Hunter's Mark

 

AN: Song lyrics belong to Reverend Horton Heat, "Callin' in Twisted"

She should do it.

Really, it would probably be more merciful than what life would throw at her if she continued trying to live like this.

It was either that, or to further endanger the rest of these horrified prudes.

She didn't want them to suffer at the hands of that painted monster.

But there was already so much, and so many, at risk...

"Hmmm... looks like we might need a little motivation."

Rae could only watch as the painted man tore a gun away from one of his nearby lackeys and turned on the closest group of captives, aiming haphazardly before squeezing off a short round of bullets in their general direction.

More panicked shrieks echoed throughout the gallery as the unlucky victims slunk this way and that, limbs twisting into unusual positions as body after body became nothing more than a lifeless bag of meat.

It didn't take long for the scent of ruptured organs to mingle with the thick, choking stench that already hung in the air. Unfortunately, these new additions were just too much for those with a weaker constitution.

Vomit.

Defecation.

Blood.

Death.

Such an offensive accumulation of smells, one that Rae had desperately hoped she would never experience again.

Life had a rather funny way of coming back to haunt her at some of the worst possible moments.

"Until we have a volunteer, I will kill one of you delightful people every two minutes. Now, I am not a very patient man... so I suggest that one of you step up and play!"

Now. Do it now.

Stand up.

You have nothing to lose, not in this town...

-NO!

The people!

So many people...

-people?

You don't owe 'people' anything, especially not your life!

The battle that raged within her conscience prattled on.

One side begged her to have that monster end her torment, that it would be the only blessing received in her fractured life.

The other scolded her, insisting that it was not her responsibility to save these people, that they were part of the reason behind her madness!

Why should they be exempt from experiencing the sickness that infected the rest of this world?

A sudden streak of pain quickly dissolved Rae's thoughts, causing her to wince openly since it felt like a cactus was trying to burrow its way through the front portion of her brain. The sensation lingered for a few seconds before escalating into a  searing migraine.

This new development didn't quell her conscience for long, her previous concerns stampeding back into her thoughts while the migraine continued to grow in intensity. It wasn't long before nausea began to settle in the pit of her stomach, bile churning and bubbling as her frustration started to reach its peak.

Worse... it's getting worse... decide quickly you silly girl!

Yet with the physical pain escalating, all she wanted to do was ball herself up until her ailments abated.

A particularly violent wave of pain and nausea caused her to do just that.

It shot through her body with such force that she wasn't sure she could keep from crying out, clenching her jaw so tightly that she thought she might break a few teeth if this particular spell were to last much longer.

Her throat tightened.

Her muscles strained.

Her mind tore itself apart...

…. and she knew.

She had no choice.

All she could was try and brace herself for whichever layer of hell she was about to be thrown into.

“Well well, looks like we have ourselves a volunteer...”

The tone of the mans voice sent a shiver down her spine.

She could feel him hovering nearby, smell the gunpowder that clung to his clothes.

The air was thick with malice, all of it radiating from one man...

A man that completely ignored Rae's attempted movement and dragged another hapless hostage into the center of the gallery, passing the gun off to its previous handler as he looked upon his knife favorably.

Rae couldn't focus enough to stop him.

Trying to will her muscles and limbs into a stable crouching position was difficult enough, attempting to stand so abruptly would probably result in her losing any sort of balance she might have.

Flopping and flailing like a hooked fish never really looks intimidating.

Even as the hostage sputtered and pleaded, Rae did her best to reach a noticeable height and gain their attention.

It didn't take much.

Standing, albeit weakly and using the wall for support, had at least caused an uneasy shifting to spread around the group of lackeys.

Unfortunately, it didn't seem to phase their leader.

She wold have to come ip with something else.

Horking up a bit of blood might work, and she already had plenty of that coating her mouth. Luckily it wasn't from a ruptured organ or some illness, but the inside of her cheek.

If she managed to live through this, it would have to be a liquid diet for the next couple of days.

Not even needing to force a few throaty coughs, although nearly collapsing with each one, it didn't take long for a nice layer of blood to build up on her lips.

She wiped the back of her hand across her mouth, being sure to leave a thick streak of blood on her hand that would hopefully cause the leader to focus on her instead of the simpering man he already possessed.

The commotion, and increasing unease amongst the lackeys, did the trick.

Somewhat.

While it might have been an intriguing development, it didn't keep the painted mans attention for long. Rae knew she probably looked like she was about to collapse at any second, which is exactly how she felt.

Yet she had already forced herself through this much, and was not a person who enjoyed pissing away her time and effort.

Armed with a purpose, Rae drew on her frustration and pain, using them as a mental crutch while she forced herself to stand without the aid of a wall.

It was a slow process, but one she eventually achieved.

Luckily, or perhaps unfortunately, this got the painted mans full attention.

Though he didn't move, nor did he relinquish the young man who was obviously horrified by this unforeseen predicament.

All the white-faced man did, was stare at her.

His expression, at least what she could make of it, seemed to be nothing more than one of neutrality.

A ruse, no doubt. It had to be.

If it wasn't...

“Well well, it looks like Player 2 has entered the game.” The painted man gave a brief, raspy laugh as he shoved the young and budding prude towards his bristling lackeys.

Not exactly the reaction Rae had been hoping for, but hope was all she had to work with. Still, the young man stood a better chance around the lackeys than with the purple-suited monstrosity that lead them.

Probably.

“Yeah. Free Credits are always a wonderful thing.” Rae couldn't keep a grimace from touching her lips. Talking was even more of a task than standing, or coughing, had been.

“MmmHmmm...” The man purred lazy as he walked towards Rae, bloody knife in tow. “Although, you look a little... beat.”

“You can see the crap they put up in this room... and they call it 'Art'. It's enough to make anyone with a bit of taste, look like this.” Rae drew in sharply as a knot of pain tightened on her left side.

“Ah, so you know Art?” A jagged smile spread across the painted mans face, made all the more gruesome by the scars that pulled at the corners of his mouth.

Now only a few feet from her, Rae could see the extent of the scarring.

Not exactly hideous, admirable in a very twisted way, and more than anything... a point of curiosity.

All of which, she planned to keep to herself.

The man threw an arm around Rae, pulling her forward as if she were nothing more than an old friend. He spun her towards his first 'Masterpiece' with enough force to throw Rae off-balance, causing her to take hold of his coat and vest to keep herself upright and steady while she found her footing.

It was a rather awkward position to be in, knowing what the man could do and had already done to others.

More than that, her head was reeling from the overwhelming number of scents that she was being assaulted by. She could identify and ignore most of the previous scents, but now there were others of a more... personal nature.

She was barely aware of anything else going on around her, trying to will her body into getting untangled and away from the painted man as if she weren't in excruciating pain.

Her body wasn't in any condition to obey her wishes.

A firmness settled along her waist and hoisted her into a slightly more stable position, and just as quickly shifted her so that her back was pressed against the painted man.

Rae felt a slight knick against the side of her throat, just below her jaw, and knew that she was trapped.

Warmth blew across the other side of her neck as the man drew close enough to whisper, “So, what do you think of my work?”

Rae took a minute to let her senses recuperate, her hands going to rest on the arms that held her in place.

She felt the man tighten his hold on her, the pressure against her throat more noticeable as the cold of the blade cut through her skin, but was allowed enough wiggle-room to find a position that would allow her to relax under the hold of her captor.

Uncomfortable as the situation was, Rae didn't feel as if she were in any immediate danger.

No.

If anything, it felt like he was... toying with her.

Maybe analyzing her?

… Assessing her?

Rae focused her attention on the 'Masterpiece' that lay across from them. “Well... decent composition. A little unrefined, but hardly surprising given the time spent on the... piece....” She paused when she felt him draw closer, could tell that his lips were only a few inches from her neck.

It made her skin crawl and sent a chill down her spine that caused her to squirm in annoyance.

A dry, throaty chuckle signaled that her captor was rather enjoying the reaction.

“... The color pallet is somewhat dull, but not a point to dwell on. My only complaint is that your subject seems to be a little... ” His lips raked against her flesh as Rae spat out the last word like a threatening growl “...lifeless.”

Her captor continued to increase her discomfort by tracing the back of her jaw with his thumb, trailing it down her neck and letting the blade drag along in a very unconcerned demeanor. “Lifeless, hm?”

Even his tone lacked any recognizable emotion.

Until her phone went off.

 

“I'm callin' in sick, I'm callin' in twisted.

I was drinkin' two-fisted.

I'm sick!

I'm callin' in twisted!”

 

Not only did cause her captor to burst into a fit of maniacal giggles, he seemed very eager to fish the device from her pocket.

Just as well, the phone had become lodged in a very uncomfortable position and was vibrating angrily. It was starting to make her thigh go numb.

The man swiftly pulled the phone from her pocket and took a quick glance at its small ID screen, Rae attempting the same thing but her captor would not allow it, holding her in place by the blade being pressed against her throat.

It only took a few seconds for the man cancel the call, flip open the device, and turn the phone off.

Rae was rather surprised when he tucked the phone back into her pocket, acting like the distraction had never occurred, and dropped his hold on her.

He walked over to his lackeys and turned towards the poor prude that they had been keeping detained, who was trying to act as if he had suddenly rediscovered a sense of dignity and attempted to confront the painted man. His bravado was quelled with a blow to the stomach that would have dropped the young man to the floor had the lackeys not possessed a firm grip.

Rae knew things were about to get very ugly, and she was far too exhausted to attempt another distraction.

No doubt the painted man was aware of her fatigue.

A brief glance in her direction, and the expression on his face, was all the confirmation Rae needed...

…. when a faint 'clinking' noise caught her attention.

It was so subtle that it nearly startled Rae out of her wits. What little she had left, anyway.

Apparently her reaction had not gone unnoticed, as once again the painted man left the young prude in the care of the lackeys that held him... and waited.

For what, Rae didn't know.

She wasn't entirely sure she wanted to find out, but given the current circumstances... didn't have much of a choice.

So she waited.

For what?

…. She still didn't know.

However, it was becoming very obvious that the painted man was getting rather agitated by the situation. It showed in his movements. Stiff, slow, and very precise.

A predator waiting for the prey to make the first move.

Rae had the distinct feeling that he wouldn't have to wait much longer. Something in the air, something she couldn't quite identify, made her sure of it.

As if he could peer into her thoughts, the painted man took a momentary pause and glanced back at Rae. The look in his eyes; unmistakable...

Well, it would have been unmistakable. For everyone else the sound was akin to a shrieking child. For Rae it was like a dog whistle from hell. A sound that somehow ravaged the body and boiled her mind, seizing muscles once she managed to roll herself into a fetal position.

Her perception faltered once, buckled, then broke completely, sounds and consciousness becoming nothing more than muffled nonsense as a dank awareness passed over her. Fleeting memories... once before... dead, killed them... darkness. So merciful... finally over?

Her thoughts trickled away, like grains of sand within an hourglass, until the last remnants were nothing more than hushed whispers.

Until, finally, silence.