The Fucking Slasher (SRM)

[Rick Fader]

Outskirts of Fucking, Austria
2:00

Tonight was another peaceful night in the small, yet notorious town of Fucking, Austria. Most of the villagers were asleep in their beds, with some out late either working or having fun elsewhere. A calm breeze washed over the town, swaying the bare branches slightly in its wake. But betraying the gentle wind was another link in the chain of a brutal retaliation against the most recurring crime in the small Austrian village.

A group of four British tourists drove up to the sign on the outskirts of the small town. One of them had thrown a tarp over the camera guarding the sign. Another of them brought out a set of tools in order to free the infamous town sign from the measures guarding it from sign theft, Fucking’s greatest crime. While two of them got to work, the remaining two, the driver and the tarp man, were giggling like schoolgirls over a cute boy.

However, this moment of humor would turn into a moment of horror in an instant. While our two idiots were hastily working at freeing the sign, a gaunt man with a machete crept up on the truck. His first target was the driver of the truck. While all four were busy, the pissed off monster snuck over, remaining out of the driver’s site. It wasn’t until the driver found the door forced open that he found out someone was there, and it was far too late for him.

The Fucking Slasher violently ripped the driver out of the rented truck, his laughter turned into screams. The Fucking Slasher then forced the man to his knees, and decapitated the moron. Meanwhile, the tarp man screamed while wetting himself, and the two men noticed the Kishin Egg that had just executed their friend. The two gits, who were drunk after a night at a tavern elsewhere, foolishly decided to attack the Kishin Egg with the tools they used to attempt to free the town sign.

The Slasher watched one of them stumble towards him, simply sidestepping and slashing him through his midsection, his strength allowing him to cut the man clean in half. Meanwhile, the other one ended up attacking the corpse of his friend, confused with their assailant in his blind drunkenness. The Slasher simply picked the man up by his hair, and just like the driver, forcefully sliced his neck with his machete, effortlessly decapitating him. The tarp man simply watched, frozen in horror as this hunt for the sign turned into one bloody nightmare. Then the Slasher turned to him, tearing the man from the trunk of the car.

“P-please. . . don’t”, begged the man, crying pathetically. With not even a sadistic grin or an expression, the Slasher simply beheaded the man like his other two friends. He then took a look at the sign, the area around the security measures defaced by their drunken attempts at freeing the sign, hardly touching the vital points at all. “What a mess. . .”, muttered the disgruntled Kishin Egg as he grabbed the four dropped souls of his four most recent victims. One by one, he slid the blue orbs down his gullet, consuming more power with each one.

Before leaving, the monstrous man snatched the tarp from the camera it was obscuring. While he walked away in the opposite direction of the camera, it revealed the grisly sight of the slain young men without their souls. This was the latest in his rampage of retaliation against the tourists who made life a pain in the ass for him, and the villagers of Fucking, Austria. Unfortunately, the vigilante’s solution was mass murder, leading up to an even worse problem, and it was a Kishin Egg. In order to prevent him from putting anymore bad blood on the town’s name, and to stop him before he could turn on the villagers for a quick bunch of souls, the mayor of Fucking contacted Shibusen. And while the team they hoped for hadn’t come in time to stop the latest bloodbath, he was hoping that this team could stop him before the Fucking Slasher could cause anymore damage.

[Rick Fader]

Fucking, Austria
10:30

The Fucking Police had been sorting out the grisly crime scene. Another attempted sign theft had been foiled by none other than The Fucking Slasher. However, the outcome was most certainly not worth it. Four more men, while obviously worthless idiots, were brutally murdered in front of the sign. Aside from the fact that this would paint blood on their ridiculed name, it was a young paperboy who had come across the four bodies. The site of the aftermath of a brutal slaughter had left the young boy traumatized, and most likely in need of years of therapy.

The mayor himself was waiting on the outskirt of his beloved home town. Last night, the man had called in Shibusen to deal with this monster. However, he couldn’t help but feel like he had called them in too late. Perhaps if he had called them yesterday morning, they’d have stopped this madman from murdering anymore tourists. But as long as the team was successful, and no more blood would be smeared on the town’s name, he’d be satisfied with the outcome.

----

A rusted pickup truck drove down the road towards Fucking. Its driver was a man from one of the nearby villages, drinking a mug full of coffee as he barreled down the deserted roads. Right next to him was the student cleared for this mission. Why was a student going alone on a mission that dealt with a Kishin Egg? It was none other than the infamous Rick Fader, the autonomous weapon that might take Justin Law’s place. While it had taken him so long to get only five souls, some of his exploits were well known, especially the mission in Detriot, Michigan.

Garbed in a pair of his boots, blue jeans, a black t-shirt, a gray hoodie, his fingerless gloves, and finally his baseball cap, the Demon Chair looked out the window. A smile of both murderous and mischievous intent stretched across his features. While this seemed like too easy of a job for the Demon Chair to bother with, the town’s name alone prevented the blue-haired teenager from resisting the offer. Unfortunately, that meant not even the Fuckingers were safe from Rick’s sick sense of humor.

The truck came to a stop only a short distance away from the mayor. The Demon Chair hopped out of the truck. “I’ll be in the area. When you’re ready to leave, gimme a call.”, the man, British from the accent, told Rick. “Yeah, thanks. . .”, the blue-haired told the man with the graying mustache before closing the door. As Rick walked towards the mayor’s position, the truck drove off, leaving him to deal with the Slasher alone.

“Ah, you must be one of the students Shibusen sent to deal with our little problem!”, exclaimed the Austrian man happily. “When will your partner be arriving?”, asked the mayor of Fucking. “I am the entire team. . .”, Rick told the older gentleman. On that note, the mayor’s grin became an expression of confusion. “But don’t you Shibusen types come in teams of two: one meister and one weapon?”, inquired the burly, older Austrian politician. “Most of the time, yeah. But I’m an Autonomous Weapon, one that acts alone.”, said the weapon blandly. “I. . . see. . .”, replied the mayor slowly.

“So, lemme make sure I ain’t missin’ anything here: Some fucker is going around and fucking butchering limeys, all of which have been trying to jack the Fucking sign, and he’s been munching on their fucking souls.”, said Rick, getting the proper pronunciation correct when mentioning the Fucking sign. “Yes, all of them have been murdered violently. As annoying as the tourists are, and as troublesome as the recurring sign theft has been, the tourists have been putting good money into the Fucking town, and if this madman continues his rampage, not only will it be bad for the Fucking town, but he may attack us after the tourists stop coming!”, explained the man.

“Got any information on this fucker?”, asked the Demon Chair, hoping the mayor would’ve noticed someone so fed up with the sign theft that it would’ve culminated into this. “No, I haven’t noticed anything striking about this. But please do ask around, perhaps some of the people have noticed something that could aid you in finding this maniac.”, said the mayor. “Yeah, thanks for the fucking tip!”, said Rick, his tone wasn’t sarcastic, but just normal. As he walked off, the mayor sighed.

“I don’t know which is worse: this murderer, or this asshole walking into our town, making a mockery of its name. . .”, the mayor mumbled to himself, obviously recognizing the signs of someone who got their jollies off of using the town’s name for their sick jokes. But to be fair, at least he pronounced the name correctly, but only when mentioning the town’s infamous sign. But even if it was another asshole, he was hoping Rick would succeed, and quickly. If he did kill him quickly, he would hope the teenager would leave the village quickly and quietly.

[Rick Fader]

Residential Area of Fucking, Austria
10:40

After leaving the mayor of Fucking to his own devices, Rick decided to investigate the town. Sure, he had one common location, one common cause, and essentially no M.O, other than consumed souls. But aside from all of that, he’d like to know more about who he was to deal with. He wanted to know if he was a local known to the other Fuckingers, if they knew why he snapped.

As Rick walked by, a man ran to greet him. “Greetings, my name is Amadeus Herrmann, and I was told Shibusen would be here to investigate this incident. Honestly, I’m quite surprised the only sent one person. Don’t they usually send teams of two?”, he asked Rick. “I’m an autonomous weapon. . .”, he told the translator. “I see. . .”, replied the aging man. “Anyway, Shibusen has paid me to be your translator while you’re in Austria.”, continued the Austrian. Rick looked him over, seeing that the man himself was dressed a little more than casually. The middle-aged man was wearing a polo, black slacks, and a pair of black dress shoes. Black hair with gray edges indicated him to be in either his late thirties or early forties. “Would you know anything about this fucker?”, he asked. “Only what you’ve read about him yourself.”, he assured the boy patiently, holding back reprimand for Rick‘s language.

The Demon Chair would then walk through the town of Fucking, pulling locals to the side. With Amadeus translating between them, Rick would end up asking the same question: “What do you know about the Slasher?” Surprisingly, the townspeople were forthcoming with what they knew about the Fucking Slasher. However, most of them knew little of what was going on, aside from the fact that someone was butchering tourists for their souls.

“I know nothing of this killer.”, stated the first citizen curtly before walking off in a hurry.

“So far, the Slasher has only killed British tourists. I don’t understand why Shibusen has to intervene. . .”, stated the second citizen apathetically, a clear hatred for the tourists in his tone.

“Like many of us, the Slasher got tired of the troubles the tourists brought with them, especially the price of sign theft. I wish there was more I could tell you. . .”, a woman told the two before walking off to bring her groceries into the house.

Rather than waving the fourth person towards them, a burly man was the one to wave them to the side. As with the other three locals, Amadeus asked the casually dressed man if he knew anything about the Fucking Slasher. “The night before the killings started, Josef Hoffmann went on a drunken rant about the British tourists one night. As with everyone else here, the poor bastard was pissed off with what the tourists were doing. I shrugged it off, but ever since the killings started, I haven’t seen him around. . .”, he told the two. After Amadeus translated this, Rick’s eyebrow raised in curiosity. “Did he say anything about how they deserve to die or some fucking shit like that?”, he asked the bulbous Austrian. Amadeus translated this to the man, sans the profanity. “Come to think of it, the man did mention how they deserved to be executed for the misery they wrought on the town. . .”, he told them. “Do you know where he fucking lives?”, he asked the fat Austrian man. “I can’t help you there, but I suppose you could try the bartender. . .”, he told Rick. He then wrote down an address on a napkin for the two of them, handing it to the older gentlemen. “Thanks for the help, you glorious fucker!”, he called out as he started running towards the address, Amadeus on his trail.

The two were off to the bartender's house, the older man sighing once they were alone. “Is it really necessary to conduct yourself in such a grossly irreverent manner!?”, questioned the middle aged man, clearly disgusted with Rick‘s casual use of profanity. “No, I simply choose to. . .”, replied the Demon Chair nonchalantly, his lopsided grin contradicting his tone. “If you say so. . .”, replied the translator tiredly, rolling his eyes.

-----

17:30

Once the duo reached the bartender's house, they spotted a man in the process of locking up. Upon reaching the man, the Demon Chair flashed his Shibusen ID. “We’re here to inquire you about Josef Hoffmann.”, explained Amadeus. “Oh yes, Josef was here before the killings started. Had to have him escorted out of the bar one night. Bastard got drunk, and went on one of his anti-British rants. Ever since the killings started, nobody’s seen him around. . .”, he explained to them. “What did he do before he ‘disappeared’”, questioned the Demon Chair, with Amadeus questioning him. “The man did road work, typically found himself among those replacing the Fucking sign.”, he explained to them. “Do you know where this fucker lives?”, asked the weapon. “Unfortunately, I don’t know where he lives. . .”, replied the doorman. “Well, thanks for the fucking tips. . .”, Rick told the man before walking off, Amadeus behind him.

“So, how do you propose we find this man, hm?”, questioned the translator.

“Either some fucktards will come along and try to steal the town sign, or I could play the idiot and bait him out. . .”, he told Amadeus calmly.

“I. . . see. . . Well then, good luck with that. . .”, he told Rick. Obviously, Amadeus would have no part in this. Rick was fine with that, as he didn’t even think the old man could handle something like a Kishin Egg, only being good as bait.

“Let’s run this shit by the mayor.”, Rick told Amadeus before racing off to his office.

[Rick Fader]

1:00

Near the Fucking Sign, hidden in the night was one Rick Fader, a book in hand along with several empty cans of soda, and some tools for sign theft. The teenager was guzzling down his tenth soda of the night as he waited for the Slasher to show himself. So far, nobody had come by the infamous sign. No tourists taking a photo, no sick teenagers trying to fornicate in front of it, not even actual thieves.

The teenager read a novel while awaiting someone stupid enough to stir the Slasher. After about five hours of waiting, having started at 20:00, Rick’s impatience started to show itself. Despite having a book to read while awaiting his foe, the caffeine rush was starting to go along with his bloodlust. He wanted something to kill, badly. And at this stage in the game, he felt like taking some of the tools and baiting out the Slasher himself by feigning a sign theft attempt.

However, before he could try anything, a group of tourists in a rental car drove up to the sign. Three college-aged kids poured out of the car: two males and a female. Rick’s yellow eyes shot open as he watched the trio, hoping they’d try to steal the sign and stir the Kishin Egg. However, the only equipment that they brought along was a camera, one of the males operating it while the other male and female took a picture, kissing in the photo.

“SON OF A FUCKING WHORE! GODDAMN SHIT ON A STICK!”

The Demon Chair’s mind was racing with thoughts of fury and rage. The only sighting of the night was just a boring photo shoot. Hell, they seemed to be pretty decent in their photo taking, no reason for the disgruntled citizen to attack them.

However, the hungry Kishin Egg’s madness wasn’t satisfied with that circumstance, not anymore. At this point, he had now started to hunger for pure souls, desperation setting in. It would eventually set the stage for the “defender” of Fucking turning against the Fuckingers. The machete-wielding maniac strode towards the group of college students angrily, murderous intent filling his eyes. From his view, Rick had noticed the Kishin Egg coming towards them, his previous anger turned into joy.

From the corner of her eye, the female of the group noticed the large man and screamed. The other two turned and attempted to run, with the Kishin Egg quickly gaining on them. Rick rushed towards the creature, a battle cry sounding from his lungs. Mid-run, his hands shifted into two six-foot long leather straps.

Out of the trio to fall first, it was the cameraman who tripped over the ground due to his poor choice in footwear. The other two, having worn more secure footwear, continued running in fear. The maniac raised his machete above his head, the sharpened, cleaned, and otherwise well maintained blade’s edge glistened menacingly in the moonlight. The female turned back to see the execution, stopping dead in her tracks. “NOOOOOO”, she cried out as the Kishin Egg attempted to kill the man.

Thankfully, before he could bring it down, the machete was grabbed at the blade with a long leather strap. Quickly, it was yanked out of his hand. A look of confusion washed over the Kishin Eggs face, as well as the others. In moments, a blue-haired teenager lunged at the monster, successfully tackling Josef to the ground. The boy then rolled off of the Kishin Egg, before he could be hit, shifting his hands back to their normal forms.

As the flip-flop wearing camera man limped off, the Kishin Egg angrily got up. “YOU’LL PAY FOR THAT, BOY!”, shouted the monster in English. Rick’s expression, however, was that of a murderous grin. He enjoyed the grief he had caused the monster, the murderous intent he built up, the bulls-eye he painted on his forehead. Whatever the reasoning, this is exactly what Rick lived for, the thrill of battle, the feeling of being on the very brink of life or death.

The former man lunged at Rick furiously, tackling him to the ground before he could react. Immediately, the Austrian Kishin Egg wrapped both hands around the weapon’s neck, and started to violently choke him. Rick’s yellow eyes widened as he could feel his airways being crushed under his mighty, furious grip. During this event, the three tourists went back to their rental car, possibly to run away. And it would seem like the Slasher would win this confrontation, until Rick’s fingers transformed into electrodes, and let fourth a powerful discharge through his arms.

The Kishin Egg’s grip faltered as his muscles were consumed by the powerful shock. With that assistance, Rick pried his arms to the sides, and got up to deliver a head butt towards his nose. While the Kishin Egg recovered from the shock and head butt, Rick backed away, scrambling back to his feet quickly. While the Kishin Egg attempted to get up, the Demon Chair ran up to Josef and gave it a field goal kick to the grill for good measure.

But before Rick could complete the kick, he could feel himself having trouble breathing. The weapon stopped dead in his tracks, gasping for air desperately. Josef noticed this and grinned. While Rick desperately searched for his inhaler, the monstrous man got onto his feet and clocked Rick in the jaw, knocking him to the ground. As Rick struggled to find his inhaler, the man pulled out a small gardening fork, the prongs sharpened brutally for killing.

“Fuck! Goddamn fucking ass-cock!”, shouted Rick internally in reaction to his perilous situation. Panic had prevented him from properly remembering which pocket he stored his inhaler in.

Rick was helpless to stop the man as he desperately searched for the inhaler in his pockets. But before Josef would start stabbing the Demon Weapon with his makeshift weapon, the Fucking Slasher took a hit to the head. Behind him was the female of the group of tourists, wielding the tire iron in her hand. In a display of bravery, she went in to help the boy who was trying to save them. The blow to the head caused some bleeding, and most importantly, his attention to be diverted towards the girl.

Rick managed to fish the asthma inhaler from his jean pocket, a feeling of relief washing over him like a tidal wave over the hot sands of the beach. Rick desperately slipped off the cover to the pump, taking in three puffs of it. Meanwhile, the girl was desperately attempting to fight off the Fucking Slasher, screaming obscenities about how he tried to murder her brother. Eventually, the Kishin Egg grabbed her by the throat with one hand, the farming tool in the other. In a desperate bid to survive, the woman repeatedly slammed the tire iron onto the inhuman man’s skull.

Just as he got ready to kill her, Rick had gotten up, medicated and pissed off. He quickly grabbed the back of the Kishin Egg’s neck, and unleashed another Discharge into its body. Immediately, the Kishin Egg dropped the Engilsh girl, who promptly ran back to the car to join her brother and boyfriend. “Now you fucking die, bitch!”, shouted Rick. With malice in his eyes, he delivered a crescent punch towards the stunned Kishin Egg’s groin, hitting him in the testicles. The Kishin Egg, now out of his stunned state, instead fell over in agonizing pain. He would them grab onto them, sending out a discharge through his sensitive area. The Kishin Egg would then let out a shriek as he found himself brutally electrocuted in one of the many places he’d rather not have had electrical exposure to. The groin punch caused him to drop his small gardening fork.

Rick looked on the ground, noticing the woman left the tire iron behind. Rick took the makeshift weapon, rolled Josef onto his back, and attempted to stab the Kishin Egg towards its head. At first, the Kishin Egg managed to grab the end of the tire iron, attempting to pull it away from his body. However, another Dischage through the tire iron would cause him to lose his grip on it, allowing Rick plunge it into his eyeball. Rick continued to pull the tire iron out and plunge it into his eye socket a total of three times before his body was reduced to ribbons, a bloodthirsty grin of satisfaction plastered across his features as blood spattered across his face with each thrust.

And thus Josef Hoffmann, the Fucking Slasher, was dead.

Immediately, Rick grabbed the Kishin Egg’s soul, holding it with all five of his fingers. He then discharged electricity into it, causing it to gradually shrink in size, until there was nothing.

Rick turned to notice the car with the three tourists was still there, the girl catching her breath. Rick walked over to the woman, and handed her the tire iron. “Thanks for the help, sister. . .”, he told her with a grin. The girl nodded, taking the tire iron and entering the car. The three would speed off away from Fucking, not willing to visit the infamously named town for a while.

Meanwhile, Rick pulled out his cell phone, and called up the very man who brought him there. . .

“Yeah, its Rick. I’m done with this fucking town. . .”, he told the British driver. . .