I reviewed the case file in his mind. Subject, real name unknown, was a serial killer that the media had dubbed "Anesthesia." Female, psychology currently unknown. It had been estimated that she had killed in excess of 30 elderly individuals while posing as a nurse, her favored method being an overdose of painkillers. Nothing else was known about her, save a rough idea of how she looked, and that she had, apparently, dropped off the map over a year ago, and had committed not one murder since.
Until yesterday, of course. A large number of corpses had been discovered during a police raid on a house in one of the suburbs. It would probably take weeks to discover how many people had died there, and even longer to ensure proper identification. One victim had survived, pinned to the wall through the use of several knives. He had provided positive identification of the killer as Anesthesia.
It was my job to connect everything, to figure out what had happened. But that was for later. Right now, I was simply returning to the station with a fresh pot of coffee from across the street. Whoever ran that coffee shop certainly knew how to pick the right location. And there was the door. Time to get back to work.
I hesitated outside the door. I smelled gas, more even than could come from a leak in one of the pipes. I put the pot on the ground and pulled out my gun, just to be safe. I opened the door, and saw that the lights were off. It was certainly odd. I stepped back a few paces, and let my eyes adjust.
I realized than that I was right. There was gas, almost an inch of it on the floor, now spilling slightly out onto the steps. That probably meant trouble. I was used to trouble, though. I holstered my gun and pulled out my handkerchief. Using it to cover my mouth and nose I started on forward.
I immediately recognized doors that shouldn't be closed. I opened one, found nothing. Another, nothing. Another, nothing. It was behind the fourth door that I found what I should not have.
The large room had housed the main offices of the police station. Hardly anything was left standing, and even fewer things lacked a dressing of blood, be it a few bright red speckles or a thick coat of gore. Even worse were the corpses. Each had been thoroughly mutilated in such a way as to allow for life to continue; they had obviously been tortured, although I could not understand how anyone had the time to be so thorough while I was gone. The killing blow was, in each case, a knife blow to the heart. I could tell; the knives were still there.
I knew that this was the work of Anesthesia. It was only when my eyes adjusted, however, that I noticed the woman in the corner of the room. She could be Anesthesia. Her hair and eyes could have been brown, she could have been nondescript, with an innately friendly demeanor, but for now it was impossible to tell. I wasn't thinking straight, and she was covered in the blood of my friends. I was going to make her pay. I raised my gun, and walked closer to ensure a proper hit.
I heard laughter, then, as I approached. Genuine, heartfelt laughter, as though I had just told my intended victim one of my funniest jokes. She looked at me, and she smiled. I felt astonished that she could do that, in her situation.
I am not sure what happened, but the next moment was nothing but pain. Even my senses retracted within my skull, hiding and waiting for the feeling to pass. It lasted only for a moment, but when I regained my senses, my gun was gone and she was behind me, a knife pricking the back portion of my right ear. She was still laughing, and continued when she cut the ear off.
I knew I should have screamed, but I felt nothing but a pleasant sort of tingling sensation. It was as though the pain was leaving my body before my brain had time to process it. It was only for a moment, though, and then my entire body was wracked as it had never been before, worse than anything I had ever felt, multiples heaped upon multiples.
When I regained my senses, I was on the floor, pinned to my location by a trio of knives. I felt nothing again, that curious sensation as it had been before. And she began to talk.
"They told me you would be back. Such good friends, aren't they, that they knew what you were doing?" She waited for an answer, but I could not find it within my capacity to give one.
"Regardless, I'm going to take my time with you. It's my birthday, after all, and this is my present. One I made for myself, but those are always the most worthwhile, don't you think?" She waited again for a response. When she was given none, she gave a slight frown, the first time she had stopped smiling since I had met her. Then she began her work.
----
"Well, that was fun," Anesthesia said out loud. She had adopted that particular name when she had first heard it. Better if none ever discovered her real one.
"A necessary step, as well," she said. She began to walk out of the police station, drawing a book of matches from one of her pockets. She had found some old police uniforms in the basement, but they had needed modifications before she could fit everything she needed into one. The sword, especially, had been difficult to fit.
"Well, it is my birthday. I can do what I want," she said, still aloud, and still with no one around. She thought it was her oddest habit. Other people, doubtless, would not agree. But they didn't know her very well at all, did they? She lit a match, and continued walking. As she moved out of the doorway, she let the match drop, flared pain in a nearby pedestrian, and crossed the street in a nearly instantaneous burst of speed.
"Now all I need to do to complete my birthday is a wish. And to think that all I have to do is blow out a few candles." She kept walking down the street, humming a tune and smiling softly to herself.
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OOC: Hopefully it's not too bad. I haven't had time to do much touching up on it.
I would also like to suggest that everyone write a little bit of fighting sequence for their character in preparation for the first round. I can't really determine how someone else's character fights simply from a description of what they look like, or what weapons they possess.