must be involved in every slow, bloody, and painful slaughter, even amateurs know that) dug into his shins. His eyes wailed with pain, but he dared not scream. The pain wasn’t bad enough. While his shins bled out onto the floor and the rug, I brought the Coat, which I put on his back. Nothing fancy like spikes or anything, just extremely hard blows to the pressure points. Which hurt more than spikes.
Finally, his shell cracked. He screamed, not that anyone heard him, (the gag was soundproof,) and the gag instantly blotched dark crimson. It was time for level three. The Device grabbed his stomach with two metal arms. All it did was pull. But only slightly too hard.





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