Chapter Text
“Hold the rifle higher and straighten your posture, pumpkin. If you fire like that, you’ll hurt yourself with the kickback. Remember to look down the scope.” Your father is a good man, a good teacher, a good father…but this wasn’t the most normal family outing in the world to most.
Every month, around the same time, your father would take you to a shooting range. He’d bring a plethora of weapons, or at least as many as the range would allow, and he would make you practice until he deemed your shots acceptable. You would occasionally get stares from others at the range, mostly older men who were shocked to see a young child shooting better than them, but it never truly got to you. Not when your father would smile so proudly with each headshot.
When it came to other weapons, he trained you in the woods behind your home. Axes, baseball bats, knives, and the very, very occasional explosive were all on the list of the things your father taught you to utilize. If it could be used as a weapon, he taught you how.
However, when it came to your mother, she had a different way of doing things.
She would always let your father handle weaponry, while she handled your deductive reasoning and kept your mind challenged. According to your mother, you had inherited both her and your father’s intelligence, and she was going to ensure that you utilized that intelligence in every aspect possible.
Take Your Kid to Work Day was always her endeavor. Was it a good idea to drag a child out of school to go to a crime scene? To also let said child witness some of the most disturbing, grotesque, bloody bodies in the police department’s history?
No. It was a terrible idea…to everyone except your mother.
“Desensitization to the horrors of the world will be the best gift I will ever give you.”
That’s what she always said to you, and after a while, you did end up agreeing with her. Once you had been truly desensitized, your mother’s teachings were finally able to begin.
She taught you everything; how to observe witnesses and suspects for signs of lies or nervousness, how to notice even the slightest change in a crime scene, the way blood splattered and how long it had been there, she even made you look at crime scenes to see if you could catch that it was staged and if you could figure out how to make it look like an actual murder.
Her proudest moment was easily when you had noticed the slightest change in the grain of the carpeting at a crime scene that had indicated that the furniture had been moved around.
None of this training stemmed from your parents wanting you to follow in their footsteps. It stemmed from…fear. In your parents’ line of work, they were bound to gain enemies who would do anything to hurt them, which included hurting you. They needed you to be smart, to be prepared, to be a force to be reckoned with. Luckily for your parents, you were.
—
You had practically perfected the art of playing dumb as you got older. Downplaying your IQ was second nature now, masking yourself to be seen as just another normal person. One thing you weren’t taught by your parents, though, was the mind of a serial killer. It was the one thing you could never pick up on, mainly because you simply couldn’t fathom what would fuel a serial killer.
So, when Ronin ended up reaching out to you, you knew something was up. Your suspicions were confirmed almost instantly when you actually got to speak with him on call. He was smug, so sure you hadn’t picked up on his little game yet, like he had control of every piece on the board. You could’ve shattered that little fantasy of his the moment you entered the server, but you allowed him to play his game.
It was cute, in a way, and you were going to get your information either way. You’d let him play, watch him lose, then leave.
That was the plan anyway, but the plan fell apart the longer you remained in the server. You enjoyed being here. It was chaotic and a little disturbing at times, but it was also the most fun you’d had in a long time. You still couldn’t understand their motivations to kill, well, you partly understood Misaki’s, but you enjoyed being around these killers.
So, now you weren’t sure what to do. How were you supposed to keep up this act? How were you meant to turn them in in the end? You couldn’t just ghost serial killers; you had a feeling that would end badly.
—
A notification appears on your laptop.
-
hitmeuppp: sooo…
hitmeupp: are we gonna talk about what happened the other night or what? cause idk about you guys, but i am super nervous now.
goreboy: Relax. it’s not That big a Deal. the cops will have their Fun and then go back to Being useless fucks.
-
Last night. The news report said the police had hired a new consultant, one who had apparently worked tons of serial killer cases. They’ve never failed, according to the report.
You weren’t worried for yourself, after all, you weren’t a real killer, but you were worried for the others. Angel and Misaki had the sense to think about calming down their killings for a while. You didn’t hear a word from V, and Ronin seemed like he was just going to continue on like there wasn’t anything to worry about.
How he could act so nonchalant about this was beyond you. If you actually were a serial killer, you would’ve gone into hiding…then again, you also think you wouldn’t get caught. Your parents’ training was definitely not meant to be used for murder, but if you truly wanted to, you definitely could.
-
Angelic: Please, be careful, everyone. I know the police have done this before, but this guy has been looking into almost all of us. I think it’s best if all of us lay low.
K9: I agree with @Angelic.
goreboy: both of you are Making this a Bigger deal than it Is.
goreboy: I’m not letting some Random loser wannabe Sherlock ruin my fun.
username_mc: Ronin…
username_mc: Please?
goreboy:...damn it Darlin’
goreboy: Fine. i’ll lay low.
-
—
It had been two weeks since the others began to take a “vacation” of sorts from killing. Angel and V seemed to be doing fine, but Misaki and Ronin were a different story. Misaki was getting worried about their income, which was fair considering they’re a for-hire assassin, and Ronin was simply antsy, constantly complaining about how he had pent-up energy that he wanted to rid himself of.
You had offered both comfort, more appreciation coming from Misaki than Ronin, as did the others. Felicie and Luca tried their best at comfort as well, but with Felicie being retired and Luca being more accident-prone than a serial killer, they couldn’t offer much.
It had been a rather regular night for you so far. You worked on your novel, chatted in the server, and even got on a call with Luca, Felicie, and Vince before you finally decided to turn in for the night.
Dressed in your comfiest pajamas, you curled up on the couch with a container of reheated leftovers from the last time you ordered takeout and turned the TV on. You had only gotten about halfway through the random B-tier movie you had put on before your mind began to wander.
Were the others going to be okay? How long was this consultant going to be staying on with the police? Would the whole server be outed somehow through the investigation?
That was when something finally dawned on you. You had spoken to everyone today. Angel, Misaki, V, Vince, Felicie, Luca, even Ai Hua, who was practically infamous for not being active, but…you hadn’t spoken to Ronin. You hadn’t even seen him online, the grey dot next to his skull profile picture remaining grey since morning.
Anxious nausea settled in your stomach like a rock, heavy and uncomfortable. Was he just trying to distract himself with other things? Maybe he was home now. The thought fueled you to get up from your cozy spot on the couch and go check your laptop at your desk. Opening the silver appliance, you immediately clicked on the icon that led to the chatroom. Instead of the relief you had hoped to receive upon seeing Ronin online, you felt the feeling in your stomach getting heavier.
He was still offline.
You were about to type a message to the main channel, but there’s a sudden ring from your doorbell.
You frowned, your brow furrowing in frustration at the timing of an unexpected visitor, and called over your shoulder, “One second!!”
Whoever was on the other side of the door didn’t seem to like that answer because they began to repeatedly ring your doorbell before resorting to slamming their fist on the door in loud knocking.
“Okay! Okay!” You groaned as you tore yourself away from your laptop, unlocking the front door and opening it to angrily greet whoever was bothering you so late. “What do you wa–”
You cut yourself off, your eyes widening in shock. On your doorstep, leaning against the frame, was Ronin. A bloody, beaten-up, exhausted Ronin. Shock and confusion flood your system as you process the state he’s in. Blood splattered on his clothes and his face, a light sheen of sweat covered his pale skin from what you can only assume was from running here, judging by his heavy breathing, and he’s holding his left hand across his body to press on his right side as blood stains his hand and shirt.
Ronin looks up when the door is opened. He attempts his usual devilish smirk, but it forms strained, “Hey, darlin’...mind letting a devil in?”