City of IF

[misterbiz]

Biz Bit: That's right folks. Another one of my creations. This one is sure to be a violent and messy delight. A horror mystery of Mr. Biz proportions. This is the prologue so of course there is no DP. However, I would like your thoughts on one thing. Which would you like better for the murders? The Killer recording it and playing it for the protagonist, a slight change in point of view or the simply discovery of the grisly remains? Alrighty. Sit back and enjoy.

It was just another fine spring morning in Signet City. The sun sat partway in the air, readying itself to dispel the slight chill that hung in the air. A small amount of frost decorated the grass. A few birds awoke and began their usual early morning ditties. And at a manor on the outskirts of the city, far enough in to be considered within the limits yet far enough away to dissuade trespassers and eavesdroppers, I sat covered in blood that, while it wasn’t exactly considered fresh, was still damp on my clothes. All around me, a team of officers and crime scene technicians worked while I sat in the back of an ambulance. Men in blue paramedic uniforms poked and prodded at me, checking the various cuts and injuries that afflicted me while their emergency service brethren pulled those more unlucky than myself from the building.

My eyes scanned and watched as officers, detectives and forensics men moved around, examining everything. My gaze would land on one man and then after a few moments bounce to another. My eyesight seemed to be the only sense working at full capacity, so on instinct I used it to its full potential. Every small detail that my vision picked up on told me a story. It was one that I already knew but seeing it play across the faces of Signet’s finest was rather enjoyable. It was almost like watching a remake of your favorite film. You know the basic plot, the main characters and some idea of how it ends except there is something new thrown in. Tiny details that make the whole thing much grander. The disgust in a technician’s eyes, the loss of color from an officer who he only stepped in a few moments before, the small amount of vomit that still clung to the mouth corners of another, the million tiny little details that on their own meant absolutely nothing. Yet together, they were horribly brilliant.

As I pieced together, everybody’s responses to the slaughterhouse, I looked over toward the open door as a pair of men wheeled yet another body bag out of the stately manor. My mind tried to calculate how many had already come out. How many were in there? A small burst of life sparked in my gray matter. Thirteen. There were thirteen mangled messes hidden behind the pristine and exquisite exterior. On the surface of my mind I could still see them. A couple of them, I could feel on my flesh. The cold and clammy sensation of their touch felt like an infection, resting their just under my own skin. My mind tried to push out the memoires of them. Their faces, their scents, their touch, anything that could possibly make me realize the gravity of what had occurred over the last twenty-four hours.

Another body bag was wheeled out. Looking around for the others I tried again to figure out how many had been taken out. I didn’t know. I could no longer see any of the others. They had to have most of them out by now. At least, that’s what my numbed down logic said. I had seen them bring out a couple and then I had let my vision wander. They must have brought out most of them in that timeframe. That was what my brain told me. Forcing my gaze from the doorway, my eyes moved around the men that buzzed around like a swarm of blue bees.

Another bit of time later, one that was fairly immeasurable thanks to the protective haze that my brain was starting to spread out amongst my consciousness, and I saw a man in a dark green suit and tie start to walk toward me from the doorway of the manor. Everything about him screamed homicide cop. His blonde hair was fashioned in a crew cut. A thick mustache sat on his face, resembling a blonde caterpillar instead of facial hair. His suit was cleanly pressed and his tie as perfectly straightened. My eyes met his as he grew closer and I could see the fear and disgust that only what laid inside that house could provide.

He stopped directly in front of me and I allowed myself to break his gaze so that I could watch another body bag get wheeled out of the front doors. He said something but I didn’t hear it. The protective mist of my mind was starting numbing down my other senses once again. His voice sounded muffled and far away. A few moments later and he spoke again; still his voice didn’t make its way into my head. Instead, his words were replaced by another sound. One that I couldn’t pinpoint right away. The mental mist was doing a good job of keeping me aloof and confused.

“Hey,” the detective’s voice said as it managed to bludgeon its way into my ears. “You with me?”

My eyes met his and I offered a simple nod in response. He returned the nod in response and reached into his inner pocket. Couple seconds later and he had a notepad in his grasp. He flipped a couple pages before finding the one that he must have been looking for. He looked over it for a moment as a look of thought moved across his brow.

“Your name is Levi Crane, correct?”

I nodded again. Once again, he responded in kind before crossing his arms and looking over his shoulder at the house. I kept my eyes on him as he stared off. For a moment, I was sure that I could see inside his mind. He was putting all the pieces together or at least in the way that he thought they went down. The carnage beyond the threshold though was sure to light up the worst part of anybody’s imagination. Between the blood and the weapons that had been made out of usually non-weaponized objects, it was like a scene from a slasher flick. And I resembled the male version of the surviving, virginal heroine.

“Well, Mr. Crane,” he said crossing in front of me and leaned against the ambulance beside me. “Can you tell me what the fuck happened in there?”
I nodded.

“Yeah,” I said. “I can tell you everything.”

As my mind went back to the events that I was about to relay to the detective, I finally was able to pinpoint the sound in my skull. It was the sound of laughter.

[sagittaeri]

Very cool and intriguing! God I miss being on IF. :)

You know what you're really good at? Most (if not all) your primary characters seem to have level of crazy, and they're all really well written. I always feel like I can relate, which is saying lots because I have no idea what being crazy feels like, but yet I feel like I "understand" when you write them.

I'm very excited to find out more about whatever gruesome event that had taken place before the prologue! ;)

[Seraphi]

Aha, another addition to Signet City I see! *begs dramatically for a quick mention of Stone at some point even if he might have no relevance to the story* *is soundly smacked*

My lingering obsession with Stone aside, this is a great start! Good atmosphere. And I can’t wait for more characters to come into the fray.

A few typos:

Quote: The disgust in a technician’s eyes, the loss of color from an officer who he only stepped in a few moments before, the small amount of vomit that still clung to the mouth corners of another, the million tiny little details that on their own meant absolutely nothing. Yet together, they were horribly brilliant.

The cold and clammy sensation of their touch felt like an infection, resting their just under my own skin. My mind tried to push out the memoires of them.

Couple seconds later and he had a notepad in his grasp. He flipped a couple pages before finding the one that he must have been looking for.

He -> had
Their -> there
Memoires -> memories
Couple seconds -> A couple of seconds

Small and simple fixes to be made at your leisure.

Keep it coming, Biz, I need more of this bloody banquet! :D