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Ideas of a Psycho

Autor: Yui_Ichi
Fantasia
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[TW// Blood | Murder | Mature Content | Assault | Kidnapping | Harassment ] A long... time ago, back when the CECT war had come to a stalemate many rebel groups remained occupying and oppressing countries and their civilians. After Operation 4/5ths failed NBL a prized soldier of the New World Army found himself switching sides. Becoming more Psychotic as the times passed on. General's Family, split across the world, suffers at the hands of NBL. Or is it his fate. His young daughters, kidnapped and split across two lands of a peninsula, his wife- yet to be found. And his eldest son cut out of contact. And now with NBL's growing rebel forces it seems a war will be inevitable. Due to a lack of soldiers because of the Armies inactivity a draft was imposed on all able bodied people from the ages of 16 to 38. How will fate dictate the direction of this war. But it doesn't start. For now its just a bunch of rich kids at high school.

Etiquetas
9 etiquetas
Chapter 1A Storm to Come - Prologue

*TW*// VIOLENCE . BLOOD . KIDNAPPING . ABUSE . 

"Wait, you're walking to fast, slow-down"

"Hey Rae! Slow down what if you trip?"

"You're too slow Silv!"

"Hey, I am not!"

"Rae, wait for me..."

"Rae,"

A small head peaked its way around the towering, pivoted, wooden door. Far too colossal in size and weight, the door opened almost automatically via a bio-metric recognition system. Despite the usual joyous aura it felt some-what melancholy.

Once shining with a yellow filter cascading over the region, turned a rainstorm horizon. Rain flooded down from the clouds; lightning clashed at every given moment; and thunder rolled its hungry belly with a raging storm to soon come.

"Rhea Stone," she called once again

Once again no response. Despite her young age, it didn't take a highly developed IQ to notice that something was off. The building was awfully empty. No gardener rushing to bring his supplies in; no chef rushing to make the freshest waffles, crepes and ice cream despite the changing weather; no housekeeper ushering her to get her changed and do her homework. Funnily enough though, all the gardening utensils were still outside. All the crockery and cooking equipment lay scattered across the kitchen. The house keepers folder and phone lay perfectly aligned on a kitchen island. It was as if everything was frozen in a scene, except, the people were... missing?

Slipping her hand in her back pocket, she found her self violently tapping in the numbers to her mothers phone number. 

She was returned with a monotonic voice, "The number you have dialed is currently unavailable, please leave a message after the tone, key hash to re-record or hang up to save."

CRASH! A series of ceramics and glass continued to smash all over the upper floor of the building. A thudding of footsteps, some heavy, some light. Followed by a shrill scream, a bang - then silence. 

A harsh tear rolled its self down the plum coloured cheeks - Silvia was almost certain at this point. Something, or rather someone was in the house with her. Swiftly but quietly Silvia crept to the kitchen in which she quietly opened the bottom drawer that sat in the furthest left corner of the kitchen. She delved deep into the drawer in which at the bottom lay a secret compartment containing a flashlight; some batteries; a taser with a voltage high enough to stun a full grown man for some time; an encrypted burner phone and some cash. It seems a bit much but Silvia's father was a military man, and a man with many, many enemies. Safety was always his number priority. Even though it didn't seem like it every worker in his house was a trained combat specialist. You'd think to yourself, how many enemies would you have to make to need such special protection? Regardless, his paranoia led to safety devices being fitted in all over his house with spots containing specialty devices all over the house: escape kits, burner phones, self defence weapons, and even secret chambers and routes dug out under the house. Silvia considered escaping till the adults came back just to be safe as she was almost certain an intruder lay in the house but it felt like she would be gambling with her younger sister's life. 

Regardless, she took the bet and grabbed the small softball bat that rested by the coat hanger. Although small it was made of a tough, high-quality maple wood. The handle was freshly re-taped and tightened. It was almost just about batting ready. She slowly crept up the stairs but immediately backed down after being greeted by three men. Two of these men dressed in dark matching suites from head to toe, it seemed like even every hair follicle was brushed to the same angle. Shaking and barely able to gather hear thoughts she slowly backed down the spiral staircase. In one of the men's arms she noticed her sister knocked out and in deep sleep cradles in his arms. A piece of grey tape restricted her from making any sort of noise. Noticing the second man slowly approaching her footsteps hastened and she attempted to make an escape but it seemed she was not fast enough. The third man extended his long arm and grabbed her by her back pack. He was dressed from head to toe in tailored attire. In one hand he carried a staff in which seemed to be the last thing Silvia saw before she felt herself losing consciousness.

Discontinuing from his original course to the back entrance of the building, he strode towards the dining island situated in the middle of the open plan dining, kitchen area. On the dining table lay a small, pink princess notepad. Although tattered with memories, drawings and records of an ongoing childhood, it was somewhat glittery and had the names Silv, and Ree written poorly across it in a silver sharpie that was clearly past its time. The man having come across it stared in obsession at the pink padded book before him. Flipping to a fresh page, at first he stood in silence, contemplating before removing a black, gold encrusted fountain pen with the initials N.H written engraved into the lid of it. He removed the cap of the pen with his mouth before spitting it aside. With one hand pre-occupied, he started scribbling passionately across the light, innocent pages of the notepad tainting them with the dark smudged ink of his fountain pen.

He then carefully folded the note and took out a small black envelope from the inner pockets of his tailored black trench coat. Carefully he took a small wax bead and placed it in a wax sealing spoon which he heated over the stove briefly. With a slight lift of his pinkie finger which he tilted at an angle, he poured the hot wax over the envelope in which he sealed with a light thud of a stamp.

'NBL'- the letters wrote. Nothing more, no emblem, no font, just those three letters remained.

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