/simu/ - Simulacrum

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>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. . ."


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>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. . .


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>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. . ."


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>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:


"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. . .

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