#horror!verse

The game had been going on for more than a week, a deadly cat and mouse where they systematically took out all their friends. Was it their fault they'd surrounded themselves with such a toxic crowd? They didn't even appreciate what they had. Those people deserved to be taught a lesson. They'd been very careful at first, making some of the deaths look accidental, leaving no evidence behind, but everything had come to a head tonight.

There were multiple bodies on the ground, and they'd cornered the subject of their obsession, mask and voice changer still concealing their identity, hunting knife still slicked with fresh blood. It was clear from the way they cowered that they didn't understand though. Villain monologues were a little beneath them, but they deserved to know the truth. "Why am I doing this to you? I did this for you! You're so much better than them. You needed to see it. You needed to see who you really are without them. I'm not trying to hurt you. I'm trying to set you free."

The house had been empty since Vera's death, and Jedidiah was the last of the Sawyers that he knew of. They'd been burned out of the town a long time ago for their crimes, but Vera had taken pity on him, taken care of him, kept him hidden over the years, and he'd taken care of her until illness claimed her. It wasn't clear how much Jed understood of the finer details of their family history, but he was loyal to a fault, protective of those who protected him. Family was everything, but there was no more family.

He didn't know what the girl was doing in Vera's house. He usually kept to the secret rooms of the basement, but the sound of footsteps had drawn him upstairs. The house was old, and there were passages behind the walls for maintaining the plumbing and electricity. His broad shoulders barely fit behind them, and there was the occasional scrape of cloth against wood on the tight corners as he watched her from the peepholes. He didn't know why he hadn't killed her yet either. He'd killed other trespassers in the past, their bodies vanishing as if they'd never existed, but maybe it was the sight of another human after so long on his own, not old like Vera but young and pretty.

@alwaysxinxtrouble

He groaned as he came to, slumped against the wall in a pool of blood, most of it his. The room was cinder block walls and cement floors, no windows, the open door hanging half off its hinges. He had no idea how much time had passed, whether it was the same day or even daytime at all. It took several long seconds to remember where he was and why, and then he took a second to marvel that he'd woken up at all. The mission had gone south, something tearing through his men like they were civilians rather than some of the best trained mercenaries out there. Whatever it was, it was faster than a human, faster even than a super soldier. He'd fired as many times as he could when it came for him, but the shots hadn't even slowed it down. It hit him like a freight truck, teeth ripping into his neck like some kind of animal. He shouldn't have survived.

His hand lifted, fingers brushing the spot on his neck. He expected to feel raw, open flesh, but the skin was smooth and unmarked, though his fingers came away tacky with blood. It didn't even hurt, but he'd attributed that to shock, not to there being no wound in the first place. Actually, nothing really hurt. He shifted, pushing himself further upright, and took stock of his body. Most of his exposed skin was slick with blood, but he couldn't find a wound. His back didn't even hurt where he'd slammed into the wall, a glance behind him at the cracked cinderblocks confirming how hard he'd hit it.

There was no pain, but his body did feel… strange. Everything in the room was in blinding focus, like he'd taken too many uppers. Every sound seemed magnified, from the swish of fabric in his tac pants to the squeak of a boot in the puddle of blood on the floor. And the smell, god. The smell of old blood was overwhelming, but it was more than just that. It was the smell of meat like in a slaughterhouse, bodies reduced to so much muscle and bone. He gagged, staggering to the door. There were bodies in the room, and more in the hallway, but he knew at a glance they were all dead. That explained the smell. His throat felt raw as he cleared it, and then he thought better of calling out. Whatever had killed most of them could have fled, or it could still be here.

Jerry couldn't recall much about his human life after centuries like this, but he recalled enough about the attack to know he hadn't been meant to survive it. There was no maker waiting for him when he woke, and he'd had to learn the ropes himself. He wasn't sorry for it. He wasn't particularly prone to sentiment, and it taught him how to survive. It was his best skill. Shame so many humans didn't share it. For whatever reason, certain ones had always been drawn to his kind. Curiosity maybe, or simply a fascination with darkness, with death. He couldn't say for sure what this one was, but Jerry was a predator. He knew when he was being hunted.

Or followed, at any rate. He'd slipped into the club to see whether his human tail would follow, and he could admit to some curiosity on his side too. It wasn't just any human who could spot what he was or keep up with him. The other man didn't smell like a killer. There was no blood on him, no fear, both scents that lingered. Jerry had eaten enough serial killers to know the signs. (What? It was more entertaining to hunt monsters than victims when he felt like a challenge.) He was something though, and something was interesting. He did not want to catch the interest of something like Jerry.

He'd melted into the crowd of humans, senses alert for one in particular. He could hear every swish of fabric, every panting breath, every skitter of an insect in the walls over the pulsing music, the lights painting the room a vibrant, gory red. His favorite color. Every human in the place had a scent he could pick out and follow like a thread marking his way until he found the one he wanted. Closer than he'd expected. Did he know how close he was? Intrigued in spite of himself, he drifted closer, moving like water through the crowded dance floor until he'd appeared behind him almost like magic, breath by his ear. "You're playing with fire."

@pleinsdemuses

Andy wasn't always the easiest person to get along with, but since being liked wasn't high on his list of priorities--and it was even lower after the events of the previous year--he didn't particularly care. He didn't have to be liked to be good at his job. His personality had clashed immediately with Neal's when he started working at the DA's office, and it had not improved with time. The media circus over Jacob's trial had demolished whatever was left of their professional relationship, and they barely tolerated each other in the office these days. Since he hadn't liked him much to begin with, Andy considered it a minor inconvenience. It was easier if they could be civil, but it wasn't going to wreck his day.

He apparently wasn't the only person who found the man's personality difficult, and he'd paused a moment outside Isabella's office. He didn't catch the gist of the tirade, other than to note that it sounded extremely one-sided, and there was only a brief pause before he knocked lightly and stepped inside, stopping Neal in mid-sentence. "Got a minute?" He held up the folder in his hands and tried not to smirk as he stalked past him. He waited until he'd disappeared around a corner before he turned back to her. "Nothing. I just wanted him to leave. I hope that wasn't important." He barely stopped short of asking if she was okay, but the silent question hung in the air regardless. Isabella didn't need him to fight her battles for her, but he'd have stepped in on anyone being harassed in their own workplace.

Grim had come to her dorm long before anyone else. She had requested such, wanting as little interaction with other people as possible. She had already been told about her roommate, and it did upset her. But, she reminded herself of the consequences of emotion and continued her stoicism. She took the bed nearest the window. Mostly to keep an eye out for those coming in. She knew she had a male roommate. So long as he did not try to get an emotional response, she would be fine. She would just need to concentrate on her schoolwork.

The farmhouse had been abandoned for years, its wealthy owners in some other state having no use for property located so far from civilization. Devil's Holler had one main street, a scattering of ranches, and endless miles of forest and mountains, the nearest city hours away. Hikers often went missing there, even now without his brothers to help the process along. It was dangerous to wander off the paths. Abram could survive out there in the summer months, but the cold inevitably chased him back indoors. The house might be huge and drafty, but at least it was warm.

He was aware he wasn't alone in it tonight, but it was no matter. The place was big enough that they never had to cross paths unless he wanted them to, and Abram knew it inside and out. Even with his height and broad shoulders, he could move around easily between the walls, and he knew where to skip all the broken floorboards or where to watch through the knotholes in the walls. He was watching now as they made themselves comfortable in the place, unable to resist drinking in the sight. It had been a very long time since he'd seen another person so close.