No Falling Down Once We Begin (ARX)

A letter? Sure, I had had my fair share of orders and other important documents shoved my way, but a letter? There really was nothing to do but chuckle. Fan mail - about time. I had been growing a bit bored of the usual things any how, so I guess it wasn't so bad that I was receiving a letter that seemed so ... girly. I respected everyone in the force and I understood that no one could ever really be as good as me, but the girls always disappointed me when it came to interrogations. Most of them just didn't know how to make it fun. No alcohol to pour in the open wounds? No removing fingernails? No cigars to put out on their backs? Come on. There had to be someone who could at least compete with me, right?

Elliot Bronson. I'd heard of her before, but only briefly. She was stationed in four currently (I've done my research, just like any good officer would) and if I recall correctly is one of the newer members of the force. Though I guess most everyone is new to me now that I have been so wrapped up in this whole Killjoys and BL/ind business. No matter. I had frilly handwriting, a pink sheet of paper, perfume filling my office, and a rather charming lipstick stain that said someone was noticing me.

I light my cigar and settle down in my chair, picking out some more official looking paper and grab at the red pen on my desk.

Miss "Lee" Bronson, correct?

Certainly a way to introduce yourself, though I must admit, I have been enticed. You want me to quench your imagination, yes? That is what you are asking for? The short answer is yes. Yes I am most certainly the a soulless monster, more ruthless than anyone you have ever met (or dreamed of ... You seem the type that likes it rough, yes?), and as for all those "rumors" you have been hearing, I'm sure every single one of them really is just a lie. You see, I am so damn brilliantly sadistic that there is no way that anyone could put it into words accurately. And, if you truly are as devilish as you think, something tells me you won't be able to resist meeting me. And I must add, I wouldn't mind meeting you, seeing as I don't believe that you are nearly as cruel as you say. I would, however, love to see you prove me wrong.

The Scarecrow

P.S. This doesn't mean send me the tongue of the last person you interrogated. Forgive me if I gave that impression.

I smile, tossing the pen aside and removing the cigar from my mouth. I press the end of it onto the piece of paper. It burns a small, blackened hole in the otherwise blemish-less sheet of white. I rummage through my desk drawers then, grabbing at a manila envelope, sliding the paper in after it has stopped spitting off smoke. I pick up the pen again after sealing the envelope and scrawl, Enjoy on the front before throwing it into my outbox. I could have fun with this pen-pal thing.

When another letter popped up on my desk all I could really manage to do was chuckle. I was also glad that I wouldn't have to be filling out some forms as to why I had received a package with a tongue or some internal organ hidden within. Perhaps this girl really was better than I thought. Now the real question was: Why hadn't I heard of her before if she was so damn good? Something was telling me that she liked to hide it, or perhaps wasn't even fully aware of her capabilities or how far she could push her authority. But then again, maybe she was just some crazy school girl who had some crush on a boy with inked skin, a motorcycle, and a bad rep.

Either way, I suppose I don't mind. For now. If this grew into an annoyance later I would make sure I got someone of higher rank to fix the problem. Or perhaps I would be taking a vacation to deal with her myself. But those actions seemed far off for the moment. And after a few days of mulling over her response, I finally sit down and snatch up the red pen, and begin.

Miss Bronson,

I would complain about how horribly you restrain yourself, but I must admit I enjoy your enthusiasm. And I am thoroughly impressed with your response. Yes, that's right, I am impressed. Your words speak wonders. Of course I still can't completely be impressed by you, seeing as I have not seen these words in action before, but I can see you really are that special kind of person that knows how to break someone. And not just in the physical sense like so many Peacekeepers do now-a-days, but mentally and emotionally. Tell me, do you study the criminals you are to interrogate beforehand? Do you look into their worst fears to see what will frighten them the most? I've even managed to get permission to bring in a boy's mother in order to get said boy to give us vital information that we needed. It really was interesting to say the least. I'm glad you know the difference between hurting someone and hurting someone. Though, you must admit, it's still fun to cut a tongue from someone's throat.

The Scarecrow

P.S. Hope you don't mind if that picture is hanging on my wall.

I fold the paper and slide it in another envelope, scrawling Enjoy on the front yet again before digging through my own file folder and finding an old picture of me. An old mug shot from years ago. I still had tattoos crawling up my neck, but the usual cigar dangling from my lips was not yet present. I flip it over and add, For your collection before tossing it in the envelope with the letter. A cigar burn and a picture? Wasn't she a lucky girl ...