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[M] Revenge may be wicked, but it’s natural
2 posters
Messages : 298
IC Posts : 201
Kaye Mercer
Voices echoed through the space as three men were pushed inside. Briefly shattering the silence that hung in the dilapidated space. Inside, the air hung heavy with the scent of dust and decay. Dilapidated windows, some shattered and others boarded up, allowed slivers of pale moonlight to pierce through the darkness, casting eerie shadows across the space. Stacks of forgotten crates, their contents long gone or left to rot, formed uneven aisles that created a labyrinth within the vast expanse.
The echoes of footsteps reverberated off the cold, concrete walls, creating an unsettling symphony as Kaye's crew navigated the desolation. Dim, flickering lights swung sporadically from frayed cables overhead, casting sudden pools of light on the stained and cracked floor below. Forgotten machinery, now covered in a shroud of dust, loomed like skeletal remains of a once-bustling operation.
In the center of the warehouse, an open area served as an impromptu holding space. Rusted chains hung from the ceiling, remnants of an industrial past, ready to be repurposed for a more immediate and darker need. Her men briefly secured the premise, though there was hardly any need. This was a place she would use on more occasions, though it was not officially marked as a Syndicate warehouse. Ruisang had no place hanging out in a Syndicate warehouse, and had to move out of her usual area of operations.
It quickly became clear to Kaye that these men were not the usual small fry she was used to dealing with. Resulting in the whole ordeal taking up the entire day and the majority of the evening. It wasn’t until the moon had fully risen and the city had gone to sleep, that she had put down her pliers. The message clear to the two men. Both of them, safe for the last one.
He was currently still strung up in the middle of the room, bright ceiling light bathing him in cold light, wrists bound to the ceiling with a rusty chain that had dug red, bloody streaks deep into his skin. He had been forced to watch as his crew had been mercilessly subjected to various methods of torture. Deliberately left unharmed, saved from a small bruise forming on the back of his head where he had been struck during their capture. The area surrounding him was now stained in blood and piss, left by his comrades who were held in a room in the back until Ruisang would be done with the man hanging from the ceiling.
Kaye sat perched on a rusty chair, shrouded in shadows. Wisps of smoke curled around her as the occasional glow from the tip of her cigarette punctuated the darkness. In stark contrast to her previous encounters, Kaye's knuckles bore no signs of the usual wear and tear. This time, she had meticulously armed herself with an array of tools, each chosen with calculated precision to elicit the desired responses from the men before her. Tools that were stained and lay in a discarded heap on the dust covered floor and metal table settled next to the chained man’s dangling legs.
Her eyes fell on the door on the far end when she heard the creaking echoing through the room. Hushed voices sounded, indicating that Ruisang had arrived. The Syndicate member stepped aside to let the younger man inside and Kaye rose to her feet, approaching him as she stepped into the light to await his arrival. His footsteps echoing through the hollow room as he approached. Her shirt hung slightly open, hair falling in messy strains past her face. The only thing that revealed just how long she had been here and how much effort had gone into the entire operation. Yet her eyes were still alert. Shining with eager interest in Ruisang’s arrival. And everything that was to come after.
Character sheet
Icon:
Relationship:
Nickname: K, Mercer
Age: 30
Birthday: 25 February 1994
Occupation: Lieutenant (The Syndicate)
Sexuality: Lesbian
Messages : 1276
IC Posts : 981
Ruìsāng SūBlessed by ????
In the warehouse, shadows loomed like guardians of the damned. The air was saturated with the metallic tang of blood and an acrid odour of raw fear. At its heart, the man was suspended, a marionette of flesh and bone. His wrists, chafed to raw, bleeding flesh, stood in contrast to the chains that ensnared him.
Ruìsāng approached, his gaze icy, devoid of mercy. He circled the man, each step a silent threat, the embodiment of predation. The man’s ragged gasps pierced the heavy silence, a desperate rhythm against the macabre drip of his own blood.
Leaning in, Ruìsāng’s breath was a frigid caress against the man’s ear. “
The man’s foreign words were met with Ruìsāng’s dismissive scoff. “
“Scopolamine, ” Ruìsāng announced, his tone eerily calm as he flicked the syringe, “They call it the Devil’s Breath. Ever wonder why? ” His smile was gentle yet utterly devoid of warmth. “Perhaps you’ll help me understand which aspect is most... enlightening, ” he mused, plunging the needle into the man’s flesh with a surgeon's precision.
“As the hallucinations take hold, you'll feel cursed, trapped in a nightmare of your own making. A victim to your own mind, if you will, ” Ruìsāng narrated, discarding the syringe with a casual flick. “Then there's the memory loss. Or perhaps the most terrifying - the risk of forced compliance, becoming a puppet, ” he mused, turning away from the man, his back a final, chilling barrier.
Fear, Ruìsāng knew, was the ultimate destroyer. It wasn’t the wounds of the flesh but the relentless onslaught of terror that shattered the mind.
He dragged a chair to sit before his captive audience, the embodiment of patient malevolence. He watched, a silent predator, as the minutes ticked by, each one stretching into an eternity of psychological torment.
“You’re still holding on, aren’t you? Impressive for the ‘Scarlet Reaper’, ” Ruìsāng taunted, his voice dripping with false admiration. Another dose of the devilish concoction followed, deepening the man’s descent into the abyss of his own psyche.
As the drug took hold, Ruìsāng observed the transformation with clinical detachment. Dilated pupils, laboured breathing, a rash spreading like wildfire across the man’s skin. His vision blurred, his body restless, he began to react to figments of his imagination, reaching out to shadows that danced just beyond his grasp.
After a torturous half-hour, Ruìsāng spoke again, his voice a velvet threat. “You haven’t begun to regret your actions yet, but you will, ” he promised, a smile playing on his lips. He retrieved a small knife, its blade glinting ominously in the flickering light. Beckoning Hēixié to light a small fire, he prepared the blade for his final act of vengeance. “An eye for an eye, as they say. You left a mark on someone dear to me. Now, it's your turn, ” he stated, the twisted innocence in his smile a stark contrast to the malevolence in his eyes. The sound of soft shuffling filled the air, followed by the flicker of a flame springing to life, casting dancing shadows across Ruìsāng’s face. He had left Lìeyàn with Vince, but Hēixié was the perfect instrument for today’s grim work.
“This will be a promise, not for today, not for tomorrow, but for the future, ” Ruìsāng whispered, circling the man like a vengeful spirit. Gripping the man's chin with a bandaged hand, he intoned, “Stay very still. This must be perfect, ” his smile twisted as he etched the character 死, death, into the flesh behind the man’s ear.
The hallucinations peaked as Ruìsāng carved his mark, the man’s screams melding with the cacophony of his imagined terrors. Ruìsāng sat back, watching the man's descent into madness.
The vomiting, a grim but expected response to the overdose, only added to the nightmarish tableau. Ruìsāng occasionally dragged the blade against the man’s skin, eliciting cries of agony in a language he didn’t understand. But understanding was unnecessary; the man’s suffering spoke volumes.
“
Fear, Ruìsāng knew, was the ultimate destroyer. It wasn’t the wounds of the flesh but the relentless onslaught of terror that shattered the mind.
He dragged a chair to sit before his captive audience, the embodiment of patient malevolence. He watched, a silent predator, as the minutes ticked by, each one stretching into an eternity of psychological torment.
“
As the drug took hold, Ruìsāng observed the transformation with clinical detachment. Dilated pupils, laboured breathing, a rash spreading like wildfire across the man’s skin. His vision blurred, his body restless, he began to react to figments of his imagination, reaching out to shadows that danced just beyond his grasp.
After a torturous half-hour, Ruìsāng spoke again, his voice a velvet threat. “
“
The hallucinations peaked as Ruìsāng carved his mark, the man’s screams melding with the cacophony of his imagined terrors. Ruìsāng sat back, watching the man's descent into madness.
The vomiting, a grim but expected response to the overdose, only added to the nightmarish tableau. Ruìsāng occasionally dragged the blade against the man’s skin, eliciting cries of agony in a language he didn’t understand. But understanding was unnecessary; the man’s suffering spoke volumes.
Finally, as blood pooled on the floor and the man’s cries turned to desperate pleas, Ruìsāng demanded, “
The answer, a repeated, desperate “Yes,” was music to his ears.
Standing, Ruìsāng declared, “
Character sheet
Icon:
Relationship:
Nickname: Sāng
Age: 23
Birthday: 14 / 12
Occupation: Bartender & 4th year bachelor (hospitality management)
Sexuality: Gay
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