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wouldntyou-liketoknow · 1 month ago

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Visceral Valentines

(Disclaimer: six of the characters in this story belong to me. For more information on R.D., go here. For more information on Caliban, go here. For more information on Azalea, go here. For more information on K.O., go here. For more information on Phoenix, go here. For more information on Parker, go here. Murdock belongs to the Markiplier Cinematic Universe, but if you’d like to see my personal headcanons on him, go here.)

(While Howie is only mentioned here, he still deserves credit because he’s another one of my blorbos. So, go here for more information on him, as well as his buddy Miles.)

(Trigger Warnings: blood/gore, murder/death, knives/blades, slight mutilation, descriptions of illegal business, slight mentions of human experimentation, cannibalism, violence, kidnapping/abduction, strong language. Please let me know if I missed anything.)

The tunnels felt like veins.

R.D. strolled along one of the raised walkways beside the tracks. The rails were too stagnant to pose a threat. It’d been years since that flood had swept through here and forced abandonment. Still, she liked having a vantage point.

Most subway systems were built with pretty simple layouts. Most maps made them look a lot smaller or shorter than you’d expect. Just a group of straight lines that didn’t even intersect all that much.

This one sprawling beneath the Cove Port Inlets was different. There weren’t many maps of it (as far as most of the city knew, these tunnels barely even existed anymore) but the leader of Caliban’s crowd had managed to get her hands on one of the last old copies.

Sometime in the past, R.D. had gotten a glimpse of said map. A quick one, but memory could be a perfect weapon depending on A. how you kept it, and B. what you did with it.

Not only did the picture show just how far the tunnels reached in some places; it showed a network full of crossing and branching and curving. A lot like those circulatory diagrams in textbooks that would be kinda-sorta uncomfortable for someone to find in your house if you didn’t work for any nearby hospitals.

To a point where some parts felt a little less necessary than others.

But there was some undeniable advantage to be taken with that.

Blood vessels collapsed almost immediately after death. Without circulation, the fluid inside them had to rely on gravity instead, forced to pool in lower spaces of the body. It was the first phase of the skin’s discoloration. Sometimes it could allow air bubbles to form in the arteries.

She imagined that it felt like the last dregs of a phantom pulse. Low and drawn-out. Desperate, gurgling whispers that grew more quiet by the second until…

___

The days were still shorter, but the sunsets around here were stubborn.

Right now, the sky remained somewhat bright. Clouds were gathering up to form a blanket at a slow, steady pace.

Most of them were tinted a bluish-gray shade (perhaps there’d be a rainstorm sometime later), but thanks to the sinking sun, a section of them were outlined with a warm, orangish-pink glow. Like tangerines on fire.

It really resembled something out of an oil pastel painting.

Even if R.D. didn’t mind the tunnels, it was still crucial to take in the sky before venturing down there. Otherwise you could end up getting whiplash similar to the type that radiated from casinos and barcades.

“You’re sure this is the right place?” An oily baritone called from the driver’s seat. Murdock raised a leather-gloved hand to adjust the rearview-mirror, tilting it to focus first on his black-tinted shades, and then on the slightly younger man who sat beside R.D. in the back.

“I’m sure,” K.O. replied, shifting in his seat and fidgeting with the tiny silver hoop adorning his left earlobe. The bruises on his knuckles appeared rather fresh. “This street is on the way to the chopshop, so Howie’s been scoping it out for a week now. And he said that Lookie-Loo just always takes his sweet time.”

They’d been on the edge of the uptown area for a while now, parked by the side of a particular road. The buildings looming on either side of Murdock’s car weren’t after-hours joints, but that didn’t mean they lacked any secrets.

If anyone knew anything about hiding stuff in plain sight, it was R.D.

…And Caliban.

And his peers, much like the ones who’d been nice enough to pick her up for the next phase of things.

“Thanks again for the help,” R.D. piped up, nodding to the fighter and hitman in turn.

“No problem!” K.O. smiled, gray-blue eyes sparking as he glanced her way. “Stuff like this can be the best.”

“Yeah,” Murdock chimed in, spinning the thin chain around his neck between his fingers, turning the circular brass pendant into a blur. “Not like we want to deal with this guy any longer. You’re doing as much of a favor for us here.”

Like any other couple, it wasn’t uncommon for R.D. and Caliban to take turns venting about things that happened in their respective work-spheres.

From what she’d heard, in recent times The Pentas Family had been dealing with a pest.

One who had been spotted trying to follow certain members on their way to certain jobs.

One who just managed to sneak away after he was noticed lingering outside Pentas-owned businesses at odd hours a few times too many.

One who was slippery in that special, teeth-grindingly aggravating way.

And yet, despite Pentas reputation with the underground grapevines, neither Caliban nor any of his buddies had been able to learn his name.

So, they called him Lookie-Loo.

“I still have no idea how you’re keeping Cal off the trail,” Murdock continued as he glanced through the windows. “He’ll pick the smallest details apart to get somewhere. I’ve only ever seen him drop something once, and that was literally just because he almost gave himself an aneurysm in the middle of a job.”

R.D. paused, thinking back to all the times Caliban had come home late in varying conditions, leaving her to react with concern, or exasperation, or fondness that was hidden behind either of the other two, or, or, or. “Was that due to stress, laughter, or Diet Coke?”

Murdock pursed his lips in consideration. “...A combination of the three, I think? That night was a huge one for the history books, so my memory’s foggy.”

R.D. hummed and nodded, making a note to try asking Caliban about it sometime later.

“Seriously, though,” K.O. added, tilting his head to the side. “What’s the secret? Even Aza has trouble hiding stuff from OH SHIT THERE HE IS!”

All at once the fighter was bouncing in place, clutching at the headrest of Murdock’s seat and pointing through the back window.

Murdock responded with a squawk, which transitioned into a quick string of more colorful things as he shrugged K.O.’s hand away before his own grasp flew onto the steering wheel.

R.D. peered through the glass and, sure enough, a stranger was traipsing along the sidewalk, a phone in his hand and buds in his ears. He was a bit on the scruffy side, looking somewhere in between K.O. and Murdock’s ages. He tossed a glance over his shoulder every few seconds—clearly there was some well-earned twitchiness as well.

Despite the new adrenaline thrumming through the air, R.D. couldn’t help but think about that latest question.

She remembered leading Caliban back downstairs after finding what he’d set up in her office. She’d given him a few hints; she’d seen that infamous spark of curious, determined energy flare through his eyes, seen his mouth stretch into an eager smile.

She’d watched as he raced out of the house to follow her directions.

All that…and he hadn’t given her too much trouble at all.

Sure, he’d had a few joking questions, which she’d been quick to deflect, but he hadn’t launched a search around the house. (...Unless, of course, he’d circled back to do so after she’d left. She really hoped that wasn’t the case, because that would throw at least one wrench into the surprise.)

R.D. would’ve given this more thought, but then things started happening.

It was hard to look away when K.O. threw his door open, lunged out to hug Lookie-Loo’s waist and drag him inside.

It was hard to focus on anything other than sliding over to make room for the poor bastard, to stay out of the way when K.O. hauled off with a punch brutal enough to make the guy’s head slam back against the car’s window.

It was hard to hear much aside from the blood rushing through her ears and tires screeching against asphalt as Murdock sped off.

___

Although R.D. made sure to shift her weight as she moved, her footsteps still bounced off the concrete walls and ceiling.

Old, condemned places like this had a way of just not caring whether you were a raccoon or a refrigerator—if you wandered in areas that most people instinctively knew to avoid, then some noise was gonna follow you.

Where each of the platforms had an old panel light hanging overhead, the tunnels themselves offered industrial caged lights, protruding from the concrete every ten feet or so.

Many of them never produced any illumination at all, but a handful of them managed. Much like the platforms, the glow was persistent, yet always dim, always flickering and sputtering.

(According to Caliban, The Boss had managed to somehow siphon electricity back into the tunnels. Just enough for her colleagues to not have to feel their way around with their hands while leaving the rails safely dormant, as well as not tip off any of the local companies.)

When you really thought about it, however, that dysfunction came with a few advantages.

The varying stretches of darkness here and there could be great hiding spots, so long as you held still and stayed quiet.

They could help make sure an intruder lost their way, whether you had to leave them behind or were luring them into something even worse than whatever they were chasing you for.

And on the other side of the coin…

Those old workhorses on the walls could distort your shadow, make you seem either closer or farther away than you actually were. The blinking could help you practically vanish and pop right up again (providing your reflexes were fast enough).

Tricks like that could be tough to pull off, but if you managed…ooh, that just upped the ante in such an awesome way.

That was how Caliban saw it. He’d had told R.D. about times like that.

Jobs that had seen him racing along the pavement down here, able to feel his eyes spinning in their sockets due to how the dull flare mixed with the shadows.

Blood looked pretty much like oil in the darkness, but even the weakest, oldest lights could make it beam.

No matter how much red was there, whether spraying or dripping or leaking, it would still look so deep, so warm, so RICH…

“Hello?”

R.D. halted in her tracks, pressing herself against the wall.

The voice echoed across old, dead cement and rusted metal. Despite how unfamiliar it was, she still knew the source.

Hell, she’d been expecting to hear it call out at some point, been wondering how close she could potentially get to it.

___

It could be shockingly easy to smuggle a body into certain places. It just depended on how you handled things.

Of course, sometimes you just couldn’t afford to divide said body into multiple pieces and then stuff said pieces into luggage or garbage bags or anything else that you’d have to be a special kind of desperate to try keeping after the fact, no matter how thorough you were with scrubbing the stains out.

Sometimes you couldn’t even afford to have the body qualify as such right then and there. Because, for whatever deranged reason, you needed your victim to keep moving and breathing. For just a little while longer, at least.

In that case, a crematorium would probably be your best bet.

And even then, that was a colossal “probably”…unless the crematorium’s manager knew the same things you did.

Having a weird little friendship with an in-the-know manager didn’t hurt, either.

“Oh, wow.” Phoenix had been pacing the floor for the past few minutes, but now she hovered by one edge of the table. “Is this what he got for you?”

R.D. paused, looking up from her project. Following the arsonist’s gaze, she discovered a rose lying just a few inches away from the unconscious man’s side. Its white petals were adorned by streaks of violet so dark that they almost looked black. Then again, they grew a bit lighter toward the center.

“Yeah, it is.” She offered a small smile, nodding. “I think they’re called dragon roses.”

There were eleven more of them back home, still in a shiny vase that two boxes had been propped up against. The first was filled with various uncommon types of tea—Jasmine Pearls, Uji Gyokuro, the works. The second held a set of carefully-arranged beakers, flasks, test tubes, and other basic necessities for a chemistry lab.

(“Since you said one guy broke a lot of your old stuff…” Caliban had cheekily explained when he’d found her looking over the presents in her office.)

(Granted, the guy responsible for the breaking had plenty of reasons to put up a fight, considering what R.D. and her team had put him through, as well as what they’d had planned for him next. But hey, he was dead by the time she’d griped to her husband about the encounter, and now she had some fresh replacements, so, yay!)

“Very pretty. Can’t blame you for wanting to keep it close,” Phoenix nodded back. “Y’know, drying techniques are nice and easy. If you really want to make flowers last long, I mean.”

R.D. hummed. “Maybe.”

How had she taken this one without even realizing?

She should’ve felt the flower’s stem in her hands, should’ve caught the delicate scent wafting up from its petals—

Scratch that, how had she even held onto it during that car-ride? How did it manage to even make it through the drive in one piece?

She’d had to help tie some nylon strips around Lookie-Loo’s wrists while he slumped down to the floorpan, eyes glazed-over and drifting shut just as K.O. had tugged a burlap sack over his head.

Well, that nylon had been removed shortly after she’d dragged him down here with Phoenix’s help. He was still out cold, and R.D. needed access to his arms.

(Aforementioned sack was still in place, though, adorned by strips of duct tape that formed a frowny-face with Xs for eyes.)

She readjusted her grip on the scalpel, holding it between her fingers like you would a pencil.

Crimson beads were coaxed out of his skin as she traced the blade along, mindful to not let it sink too deep. That was the only reason she had to avoid the veins in his wrists.

He needed to stay alive for a while longer, otherwise this plan was shot.

(Sure, she could still make do, but it wouldn’t work out nearly as nice.)

“Not gonna lie,” Phoenix piped back up, “I was kinda worried he’d wake up right when you started on that.” She resumed her pacing, raising a hand to brush the long, straight black hair over her shoulder.

R.D. shrugged, not taking her focus off of the carving this time. “Well, the back of the head is pretty sensitive. Get hit there hard enough and you could have permanent problems. And he probably has a garbage sleep-schedule, based on the times you guys saw him snooping.”

Despite how much strength K.O. had used, no blood had been drawn in the car. She couldn’t be sure if Lookie-Loo’s skull had even fractured. The skull was the strongest bone in the body, after all, no matter how vulnerable the brain could still be.

(R.D. made a little note to bring that up with Caliban when the time came. Yes, healthy organs often went for the highest prices on the Black Market, but some sickos out there wouldn’t say no to deformities, whether natural or added-on.)

His chest was still rising and falling, albeit with just enough effort to be concerning to anyone else.

Satisfied enough to give her wrist a break, R.D. stepped back from the table. She caught Phoenix peering at Lookie-Loo, her brow furrowed in the way that suggested you weren’t exactly disturbed by something. No, you just…didn’t really expect that something.

It made sense; the building this den was hidden under was Scattered Wishes, after all. Dead bodies were typically the norm. Hence why the business was located a good distance away from the rest of the city. (And that was even without the fact that certain bodies were donated by contract killers for disposal rather than grieving families for a send-off.)

“I take it revenue is still steady enough?” R.D. asked with a grin.

“I mean, I’d be lying if I said I’ve never seen a twitching finger here and there,” Phoenix chuckled. “But hey, you can make severed frog legs do that with some salt. Nothing too special.”

“True.” R.D. nodded, then gestured to her handiwork. “What do you think?”

Phoenix ventured beside her, tilting her head at all the thin, red lacerations forming little shapes that ever-so-slightly leaked onto pale flesh.

“It looks nice,” she answered, the smoke in her dark brown eyes seeming to curl in time with how her smile softened. Her elbow nudged against R.D.’s in a friendly way. “This was a sweet idea.”

R.D. hummed, using a small cloth to wipe the scalpel clean before returning it to the pocket-sized sheath she’d brought along. Much easier to conceal than the case full of her other dissection tools back at the lab.

This particular idea of “sweet” could’ve been used as damning evidence in a court of law (ironic, considering what Phoenix did for the other half of her work), but it was still great to hear.

A pre-recorded swoosh chimed in, accentuated by the way R.D.’s phone buzzed against the table. She pulled it over to tap at the screen; a message from one Parker Thenope popped up.

Hey, just sent him out a few minutes ago. Might be taking bets on how long it takes. See ya later!

R.D. almost jolted in surprise, but she squashed it down. Yeah, she’d wanted the updates to be a bit more on-the-dot, since Caliban could cover a lot of ground with hungry adrenaline.

Then again, Ear Caffeine (as well as the den beneath it) wasn’t all that close to the crematorium above her and Phoenix’s heads.

It’d take some time for Lookie-Loo to get good and lost.

Phoenix must’ve seen the look on R.D.’s face, because she dutifully crossed the subway-office-turned-den to pull a heavy metal door open.

R.D. took hold of the poor bastard’s wrists and started dragging him off the table. This wound up causing his lower-half to crash against the concrete floor with a dull thump.

Which, in turn, elicited a low, muffled groan of pain to leak out from beneath the sack-mask.

Both her and her accomplice’s eyes grew to the size of dinner plates.

So, in less than a second, R.D. hauled her victim across the threshold. Out on the platform, she let go of his arms, reducing him to a heap on the cold, stony floor.

A heap that was now being wracked with those full-body twitches that everyone got in their sleep and no-one ever wanted to see on camera.

“Good luck!” Phoenix whispered, offering a little wave before tugging the door shut again.

“Thanks!” R.D. replied, barely able to hear herself as she pulled the sack-mask away from her victim’s head and took off down the adjacent tunnel.

___

“Hello?” The voice repeated, putting a little more force behind the word. This did nothing to hide the fact that it was quivering around the edges, which seemed to make it linger in the cold, still air. “Is anyone there?”

R.D. lowered her head, straining her ears.

There—a faint pattern of light, uncertain thumps against pavement.

Nervous footsteps.

They sounded a bit closer than she would’ve liked, but not too close, in the grand scheme of things.

There seemed to be just enough distance to pull him along and leave him behind.

Her eyes darted every which way, scanning her environment until she discovered a chunk of debris lying just a few feet away. It was half the size of a softball, but it offered a decent amount of weight as she picked it up.

And then it was a blur, ever-so-slightly arching in the air as she chucked it, crashing down onto the decrepit railway.

The ensuing chorus was short, but the metallic ClAnKs! felt almost deafening in a place like this.

A startled cry rattled along after it. Then, after a slight pause: “Who’s out there? Can you hear me?!”

R.D. turned on her heel and started sprinting back the way she came. Her heartbeat was thundering in her ears, but her footsteps still put up some competition. They were much louder than before, and that very intentional.

“Hey—hey!” The voice cried, its owner picking up his own pace. “Wait, hold on!”

R.D. raced around one corner, her lips quirking.

___

Shf-thump, shf-thump, shf-thump.

The noise was almost too quiet, but R.D. still froze.

A light, strange cadence against concrete. Too small to have been produced by a person, unless maybe they were barefoot and walking on their tippy-toes.

Shf-thump, shf-thump, shf-thump.

A pale, cat-sized shape trotted out of the shadows up ahead. A Y-shaped nose twitched in an adorable manner as the creature paused to sniff at the ground.

It was so odd, feeling relief at the same time as a spike in adrenaline.

Snare had come along as a present to Caliban from his sister, sometime after he and R.D. had moved in together. He was a lot like his owner: weird, carnivorous, prone to shenanigans that were fun to watch and roll your eyes at.

Sure, the hare had technically never been R.D.’s pet, but she had her own little rat-pack for that, and he was still nice to have around. (It’d taken some time for said rats to adjust to him, but by now they liked playing around with him, so that helped.)

He was also a bit of an omen—good or bad, depending on who you were and what you were doing—since wherever he went, Caliban was seldom too far behind…

R.D. took a tiny step back. In that exact second, without her knowledge, her forefinger and thumb tugged at one of the rose’s petals, which broke away with a muted snap.

Not muted enough, considering how Snare’s head popped up, his long, oval-shaped ears twitching, almost standing at attention. He rose up ever-so-slightly, his paws hovering in the air, beady, dark-amber eyes staring over and up at his second most familiar human.

R.D. stared back, offering a smile.

“Snare?” A voice called from a distance in the shadows, set in a Midwestern accent with a bit of that edge you could expect to hear from some kind of announcer. R.D. recognized it in less than a heartbeat. “What’s up, buddy?”

Snare glanced over his shoulder at the yawning mouth of the next tunnel behind him, then refocused on R.D..

R.D. raised one hand, pushing a finger to her lips. Shhh…

Snare blinked, tilted his head.

Then he dropped back onto all fours, raising one of his hindlegs to kick at the wall beside him, creating a chorus of dull thuds.

Subsequent footsteps bounced along, growing a bit louder with every second.

R.D. felt her face drop, shaking her head and spreading her arms in a lame gesture at the white hare. Although his face was always hard to read, there wasn’t a single shadow of a doubt that he regretted his actions.

She turned and started sprinting; the plucked petal fluttered to the ground in her wake.

Just as she reached the opposite end of the tunnel, just as she was vanishing into another batch of shade between lights, she tossed a glance over her shoulder.

She was just in time to see Snare bound over to where she’d been standing, grab the rose petal between his buck-teeth, and carry it off as he scampered back the way he’d came.

CRAFTY LITTLE BASTARD..! R.D. thought, equal parts impressed and infuriated as she ran.

Sure enough, not even thirty seconds into her jog, she heard Caliban’s voice again.

“Hey! I see you!” Confused giggles bubbled along his words. “Where do you think you’re going?”

R.D. would’ve liked to shoot back with some of her patented sarcasm, but she also wanted to keep the surprise on track, so she had to bite it down.

She lowered her head, putting on more speed. Her pulse was almost buzzing through her eardrums, so it was a wonder how she picked up on the sound of a similar, one-party stampede somewhere behind her.

“I know you’re here!” Caliban called again, laughter rushing out of his lungs between each breath. “I’m gonna getcha!”

If her jaw wasn’t already aching, R.D. would’ve appreciated the irony of how this could almost qualify as a Final Girl’s Circuit.

Almost. Expect for the career she worked and the things she knew.

She rounded a corner—another platform was waiting just a few feet away, complete with a steel door that stood a little off the center of the wall.

All the doors down here looked pretty much the same, but she was sure she knew whose den this one led to.

She skidded to a halt, just barely remembering the code-pattern she’d learned so long ago as she rapped her knuckles against cold, smooth, tarnished metal.

The knob rattled, a compliment to the keening squeal on the part of the hinges as someone pulled it open from the other side.

There was maybe a few inches of space between the door and its frame, but R.D. didn’t hesitate to squeeze through the gap.

The den was only so much warmer than the tunnels, but you could still feel the difference.

A wooden cabinet stood across the former office, its shelves full to bursting with boxes, jars and bottles that came in a variety of shapes, sizes, and colors.

A smaller bookcase was positioned beside it, similarly stuffed with books on cooking, baking, toxic animals, hazardous chemicals and how they affected the human body, stuff like that.

Opposite of that stood a table, which was supporting a glass terrarium, a heat lamp casting an orange-tinted glow over the plants and rocks and driftwood perch inside

A thin passageway loomed off to the side of everything, concrete stairs ascending up into darkness.

R.D. caught movement in her peripheral vision, recognizing a cherry-red headband sitting atop a head of long, silky coffee-colored hair.

Azalea Crawford raised an eyebrow at her. A knowing smirk etched its way across her face.

The door rattled with a familiar pattern of knocking.

Azalea waved a hand toward one particular corner of her den.

R.D. nodded, sidling over to stand right behind the door. One hand clasped over her mouth before her brain even sent the signal.

“Yeeeees?” Her sister-in-law asked, tugging the door open once more, creating just enough of a gap to poke her head through.

“I know she’s in here,” Caliban’s voice replied. It sounded like he was still catching his breath, but helpless chuckles were still leaking out.

“Who?” Azalea wondered, tilting her head and putting on a mask of obvious over-exaggeration.

“Aza, c’mon. You KNOW who.” There was some light shuffling from the other side.

“Here, look—” Azalea moved about a couple square-inches to the side, stretching one arm to gesture to the room behind her. “See? There’s nobody here but me.”

Right then, R.D. noticed a long, thin shape coiled around Azalea’s neck like a loose scarf. Scales glistened under the dim light; red, adorned by a pattern of small, bright yellow stripes, each bordered by a strip of black.

The scarlet kingsnake—Cuddles, a helpful voice in R.D.’s brain clarified—angled her head toward the friend her owner was hiding. A tiny forked tongue flicked in and out of her mouth, her beady black eyes growing curious.

Caliban leaned forward, to the point that R.D. could see the edge of his face past the door, could see the way he squinted in a conspiratory, intentionally overplayed manner.

But just before he had a chance to glance her way, his sister pressed her free hand against his forehead, making him squawk as she gently pushed him back.

“Seriously, what’s going on?”

Azalea shrugged. “Don’t look at me. I have no idea what you’re even talking about.”

“Yes you do!” Caliban argued, a chortle stretching out the statement. “I know you’re in on whatever this is! Parker said you might give me a hint.”

“Yeah, ‘might.’ That’s not a guarantee,” Azalea snorted.

“Pleeeeaaaase?”

“Look, when’s the last time you got any hints on a job?”

Caliban sputtered a bit. “Literally every job relies on at least a few hints—” He cut himself off, staying quiet for a few long, merciless seconds. “...Why’d you bring up jobs?”

“You tell me, Mr. Thrill-of-The-Hunt.” Azalea then gave a brisk shake of her head, along with a sigh that just dripped with false tragedy. “Oh, I’ve said too much already~”

“AAAH! No you haven’t! No you haven’t!” Caliban protested, his voice getting a smidge more high-pitched.

R.D. had to bite her tongue to keep her giggles trapped inside her chest.

“C’mon, Aza! What is it? Tell me, tell me!” More playful shuffling against the door. “Please just help me out with this! I need to know!”

“I’ve already done my part,” Azalea replied with a smile that almost could’ve been innocent. “My hands are tied now.”

Another pause that felt slower than a tortoise getting drunk off molasses.

“Yeah, Snare making doe-eyes isn’t gonna work on me,” Azalea announced, though her own eyes went soft and adoring for a second.

Caliban was probably about to retort, but a different sound beat him to it.

Something more faint, more muffled.

An echo from somewhere outside. Far off, but not too far when you thought about it.

R.D. felt her eyes brighten.

Of course the victim had heard all the noise she and Caliban had made. (Did that mean his blood would be on Snare’s paws?) He was probably more confused now, more scared than before.

“...What was that?” Caliban asked, his voice tapering down to an excited whisper.

Azalea shrugged again. “Go see for yourself.”

More footsteps, cautiously trekking away from the door.

Then they grew faster, quickly fading into the distance.

Azalea stayed where she was, watching. Once the relative silence had returned, she pushed the door shut, leaning against it. “All clear.”

R.D. corrected her posture, letting her hand fall away and sighing as if she’d been holding her breath for an hour. “I owe you one.”

Azalea snickered, shaking her head. “No, don’t worry about it.”

“Did you see him while you were out?” R.D. wondered, not meaning her host's brother. “When you snuck the other half over there, I mean.”

“Almost. He tried to follow me, but I took the longer route to shake him.”

R.D. nodded, pacing about the room. She’d go back out in a minute; no way Caliban hadn’t covered some distance already.

“Glad you like the roses,” Azalea chirped, bouncing in place. “It took us a while to find the right seeds. He really wanted them to be fresh.”

R.D. glanced down. Of course the rose was still with her.

Thank God the thorns had been snipped off. Otherwise, her palm would be a bloody mess right now.

___

R.D. was back in one of the darker sections when she heard the scream.

Goosebumps prickled over the back of her neck.

Her heart skipped a beat.

But unlike so many times before, she didn’t have to suppress her smile.

Other noises followed—rushing footsteps, of course. Wild and fast and desperate. Striking old, rusted metal.

Words, too. They blurred together, coming out a mile a minute, loud and ragged and growling around the edges. Laughter broke them up as well, growing more and more sadistic with each breath.

It was hard to make them out, but that didn’t really matter.

The second voice was familiar to R.D.. It’d never stop being familiar. She liked hearing it (even when it was used for making puns and then expressing just a little too much pride for said puns).

More screams tore through the air.

These ones were longer, louder. Echoing back onto themselves thanks to the concrete, filled with palpable pain and raw horror.

“AUUGH! NO! NO, NO—NOOOOOO!”

Displaced air whooshed nearby—right beside R.D., actually. As if she’d been on the side of a highway and a car had sped past her.

Slightly below the walkway, to be precise.

One of those caged lights was looming on the wall up ahead.

It cast something of a halo over the two figures she could now see racing along the tracks.

She watched as one pounced, slamming into the other’s back, forcing him to the ground.

Shadows performed a distorted dance as they stretched over the walls and ceiling.

One was pushing and squirming, trying and failing to escape from the other while it lunged, clawed, stabbed, BIT.

Despite all the erratic movement, the light still shone against crimson leather.

R.D. strolled closer, fidgeting with the rose until she came to hover below that light.

She peered down—there was Caliban, working himself into a frenzy.

He pinned Lookie-Loo to the ground. Snapping his teeth, sending viscous little droplets flying as he buried his face into the other man’s shoulder, shaking his head the way a dog would when it ripped an old squeaky toy apart.

(Well. Dogs didn’t always do that to squeaky toys, but it’d probably be better for your mental health to stick with the former allegory, wouldn’t it?)

A metallic gleam followed his movements. Damascus steel was splattered with red as he raked his favorite meat cleaver across his victim’s abdomen. (Just a few more strong swipes and he could’ve torn the poor bastard’s stomach open like a gutted fish.)

R.D. lowered herself to sit on the edge of the walking, letting her legs sway a bit.

Too bad Lookie-Loo was so distracted, kicking and shrieking and sobbing.

He could’ve seen R.D. and tried to drag himself toward her.

He could’ve tried to shout for her to run, get away, save herself.

He could’ve noticed that she wasn’t at all afraid.

He could’ve tried begging her for help (and if he was really quick on the uptake, maybe he could’ve realized that he had to beg her to call his attacker off, to please, PLEASE JUST LET HIM GO!).

Snare scampered around the two of them in tight, quick circles. Little stains were already marring the white shade of his fur. He seemed to notice R.D. out of the corner of his eyes, because he paused, glancing up at her.

After coming to the conclusion that his owner was more than a little busy at the moment, the hare hopped up onto the walkway. From there, he trotted over to R.D., nudging at her elbow.

R.D. gave his long ears a gentle scratch. Sure, she was still feeling a little salty over the stunt he’d pulled earlier…but damn it, he was cute.

Meanwhile, Caliban pulled back. He hovered over his prey for a long, agonizing moment, chest heaving in and out as he panted for air.

Lookie-Loo kept thrashing, trying to clutch at the fresh, gaping wound in his shoulder.

It looked like he was about to glance at Caliban. Maybe he wanted to try and shove him off, take advantage of the sudden stillness. Maybe he still thought he had a chance.

Caliban’s eyes were feral, just as wide as the sharp, hungry grin his bloody teeth formed as they gnashed at the air with his laughter. It was a sight that would’ve made any self-respecting hyena proud.

Then he opened his jaws wide and dove back down.

After that, his victim finally stopped screaming.

Stopped screaming, and started gurgling.

There really wasn’t much else you could do when enamel was sinking into your throat.

Lookie-Loo’s eyes (which, in the grand scheme of things, were the real cause of all this) bulged, dangerously close to popping right out of their sockets, and he fell silent.

More blood came out, though it slowed down to oozing instead of spraying.

Caliban growled deep in his throat, tearing a chunk of flesh free. He was still chewing as he slowly got to his feet, looming over the fresh corpse on the rail…only to pause.

He tilted his head to the side, eyes going from ravenous to curious as he took in all the cuts littered about his meal’s arms.

Took in how those cuts each formed the shape of a heart.

R.D.’s smile softened. Even if he wasn’t facing her yet, it was easy to see how the pieces were coming together in his head. “You’re welcome.”

Caliban’s eyes met hers in about a millisecond. Though she knew his irises were brown, right now they appeared to be an unhinged shade of yellow.

(In fact, they always seemed to flick to that at times like this; whenever he was running on adrenaline or hunger.)

Beneath them, something warm and grateful slipped into his grin. It could’ve powered the entire city for a few minutes.

Caliban stepped away from the body, practically skipping his way over to the walkway. He stood before before R.D., resting his arms on the edge.

“You did this?” He asked, his voice a strange mixture of softness and energy. “You set this whole thing up for me?”

“I mean, I can’t take all the credit. Had some help along the way,” R.D. mused with both a nod and shrug at the same time. “But I know how much you enjoy stuff like scavenger hunts, so…yeah.”

Caliban’s silver canine-cap glinted as he let out another laugh, this one much softer and brighter than the peal she’d heard from him earlier.

R.D. moved a bit too slow to escape the bear-hug he wrapped around her, but then again, she didn’t really mind.

“Did you have fun?” She asked, tousling his hair.

“Of course I had fun!” He assured, eyes still shining. “That was one of the best rushes I’ve had in weeks!”

Sooner or later, R.D. stood back up as Caliban returned to the body, grabbing it by one of the ankles and dragging it up onto the walkway.

From there, the two of them walked side-by-side, chatting about how the day had gone on their respective sides.

Snare made sure to trot in front, as though he was escorting them back to the den underneath their home. Not that the guidance was needed (but it was accepted because Snare was just a little guy and he wanted to help out). They both knew the route inside-out.

All conversations had to come to an end, one way or another.

This one did so via Caliban cutting himself off with a squeal as he spotted something sitting right outside the door to his den. The very same thing Azalea had been nice enough to leave there while both he and R.D. were away earlier: a plushie modeled after a cartoonish venus fly trap, its material going from green and fluffy around the mouth to light brown and smooth around the pot.

Dead weight thumped against concrete as Caliban released his hold on the corpse, running over to pick up the gift for further inspection.

“Oh my God..!” He laughed breathlessly, tilting the stuffed plant, making its “head” wobble to and fro. “How did you find this?”

“Sorry, I signed a non-disclosure about that,” R.D. joked. “I know it doesn’t have a purple tongue or spikey leaves, but—”

“Are you kidding? It’s perfect!” Caliban declared, beaming as he hugged the plushie close.

Both he and his wife were a bit too late to remember that there was still fresh blood on his clothes. Yeah, it blended in pretty well with the red leather of his jacket and the black fabric of his hoodie, but it was still wet. Just like the splatters on his face and hands.

“...and machine-washable, I hope?” Caliban asked, his features uncharacteristically sheepish as he pulled the gift back, revealing that there were, indeed, a few dark stains that hadn’t been there a few seconds ago.

“Yeah, you'd better hope,” R.D. remarked, smirking as she reached up to give him a light flick on the side of the head.

@sammys-magical-au @insane4fandoms @the-matpat-ever @im-a-weird0 @b-is-in-the-closet @lampsforsocks @lotusp0nd @yourannoyinglittlesistersteph @bloodyhound12345 @lisathecake @im-a-snakey

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wouldntyou-liketoknow · 3 months ago

Text

Things Happen After Dark...

(Disclaimer: one of the characters in this story do not belong to me. Casey Clowes was created by my amazing friend, @insane4fandoms.)

(Now, as for the fanegos who do belong to me: for more information on Caliban, go here. For more information on Azalea, go here. Murdock belongs to the Markiplier Cinematic Universe, and if you’d like to see my personal headcanons on him, go here.)

HAPPY NEW YEAR! (Only twelve minutes late...oh well 😅 🍾)

(Trigger Warnings: murder/death, blood/gore, violence, descriptions of illegal business, poisoning, strangling/suffocation, cannibalism, broken bones, beating/blunt force trauma, knives/blades/weapons, eating/drinking, strong language. Please let me know if I missed anything.)

Sections of the old concrete floor were slick, shining against the dim, flickering lights up above.

An unmistakable metallic stench hung in the air like heavy fog.

Casey hated the fact that it lined up so well with how he could hear his own blood rushing through the veins in his ears.

The shivers were so violent, racing up and down throughout Casey’s ribcage. He ground his jaw; he couldn’t let his teeth start chattering.

He’d already shown more fear than he’d care to admit—now, he couldn’t afford to show too much more.

That would only make it easier for them…

To be clear, it wasn’t that Casey was unfamiliar with these sorts of places.

Old buildings that loomed on the sides of roads, basically out in the middle of nowhere, adorned by sun-bleached brick or faded paint and broken windows.

The peculiar spots that had been left to rot for whatever reason a long time ago, that anyone could pass on their way to something better.

It was a bit ironic, really; he’d been hired to gather evidence against stalkers so many times before. And yet, sneaking around certain places at odd hours was exactly how he went about earning his keep and paying his bills.

Sure, he wasn’t immune to cold sweat, or shivers up the spine, or having to duck and cover and just hold his breath until his lungs set themselves on fire and brace for some kind of horrific impact until he could finally, finally manage to peek out and move to safer ground…

But you just couldn’t be a private investigator if you couldn’t handle that kind of stuff.

It was just a fact of life: the more condemned a place was, the more likely people were to slip in through its cracks and do God-knows-what because they knew that pretty much everyone else wouldn’t venture inside.

He’d already snooped around two abandoned factories much like this one earlier in the year.

Hell, those cases had even started off in a somewhat similar way to tonight’s shenaniganry: with a stroll through the Cove Port Inlets, just to review the facts—there never seemed to be enough—and get the juices flowing.

Granted, those other cases hadn’t involved him getting pulled into an alleyway so a few scumbags could practice for a chiropractic degree.

Those other cases hadn’t involved him blacking out and eventually coming to with way more rope tightly coiled wrapped around his chest and arms than he remembered.

Those other cases hadn’t involved him being on the receiving end of an amateur stakeout.

Those other cases hadn’t involved near as much of a cacophony—screams that eventually bled into unintelligible whimpers and gurgles.

Bones snapping under pressure, flesh practically sighing as metal was dragged through it.

Red either oozing down in ribbons to create viscous puddles, or droplets soaring through the air to splatter against the walls or, or, or…

It was almost made worse by the fact that he recognized the figures who were now pacing around the room, just a few feet from the corner he’d been bound to.

Well, the recognizing was sort of technical.

This wasn’t the first close encounter he’d had with them (and his instincts demanded that he believe it wouldn’t be the last, either), but all the tricks, all the chases, all the near-misses just made things…strange.

“Oh my God,” Azalea Crawford announced, stepping away from the mess to kneel down beside him, her big chestnut eyes glinting. “Is—is that a half-respirator?”

She reached out to carefully turn the small gas mask that rested on Casey’s collar from a strap stretched across the back of his neck.

Casey took a subtle deep breath. The shivers cranked themselves up to eleven, so he had to try even harder than before to keep them trapped in his chest.

She may have been petite—truly, she was one of the shortest adults he’d seen in his life—especially compared to him, but he knew better than to underestimate her. He’d heard of her reputation.

He’d watched her smile so casually when one of his kidnappers fell to the floor as though all his bones had just melted, wailing in agony and clawing at the same dart that had been shot from a small gun she’d pulled from her carob-colored vest

“Hey, you left quite an impression that one time,” Casey finally answered, raising a sarcastic eyebrow.

“That’s nice of you to say,” Azalea replied, fidgeting with the cherry-red headband that decorated her gently-curling locks. The venom-laced sugar in her voice made it clear that she remembered just as well as he did.

“Ooh,” another voice called out from a bit further away, set in a Midwestern accent, a bit jagged around the edges yet somehow still managing to be silvery. “Trauma-incuded mementos are a classic!”

Caliban Crawford wandered closer, his mouth—well, pretty much everything below his eyes, to be honest—still dripping with gore. As he bared his red-drenched teeth in a shiny grin, his silver canine-cap almost seemed to be letting off sparks thanks to the flickering lights.

“Guess that means I’ve gotta up my own ante, huh?” He asked as he stood beside his sister, appraising toward her and sinister toward the captive audience.

Casey grimaced, quickly shaking his head. “Please don’t.”

“I just feel like I’ve been challenged!” Caliban held up his hands, his shoulders popping up in a snide shrug. “Y’know, to see if I can make you get another protective trinket.”

“The human body’s already horrifying enough on its own!” Casey protested. He would’ve made a furious weeping gesture toward the fresh carnage across the room, but his hands were literally tied, so the most he could do was nod at it. “Look at that! How did you even do that?!”

Caliban paused, glancing over his shoulder to fix the viscera another hungry look.

“I mean, you were kinda watching all of us when it happened,” Azalea mentioned.

“Yeah, well I was TRYING not to!” Casey retorted.

“A dollop of fairy dust,” Caliban finally proclaimed, folding his arms across his chest as his focus returned to the investigator.

Casey blinked, and if it weren’t for his restrained position, he would’ve felt his jaw hitting the floor. “...That’s nOT FUNNY!”

“Yeah? Then why was I laughing so much?” Caliban’s eyes grew wider, his grin even sharper than before.

“BECAUSE YOU’RE SICK!”

“Oh, c’mon. He’s just having some fun with his job,” Azalea reached up to pat her brother on the shoulder. “What’s wrong with that?”

Casey was about to go on a whole tirade about how a-frickin-LOT of things were wrong with being so damn happy about a career in contract-killing and the Black Market, but he didn’t get the chance.

“Hey, listen,” yet another voice piped up from just around the corner, steeped in velvetine oil. “I deserve some credit for all this too.”

Murdock Mallory came strolling into the room, a few tiny red spots still clinging to his black-tinted lenses. Really, it was a miracle how no blood seemed to have gotten in the raven hair that just about tickled his shoulders.

“I ripped the tag off a mattress this morning,” he continued, idly twisting the thin chain around his neck between his forefinger and thumb, causing its brass pendant to spin. “Pretty sure that set off some kind of Butterfly Effect.”

Casey wanted to shout, to sputter, to do something more to showcase how angry he was because that just felt like the only thing he had left right now…but he couldn’t.

Instead, he just heaved a long-suffering sigh. “Oh, wow. And here I thought anatomy was the only science you guys were interested in.”

“Uh, excuse you. I’m all about chaos theory,” Caliban huffed before turning away and beginning to scrape up the horrific remains that he was insane enough to deem as leftovers into what looked like a body bag.

“You don’t need to have such an attitude about this,” Murdock chided, taking a few steps closer and tilting his head to the side. “Think: some sleazeball competitors of ours took you hostage to try and bait us. We could’ve just let them get rid of you, but no! We got rid of them instead! So, when you think about it, we’ve actually done you a pretty nice favor here.”

“Yeah,” Azalea agreed. Her voice was suddenly much closer, and Casey realized too late that he couldn’t see her anymore. “We could just leave you here for the cleanup crew to deal with, but we’re not doing that, either! Just think about that when you wake up, huh?”

The question was punctuated by the distinct pinching sensation of a needle sinking into the small of Casey’s neck…

___

Of course, Casey wasn’t in the rightest mind to think about some things immediately after that.

When he woke up on a park bench just as the sun began climbing its way into the sky, however, he had to admit: he had plenty to think about.

…Mainly the fact that he had to have some begrudging gratitude about no chloroform being used. That stuff was way nastier than the movies ever let on.

@sammys-magical-au @the-matpat-ever @lampsforsocks @b-is-in-the-closet

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