I Don't Care
Inside the dimly-lit room, I looked down to the unloaded gun floating in my magical aura, a beautiful specimen. The SIG Brayer P250 in my vision was chambered in 9mm ammunition. It was my favorite tool. The lights flickered off, then on, as a peal of thunder rumbled outside.
I looked up from the beauty. The window was streaked with rain, I calmly trotted over to it, taking in the sights spread out below me. Approximately 50 stories below, I could make out the tops of umbrellas slowly moving along the crowded street. The rest of the city spread out before me. I paid no heed to the view of the lake oftentimes described as one of the most beautiful sights in the world. I didn’t care, why should I? It was just the scenery.
A muffled sound came from behind me. I remained expressionless and simply turned around. An earth pony stallion looked at me, a stallion who was bound and gagged. I made my way over to my bed, on top of which was a case. Inside of that case, was a box of subsonic 9mm muzzle ammo and a SIG Brayer SRD9 suppressor. I liked SIG products, they were well-made and effective. And most importantly, my supplier didn’t ask questions when I bought them off him. Of course, in order to keep ends met, and everything hush-hush, it cost more, but I didn’t care. I had money, and he had a product. That’s all that mattered.
I released the empty magazine from inside of the handgun, then began loading it. All the while, the stallion in the room was glaring at me. I resisted a shrug. Why should I care? He knew what was going to happen, the same as me. Before long, I had 13 rounds in the magazine. Calmly I slid the magazine back into the firearm, and then levitated up the suppressor. A marvelous piece of technology, I wouldn’t even require ear protection. I then got to work twisting the suppressor onto the firearm. Once the suppressor was secured in place, I racked the chamber. Making sure the safety was on, a thought struck me. One round in the chamber made room enough for one more round in the magazine. I silently turned back to the bed, released the magazine and loaded one more round into it. There we go, 14 shots now. I turned back to the stallion.
Slowly, calmly, I made my way over to him. In his eyes, I saw fear, but he was helpless, the ropes were much too strong. His ears were flat against his head. I stopped a few hoof lengths from him, and crouched down so I could look him in the eye. His eyes begged silently for mercy. He wouldn’t tell anypony, he just wanted to be freed and wouldn’t breathe a word of this to anypony. I didn’t care, I floated the now extended barrel to his forehead, and flicked the safety off. He seemed to give up, and closed his eyes. I pulled the trigger, and his body slumped to the ground, blood starting to run down his face, staining the suit he wore.
Before I got up, I noted the style used by Buckerson and Sheppard. This stallion was well-dressed. Such a shame to ruin such a nice suit. I switched the safety on, and made my way to the bed. Setting the handgun carefully onto the bed, I turned to the Braynard Weatherhill suit I had taken off, due to the possibility of blood splatters. I took off the shirt I was wearing, choosing a clean, white one to take its place. I then pulled on the suit, inside of which was a holster I could use for concealment. I holstered the handgun and buttoned up the tailored suit. Straightening my collar, I exited the apartment. Before I closed and locked the door, I hung a “Do not disturb.” sign on the knob. After closing the door, I made my way to the elevator.
***
About fifteen minutes of trotting later, I was at a house. I floated out a slip of paper from my saddlebags. The address over the door matched the one on the paper. Good. I walked up to the door, and knocked.
“Just a moment!” A pleasant voice called from inside. I put on the best somber face I could, and stood straight. The door glowed purple, and suddenly opened. A pretty, young unicorn face looked up to me.
“Oh, hello! How are you this fine evening?” she asked.
“I’m afraid that I have some… troubling news, Ms. Breeze.” Her face suddenly fell.
“Oh no! Is it Rocky?” She asked worriedly. I nodded. An expression of pain crossed her face.
“Well… I just finished a kettle of tea… you wouldn’t mind discussing whatever is going on inside, would you?”
“Of course not, Ms. Breeze.” I said respectfully.
“Well, come in. It’s best you don’t stay out in the rain. Such a cold, dreadful night.”
“Indeed it is, Ms. Breeze.” She opened the door further, and gestured for me to enter. The house I was in looked casually pleasant. Modestly furnished, but the furniture quality reminded me of the Hôtel des Invalides. This family clearly possessed great wealth. Such a shame they wouldn’t be able to enjoy their comfortable lives for much longer. As I sat down on a cushioned seat before a polished oak dining table, Ms. Breeze floated me a cup of steaming tea that smelled of mint.
Reaching out with my magic and taking a hold of it, I lifted it up, and took a sip. The liquid was just the perfect temperature. Not scalding to my tongue, but still hot. I set the cup down on the saucer she had set before me and patiently waited for her to seat herself across from me.
“I just put the kids to bed, so it’s at least a small stroke of fortune you arrived when you did.” I put on a knowing smile.
“Believe me Ms. Breeze, luck had nothing to do with it. I have humbly come to your door to inform you of an occurrence most unfortunate. Your Husband, Rocky Breeze, was found shot dead on the street this evening.” I heard a quiet gasp of pain, and softened my face a touch, making it look as if I was sympathetic to her sorrow.
“You have my most sincere condolences, Ms. Breeze. I was a good friend of your late husband’s.”
“How…” she whispered. “How do you know?” I sighed, keeping up the ruse.
“I… was the one unfortunate enough to be selected to break the news to you. Your husband was one of our best workers… and he was a good stallion, a good friend. He will be missed dearly.” I made my voice crack at the end of that sentence, then pulled out a handkerchief. Drying fake tears that were running down my face. Ms. Breeze stood up, and went over to me to embrace me. And we cried together for a time. The cold tears of a crocodile running down my face, the warm tears of sorrow running down hers. As I held her, my magic reached behind my suit, closing around the handle of the handgun I had concealed there.
“Don’t worry Ms. Breeze.” I whispered. “Hush now, soon you will hurt no more.” She continued to sob against me. “It’s okay…” I said softly, “I’m here for you.” I pulled the gun out from under my suit, and careful not to touch her, aimed it at the side of her head. I pulled the trigger. Blood spattered across my suit, and Ms. Breeze started choking.
I gently pushed her off of me, and she fell to the ground. I stood up, and carefully walked over her body, towards the plush, crimson, carpeted stairway. Silently making my way up the stairs, I saw three rooms. All were dark. I walked up to the first door, and quietly opened it. The hinges were newly oiled, and it opened silently. I saw a large queen-sized bed with two figures on it. Both elderly, and sound asleep. I crept up to the bed, and pulled the trigger twice. The white, silk sheets, now stained crimson, had the bodies of Rocky Breeze’s parents. I silently closed the door, and made my way to the next. There were still two young foals to be put to silence.
***
While the filly was asleep, and young, the colt was teenaged, and awake. He put up a bit of a fight. But he too was now silently resting on a silken bed of crimson. I made my way down the stairway, and walked over to the door. There was a knock. I quietly opened the door a crack, to see who it was.
“Oh, um… excuse me sir, but where might Emerald Breeze be at?”
“Ms. Breeze is asleep at the moment. Shall I pass a word to her when she arises in the morning?”
“Oh, well, I suppose. Who are you though?”
“I’m the new butler Master Breeze hired. I apologize that you weren’t informed.”
“It’s not a problem, the Breezes aren’t necessarily known for passing on important information to friends and neighbors. They’re just so forgetful sometimes!” The two of us shared a light chuckle at that. I cleared my throat.
“A thousand pardons ma’am, I really shouldn’t be talking about the good master and his fair wife like that.”
“Don’t worry about it, it’ll be our little secret.” She said with a smile. “Now, make sure she is informed in the morn, that she mustn’t forget about attending the company banquet tomorrow evening.”
“I’ll make sure she is informed Mrs….” I trailed off.
“Oh, silly me. Of course, she must not have told you about me yet. My name is Claudia Petals. Please let her know that it was me who informed you.” I smiled.
“Very well, Mrs. Petals. Have a pleasant night.”
“You too Mr…..” She trailed off.
“I normally go by Dark Meadow, but for you, my dear, I’m Cicero.” She giggled.
“Such a fine-mannered gentlestallion. Say, if you ever have time, you wouldn’t mind breaking to have a luncheon sometime in the future, would you, Cicero?” I smiled again.
“It would be my pleasure Mrs. Petals.”
“Oh please, just call me Claudia.”
“Very well, Mrs.-- I mean Claudia.” I said, faking a slip-up to give the impression of awkwardness. She let out a pleasant little giggle.
“Very well, Cicero. It’s a date. Have a good night.”
“You as well, Claudia.” I said. She waved, and turned around to walk away. It was then that I stepped fully out of the door, and aimed a shot at the back of her head. I pulled the trigger. She fell to the ground, dead before she hit it. I didn’t bother cleaning up the mess. There was no need. May as well give the authorities at least some form of a lead. After all, why should I care?
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Well, that was edgy.
First of all, the feeding ramp is polished to a mirror sheen. It's not going to have any feeding problems. The slide's been replaced with a reinforced version. And it meshes perfectly with the frame. The frame itself has been iron-welded and scraped down multiple times for maximum precision. The front strap part of the frame has been checkered to make it dig into the hand. That prevents any slipping. The sight system's original, too. It's a 3-dot type. It's got an enlarged front sight, giving it superior target sighting capability. The regular hammer's been replaced with a ring hammer. That enhances the cocking control and increases the hammer-down speed. They also reworked the grip safety to accommodate the ring hammer. Looks like they eliminated it altogether. This is a tool for pros. The thumb safety and the slide stop are extended to allow for more precise handling. The base of the trigger guard is whittled down, so you can use a high grip. And the trigger itself is a long type for easy finger access. The trigger pull is about 3.5 pounds. That's about a pound and a half lighter than normal. The magazine well has been widened to make it easier to put in a new magazine. The magazine catch button has been cut down low to make it harder to hit by accident. The mainspring housing has been changed to a flat type to increase grip. And it's even been fitted with stepping so that it doesn't slip from the recoil when firing. On top of that, they added cocking serrations to the front part of the slide. That lets you load and eject cartridges faster in an emergency. Whoever did this is a professional. No question - this thing could shoot a one-hole at 25 yards in a machine rest.
10857178
Where'd she get something like that?
Well, um, all I can think is edgy but someone else already pointed that out. Soooo, I second that.
Nitpick, but Sig P250s don't have an external safety.
10857187
Noted, I'll keep that in mind. Not sure how to really edit that into the story, so I'll just stick with a hand-wave here. But thank you, I'm not an expert in handguns, (it probably shows) but I did try to research enough to make it work
10857167
I'll have to put an author's note at the beginning...
I wasn't intending to make "Edge story cuz' edge cool" More along the lines I did a lot of research on how a sociopath would think.
10857196
Like I said, a nitpick, and it's a common mistake. You can always handwave with the pony version having one.
Could you have made this any edgier?
10857200
The issue is that it’s coming across as the former instead of a researched portrait of a sociopathic villain.
10857316
Yep, figured as much.
Hence the author's note that I should've added to begin with.
Anyways, I'm proud of what I wrote. This took a solid month of research to be satisfactory to my expectations. We'll see what happens next
Honestly, I was just waiting for the comments.
Solid look into the mind of a sociopath. Two bits of feedback I have to give.
One, I'm glad you didn't give any details to the filly. That was tasteful, but still came across as detached.
Two, I I just kind of wish we got some more background info. This works well as the snapshot of a sociopath, but we don't know why he's hunting down this family. What did the breezes do to warrant so much money and time spent?
10857353
Hi. """Sociopath""" here. No it's not. It's ignorant, damaging, and stupid edgy "mentally ill = violent" shit on a tier with "minorities = criminals" and "queers = pedos"
10857337
Next time, I'd also do research into how best to adapt your idea for a pony story. It didn't feel like the setting (or even an adult version of it) was considered at all. An editor should be able to help you out with your punctuation, dialogue, and your pacing. Serious ideas can be explored in a thousand words, but if you really wanted to unravel the psychological state of someone (or here, somepony) intent on killing others for deranged reasons, you need build-up. This was too fast, too cliche, and too tasteless in how it was presented.
10857414
We'll see.
Wasn't expecting this amount of negative feedback, but I suppose it makes sense.
Sociopaths are also shown to be charismatic, as they have to be in order to manipulate others.
They also pay attention to details, find high-style gear in order to make themselves look more appealing to lure people in to manipulate, harm and hurt them...
I'm gonna stop bogging down a comment with, if I'm being honest, details and justification.
We'll just stick with "we'll see" and then go from there.
Maybe I should just honestly consider my audience, anyways, thanks for your feedback, I appreciate it.
10857598
The problem, I think, is that you approach the story from the wrong direction. You say that you did research on sociopaths before you wrote this, and I'm not an expert on the subject myself, but it seems like there's nothing intrinsic to being a sociopath that requires being a callous murderer. That's something you chose to add. You call this an exploration into how sociopaths think, but it really isn't. It's just a description of all the violent things your main character does, not how he thinks. It really looks like you decided to make a story about a pony doing horrible things to other ponies, and chose sociopathy as an excuse, rather than giving him actual reasons. You also said this is a story about a pony who has already snapped, which means that any development that would have led up to this was over before the story even started. That's why everyone thinks this is just you writing for your own benefit. There's no story here, there's just bad pony doing bad things.