Crowe's Story

[Spyder]

Crowe, about 6'2", long brown hair, kind of boney. A character I've been cooking up for the original fic I'm writing. Thoughts and suggestions welcome.


It’s funny how time flies when you’re fulfilling life’s great needs. I know that’s not the expression but I’d feel dishonest marking up my experiences as simple fun. I seem to be living an exceptionally violent life and I can’t be certain why. Is it because there’s always a weapon handy or is there some kind of emotional cue that I lack? The ability to end someone’s life on a whim is just not anthropologically sound. Surely there’s supposed to be some reaction that tells you that killing every person in a crowded room is detrimental to the survival of your species. Still, you run into a simple logical problem after the first body hits the floor; there are few situations where it won’t be necessary to finish the rest of the crowd.

“You could try not killing the first one.” One person once postulated moments before he reached his end. While that is an interesting idea I’m quite convinced that in each situation the first one was necessary, thus the necessity grew to the subsequent deaths. I’m not really a bad person when you consider that the number of people I actually intend to kill pales in comparison to the number of comrades, supporters, authority figures and witnesses that would if not for the unfortunate events that placed them in harms way would otherwise be alive today. How could I be blamed for simply following through with necessity?

I’ve had to come to the conclusion that my actions are not the result of instinct but are logical solutions to situations that are otherwise beyond my control. I need to spill some blood; I need to murder someone within the next hour and in the worst possible way. It’s their voice, the words they say, I’m sick of hearing “Security!” and “Help!” and “Please, not my legs!” being screamed at me, I’m not fucking deaf! It pains me that people sometimes think that I want to do what I do, I do but my wanting isn’t any greater then my needs and the desire certainly doesn’t exist before the requirement. See, people think that I get up in the morning and go looking for organs to remove; this couldn’t be further from the truth. If the world would let me exist from one day to the next without taking a single life then it wouldn’t happen. I could live my life and allow the rest of the bottoms feeders to do the same.

I can only barely remember when the need first arose. It’s been a while, a number of lifetimes for some people, that part I’ll explain later. I was on a plane, they sent me to what at the time was known as the United States to attend a seminar on...you know what, I don’t even remember. I can remember that I once had that memory, but it now escapes me. There was the plane, but I don’t remember anything before that or immediately afterwards.

I was having a polite conversation with some officials for some mundane purpose when I suddenly became very uncomfortable. I suppose it was because I didn’t like the way the conversation was going, as I mentioned before my memory here is a little sketchy. What I do remember is that one of the people in the room had a weapon, pure convenience. The people in that room weren’t the only ones to fall that day. It was then that I noticed that some people react badly to loud noises, particularly ones coming from their fellow colleagues and the instruments used to stimulate their newfound vocal acuity. Obviously there was blood and lots off it. Still it must be said that you don’t realize how full of it people are until you pop a few of them open.

Where was I... oh yes, uniforms and the people that wear them. I can remember this part a little more clearly. More loud noises, I think someone set an alarm off, that’s usually when people in uniform will arrive and behave in an alarmingly threatening manner. I also learned that interactions with them vary in difficulty depending on the uniform. Once you’re through the uniform though they’re all skin, blood, spines and various miscellaneous articles that belong in the medical books.

A lot of people had to die that day and not one of them could see why. None of them could see it from my point of view but looking back on those events it really doesn’t matter. Perhaps in their situation I suppose I’d do the same, pressure brings out some strange impulses in people.

Still, while I can forgive the lack of consideration some people exhibit when faced with their own end the one thing that really angers me is the downright hypocrisy displayed by those who would consider themselves my moral superiors, telling me that I’m the one who’s wrong and that there are going to be consequences. This one guy expected me to come straight out and tell him why I do what I do when he could even answer a similar question about himself. You see, this particular man doesn’t even know what he does or why he does it. I at least know what I do, as to why I do it; I frankly don’t feel the need to justify it.

The encounter with this man, Nick I believe his name was, is something I remember with absolutely clarity as he’s one of the select few I haven’t been able to kill so far; something I intend to correct at my earliest convenience. Someone was watching out for him that day. Before I could deliver his end his benefactor decided to intervene on his behalf.

There’s more discontinuity among my memories at this point which has frustrated me no end, what’s been of some comfort though is that my memory since then has been perfect. I can recall with absolute precision every event that I have experienced from the moment I opened my eyes amongst the packing crates to now.

I staggered out of a storage compartment to be greeted by two dock-workers; at least I assume that’s what they were. I barely had a moment to ask them what was going on when one of them abruptly announces to the other that I was holding a weapon. The other yelled security, hit a button and we have alarms again. The entire encounter just simply irritated me. The workers were right though, I’m not sure where it came from but I did have a weapon. Quite a nice one too, I shot the workers in the back as they ran away and it managed to punch straight though the body armour of the security personnel that showed up.

I’d already amassed an artful body count before any answers were forthcoming. Truly fascinating stuff, after confirming the date it turned out that my encounter with Nick took place close to five hundred years ago. It wasn’t even Earth anymore, not even the same solar system. The sheer scope of these revelations were mind boggling, at least they would be for anyone else but for me the truth was obvious; I had a benefactor of my own.

This new life is truly wondrous. Given the right tools I can do things that you couldn’t even imagine. What little desire I had to live and let live is leaving me, I need to start killing again. Nick, I know you’re there. I don’t know what they want from me but I’m willing to bet it has something to do you with. Killing you and all those that stand with you is the only thing that’s going to give me any sense of fulfilment, or maybe release.

[darthdavid]

Heh heh heh. I like it when people die.

[Spyder]

He makes that happen a lot. He's not actually the main bad guy, it's just something he does.