Information
Murderer_417
Legacy Name: Murderer_417
The Darkmatter Harvester
Owner: Syl
Age: 15 years, 9 months, 2 weeks
Born: July 21st, 2008
Adopted: 15 years, 9 months, 2 weeks ago (Legacy)
Adopted: July 21st, 2008 (Legacy)
Statistics
- Level: 12
- Strength: 16
- Defense: 12
- Speed: 12
- Health: 9
- HP: 10/9
- Intelligence: 0
- Books Read: 0
- Food Eaten: 0
- Job: Unemployed
Overlay by User not found: nyaunyau, Story and Coding by me, Syl
Dark Matter Potion thanks to an anonymous gift!
You sicken me. You, with your pathetic desires and needs and absolutely incessant questions. It’s about time someone step in and shut you up. May as well be me. I really wish your type would just off themselves to spare me the trouble, but I’ve found that, well, the ones who want to end it all are never the ones who should, and the ones who should are too damn arrogant to know they’re wasting a good life.
“Please! Don’t do this!â€
You see, you say too much and think too little. Did you know that in Satanism, your sheer idiocy is considered a sin? I suppose not, you seem like the kind of person who wouldn’t be so well-rounded as to know such factoids. And that bothers me, you know, it really does. People get on the case of those fictional killers who go on long rants before they murder their helpless victims, but I never thought like that. Honestly, I see this as my chance to educate you, to open your pathetic little mind to the reality of your careless, pointless existence.
“Please! I have children! If you let me go, I swear to God I won’t tell… I know you’re a good person, you don’t have to do this. If you were a mother, you’d understand!â€
And there you go again. Quite honestly, removing the duct tape was never a good idea with you, but I’ll grant you your last, useless barrage of questions. You tend to think that the longer I take, the more chance you have of survival, but I have all the time in the world to indulge your desires. And, in all honesty, that little glimmer of hope you have in your eyes will be the most fun to extinguish.
So let’s see. Firstly, the knowledge that you have given birth to what I can only assume are carbon copies of your every sin absolutely disgusts me. The thought that someone like you could be allowed by any law enforcement agency on this globe to raise the next generation leaves me with even less faith in society. Secondly, if you thought I had any care whatsoever about whether or not you’d turn me in… you’d be dead wrong, no pun intended. It’s not about hiding from the authorities. It’s about your punishment, your elimination. I’ll admit, there have been others in the past who have gone about their work in a more efficient manner, say… mass murderers, serial killers with short timetables. But me, I prefer to take my time with each kill. Ending lives shouldn’t be like fast food: that is, I would never finish the job so quick and hasty. Too many manipulable emotions thrown away. But what can you say? I am a woman, after all. A woman, but no, not a mother.
“Then you wouldn’t understand!â€
I understand more than you do, sweetheart. And here’s a little secret: I don’t think I’m any better than you, really. The difference between us, you see, is that I have the goddamn selflessness to see that the world is sick, diseased. And that disease is all the greedy ones, like yourself, and those too hopped up on their own bullshit to see that they are part of the problem. I know I’ll go out of this world eventually, but not before I take out some of the cancer cells that are destroying it with each passing second.
But enough talk. Your horrid voice is no longer providing any amusement. Instead, may I suggest a game? You see, roleplay has always been one of my favorites since I was a child playing “house†with all the headless dolls. Oh, but you seem nervous... I can see you shaking. Stage fright is a common problem, but no one will witness our little game but you and me. Here, I’ll even give you your role before we get started, perhaps that will calm your nerves a little?
You play the Cancer.
I’ll be the Good Doctor.
Time to cut you out.
Dark Matter Potion thanks to an anonymous gift!
You sicken me. You, with your pathetic desires and needs and absolutely incessant questions. It’s about time someone step in and shut you up. May as well be me. I really wish your type would just off themselves to spare me the trouble, but I’ve found that, well, the ones who want to end it all are never the ones who should, and the ones who should are too damn arrogant to know they’re wasting a good life.
“Please! Don’t do this!â€
You see, you say too much and think too little. Did you know that in Satanism, your sheer idiocy is considered a sin? I suppose not, you seem like the kind of person who wouldn’t be so well-rounded as to know such factoids. And that bothers me, you know, it really does. People get on the case of those fictional killers who go on long rants before they murder their helpless victims, but I never thought like that. Honestly, I see this as my chance to educate you, to open your pathetic little mind to the reality of your careless, pointless existence.
“Please! I have children! If you let me go, I swear to God I won’t tell… I know you’re a good person, you don’t have to do this. If you were a mother, you’d understand!â€
And there you go again. Quite honestly, removing the duct tape was never a good idea with you, but I’ll grant you your last, useless barrage of questions. You tend to think that the longer I take, the more chance you have of survival, but I have all the time in the world to indulge your desires. And, in all honesty, that little glimmer of hope you have in your eyes will be the most fun to extinguish.
So let’s see. Firstly, the knowledge that you have given birth to what I can only assume are carbon copies of your every sin absolutely disgusts me. The thought that someone like you could be allowed by any law enforcement agency on this globe to raise the next generation leaves me with even less faith in society. Secondly, if you thought I had any care whatsoever about whether or not you’d turn me in… you’d be dead wrong, no pun intended. It’s not about hiding from the authorities. It’s about your punishment, your elimination. I’ll admit, there have been others in the past who have gone about their work in a more efficient manner, say… mass murderers, serial killers with short timetables. But me, I prefer to take my time with each kill. Ending lives shouldn’t be like fast food: that is, I would never finish the job so quick and hasty. Too many manipulable emotions thrown away. But what can you say? I am a woman, after all. A woman, but no, not a mother.
“Then you wouldn’t understand!â€
I understand more than you do, sweetheart. And here’s a little secret: I don’t think I’m any better than you, really. The difference between us, you see, is that I have the goddamn selflessness to see that the world is sick, diseased. And that disease is all the greedy ones, like yourself, and those too hopped up on their own bullshit to see that they are part of the problem. I know I’ll go out of this world eventually, but not before I take out some of the cancer cells that are destroying it with each passing second.
But enough talk. Your horrid voice is no longer providing any amusement. Instead, may I suggest a game? You see, roleplay has always been one of my favorites since I was a child playing “house†with all the headless dolls. Oh, but you seem nervous... I can see you shaking. Stage fright is a common problem, but no one will witness our little game but you and me. Here, I’ll even give you your role before we get started, perhaps that will calm your nerves a little?
You play the Cancer.
I’ll be the Good Doctor.
Time to cut you out.
Pet Treasure
Chef Carving Knife
Ripping Viper Tongs
Impaling Boot of the Maw
Handy Skull Crusher
Police Cuffs
Weapons of Subeta
Lilac Harvester Bouncy Ball
Flexible Vertabrae Axe
Plas-Tek Morostide Chained Blade
Blood-Filled Hourglass
Spiked Punishment Collar
Cuddly Thumbscrew Plushie
Cuddly Iron Maiden Plushie
Green Floral Brank
Thief Catcher
Cuddly Cats Paw Plushie
Cuddly Knee Splitter Plushie
Assassinations Through the Ages
Dead Person