/simu/ - Simulacrum

Name
Email
Subject
Comment
Verification
File
Password (For file deletion.)

File: 1653855671586.jpg (31.04 KB, 400x325, hawthorne-sophia.jpg)

 No.307

>Personal Log, 03.01.17:

"This city is sick, rotting from the inside as parasites from above and below suck it dry, causing the wounds to fester, to burst, leaving behind cancerous growths that weaken its fiber even more.

The people are blind to this, blind to the depravity hidden below the surface, but I, I am aware, and I know now how to cleanse this city. The answer is so simple now that I see it. . .

The city needs a butcher, someone willing to cut off the tumors, and I am that person, I have been chosen.

My friend comes to me at night, they chose me because I understand now, because my eyes have been opened. Because I have seen the message of my counterpart in the sanctuary.

One day, I hope that my work will be complete, but it is not, so my righteous task continues. . ."

 No.315

File: 1655757085149-0.jpg (95.56 KB, 640x400, unnamed.jpg)

File: 1655757085149-1.gif (803.2 KB, 280x158, ScalyGorgeousIndianspinylo….gif)

File: 1655757085149-2.jpg (24.74 KB, 480x360, hqdefault.jpg)

>>307
>March 1st, 2017

>Brooklyn, New York


>The darkness of night covers the city that never sleeps, the cloak of shadow created by the cloudy night sky creating little islands of light around the yellow streetlamps. Outside of these areas of light, the darkness is more pronounced than it would be in the natural world, providing the perfect cover for those who would rather their business not be seen by others.


>One of these groups, a collection of people in the middle of a drug deal, is found on this unassuming spring night. More formal than a typical deal, both parties are flanked by their own respective bodyguards, each of them armed and ready to deal with any intruders.


>Just outside of the main deal, around the corner in a different alley, one of the dealer's more typical clientele can be found, waiting for their turn. . .


>As the deal seems to come to an end, and both parties go to shake on the terms, an arrow flies through the air, sailing right into the dealer's eye, sending him flying back to the nearest wall and pinning him to it.


>Before any of the others get much chance to react, three more arrows plummet down from above, each hitting a different target and trapping them against some form of object. Not every arrow is lethal, however, leaving their marks in pain.


>Following the arrows is a hooded figure who hits the ground softly, their small and thin frame lacking anywhere near enough muscle to usually fire the arrows at the force that they hit with. One of the bodyguards, having gained enough of an understanding of the situation to act, charges towards the figure, bringing his fist down to punch them.


>Instead of hitting its desired target, the fist instead ends up blocked by one of the figures hands, far smaller than the fist itself, but still managing to stop it with ease. Then, with a terrifying speed, the figure replies by squeezing the fist, letting out a resounding crack that everyone in the alley can hear, immediately followed by their own punch to the man's leg, causing it to fold backwards on itself.


>Letting go of the fist, the figure brings their leg around and kicks the man in the head, causing it to spin with another crack before he falls to the ground, dead.


>With a cold and calculating efficiency, the figure then takes several arrows from a quiver and their back and throws them across the alley, hitting everyone else that was still standing and leaving them dead.


>Not everyone is dealt with, however, as one of the first people hit manages to detach themselves from the wall with a struggle and begins to run away, making it and around the corner. . .


>Only to find the addict dead as well, an arrow having pierced their skull and attached them to the wall like the deal.


>Soundlessly, the final thug falls down as something hits them on the back of the head. . .

 No.317

File: 1656536322433-0.jpg (25.38 KB, 612x408, istockphoto-1169071737-612….jpg)

File: 1656536322433-1.jpg (172.59 KB, 439x602, detective_1.jpg)

File: 1656536322433-2.png (264.78 KB, 554x838, detective_2.png)

>>315
>March 2nd, 2017

>The sun rises over New York City, bathing the city in the rays of light, and revealing the scene from the previous night.


>Before long, the alleyway is closed off, the typical police tape blocking the path into it, with police officers and cars forming impromptu barricades at either side. While a few onlookers try to get a peak beyond the barriers, they are quickly moved onwards by the officers.


>With the cordon effectively established, another police car pulls up, this one an unmarked vehicle, and two men step out, one old and experienced, the other one much younger than him, and clearly lacking experience.


>The two men make their way beyond the police line, seeing the carnage from the previous night, the younger of the two heaving when he sees the bodies, earning a chuckle from the older man.


"It's alright kid, that reaction just shows you've still got a heart. . ."

>The older man looks around quickly before flagging over one of the police officers.


"So, what're we looking at exactly?"

"Multiple homicides, all the victims were involved in drugs somehow, attacker appears to be smaller than them, judging by the. . ."

>The officer indicates at one of the arrows


". . .the arrows, maybe a meta?"

"Let's not be hasty. No need to involve the Meta-Wranglers yet, we can handle a good old serial killer."

>The younger man speaks up.


"We probably should though, I mean, they said to in the ac-"

"This is a police matter, if they want to come for our turf they can try. No, this looks like a regular serial killer to me, police matter."

>The older man indicates to one of the arrows.


"Take one of those in and bag it up, kid, can't be too many places that sell arrows like that in the city."

"Couldn't they have just bought it online?"

"Nah, something like that? They'd want to pay for it with paper, too easy to trace otherwise."

"If you say so. . ."

 No.367

File: 1658769474794-0.png (450.62 KB, 533x400, 494d1d43bbb6135dcd6417a35e….png)

File: 1658769474794-1.jpg (120.92 KB, 1244x1285, FU6vUvcVUAAwgw1.jpg)

File: 1658769474794-2.jpg (116.36 KB, 720x1080, 8e3ef0385d53c14edc0c1da527….jpg)

>>317
>March 2nd, 2017

>The morning sun shines through the window of a Brooklyn apartment, its rays shining down on the occupant, a young woman who looks to be no older than her 20s.


>Suddenly, an alarm goes off, disturbing the woman, who groggily groans and slams her hand down on the clock making the sound, silencing it.


>Satisifed, the woman turns around and murmurs something in her sleep.


>Then, another noise interrupts the woman - the sound of someone knocking of her door. This noise manages to rouse her, pulling her out of bed and slowly over to the door, her journey only stopped to move a chair from a small dining table so that she can reach the peephole.


>With a yawn, the woman looks through the door to see her visitor is someone she recognises, the building's superintendent, and she wearily opens the door on the latch so that she can talk through it.


>With a yawn, she addresses the man:

"Yeaaah?"

"I got a leak on the next floor, so I'm gonna keep it quick - you got a pet in there?"

>Something rustles in the apartment, and the woman's ear twitches as she strains to hear what moved, before looking back at the superintendent.


". . .no?"

"Look, I ain't gonna get mad if you do, I get it, y'know? But the building rules say no pets, even if you do own your place."

>The woman hears the rustling sound again, and looks back into the apartment, then back to the man when she sees nothing.


"I don't though. . ."

"You won't mind if I have a quick look inside then?"

"Sure. . . I guess. . . Lemme just get this chair out've the way. . ."

>With another yawn, the woman pulls the chair aside and opens the door, stepping aside for the superintendent to enter.


>The superintendent looks around the room for a moment, taking it in. . .


>As he does so, the woman tenses up as she feels something touch her shoulder, and a voice whispers into her ear:

"Kill him, he knows too much. . ."

>Shaking her head to dismiss the voice, the woman calls out to the man.


"No pet, right?"

>The superintendent shrugs.


"Fair enough, can't see any signs of any pets. . ."

>The superintendent gives the room a final scan, noticing that a window leading out to the fire escape is open.


"Ah, y'see, that's why they reported it, said that window's been open at night."

"Oh. . . right. . . that's for me, I've been getting too hot at night - not hot enough to turn on the air con though. . ."

>The superintendent shrugs.


"Not my business, just making sure you're not breaking any building rules. . ."

>Wasting no time, the man makes his way out of the apartment, turning back around to face the woman.


"It's a bit messy, but no sign of any pets, give me a call if you get any problems, ok?"

"Okay. . ."

>The woman shuts the door behind the man, her stance and facial expression immediately dropping as soon as the door is locked. . .

 No.3462

File: 1721927229066.png (404.72 KB, 639x885, 2230b0778ff175ce9d1c814f70….png)

>>367
>The lighting in the room appears to dim as the voice speaks up again.

"You should have killed him. He knows too much."

"He hasn't done anything. We said we'd only go after guilty people. . ."

"Or those who know our secret, he knows too much."

"He doesn't know anything, he thought I was keeping a cat or something."

>The voice is silent for a few moments, and then the darkness recedes.


"I will find more targets for later."

>The woman sighs and picks up a remote from her messy coffee table, turning her TV on to the news to play in the background while she grabs some coffee.


"The individuals, known to the police, were found dead at. . ."

>Armed with a freshly brewed coffee, the woman yawns and sits down, changing the channel.


"The NYPD has released a statement on the incident, confirming that they currently believe that the suspect was not a Meta-Human. . ."

>With another yawn, the woman switches away from the news, bringing up a children's cartoon.

 No.4070

File: 1744318906834-0.png (840.25 KB, 800x640, NPYD_75th.png)

File: 1744318906834-1.jpg (78.09 KB, 439x602, detective_1.jpg)

File: 1744318906834-2.png (228.81 KB, 554x838, detective_2.png)

>>3462
>NYPD 75th Precinct, Brooklyn

>The 75th Precinct is a flurry of activity as the cleanup from the night ends, and the new day’s work starts to get organised. In a hidden away corner of the main room, a detective’s station has been set up, where the two detectives from the crime scene have piled up a wide selection of potential evidence.


“So kid, what you got for me?”

“Well, there wasn’t much to work with, no fingerprints, all the DNA at the scene matched the victims, MO didn’t match any open cases, but. . .”

>The younger detective draws the older man’s attention to a pinboard with a map of Brooklyn attached to it with several pins placed in locations across the borough.


“I called in a few favors with some sporting goods suppliers I knew, got some information on the arrows from the scene.”

>The detective points at a sealed evidence bag with an arrow sealed within it.


“None of them recognised it, and none of the stores they pointed me to recognised it either, had me running all over Brooklyn looking for clues - until one of them pointed out that this is some real high grade stuff. Some kind of carbon nanocomposite material or something they said but that. . .”

>The detective draws attention back to the map again.


“Narrowed it down a lot, there’s only two places in the state that stock this stuff, and only one that does custom orders, a place called Moench’s over in the village.”

>The older detective grins.


“. . .and unless our killer’s also a smuggler, they’d have to get it from there, so just a matter of finding out who buys it from them then, nice work kid.”

“Thanks boss, I was just about to head over there. . .”

“Let’s get going kid, only so many hours in a day.”

 No.4071

File: 1744319229369-0.png (521.72 KB, 800x533, Therapy-Offices-We-Adore.png)

File: 1744319229369-1.jpg (96.99 KB, 600x820, 003b3ec5f431a58ae020d40073….jpg)

File: 1744319229369-2.jpg (94.82 KB, 850x1400, Sying-1.jpg)

File: 1744319229369-3.jpg (66.79 KB, 711x501, Pet-Spider-Enclosure-1-1.jpg)

>>4070
“You’re making excellent progress, Ellie, when you started these sessions with Dr Hartman, you weren’t even willing to come to the office. . .”

>The woman from the apartment opens her eyes, sitting back in a comfortable chair, a woman with black hair and wearing dark, tinted glasses sitting opposite her. A quick glance across the room brings a glass tank to her attention, a large spider relaxing within, the arachnid lazily moving about as it eats some kind of food that has been placed within the tank for it.


“The tank. . .”

“Oh. Do you have arachnophobia? I can cover it if you want.”

“No. . . no, it’s ok Dr Zhi, I was just. . . interested.”

“It’s Miss Zhi, unfortunately, although I would personally prefer if you called me Sying, I prefer to maintain a level of trust with my patients, it helps keep this office a safe place.”

“Oh. . .”

>The woman, Ellie, goes silent for a moment.


“That’s only if you’re comfortable with doing so though.”

“Dr Hartman always insisted on us using formal names.”

“If you’re more comfortable with that, we can still do that.”

“No. . . no. . . it’s ok.”

>Sying nods, her glasses hiding whatever emotion is reflected in her eyes.


“I’m glad to hear it. Now, about what you mentioned earlier, you said you let your building’s superintendent into your apartment, how did that make you feel?”

 No.4072

File: 1744319424227-0.png (2.22 MB, 1208x800, Brooklyn_heights.png)

File: 1744319424227-1.jpg (3.41 MB, 2500x1786, Moenchs.jpg)

File: 1744319424227-2.jpg (78.09 KB, 439x602, detective_1.jpg)

File: 1744319424227-3.png (228.81 KB, 554x838, detective_2.png)

>>4071
>Moench’s, Brooklyn Heights

>The two detectives walk into an upscale sporting goods store, their clothing making them look out of place between all of the highly specialised sporting equipment. Noticing a retail assistant working on restocking some shelves, the younger detective waves her over.


“Hello miss, we were wondering if we could speak to Mr Moench. . .”

>The retail assistant goes to come up with some excuse, stopping as the detective pulls out a wallet, letting it fall open to reveal an ID within.


“. . .we’re with the NYPD, we just need to ask him a few questions.”

“O-oh. . . right, yeah, he’s just in the back room, I’ll get him. . .”

>The retail assistant practically scampers away, heading to the back of the store.


“You exercise in your spare time, kid?”

>The younger detective looks around at the various items.


“I mean, some, but that’s more stretching and stuff, nothing that uses this fancy equipment they’re selling here.”

“Glad to see you’re just as out of your depth with this stuff as I am kid. . .”

>The two detectives awkwardly stand around in silence for a few moments, only breaking it with awkward coughs, until the proprietor of the store, the titular Mr Moench, arrives with the retail assistant in tow.


“Afternoon detectives, hope there’s nothing wrong with my store.”

“Afternoon Mr Moench. . .”

>The older detective offers his hand out to shake.


“. . .just need to ask a few questions if you don’t mind.”

“‘Course ‘course, anything to help New York’s finest, how ‘bout we take this to my office?”

>Mr Moench indicates for the detectives to follow him.

 No.4073

File: 1744319501037-0.jpg (78.09 KB, 439x602, detective_1.jpg)

File: 1744319501037-1.png (228.81 KB, 554x838, detective_2.png)

File: 1744319501037-2.jpg (45.97 KB, 612x408, Mr_Moench.jpg)

>>4072
>Mr Moench leads the two detectives off to the side to a small office, barely big enough to fit the three of them, locking the door behind them.

“So, detectives, what’dya need to ask about?”

“You seen the news today, Mr Moench?”

“You on about those horrible murders? You don’t think that was me do you?”

>The younger detective shakes his head, indicating for Mr Moench to calm down with a hand gesture.


“Nothing like that Mr Moench, we assure you, we just think the murderer might’ve used something from your store as a murder weapon.”

>The colour drains from Mr Moench’s face/


“Oh. . . that’s. . . that’s horrible. . .”

>Putting himself back together, the proprietor looks at the two detectives with a serious expression on his face.


“Ask away, detectives.”

>The older detective gives the younger one a look, and then begins asking away.


“Do you make custom arrows here, Mr Moench?”

“Custom arrows? Oh, you mean those fancy nano-composite carbon whatsits, we don’t make those here, we just act as a middleman for the company that makes them.”

“But if someone were to want them, they’d have to order them through you, yes?”

“Of course, we’ve got an exclusive agreement with the company.”

>The older detective nods, then the younger detective takes charge.


“Have you had any orders for them recently? In particular, hunting grade ones?”

“We don’t do hunting grade arrows here, so we wouldn’t’ve accepted. . .”

>Mr Moench trails off as he remembers something.


“Oh yeah, there was that one weirdo that came in a few weeks back wanted a bulk order of them, I turned ‘em down of course.”

“Can you describe this person?”

“Not really, it was a while back and they were dressed up like they were about to rob the place, all I can remember is they were small, a woman or teen maybe?”

“Lines up with what forensics said about our suspect’s height.”

“Thank you for the information Mr Moench, I’ve just got one last question, could we get a name and address for that manufacturer?”

 No.4074

File: 1744319608088-0.jpg (7.46 KB, 269x188, voicemail-icon.jpg)

File: 1744319608089-1.jpg (167.75 KB, 1050x1200, 5ecba47163656e2b98e1ebf896….jpg)

>>4073
>Ellie’s Apartment, Brooklyn

>Ellie stumbles into the apartment as she opens the front door with her shoulder, having gone to get some groceries on the way home from her therapy appointment, her other hand occupied with her phone as she holds it against her ear, listening to her voicemail:


“Hey Ellie, it’s me, Sam, hope this is still your number. Just phoning because I’m heading back to the city soon, and. . . I know we left things off in an awkward spot back in the day, but I would like to. . . just call and text me if you get this, ok Ellie? I want to see you again.”

>As the message finishes, Ellie puts her shopping bag down, locking her door, and goes to phone the number back, only to stop as the lighting in the room dims once again.


“I have found new targets, you need to prepare.”

“It’s not night time yet, it’s not your time yet.”

>The disembodied voice scoffs.


“Even now you try to deny your purpose at every opportunity.”

“The deal was night time only.”

“Very well, but you still need to prepare, you need more arrows.”

>Ellie looks across the room at a closet, then to the window.


“They might not be ready.”

“We have delayed long enough, they said they would be ready within 5 days, 6 days have passed since then.”

>Ellie looks over to the closet then sighs, defeated.


“You win. . .”



[Return][Go to top] [Catalog] [Post a Reply]
Delete Post [ ]