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Pete Wentz: Holistic Assassin

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The bodies lying around Pete almost made a picture. If he tilted his head slightly, and squinted his eyes, they became a flower. He grinned to himself. Beautiful.

 

He dropped his knife and gun onto the asphalt ground, and frowned. Although the universe had never let him kill a wrong person before, this amount of bodies did seem a bit excessive - even to him. However, he knew better than to question it, and simply wiped some blood on his dark trousers, before sitting down amongst his new friends, and sighing.

These dead bodies were the closest thing to human contact he’d had in too long, and that reality was soul-crushing. But there wasn’t much else he could do, so for the time being he simply sat and waited for something else to happen.

For Patrick, life had never been great. He didn’t mean he was abused or anything, just that his life had never seemed to have something great in it. Something extraordinary that would take him out of his permanent daze of grey, and thrust him back a world full of extravagant colours and just a sense of purpose that had never existed before.

Sometimes Patrick thought he was broken. Other times, the state of grey was too overwhelming, and he didn’t even have the energy to think about why he wasn’t like his family, their friends.

 

Patrick didn’t really have friends, and if he was being honest, he didn’t really have a family anymore. They were there, and they called on his birthday sending wishes and sometimes a card with a $20 bill in it, but that was all. To Patrick, this was normality. He’d see the families and young couples on the street when he went to buy food and other mundane things, but it’d barely register.

Something about him just wasn’t there anymore. He had no idea what it was, and it had been too long since anyone had cared to try to help him.

 

That was a sad reality, but one Patrick had come to accept. It did mean he could leave his house at 5am to go to the 7/11 down the street to get a bar of Hersheys without anyone asking him why the fuck he was up so early, though.

The streets were deserted, and the air was cool. It was calming, and a refreshing change from his cramped apartment. Something about this just felt…right. Patrick couldn’t explain it, and he felt no need to. Had there been someone next to him, he’d probably have tried, but there wasn’t, so he didn’t. That’s how most of Patrick’s life worked at this point.

 

By the time he reached the convenience store, his feeling of something being ‘right’ had changed to one of slight unease. Even at this time there would be a few people milling around, but it was completely empty. Void of any human life. (Except from Patrick, who was finding it hard to consider himself a human at this point. Humans had to speak to other humans, didn’t they?)

 

But being a stubborn idiot, he carried on. It wasn’t until he reached the parking lot he realised what was wrong.

 

There were a couple dozen bodies lying around, haunting dark shadows against a dirty concrete ground. Patrick gasped, and stumbled slightly as he took in the seriousness of this situation. What the fuck had happened here!? Cautiously, he moved on, unsure what to do. His lack of being prepared in…any…situation certainly failed him here, and he was stepping in-between bodies like some fucked-up obstacle course until he reached a clearing. In the middle of that clearing, was a gun. And a knife. And next to the gun-and-knife, was someone who was most certainly alive. Alive, and staring at Patrick with a curious expression.

 

“Hello?” He asked. Yes, the person could be the killer…of over 20 people…or he could be someone who survived the attack and was confused and scared. Patrick figured it would be the latter, but the universe liked to laugh in his face, and so the man stood up, grabbed his knife, and started sprinting directly towards Patrick.

 

 

Patrick yelped. Loudly. The knife wielding man frowned at that, and ran harder. He chased Patrick around the entirety of the parking lot, before slowing down and resting his hands on his knees, the knife now on the ground.

 

“Can’t you just let me fuckin’ kill ya?” He asked, sounded tired and pissed off. Patrick’s eyes widened. What kind of person was this!?

 

“No?? Why the fuck would I let you do that!?” He almost shouted, hearing his voice crack. The murderer looked up at him with almost brown eyes so dark they could be black.

 

“‘Cause. I’m meant to kill you.” Patrick found himself frozen with a healthy mixture of disbelief and fear. He gestured around to the bodies.

 

“Did you do this!?” The murderer nodded, and raised an eyebrow.

 

“Who else would? Ya think anyone else could do this much damage in like an hour? Fuck no! Just me, baby, and my shit.” He nodded to the discarded weapons, and then seemed to remember the weapons, and what he was trying to do, and picked up the gun. He aimed it at a still-frozen Patrick, and pulled the trigger. Once. Twice.

 

He tapped the gun harshly against his hand, and cursed, before aiming it at the ground and shooting. A bullet barely missed the murderer’s foot, and lodged itself into the ground. “Huh,” he said. “I guess I’m not supposed to kill you, then.” He dropped the gun once more, and Patrick flinched at the sound. He still wasn’t sure what was happening - for all he knew this was some shitty dream, and he’d wake up in his apartment in a couple minutes ready for another pointless day. The the murderer walked over to him, covered from head-to-toe in blood, and held out his hand to him.

 

“I’m Pete, nice to meet ya.” He said, with a somehow charming smile. The world around Patrick suddenly turned dizzy, and he fell to the ground in an extremely undignified slump, unconscious.

Pete surveyed the person lying in front of him. From afar, it would be difficult to distinguish him from the other bodies lying around, due to the darkness of the early morning, but if you really concentrated, his shallow breathing was visible. He cocked his head, frowning at this mystery person.

 

Who was this guy? He’d just shown up out of nowhere - although that’s how most things in his life worked - and then his gun hadn’t worked on him. It had worked on the ground, but not him. It had simply refused to sink into that unimportant man who he’d only met (without knowing his name) several minutes before.

 

Pete sat down beside him, and wondered how much longer he had before someone alerted someone, who told the cops, and he had to move. If the cops saw this blue hoodie-clad man being the only one alive, they’d either suspect him as being the murderer, or question the living shit out of him. Either way, this guy was innocent, and…Pete supposed if he wasn’t physically able to kill him that he wasn’t actually unimportant.

 

He must have a purpose, then. Pete just figured he’d have to wait around to see what it was.