Nevyn_Black
Literotica Guru
- Joined
- Jun 18, 2011
- Posts
- 9,531
Shadow on the Sun
Jaime was dreaming as he slept in a two room flat located somewhere in the Glades. His muscular frame twitched and spasmed, sweating with the intensity of the nightmare. Finally, with a deep, horrified gasp, he sat straight up, awake.
He panted for air as he slid his legs over the edge of the bed and sat with his face in his hands. All he could see was a camp in the woods of rural Virginia...
Jaime had worked hard to earn a doctorate in Abnormal Psychology, joining the FBI and becoming a criminal profiler. It had made sense at the time, the perfect cover for a crime fighter. He had access to law enforcement data bases and resources, but since he was a specialist, he had more freedom than the average field agent.
He didn't take into account the emotional cost of the work. It was one thing to go up against evil aliens or multidimensional creeps. Even mutated people could easily be classified in his mind as 'monsters' and the fallout of dealing with them overcome. But what about human monsters who didn't have those excuses?
Three years into his career, Jaime got a case to hunt down a serial killed called The Skinner. Dubs so because his victims were found hanging from meat hooks, completely skinned and drained of blood, like a hunter would field dress a deer.
For 9 months Jaime used everything at his disposal, even the powers of the Blue Beetle, to find the killer. When he finally tracked him down, the real horror was revealed. Ryan Gates was a local Sheriff in Loudoun county, Va. He had a home just outside a small unincorporated town called Bloomfield. A small place, just a log cabin his grandfather had built and his father expanded.
It was isolated, but close to populated areas. Hard to get to, but easy to reach anywhere you wanted from. Ryan used his authority as a police officer to pull over college co-eds and other single female drivers, and he kept them all chained in a concrete bunker, like a kennel. On full moon nights, he would run them through the woods and hunt them like game.
Jaime went in alone and freed the girls, who had been physically, emotionally and sexually abused, some of them for months. Then he went looking for Gates...
The man bragged about what he had done and offered to 'let Jaime in on the game'. That was when Jaime killed him.
It was Jaime. Not the Scarab. Not some alien urge to destroy, or some compulsion, but a cold, rational choice. Jaime had pulled his sidearm and put a .40 round through the face of a fellow human being, not even blinking at the muzzle flash, or the warm blow-back that spattered his face when Gate's brains blew out the back of his skull. For long moments as night rose up around him, Jaime just stared.
He destroyed the body, using the Blue Beetle armor to desentigrate it with a molecular destabilizer. No modern forensic science would be able to find anything but trace evidence. Then, Jaime turned in his resignation and walked away...
Now, almost a year later and he still woke up every night from the memory of it.
Still breathing erratically, Jaime stood and walked to the dirty curtain over his single window, glancing out on the night. He wondered what he hoped to find in this city. Was it his destiny? Or maybe his punishment?
Jaime had never felt so cold or alone in his life.
Jaime was dreaming as he slept in a two room flat located somewhere in the Glades. His muscular frame twitched and spasmed, sweating with the intensity of the nightmare. Finally, with a deep, horrified gasp, he sat straight up, awake.
He panted for air as he slid his legs over the edge of the bed and sat with his face in his hands. All he could see was a camp in the woods of rural Virginia...
Jaime had worked hard to earn a doctorate in Abnormal Psychology, joining the FBI and becoming a criminal profiler. It had made sense at the time, the perfect cover for a crime fighter. He had access to law enforcement data bases and resources, but since he was a specialist, he had more freedom than the average field agent.
He didn't take into account the emotional cost of the work. It was one thing to go up against evil aliens or multidimensional creeps. Even mutated people could easily be classified in his mind as 'monsters' and the fallout of dealing with them overcome. But what about human monsters who didn't have those excuses?
Three years into his career, Jaime got a case to hunt down a serial killed called The Skinner. Dubs so because his victims were found hanging from meat hooks, completely skinned and drained of blood, like a hunter would field dress a deer.
For 9 months Jaime used everything at his disposal, even the powers of the Blue Beetle, to find the killer. When he finally tracked him down, the real horror was revealed. Ryan Gates was a local Sheriff in Loudoun county, Va. He had a home just outside a small unincorporated town called Bloomfield. A small place, just a log cabin his grandfather had built and his father expanded.
It was isolated, but close to populated areas. Hard to get to, but easy to reach anywhere you wanted from. Ryan used his authority as a police officer to pull over college co-eds and other single female drivers, and he kept them all chained in a concrete bunker, like a kennel. On full moon nights, he would run them through the woods and hunt them like game.
Jaime went in alone and freed the girls, who had been physically, emotionally and sexually abused, some of them for months. Then he went looking for Gates...
The man bragged about what he had done and offered to 'let Jaime in on the game'. That was when Jaime killed him.
It was Jaime. Not the Scarab. Not some alien urge to destroy, or some compulsion, but a cold, rational choice. Jaime had pulled his sidearm and put a .40 round through the face of a fellow human being, not even blinking at the muzzle flash, or the warm blow-back that spattered his face when Gate's brains blew out the back of his skull. For long moments as night rose up around him, Jaime just stared.
He destroyed the body, using the Blue Beetle armor to desentigrate it with a molecular destabilizer. No modern forensic science would be able to find anything but trace evidence. Then, Jaime turned in his resignation and walked away...
Now, almost a year later and he still woke up every night from the memory of it.
Still breathing erratically, Jaime stood and walked to the dirty curtain over his single window, glancing out on the night. He wondered what he hoped to find in this city. Was it his destiny? Or maybe his punishment?
Jaime had never felt so cold or alone in his life.