Seon
Not An Evil Liar
Spoiler :
For the Desk of
His Majesty Vickor Vassilev
Core
Capital of All things Good in the World!
From the Desk of
The Lone Wolf
An Entrepreneur
Living in the Core of the World’s Sense of Morality!
Mr… Don? I wonder. What is the point of using the name “mafia,” when the origin of the word is Italy? And besides, Mafiosi do not really describe their own organization as the “mafia” anyways. They call it “Cosa Nostra,” which sounds much cooler, but probably is too long for the brains of most people within Core to memorize.
Normally, I would go on more about myself, but I think we are actually well-acquainted.
I would know by the amount of people that you’ve sent after me. Day by day, they grow younger. Why? Because the old ones are all dead, and only young thrill seekers ever want to try and take me down! Partly this is due to the fact that little birds tell me where these thugs live. That is also the reason why someone within your organization will find this letter and bring it to you.
You know, I have a lot of respect for your organization, I really do. You wouldn’t catch me say anything bad about it. Hell, if a police-man comes around, I’ll protect your organization to the end! It’s a funny thing, murdering people. See, most people think that murdering people for psychopaths like me is easy, but it’s really not. After you kill a person, you become his or her master. You become… possessive of them, you see. You know his life more than their parents or even their best friends ever will. See, they may have seen the man’s fetus, but only you saw their end! Only you know the reason why they’ll be eaten by wild, savage dogs in the streets as their clothes fight for one more hour in this accursed world.
So, Mr. Vassilev.
What does my laughter sound like?
What does my armpit smell like?
And when I grin, do my lips widen from ear to ear, like the Cheshire Cat from the old tales of the past?
All this, you have no doubt imagined. Why else would you send all these people out to find more information about me? Oh, I could go on, gloating and gloating forever for all the people under your pay that I’ve killed… but I’m not just any serial killer, you know. I probably was indirectly responsible for the deaths of all my victim’s family members in a world like this! I’m a virtual serial mass murderer.
But I really don’t want to go on more about that kind of things. You know how in those slasher fics, the murderer goes on and details how he conducted each of the murders? Blood splattering everywhere, screams of the women and children! BLAH BLAH BLAH I HATE THAT FREAKING ATTITUDE.
So, I’m sick of talking about myself. Tonight, I want to talk about the most important man of my life.
My ex.
My ex-employer, that is! You. Well, not directly, but indirectly you. See, there was this dealer who used to work for you. He was always so firm, more than a 6 feet tall! And yet so gentle, except for that time when he punched me in the face. Well, he found something, you see. Something very valuable. Something you’ll pay your wife’s left leg and right arm to get!
A crate of military surplus equipment. Rifles, ammo, body armor, pistol, you name it! Enough hardware to start his own goddamn mafia family. And he planned to sell them all for cheaps, for you!
That was certainly insane, I thought. Didn’t he always go on about this world being Dog-Eat-Dog? Why was he throwing away so much power that he got for himself? He told me that there was something greater than power in this world, and that was friendship!
See, all these guns mean nothing if there’s no one to use them.
And what could he do with all these guns anyways? He’s just one person.
I agreed.
That day, I slit the man’s throat.
Why did you never hear about this happening? Why, because he was going to tell you about it when I killed him, of course! Little birds told me that you thought that it was just another territorial dispute. That this fellow just walked into a wrong place at the wrong time.
Walking into the wrong place at the wrong time. That happens a lot in this city, you know? You could be doing everything right and something’ll find a way to screw you over. Priests always say that you have to kiss some god’s arse in order to avoid that fate. But which arse to kiss, I’ve always wondered.
Muslims have one.
Christians have three!
And Hindus have 36,000,000.
That’s a grand total of 36,000,004 arses to choose from. Not even counting those minor religions worshipped by the voodoo folks, of course.
But if the education in mechanical systems have taught me anything, it’s that redundancy is always good! And also this life lesson: that humility and passive nature is not always the best course of action, least of all exciting or fun. But what do I know, I’m just a murderer! Like you, I suppose.
But that still doesn’t explain why I’m contacting you, doesn’t it? Why take the bother of telling you all of this?
Well, I’ve recently heard that you were looking to hire a lot of killers! And my heart dropped. If there’s anyone who knows most about killing in this town, that’s me!
So think of it as a midnight lesson. How to make a killer out of a man woman or a child or ANYONE. But it’s going to take a looooong time, Don. What, do you think it’s easy, killing all 36,000,004 gods?
See, real killers aren’t born to be one. Real killers can’t be bought with money. Real killers care about the things they kill.
More on that later, Senor.
Now, I’ve gotta go and jump one of my quarry.
Cheers!
-The Laughing Man, Lone Wolf, Whatever the Hell people call me today.
His Majesty Vickor Vassilev
Core
Capital of All things Good in the World!
From the Desk of
The Lone Wolf
An Entrepreneur
Living in the Core of the World’s Sense of Morality!
Mr… Don? I wonder. What is the point of using the name “mafia,” when the origin of the word is Italy? And besides, Mafiosi do not really describe their own organization as the “mafia” anyways. They call it “Cosa Nostra,” which sounds much cooler, but probably is too long for the brains of most people within Core to memorize.
Normally, I would go on more about myself, but I think we are actually well-acquainted.
I would know by the amount of people that you’ve sent after me. Day by day, they grow younger. Why? Because the old ones are all dead, and only young thrill seekers ever want to try and take me down! Partly this is due to the fact that little birds tell me where these thugs live. That is also the reason why someone within your organization will find this letter and bring it to you.
You know, I have a lot of respect for your organization, I really do. You wouldn’t catch me say anything bad about it. Hell, if a police-man comes around, I’ll protect your organization to the end! It’s a funny thing, murdering people. See, most people think that murdering people for psychopaths like me is easy, but it’s really not. After you kill a person, you become his or her master. You become… possessive of them, you see. You know his life more than their parents or even their best friends ever will. See, they may have seen the man’s fetus, but only you saw their end! Only you know the reason why they’ll be eaten by wild, savage dogs in the streets as their clothes fight for one more hour in this accursed world.
So, Mr. Vassilev.
What does my laughter sound like?
What does my armpit smell like?
And when I grin, do my lips widen from ear to ear, like the Cheshire Cat from the old tales of the past?
All this, you have no doubt imagined. Why else would you send all these people out to find more information about me? Oh, I could go on, gloating and gloating forever for all the people under your pay that I’ve killed… but I’m not just any serial killer, you know. I probably was indirectly responsible for the deaths of all my victim’s family members in a world like this! I’m a virtual serial mass murderer.
But I really don’t want to go on more about that kind of things. You know how in those slasher fics, the murderer goes on and details how he conducted each of the murders? Blood splattering everywhere, screams of the women and children! BLAH BLAH BLAH I HATE THAT FREAKING ATTITUDE.
So, I’m sick of talking about myself. Tonight, I want to talk about the most important man of my life.
My ex.
My ex-employer, that is! You. Well, not directly, but indirectly you. See, there was this dealer who used to work for you. He was always so firm, more than a 6 feet tall! And yet so gentle, except for that time when he punched me in the face. Well, he found something, you see. Something very valuable. Something you’ll pay your wife’s left leg and right arm to get!
A crate of military surplus equipment. Rifles, ammo, body armor, pistol, you name it! Enough hardware to start his own goddamn mafia family. And he planned to sell them all for cheaps, for you!
That was certainly insane, I thought. Didn’t he always go on about this world being Dog-Eat-Dog? Why was he throwing away so much power that he got for himself? He told me that there was something greater than power in this world, and that was friendship!
See, all these guns mean nothing if there’s no one to use them.
And what could he do with all these guns anyways? He’s just one person.
I agreed.
That day, I slit the man’s throat.
Why did you never hear about this happening? Why, because he was going to tell you about it when I killed him, of course! Little birds told me that you thought that it was just another territorial dispute. That this fellow just walked into a wrong place at the wrong time.
Walking into the wrong place at the wrong time. That happens a lot in this city, you know? You could be doing everything right and something’ll find a way to screw you over. Priests always say that you have to kiss some god’s arse in order to avoid that fate. But which arse to kiss, I’ve always wondered.
Muslims have one.
Christians have three!
And Hindus have 36,000,000.
That’s a grand total of 36,000,004 arses to choose from. Not even counting those minor religions worshipped by the voodoo folks, of course.
But if the education in mechanical systems have taught me anything, it’s that redundancy is always good! And also this life lesson: that humility and passive nature is not always the best course of action, least of all exciting or fun. But what do I know, I’m just a murderer! Like you, I suppose.
But that still doesn’t explain why I’m contacting you, doesn’t it? Why take the bother of telling you all of this?
Well, I’ve recently heard that you were looking to hire a lot of killers! And my heart dropped. If there’s anyone who knows most about killing in this town, that’s me!
So think of it as a midnight lesson. How to make a killer out of a man woman or a child or ANYONE. But it’s going to take a looooong time, Don. What, do you think it’s easy, killing all 36,000,004 gods?
See, real killers aren’t born to be one. Real killers can’t be bought with money. Real killers care about the things they kill.
More on that later, Senor.
Now, I’ve gotta go and jump one of my quarry.
Cheers!
-The Laughing Man, Lone Wolf, Whatever the Hell people call me today.