this is for the nonny that requested prompt D with V/Ronin ages ago. I'm still chipping away at it. Thank you eternally for your patience.
Ronin tapped his fingers on the mask he kept near his desk like a fidget toy. V was poking his nose around where it didn't belong again. He'd been so nice. So reasonable. He brought V in. Gave him community and an outlet for all of the hypocritical holier-than-thou monologuing his pure moral compass craved.
And he was still hunting Ronin down like another dog. Another body to feed his exotic collection with. Another nameless, worthless killer that didnβt mean as much as even the dirt on the bottom of his expensive combat boots. You could take the brat out of the trust fund, or something.
Ronin was getting bored of the cat and mouse game. Cutting the QR code sections into his kills as V tracked him, that was art. But now that V was in the server he wasβ¦ boring. Repetitive. It was always βoh Iβm not a killerβ or βoh Iβm better than youβ or βIβm going to leave the server and come back once I realize I have no social outlet besides thisβ. It was nothing burger on nothing bun on a nothing tray with nothing fries. Boring.
So he needed to make V become interesting again. Or V had to die.
And as much as Ronin was annoyed at the vigilante schtick, he didnβt really want to kill V. Yet.
He racked his brain and beat the mask against his desk. What would make V interesting again?
And then two alerts. A reminder from Angel. They were playing Mafia tonight. V rejoined the server for it specifically. And the police had found one of Vβs crime scenes. Someone connected with enough money to bribe the cops was pulling strings to find someone V had killed. Someone heβd fed to a tiger if Ronin remembered right.
V was about to be in for the Mafia game of his life.
First, the set up. The roles. V obviously had to be the Vigilante. He could kill one person per night. The mother fucker playing was the Godfather β as stupid as that was. No need to give him any support. That would run the risk of ruining the game. If he got support, you'd have to bring them in on the deal. And Ronin couldn't trust them not to ruin the whole thing. So: no fellow Mafia members.
If he was picking roles, Ronin would be the serial killer. For fun. But no, he would have to be the narrator of this game. Vince would surely forgive him.
He had to have one townie. One person that V would die to protect. Ronin closed his eyes and let his finger fall on the name of the person in the server that would be V's "ally" in this. The person that would need protecting if the town were to win.
He sent two messages out. One to the cops investigating. It included the address the townie lived at and a note that they would find clues to their pursuit there.
The second message went to V, sent by the Executioner.
'you wake to another day in your quaint LittlE Town the Sun is shining. the birds are chirPing there's Laughter in the Air'
The three little dots of his message in progress floated at the bottom of the screen. Ronin smiled and tapped along the mask again. This was already fun. The dots stopped. Started. Stopped again.
'What are you playing at, Butcher?'
Ronin could imagine V's angry little face. The furrowed eyebrows, the flickering muscle in his jaw.
'Yet, something is wrong. dreadfully wrong in this little town. the Mafia has come And they're taking over will you Fall to their Ingenious plAns? or will you triumph, Vigilante?'
'I'm not interested in your games, Ronin. Stop hiding behind the Executioner Bot and say what you mean.'
'you may kill one person a night. the towns folk may vote to have one person in the entire town executed. but be careful! if the mafia executes your ally in the town, the game is over. good luck'
Ronin watched as V's calls started coming through. And then as a certain writer sent off a message to the local Vigilante. The game had started.
It really was a good day in the quaint little town.
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The lights go down
like a warning sign no one listens to
and we sink into the couch
half laughing, half bracing
The screen flickers alive
with something already dead
a grainy scream tearing through cheap
speakers
like its trying to escape
we watch anyway
buckets of blood that look too bright
too thick, too red to be real
but that's the charm, isn't it
the way it spills like paint
like someone knocked over a nightmare
You say "this is so bad"
but you don't look away
a masked figure stumbles through
shadows
boots too loud
knife too shiny
logic nowhere to be found
and still
when the music spikes
we both flinch
like fools who forgot we chose this
There's comfort in it
In knowing the monster
won't leave the screen
that the screams end with credits
that even the worst endings
fade to black eventually
We quote the terrible lines
predict every death
cheer when someone runs the wrong
way
a ritual of bad decisions
we'd never survive ourselves
Outside, the night is quiet
inside, we let the chaos bloom
blood and gore
cheap thrills and worse acting
a carnival of fear we can turn off
whenever we want
but we don't
not yet
because somewhere between the laughter
and the fake crimson stains
there's a strange kind of peace
watching horror
without having to live it
Carefully, Andrew stands up. Every muscle screams out in protest and he nearly crumples right back down. He is not built for all of this running around. Heβs built for sitting at computers and editing film, and holding the camera while other people do crazy impressive things.
