Requiem Lethera: Victim # 1

Requiem walked slowly over to her couch, her hips going side to side in a natural but elegant walk, holding a mug of tea in her right hand as her laptop sat open on the end of the couch. Her fireplace roared and crackled with orange and red flames, making the apartment she stayed in nice and warm as fall was closing in outside and the nights were getting colder and colder. She sat down, sipping from the mug slowly before setting it down on the counter beside the couch.

She snuggled herself against the couch, getting herself all comfortable and making sure she was in her mood before she looked at her laptop. She did this often; and she enjoyed it. A hot drink, her laptop, and a fire roaring around her. Of course she had plans on Friday for clubbing with Shayla and Bernice; possibly having Brad come along, a possible love interest Requiem had been debating about but it wasn't easy to have a relationship while being a famous author. You couldn't tell if they were using you or actually cared about you.

But Requiem's mind faded back to her book.

She was working on a new book; called "Dancing with Demons." and she was at chapter 6 so far, where Laura and Jenera were fighting in the back alley behind the coffee shop, and blood was spilling. She let her fingers move fast, and her eyes started at the screen as the words kept going and going along the screen. Her mind was getting into it.

Jenera slashed her long nails across Laura's side, and with a shriek, Laura fell on a knees from the blood spilling onto the ground. Jenera walked over slowly, wiping off blood from her cheek as sweat dripped down her chocolate brown skin and she was breathing heavily. Laura could only fall over onto the ground, her own heavy breathing becoming slower and slower as blood leaked across the dirty floor of the alley.

"How stupid could you get, Laura? You stood up to me... and now.... you're going to wish you hadn't." Jenera said, taking out a long silver knife from between her two breasts. Of course it cut the sides but Jenera could hardly feel the pain over the joy of being able to finally take this young blonde's life. She was annoying; irritating... she had been getting in the way all these weeks and now she would die. Jenera leaned down beside Laura, slowly raising the long silver knife above her head...

A sound made Requiem's fingers stop typing. She slowly looked around her apartment; the kitchen light was on but everything else was off so he couldn't see near the bedroom and bathroom. She had heard something that sounded like hands brushing against the wall and footsteps making the floor creak, which made shivers run up her spine.

She slowly got off the couch, saving her word document but keeping her laptop open. She looked around the apartment twice... her eyes scanning slowly for any movement throughout her space... but she didn't see anyone. No one could have gotten in... she had locked the doors and windows...

After a minute of standing there, she decided it was nothing. She reached down, taking a drink from her tea and holding her hands around the handle of the mug.

But then; a hand came over her chest and she was jerked back as she choked on her tea, it draining from her mouth as she dropped her mug and another hand came over her mouth. They were strong arms, and she struggled and jerked around violently, her face going back and forth a she screamed into the hand, trying to bite it.

She thrushed her feet into the air, making the body stumble back as she broke free. But she tripped over her table and crashed into the glass coffe surface, a shattering sound hitting her ears as she felt a stabbing pain in her arm and shoulder. She screamed from the pain, writhing and moving around as she tried to get up but hands pulled her up. She was getting weaker; and could feel warm blood all over her right arm.

She kept moving around, trying to yank herself free. But then she felt a sharp pain in her neck; which was a needle jabbing into her pain artery. She jerked and struggled for a few more minutes, but then... she felt drowsy. She slowly slumped into the arms that held her restrained, and then her eyes slowly closed as she felt the arms picking her up and clasping her against a chest... and then everything faded.

All that was left was a computer running, a fire going, and a broken mug with tea spilled all over the new white carpet.

Silence.

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Requiem's eyes flashed open. She could see the dim refection of a dark ceiling above her, and she blinked a few times before she could feel she was laying on a small bed with soft sheets and a plush pillow under her head. She felt her head pounding as she slowly lifted herself up, a hand on the right side of her forehead as she looked around slowly, her vision blurry at first... but then it started to come clear.

She was in a small cell type room; with a night stand beside her, a small lamp giving off a faint light that dimply lit the dark room. The floor was hard but clean, and she looked down at her body. She was not wearing her clothes she had on the night she had been writing her story... her baggy black and red pajama pants, a tang-top that was gray with a white vampire bat on it... that was it.

She looked down at her arm... it was bandaged all the way up to her elbow, and it was tight... she had injured herself. Faint visions of crashing into her glass coffee table played through her mind. She then realized; she wasn't wearing the bra she had on was not on her. She was wearing a pair of black shorts and a white tang top; and her breasts were more exposed... someone had removed her clothing? She slowly got up, and she saw a set of clothes on a chair.

She walked over slowly; and it was the clothes she had been wearing. She put on her black bra; and realized they had been washed. She adjusted the pants and tang-top, and put on a pair of white socks that had been added to the collection of clothes... where was she? She walked over to the large metal door that had a small window, and as she gazed out, she only saw a dark hallway and saw the flickering look of another metal door...

She realized.... she had been abducted. Her heart started to pound extremely hard, her adrenaline sipking as she began to hyperventilate....

What was going to happen to her?

Sebastian Matthews

The quiet of the night caressed Sebastian's face like a gently hand, the velvet darkness leveling the playing field. He loved the night, when everyone could see about as much as he could. When life was fair. Ha, life being fair. What a thought. Sebastian smiled slightly, leaning out his second story window to inhale the delicious night air. He swung himself up onto the window ledge, his feet dangling down into nothingness, and reached out, fear making his heart race. This was the most terrifying part, knowing that he could fall if he was just a few centimeters off from his target, a tree branch that stretched out close to the window. He relaxed when his fingers caught the sturdy branch, and he pushed off from the side of the house, letting his weight bend the branch. The branch arched with the effort of keeping Sebastian aloft, but before it could snap, Sebastian had let go, allowing his body to plummet to the ground where he caught himself silently in the grass.

He made less sound than any of the creatures that lived in the woods behind the house, sneaking around the house and out to the sidewalk. After his bare feet made it to the solid certainty of the cement, Sebastian relaxed and strolled along, enjoying the night. These nighttime wanderings where his time, when he could be free as a lark, wandering where he liked in the smooth privacy of the night. He wondered where he should wander to tonight. Maybe the woods over near the park? Yes, that sounded good, to lie in the grass for a couple hours and enjoy nature. He walked the three blocks there was between his house and the park, a path he had memorized. As he walked he started to feel slightly uneasy. Like someone was watching him.

No, that couldn't be, no one ever goes out at night except for me. Sebastian reassured himself. Curfew is ten, and most people obey it. Except for me. The cops only drive around for an hour, and it has been much longer than an hour since ten. The Matthews family lived in a nice neighborhood, lucky for Sebastian. He made it to the park and wandered around for a little while, his bare feet enjoying the cool softness of the grass. He eventually started to move towards the forest, placing each foot deliberately and carefully. And then he let his body collapse on the ground, enjoying the sudden release of air from his lungs as he collapsed in the grass.

Sebastian spread his arms out as if he was making a snow angel, closing his eyes and enjoying his freedom. And then he fell asleep. He ad a blurry conflicted dream, muddled voices were all he could really remember. He loved to sleep outside, where the cool kiss of nature was most evident. Where everything is in harmony and it doesn't matter who can see and who can't, as long as everything is at peace. Sweet peace.

Sebastian awoke with something heave on his chest. He immediately panicked and tried to squirm away, to no avail. The weight pressed down. It felt like a boot, but Sebastian could not be sure. He could hear the sounds of someone breathing over the sound of his own frantic breath and heartbeat, and, guessing that his oppressor, whatever was pressing down on his lungs, was human. He flailed out, gasping for breath, and caught hold of a pant leg.

"L-let me go! Get off me!" Sebastian tried to scream, but it came out in a breathless whisper, a painful gasp. He fell limp, unable to draw another breath into his lungs because of the great weight on them, his eyes rolling in fear. The weight of the boot lifted slightly, whoever was on the other end probably realizing that his target would be dead if they couldn't manage to take another breath. As soon as Sebastian realized that he was free, or at least, free-er than before he wiggled free and started to run, scrambling and sometimes over balancing and using his hands to keep himself from falling face first into the ground. He could hear the heavy sound of someone pursuing him, and ran faster.

Then bam. He'd been hit. Or more like, he'd hit something. Face first, something that knocked him for consciousness before his body hit the ground. A tree. He was taken down by a tree.

___


Sebastian awoke with a splitting headache. He groaned loudly and pulled the sheets up closer to his face. No, he didn't want to wake up. He wanted to go back to sleep, where there was less pain. And he didn't want to deal with his family when he felt this bad. Speaking of that, What had happened last night? He could remember falling asleep in the grass, but nothing after that. Not walking home and climbing the tree, not even waking up from his sweet nap. Huh, that was strange. What had happened? He rolled over, and promptly fell from the bed. The side of his head made a loud sound against a cool strange floor, and Sebastian discovered he wasn't in his own bed. As he landed he gave a loud yell, the sound ripping the previous stillness of the air. Then the memories came rushing back.

Seb moaned as he sat up, holding his head. He had a butterfly bandage pulling the flesh closed over a small cut on his temple, on the left side, and he could feel something on his left eye as well, a soft pad that covered the entire thing. Stiff bandages kept the gauze pad in place. He couldn't move that eyelid. He could now feeling the throbbing pains from his forehead and eye separating themselves from the general pain in his brain, making themselves known to the sore boy. When he'd slammed into the tree he'd managed to scratch his eye bad enough that it'd started to bleed, not to mention the large gash he'd gotten on his forehead, the various bruises on his body, and the pain in his ribcage and brain.

Sebastian lay back down and closed his eyes, intent on going back to sleep. It didn't much work though, for Seb wasn't wearing very much. Definitely not what he'd been wearing last night. Now he was just wearing a pair of shorts that came down to about his knees, and his back was becoming very cold because of the cold floor.

Giselle Hartbridge

Giselle watched as the last set of guests left to either return to their hotel rooms, or possibly enjoy the last hour available in the dining room off the lobby. It wasn’t often the Georgian hotel offered it’s services for an art expo, but whenever the exhibition was set in Atlanta, it was easier to attend for a few hours a day and make it back home all in one night. Declining the offer to wear a name tag revealing her own contribution to tonight’s showing, Giselle had wandered the hotel’s conference room with the rest of the guests and visitors; admiring art work, catching a few honest opinions from chattering groups, and highly enjoying the ‘Artist Free Dinner’ that she otherwise would not have dreamed of affording otherwise.

Her own work hanging amongst the rest of the traditional exhibits, lined up in a maze of artificial white walls, was out of place at first glance. Depicting a classic carousel was not something often seen amongst the more modern works even if the detailing was eximplenary. What had earned this particular works own personal fake wall was the picture caught at a second glance, never the first. Closer inspection revealed the myths hiding within the painting. Nymphs blended into the trees, carousel horses with intelligent eyes and not black gloss, muses ghosting amongst the shadows, and the occasional gremlin can be seen upon closer observation tinkering beneath the floorboards of the merry-go-round itself. ‘Midnight Carousel’ was not the director’s first choice, but shehad only offered this painting alone due to the events calendar she was handed beforehand. And it payed off. With several local schools visiting the hotel for field trips, she couldn’t help but linger along the edges as the younger kids pulled at each other’s sleeves to point at the different secrets they found. The children had to be given credit as the day passed, it was mostly the youngest ones that could find the creatures faster and better than any of the adults; most of whom had only noticed to comment on the vintage styling or contemporary terminology that was completely irrelevant.

Happy with the final night’s showing, Giselle’s steps echoed through the deserted lobby and through the polished revolving door into the humid Georgia night air. The bus stop was obly a block from the front entrance, and well lit by the downtown streetlights and occasional passing car. Pulling out her phone and turning on the camera, Giselle held the tiny lens up away from her and snapped a picture with a huge grin and holding up three fingers beside her face. The bench in sight and seemingly deserted, she inspected the picture before settling on the far edge of the metal seating and hitting the green ‘Send’; the picture sailing through whatever cyberspace or magical know-how that delivered the picture to her cousin’s phone. To others it may appear as a random thing to do, but Alana would understand the message well enough with the bus stop sign in the background and the reminder to get the three flavored Neopolitan ice cream on her way home from the station.

With her promise kept to check in once she started home and arms crossed across her chest as the gentle wind relieved only a slight bit of the lingering humidity, the metal bus bench proved to be a nuisance as it still held a bit of the days warmth, her cotton dress sticking annoyingly to her back. It was not long before the small girl started fidgeting with irritation, and slowly with uneasiness. Usually the streets were a bit busier at these hours; it wasn’t too late in the night for the workaholics to be returning home. The tourist hours were also over with and should be bringing in the last of the hotel guests returning to their rooms. Still, the streets remained eerily calm.

Perhaps it would be better to just go back to the lobby. The receptionist was nice enough and may help her out by calling a cab; or with a few hours to kill, Alana wouldn’t mind stopping by to pick her up before the demand for ice cream was met. Once again taking out her phone and turning on the camera to snap a shot of the hotel lobby, Giselle froze as the viewback caught a dark figure looming behind the bench. With no one in sight she instantly took a mad dash towards the hotel light spilling onto the concrete sidewalk, but within a few steps she was easily overtaken. Legs kicking the air as the arms now wrapped around her torso lifted her off the ground, the scream building up through her lungs just as quickly died in her throat, releasing only a strangled gasp as she twisted and shook her head before latching her flailing legs around a tree trunk. The thin tree thankfully did not give from its decorative plot while the bark roughly tore through her striped leggings and bit at her flesh. Another attempt at a scream was futile as one of the strong arms wound its way around her throat in a head lock. How in the world could they be in the middle of downtown and no one see her!

The grip tightening as her air was slowly cut off; her own hold became weaker as the lack of oxygen made a parade of fuzz play around her vision and dance in her head. Then came the darkness.

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Giselle buried her face deep into the pillow as consciousness was playing on the edge of her mind. It must be early with it being so quiet, usually the morning orchestra of radio static and Alana cursing at the burnt toast should be clattering about. When did they even get in last night anyways?... HOW did she get in last night?

Eyes flying open as the night’s events came flooding back, Giselle whipped her head around to take in her surroundings. A simple bed, lamp, door; this was a room, but it wasn’t hers. Her heart catching up to the situation seemed to jump to her throat as she shook her head back and forth, breaths coming in quick gasps. Shakily standing from the bed, cold air hit her bare legs and met her feet. The tree apparently had left a number on her legs, tiny scratches along the side with actual cuts littering the skin around her knees. The remains of the shredded leggings was laid across a chair with her shoes and button up shirt, leaving her, to her relief, still in the simple sun dress she was wearing to act as a skirt beneath the blouse.

A sound cutting through the air made her jerk back towards the wall, the sudden twisting of her neck revealing the stiffness left from the previous choke hold. Breath at least calming to shaky intakes, Giselle hesitantly walked towards the door of the room; not entirely sure if the sound she heard was a yell or her imagination being cruel, she sidled up against the wall and eyed the door warily; wanting to just wake up back at home to swear off whatever food concoction caused this nightmare.

The Collector sat at his desk, grim smile contorting his features.
"Three Dead" the newspaper's screamed.
Yesterday afternoon three teenagers were found killed with the mysterious Collectors mark found on their necks. The basic outline of a masquerade mask was undeniably found on all three of the corpses. Two were found hung in trees, with numerous marks suggesting previous torture found on their bodies. The third was found floating down a river, again the same markings found on her body. The family members of the victims prefer to have the names of the children anonymous, but urge people who believe they have information to call crime stoppers now.
Police are concerned that these three will not be the last of the dead for this apparently violent kidnapper. The other teenagers kidnapped are still seemingly being held with no ransom notes to be found. Police have noted all the victims have unique talents and this evidence has led them to believe the Collector is a psychopath collecting people for his own amusement.
There have also been rumours of an apparent sidekick....
The Collector stopped reading, apparently in deep thought.
Three dead Adrian thought smugly Three more places for my collection.
The previous night one of the girls had ceased to please him with her dance. He had warned her to do better, but she seemed to have not listened. Finally he thought it might be more amusing to watch her tortured and then killed then to see her danced. He had ordered his helper to strap her to the rack. It was rather interesting to watch her scream and writhe as the rack gently stretched her out. Unfortunately it seemed the torture went a little too far and she passed away before the real fun began.
The boys were alot more interesting. After finding out of a rather pitiful plot to escape, Adrian enjoyed watching there horrified faces as they watched the pathetic girl writhe. Apparently one of them had grown to love the girl and that always made the last moments rather intriguing. After that he had both the boys locked in their cells for a couple of hours. Keep them thinking, was part of his motto, it always helped them think more of the future, which in their case was rather grim.
After he had them both whipped. Cat of Nine tails was always a beautiful choice. Adrian quite admired the inventors design. He was always more fond of the older styles of torture. After about ten lashes each this again started to bore him and he allowed his sidekick to rip out their nails and then continue with a little water conditioning. Finding himself getting tired, The Collector branded the boys with his mark and then slit their throats. He then proceeded to brand the girl and then ordered his helper to distribute the bodies so the police would find them.
All of the tortures had been chosen specifically for each patient. For example the dancer, when she displeased him needed to be punished yet not destroyed. In order to allow her to continue to dance he used the water conditioning. Fortunately Adrian's helper was skilled at keeping the subject conscious; at least enough to have the torture take full effect. The next day the trophy was still able to dance.
The Collector looked up at the clock. By now the new trophies should be in their cases. The author was down there. Adrian decided a novel she would probably be able to write a novel about him, The Collector. Perhaps, he Adrian could actually ask for it published and simply call it fiction. Whether that was possible without him getting caught or not, it would at least provide some entertainment. With this rather enticing thought Adrian managed to get himself up and walk downstairs. It always took awhile. He had ordered a rather devious architect to build the cells beneath the mansion before it was built. The architect had promised secrecy, but Adrian had made sure of that once he had completed the job. Unbeknownst to the builders, they had been building atop of the cells. This had helped make it seem more like the mansion was simply for pleasure, and later Adrian, as a “lucky buyer” had “chanced” upon it.
As Adrian went down into the cellar he allowed his hand to stray to the furthest bottle of wine. Pulling it out him gently placed it in another wine holder. There was a whirring click as the unlocking mechanism worked. He then slipped back up through the cellar and opened a small trapdoor placed on the way to the cellar. The trapdoor was ingeniously crafted and Adrian admitted to himself it was a shame the architect was no longer around to create more devious new places.
Putting these thoughts aside Adrian went down into his trophy hall...

Heath Silver

Music blared out through the smoke filled room, bodies filled with energy, swaying to the music. It was nothing new to Heath but each time it continued to shock him that it was himself singing, causing his fans bodies to just dance to his music. He had bits and pieces of different genres that he would always throw in at different time intervals just to notice the different reactions around him. He smiled, starting off a new song, strumming his guitar to match his voice. The smoke in the room had made his fingers start to itch as he craved for a cigarette and he knew he couldn’t exactly pull one out in the middle of his own show so instead he would have to wait. It was nothing new, every time he did a two hour show, he would start to crave his cigarettes but he always got passed it; and besides, absence made the heart fonder, which was why smoking after made it that more sweet.

But sooner than later his show was finished and as the final jeers died down he got off in the back of the stage, wiping his face with the towel that he had received from his manager. The lights were way too hot to be up there for hourly periods, it was bound to drive anyone mad. He pulled his wifebeater off of his shoulders, the clothing article now pretty wet from his perspiration and threw it into a pile in the corner, quickly rushing for a water bottle. The cheering was starting to go up once more, the ever persistent need of an encore pulling him back to his reality. He wanted to than anything to power smoke right then and there but he didn't have the time as his manager ushered him back on stage.

So he stumbled back on stage and with a quick salute he went back onto it for his final song, now shirtless. He hadn't quite realized it until he heard a huge cheering and then before he knew it, it was over. He sighed and walked off stage as he heard the consistent buzz of chatter start to disperse. With a few words he was out of the door, glad that he had men to take care of his things for him. Now he was tired and he ached for a cigarette more than anything and wanted to get back to his hotel room to rest. He pulled out his pack and slipped one out, not noticing how menacing the night seemed to look. Heath didn't notice things like that, his creep scale was busted beyond repair.

So imagine his surprise when he felt a needle jab into his neck. Yes, he had heard the rushed footsteps but thought nothing of them and now he had instantly regretted it. He tried to scream but nothing came out of his mouth, in fact, he was too busy watching the world sway regardless. He was passed out by the time his body hit the cement, his head caught by the man who had done the crime himself.

-X-X-X-X-

Pounding.

It's what he heard before he even opened his eyes. The monotonous sounds of his heart thud reverberating through his mind, pulsing with a vengeance. It made him want to puke and he felt like he was suffering with a horrible hangover, something that would explain his lack of memories. He leaned over, his eyes still shut to block out the sun that he knew was shining past the shitty hotel curtains and instead hit nothing. He frowned and opened his eyes, shocked to find that he had no idea where he was. Shuffling sounds around him confirmed that there was others and the smell of it made him feel like perhaps he was in a cellar? He had no idea but refused to let panic sit in before he figured everything out.

He crawled out of bed and felt an unfamiliar, slightly scratchy fabric rub against his leg. He noticed that they were different boxers than what he had been wearing before, something the gave him the creeps a lot more than he would have liked. He cussed, the noise resounding through the empty air, making it sound awkward. He looked around noticed how tiny the room actually was and the whole gravity of the situation started to freak him out. He didn't know if he was just simply stressing but what was he doing in a strange cell?

Abduction possibilities kept on popping into his mind but things like that simply wouldn't happen to him, that was affairs of the news. So instead he banged around on his cell door, wondering if he would be able to attract anyone's attention. He wanted answers and wouldn't be content until he would actually get them. "Hey, anyone in here? Hello?" He yelled out, his voice once more resounding in the empty air. It sounded dry and raspy from not drinking and the itch for a cigarette was becoming quite more demanding.

After all, he never got his smoke the night before.

Requiem Lethera

Requiem could hear shuffling; whimpers... sounds. That's all she needed to hear to know there were other people down here too. She adjusted herself as she moved back towards the door of the room she was locked in; the few bars that made up a window let her look out to see a hallway. Across from her she saw movement in the room; and then she instantly had wide eyes.

She wasn't the only one; that gave her a bit of comfort to know there were others with her here. At the sound of someone calling out and banging on cars; her heart jumped and she held onto he bars tightly with her fingers. But she had to stand on her toes to see out the bars; which meant she needed to get off the ground. Looking around the room, she spotted something that would be able to help her. She grabbed the table that was near her bed and put it under the area with the window and climbed onto it.

As she perched on her knees, she could see perfectly out the window and she put her hands on the bars, shaking them a bit. They didn't move; they were bolted tight. She wasn't in anything that was old; it was fairly new, and obviously people had kept these rooms cleaned and worked on. She looked up at the ceiling... she was tempted to call out and see if she got an answer from anyone; but what if something bad happened?

She knew she wouldn't know unless she tried. She answered the call from the other person with a calm voice that was shaking slightly. "I'm here." her voice echoed off the walls. Anyone could tell she was scared; and trying to be confident. She waited for an answer.

Sebastian Matthews

Voices. Voices were drifting through the air. Sebastian was no alone. He sat up, speaking urgently.
"Who's there, where are you?"

Like a kitten seeking warmth he stood and felt his way to the noise. His hands met a cool wall, and a door. He felt the door, finding that there was a little barred window at the top. He pressed his face to it. There had been two voices, one male and one female, both sounding to be mature, but young. Around his age. One held a strange roughness. Maybe a smoker? Or someone with a sever cough, possibly.

"Where are you? Speaking of that, where am I?" He pressed his face to the bars, all his aches throbbing, especially his scratched eye. "I can't-" He quieted. Why was he speaking. Such a a fool. He didn't know where he was right now and here he was, running his mouth. He had just been, what, what was the word for this? Kidnapped? Abducted? And why? Why did who ever it was want him? Fear welled in Sebastian's body and he quelled the urge to scream, to release all of the emotion painlessly.

Sebastian shivered, his pale body quaking with the mixture of fear and coldness. He clutched at the bars and pressed his face against the coldness. The cool releif of the metal on his various bruises were counteracted by the throbbing in his head.

"Oh God, what did I ever do wrong?" He whispered hoarsely. Sebastian wasn't really religious. he was just one of those people who go to church during Christmas and all that lot. He didn't really believe that any celestial being that loved all his 'children' would make some of them suffer the way he did. But fear made his brain drop down a few levels on the rational scale. quite a few levels.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you." The Collector's cold voice cut through the atmosphere like a knife, his whole body was hidden by the shadows. "Make too much noise and you will get yourselves into a lot of trouble...wait, trouble is too tame a word"
As he spoke the tips of Adrian's mouth moved upwards, in a slightly insane smile, though "smile" is probably not the right word, it was more of a grimace. Slowly Adrian stepped forward revealing a tall figure with a masked face. Only the top half was masked, leaving his mouth visible. The Collector paced to the first case. Seeing Requiem, he grinned.
"Ahhhhhh. There's our young writer." Looking around Adrian noticed Seb and Heath standing at their doors. "Well, well, well if it isn't Heath Silver and Sebastean Matthews up as well. It seems we are just missing the company of the young artist... Well I suppose I should introduce myself.
" I am the Collector and I have managed to hold quite a few trophies in my lifetime. Not the least ofcource, are you. You have probably heard of me in the newspapers and of the last three. That is your future if you fail to keep me interested...and I assure you that is not the wisest thing to do.
"Not one of you is to attempt to escape, though I assume if you have any brains you would probably know this, not too mention it is futile and also that is a sure way out of here... if you don't mind leaving like the two boys. I can assure you it is no quick thing either. Any way enough talk, words are meaningless unless they produce something of interest. Requiem, I order you to start writing a small piece in tribute to my master collection. I can't think of any specific things it needs, however it better be flattering or you might just ending up wishing you had never written it. I will ask my assistant Michael, to provide paper and a pencil for you, and if any of you need something to do your job he will provide it. However any misbehaviour will result in him dealing out some rather unwanted pain, so I suggest you keep yourselves to yourselves"
As Adrian spoke he felt an overwhelming feeling of satisfaction. He had finally got the four he wanted. The last three really had been a waste. The only problem was Michael, he hadn't seen him for a while and he needed him before he could let any of them out of the cases to do what he wanted. It was really getting on his nerves, afterall he really felt like some music, he had Heath Silver for pity's sake! Yet letting him out would be a serious mistake, couldn't risk a retaliation.
Adrian frowned slightly, there was not much else to do but check the Box.
The Box was a carefully constructed black torture room. Specifically designed to induce fear and keep in sound. He hoped he would not have to use it too soon on the new lot, as it seemed to take some of the spirit our of their talents.

Inside a small room inside the police headquarters of Atlanta, Georgia sat Alana Richmond. The investigator was currently slumped over a table as she half heartedly listened to their suspect give the same excuse he'd been trying to pull over on them for almost two hours. "I swear it wasn't me! I was down the street in the coffeeshop when that guy was shot!" Huffing a sigh and narrowing her eyes at the man she almost growled out her response. "Your fingerprints were all over the gun sir so unless you ran from the coffee shop when you heard the shots, fondled the murder weapon and then promptly tossed it into the nearby ally then I would say you at least had a teensy bit to do with this shooting." Looking at her wide eyed, the man began to splutter excuses once more before stopping in mid sentence as Alana banged her fist on the table. "For the love of God! Just admit you did it so I can go home you tweaked out drug pusher!" Alana's partner who was sitting next to her could only cover his face with a sigh before muttering at her to calm down knowing very well it wouldn't work. The poor man was only spared her angry retort when her phone vibrated in her pocket and she quickly flipped it out, ignoring her partner's words that having her cellphone on her during an interrogation wasn't allowed. "Hush! I'm trying to look at a picture here." Once more resigning himself to defeat, the male officer continued to speak to their suspect as Alana grinned at the picture her cousin had just sent her before abruptly bolting up and making her way for the door. "Wait! Where are you going?" Her partner cried at her as she twisted the handle and stepped out of the stuffy room. "Sorry, gotta pick up ice cream." Shooting her a confused look, he opened his mouth to question her further but was met with the slam of a door as his unpredictable partner left in the middle of an interrogation for ice cream apparently. Shaking his head, he turned back to the suspect. "So here's the thing. You tell me what really happened and I'll make sure you never see her again. You keep telling me lies and I'll give her your home address." A frightened expression came over the man's face before he began pleading guilty.

Pulling up in her driveway Alana tugged the grocery bag containing her cousin's favored ice cream flavor out of the seat and made her way inside. This is just what she needed, a quiet night of watching movies and eating ice cream with Giselle after a hard day. A slight grin spread across her face as she pushed the front door open and called to her roomate. "Giselle? Hello? Hm, must be upstairs listening to music." After putting the ice cream away she made her way up the stairs and looked into her friend's room after knocking softly. "Giselle?" Furrowning her brow at the continued absence of the young woman she then began to check every room in the house until it was blaringly obvious that Giselle had never made it home. She knew the girl hadn't made it back at all because if for some reason she had to unexpectedly leave she would have left a note for Alana to find or would have texted her. No, no something was wrong she could just feel it in the pit of her stomach. Whipping out her phone quickly, she glanced over the picture her cousin had sent her and instantly recognized the bus stop number that was in the frame. "The hotel, she was in front of the hotel when she took this so maybe she's just waiting in the lobby for me to pick her up." She spoke outloud to herself, a habit she had when trying to calm herself down as she tried to rationalize just where her best friend could be.

Her car sped around turns as she made her way to the hotel that Giselle's art expo had been held at. This is where Alana would find her, yea, she would be right there just waiting for her. Nodding her head at this mental assurance, she squealed her brakes after slinging her vehicle into a parking spot and jumped from the car to make her way towards the lobby. "Excuse me? Yea um have you seen a small girl here waiting in the lobby or, here, she looks like this." Showing the desk clerk a picture she had of Giselle on her phone, the man furrowed his brow and shook his head in the negative. "No, no she never waited inside the lobby but I do remember seeing her wait outside at the bus stop for a few moments. I was on my smoke break and saw her there before I had to come in." Running a hand over her face, Alana just knew the growing pit of worry in her stomach was right. "Alright, alright thank you." Filing out of the lobby and into the night air, she once again flipped her phone open but this time to call her partner. "Hey! Hey Andy? Yea this is Alana. What? Yea I'm fine, I mean no, no I'm not fine. Listen, I need you to put in a missing persons report ok? Yea I have all the information on the person. How long? Well, see it's just, Giselle didn't come home tonight and I just know that something happened I can just feel it so she's been gone maybe four hours at the most. Oh I know good and well that there is a twenty four hour waiting period before they're considered missing but the acception to that rule is if there is concern for their safety and their whereabouts are unknown! This meets all those requirements! What? Andy come on I'm not overreacting! Just file the damn report!" Cutting the call off abruptly, Alana glared at the bench where Giselle was supposedly seen at last. Her eyes then scanned up towards the hotel and locked in on a camera that viewed the street and parking lot. That was it!

A quick, and illegal, flash of the badge later along with a well placed lie and Alana was looking through the security camera recordings. Good thing the desk clerk believed her well enough and didn't see fit to call the manager down here. That might have complicated things a bit. Praising her good luck, she scanned through the reels until she found the section she was looking for and played it. "There you are Giselle." Eyes locked onto the screen, she watched as a figure hidden in the shadows pulled her cousin away and her throat immediately clenched. "No! Shit I knew it! I knew I wasn't overreacting!" She yelled as she bolted out of her chair to take a copy of the recording to look closer at later. Yea so it was illegal evidence now but did that matter to her? Hell no and she was going to get her cousin back alive and well but only after making whoever took her pay.

Giselle Hartbridege

The sound of voices started to cascade around the room like a domino effect. First with what must have been a fist pounding on the door with a voice sounding like a young man. One. Then not long after the sound of scraping –Something pulled along the floor?- and a female voice. Two. Finally came the third voice, the one that sent the little bit of hope Giselle had sink back to the abyss it started in. A male voice asking where he was. He was in the same situation that she was. Not a rescuer. Three. Three separate voices, and none of which sounding in any better a condition.

Surprise dawning at how clear all the sounds were coming through the door, Giselle finally looked up to spot the barred window above her line of sight. Retracting herself from the wall she clung against, she reached her hand up and towards the bars, relieved to find that they were indeed open into who-knows-where. Yet what good would it do? Even if it was only good to see out of, knowing there were others; or even better, seeing these other souls; would be a comfort right about now.

The cool floor raced chill bumps up her legs and down her arms. Rationality deciding to show itself from whatever hole it crawled into since she woke up. She needed the chair to see through the bars, and lying across it’s surface was just the thing she needed. Since moving into the city Alana had tried to force at least a tazer on her to carry; and at the time seemed irrational to take everywhere; but she did agree to carry mace as opposed to her cousin threat to force her into jogging together at 4 A.M. every morning.

Bare feet padding across the room to the chair holding her blouse, Giselle open the front pocket… to nothing. Of course…Of course they’d check her clothes! Frustration spiking, the fabric soon found itself relocated as it was thrown against the far wall. Perhaps these women who used their bras as pockets had the right idea; but if she was searched herself, it was better to just leave that knowledge to the bliss of ignorance. Pushing off the rest of her clothes from the seat, Giselle pulled the chair across the room and in front of the door; only to stop as another voice answered all the others.

Air once again seeming unbearably thick to breathe as the words from this man started to sink in, the shaking figure slowly sat down in the chair she just moved. The Collector. The name sounded familiar, but where had she heard it from? And those names, they must be the other three she had heard before; and the one being told to write a book… Was that all they were here for? Entertainment?!

Panic settling in for a more prominent home, and paled from the fact this Collector noticed her absence, Giselle slowly stepped onto the chair to look out the bars and put a face to this man. It wasn’t until she was greeted with a mask instead as he was appearing to leave that her stomach dropped. It was only the other day she was looking for resources through different articles and came across the mention of a serial killer, along with the bodies and missing people’s report apparently connected to it; each one of which held the prominent mark that was causing her to rub a shaking hand across her neck. This man in the mask must be him. The one who left the mask mark on his victims. She was kidnapped by THE Collector.

Sebastian Matthews

An icy voice. Sebastian jerked his head up as if he could see the source of the noise. The voice threatened the occupants of the room before addressing each. A writer, Heath Silver, who Sebastian knew was a famous singer, himself, and the mention of an artist. What was this? Ah, he was the Collector. Sebastian had heard the talk. He'd not gotten the full story however, since reading the newspaper wasn't very easy to a blind boy and no one would bother to read it aloud to him. But he could guess what had happened to the others. Merely death would be bad enough. And it would be sure to be painful, judging by the tone of this voice.

That led Sebastian to a decision. Should he just be a good boy and do as he was told as he always did for his parents or speak out and escape this place the easy way? No, the latter would not do. Sebastian was to afraid of death to risk that. But the former...no, he didn't want to just be a good little boy. He'd put up with that his entire life, doing what other people told him to do. Anyway, Seb knew he would be balancing on a fine line anyway, seeing as he sometimes said things without thinking them through first. That would be his downfall, any bitter sarcastic remarks or rebellion of any kind. Damn.

Seb backed away from the door, feeling his way back to the bed. He was going to go back to sleep. He climbed back into the bed and closed his eye, curling up on one side so he faced the wall. His body ached so much and his head throbbed. Maybe this was all just a dream. A very vivid, painful dream. He sighed heavily and tried to relax. To drift back to sleep.

As the Collector entered the Box, he felt the familiar tingle of satisfaction. He had power, and oh, he was going to use everybit of it. He stopped infront of the old rack, it was another of his favourites. The only problem was if you went too far the subject would become crippled, and if they needed to stand, they were no longer useful. He also craved some new equiptment, but at the moment with those tiresome cops snooping around it was safer to keep the old and await the new.
He was quite intrigued by the Chinese's torture. Apparently they had a new one which would render the victim insane. It also wouldn't cost to much, though money wasn't really an issue. All you needed was space, concrete and a dripping hose. The concrete was put around the victims body leaving the head the only thing lose, and then the dripping began. The water would slowly drip onto their head and apparently after a while create a small dent.
One of the downsides was the time. It took numerous days for it to work, which of cource made it more horrible for the victim, but also more boring for the watcher.
Adrian moved away to the whipping post. It now had scratch marks all the way down it, from people gripping it with their hands. Suddenly a wave of boredom swept over the Collector and he grew rather angy.
Michael Vision, where are you?

Heath Silver

Heath waited a few moments as he started to assume that perhaps he was alone. Maybe this was just all some big misunderstanding and he would be let out if he made enough noise. But a feminine voice over ridded his thoughts and his fists clenched in an immediate response, who was sick enough to kidnap a girl too? His mind started to whir with thoughts of what had happened to the two of them, what where they going to do here. Heath didn't know if his celebrity status had anything to do with anything here, perhaps it was a mistake. But the third voice, the sound of a vulnerable man, made him seriously reconsider. This wasn't an accident, there were three of them in this place, something that made Heath go into a cold sweat. A bead of perspiration fell down his back and soaked up into the white boxers when it landed there. He shivered and tried to let his anger neutralize the fear he was feeling, knowing that if he wanted to get out of this place he would have to think rationally about it.

But his fear wasn't gone for long because soon a man came into the room, almost like he had just apparated out of nowhere, like in a Harry Potter film that Heath had watched before. But his message was way to menacing for his likes and soon he stepped forward to reveal a masked man with a lanky body and a sadistic smirk. Even with his busted creep radar, Heath shivered, this man was off. But as he started to tick of names, he realized two things, there were four of them and that each of them where celebrities. He had heard the names about and he shivered, so this was about their celebrity status. But things grew more grim as the conversation started to go on, he was The Collector for Christ sakes. He had heard about him, listened to him on the news and read him in the paper and Heath had concluded him as a sick fuck. Being captured by him always resulted in death.

The room once more felt way too hot for him and the craving for a cigarette was incredibly intense. He felt some more sweat fall down his torso and he shivered from the cold words of the man, he was stuck with a psycho. The man soon left but his presence was still felt by Heath. He shivered and pushed himself up against the door, letting the cool metal chill his sweating body. He didn't know what to do and felt the burden of their lives in his hands. There must have been something he could do, he had to. He couldn't just sit back and let this man run their lives; he needed to do something, something that would get them out of there. He knew that his manager, Mike Law would notice his disappearance when morning came, the man would report to the cops. Heath was always there in the morning where he was supposed to be, without fail. So that small thought gave him temporary solace.

But for now, he would have to make sure that these people would stay safe, he knew that the Sebastian kid was blind, he had heard it. And the other two, Giselle and Requiem were only girls. His head started to whir but nothing was coming up, the consistent craving for a cigarette incredibly strong. "Look, don't worry guys, we're going to get out of here, my manager will notice I'm missing and contact the police. I'm sure someone will notice you guys too, for now all we'll have to do is survive, okay?" Heath whispered his strong voice cutting through the air. His voice wasn't as calm as he wanted it to be and it still proved to falter just a bit but at the moment, it was the best he had.

Michael Vision had still failed to arrive after another hour, and Adrian was beginning to get bored of sharpening his favourite knife. The knife was jagged and it's smooth metallic surface was stained a dark red from one of his latest victims. The hilt was black and had been crafted especially for his hand. As he was admiring it's cold surface, he caught a glimpse of himself in his reflection. His crimson mask covered the upper part of his face. His eyes were surrondered by fierce looking black swirls and his lips were curled in his common grimace. His skin was pale, and his grey eyes stared from inside the depth of the mask. They were cold and searching, looking as though there was something he needed just outside his grasp. As he was admiring himself, there was a sound out in the corrodor. All at once his anger at Michael returned and Adrian found himself hurtling the knife and watched as it imbedded itself in the wall.
Adrian let his anger boil until he had had enough. Grabbing a gun he marched out of the Box and back into the corrodor.
"Right. All of you out. Anyone caught doing anything stupid gets a bullet through their flesh got it?"
As he spoke The Collector opened Heath Silver's door with a large iron key strung on his belt. He immediately pointed the gun straight at Heath's head and handed him the key.
"Open the other cell's" he ordered "And I can assure you this" he said guestering to the gun "is no toy".

Heath Silver

Heath hissed when he heard a voice, not that if anyone asked he would ever admit it. Heath wasn't the type to make any noises that would admit his fear, especially when he was in the state of mind that made him angered. He had never in his life before been this afraid; he was a carefree guy who sang for a living about just about anything. He hated this, what this man was doing to him, to them. So, he was hissing with fear, it was common sense anyways. He was kidnapped by a famous killer who would most probably kill him when he got bored, stuck in a dank dungeon of a place with people around him that made him want to protect him. This collector was a sick man and Heath thought he had no right to live.

But his voice, it made him feel like his creep meter was alive once more, it sent shivers up his spine. He wanted out, he wanted a smoke. Heath glanced at the man’s hands when he saw the indistinct blur of metal and he confirmed that it was a gun. He grimaced and still felt the sweat drop down his body, the long beads dripping from the nape of his neck to find itself on the low of his back. His forehead felt obscenely wet for the temperature of the room and he just wanted to dunk himself in a cool shower, just the way he enjoyed them.

He shook the thought off, the ideas of showers a rather absurd thought at the time and felt his attention go back to the psycho man in front of his apparently new home, something that he felt like referring to as a cage. The door creaked open and a cool shiver ran through his body despite the heat he was feeling. Heath felt his heat increase once more as the gun was pointed to his head and felt this strange feeling he had never felt before whirring through his body. It felt like time had slowed down and the gun was just focused on his head, an odd sensation of energy rushing through his veins. He knew that he had an adrenaline rush, but felt disappointment course through him when he knew he couldn't do anything about it. The man had a gun for Christ Sake and he knew for a fact that he wouldn't hesitate to shoot him.

He took the key from the man with a nod, the cool metal feeling wonderful on his hot skin. He swallowed despite his mouth being incredibly dry and nodded to The Collectors threat, he had alreasy assumed it was a real gun. "I believe you." He muttered in an odd voice, dry from the lack of water. He walked up to the authors door first, unlocking it with just a small amount of difficulty; the drugs still lingering in his system. He let her out and continued to the Artists door, letting her out two. He didn't bother looking back but he had a feeling that the Collector had good aim at the three of them, probably alternating.

When he got to the musicians, Sebastian’s door, he faltered. He unlocked it then turned to the Collector. "Look, I'm gonna help him out, the kid can't see." He told the Collector, his voice still raspy from lack of water along with years of smoking.

Oh God, smoking. He needed one, badly.

He shook his head and walked inside of his room, grabbing the guy by his arm lightly, trying to convey to him to just keep calm. He balled his fist up with his other hand and lead the kid out of his 'home', hoping he wasn't insulting him or anything, he just didn't want him to feel even more lost in this fucking place.

He let go of Seb and walked up to the Collector slowly, feeling the intense, one eyed glare of the fun pointed to his forehead. "Here are the keys. Any chance you're bringing us to smokes and water?" He inquired, his voice faltering at the word smokes. Man, he seriously needed one. He handed the man his keys and then inched back, falling into safety with the others.