A light in the room flickered on, beaming straight at him from the ceiling. Presumably, as his vision was still blurry from the blow. He put a hand to his face to realise he was without his mask. Great. Just grreaaat. Tony the Tiger levels of great. Now to get out of here and wipe this experience from the minds of whoever did this, with violence. It was at that moment he realised his hands were chained to the chair, which meant he was in a really uncomfortable sitting position. Didn't really matter, where did they learn their interrogation tactics from, a movie? Grey table in front of him, check. One bright light focused on him? Check. Chains, that wouldn't take that long to slip out of? Check. There were about five ways this situation could go down and only four involved his death. So he tried his best to relax in the chair and wait for the door in front of him to open. Funnily enough, at that exact moment, it did. A man in a black suit and shades walked in. Should have gone briefcase for the full shabang. He sat down in another, distinctly less chained chair in front of him. "You talk first or I talk first?" The man looked unfazed and continued as if he hadn't spoken at all. "So, Mr. Robert Caster. Or Blind Eye, as you call yourself now. Did you seriously think you could just go around killing innocent people and get away with it? You may have split the killings far up, but they still leave a trail nonetheless." He attempted to raise his hand, but failed. "Oh yeah, the chains. Well, I have an objection. Calling those people innocent was a very large miscalculation. They were probably worse than I was. And if you're the government, as I assume by the snazzy suits, I'd think you know exactly who they were and their... professions." The man produced a folder, placing it on the table. "Where were you keeping that? Never-mind, don't want to know anymore." Once again, it was like the man couldn't hear him. "We've dealt with murderers with a sense of morality before. Feeling like they're above the people they're killing, dealing out some form of twisted justice. But the victims usually aren't so... high profile." He laughed. "You couldn't catch'em. So I did your job for you. You should be paying me for this stuff." The man seemed like he cared for once. "So tell me. How you did it. Why you did it. We need to know everything." Caster laughed, and got ready to reel it off. "This is gonna be one hell of a story. Should get a campfire and some s'mores for atmosphere." The man went back to his uncaring state again. "Ok, ok. I'm starting."
When I was young, life came pretty easy to me. Not gonna lie, I had mental health problems. But I was too stubborn and too scared to go see a doctor about it. Mom thought I had autism, but I just didn't want to even bother. Maybe if I didn't know I would be able to live life without a struggle. Didn't have many friends, but I got by just fine. By 15 I was acing my self-defence classes. Smart, too. Although I never really applied myself. Fast forward in time. I'm 20, and I was basically living the dream. Not anyone else's idea of a dream, my dream. One holiday, I came back to the ol' town to see my parents. Stayed over in my old room for a week. Smelt like memories. And it was going pretty nicely until the 6th day. Settled down to go to sleep, and I woke at midnight. Somebody had broken in. I went upstairs but it was already over. Dead. Blood stained the sheets, in a pattern where I could basically tell where they'd been stabbed. Probably nothing more than a kitchen knife. There was a lot of holes. They'd somehow got into the garden, opened the shed with some keys and gone down to the basement, using it as a passage to enter through the other exit. Then they jumped out through the window. Some glass was shattered, and they had left some of their own blood in the garden. That was when i turned around, to see the back wall splattered with blood spelling out "Qo to sleep". I could get what they were going for, and now I understand why. See, blood is actually really hard to write with. It's like trying to write into a steamed-up window. All the lines become thicker than you meant and start to join together. So, the police were going to be here soon, and I had basically ruled out the possibility of it really being that guy with the peeled-off skin. Numbers were just too low, and obviously this person was also a blood writing newb. Murder was messy too. Now, just so you don't think I'm too crazy, I'm going to clarify any sadness or shock was long gone by now. I was apprehending this kid, and I was bringing him to the kind of justice only my boot could bring. And that was when I pieced it together. My parents, being older now, had paid some hillbilly kid from near town to mow the lawn. Had to have keys to the shed, to get the lawnmower out. I'd seen him around. You know the type, all black, hair needs cutting, edgy kid who'd do this kind of shit. I remembered where he lived from when I was younger, some of my friends used to go down there and huck stuff at his house as a dare. Dad always came out screaming. So I put on a trenchcoat and left. Funnily enough, this is where luck came in. They hadn't moved house. So, the balaclava was on and I was ready to kick this kid's ass. In a trenchcoat. I actually looked sort of stupid. But anyway, I found the house. Complete wreck. I'd heard stories about how much of a broken home the kid had, and his parents basically screamed 'abuse', but it only dawned on me then. Kids are cruel, you know? So I was starting to feel a little sorry for him. That was until I looked through the window and saw the bodies. His mom, dad... and little sister. Barely above four or five by the look of it. The red mist started to come up, more than it already was. He killed my parents for NO REASON, and his little sister. Maybe the parents, I'd understand. But she didn't deserve this, no matter what. So I opened the door, left it unlocked. Probably could have busted in, place was so rundown the only reason it was safe was that there was nothing worth stealing. So I hear him in the back, his own small room. "Have I pleased you? Have I pleased you? I wish to be your proxy, or something. If you have those. Please you're my hero. Accept my offering." Kid had a Jeff The Killer poster. Kneeling in front of it. The way the bodies were arranged in the front was pretty ritualistic. While the rest of the world was only half-sure these 'creepypasta's' even existed, this kid was worshipping them. I'd heard about shit like this before, but never so close to home. I had personally always dismissed them as an urban myth. You know what the internet does to stuff. Like Chinese whispers. So now, he was basically sobbing into his hands. Maybe he realised it was all for nothing. When i entered the room my first instinct was to go for a weapon. When I'd heard an intruder at home, I'd grabbed the pistol instantly. Kept it in my pocket. I held myself back from quick-drawing it Cowboy style and blowing him away when I realised he was unarmed. I snuck up behind him as he sobbed, so loud he didn't notice. I'm gonna assume the last thing he felt was the cold steel of the muzzle pressing up against his neck. "I'll help you go to sleep if you want." Best impression I'd ever done. Inbetween the sobs, I heard him whisper. "Yes." His body slouched over, then fell face-first onto the floor. This was by far the best way to kill someone. Well, more like putting him down. To this day I still don't know what he went through, whether he had any evidence of his "hero"'s existence, or if he knew i wasn't Jeff or not. And I don't think I ever will know. Unless ghosts exist as well.
The man interrupted, standing up. "And you skipped town after. Which made you look guilty and become wanted." Blind Eye looked up at him. "Yeah basically. Actually, correction. Robert Caster is wanted, and mostly long forgotten." The man sat back down after pacing around the room. "So now we have confirmation. A solid starting point. The moment you were unmasked we thought we knew. So coincidental that those two murders were linked, but it never made sense as to why you would go out of your way to kill some random kid after killing your parents. And why his family's body's were older than his. But now it makes sense. This was the starting point. Of course, you weren't using your current... format at the time. But now we can make the connection. If I'm not mistaken, the next time you popped up was in Nevada, quite a distance from where you disappeared. Or are there any more dead bodies we didn't know were your work?" Caster laughed. "Well, if you've got the Nevada case figured out i'm sure you have a solid trail by now. So yeah, that one."
I'd basically made it as far as I could. Surviving with what I could get, beat up a few homeless guys and thugs who thought I'd be easy pickings. Life was hard, and I was questioning why I still went on. Luckily, how unkempt I was meant I looked nothing like Robert Caster. That was the turning point. See, i stopped at a gas station in a barren area far out. Tried to steal a drink, when I saw the papers. "Serial killer butchers 6- 'It was like something out of a horror movie, escapee says'. The man at the counter noticed me staring. "Guess you're from out of town then, huh? It's a thing now. The Desert Butcher. Happened three times, every time they say they caught him and he's on death row. Then it happens again. Take's people from out in the deserts. Been worried for customer safety ever since. Even more reason to keep a shotgun, I guess." I decided to push for answers. "So this victim escaped?" The fat old man behind the counter answered. "Local mother. Used to come here occasionally. 'Pparently he had her in some hut out in the desert. Five people, hung from hooks she said. Like how butchers hang pig meat. Wall full of cleavers. One of 'em started making a scene, and when he went over to sort 'em out she made a break for it. Passed out in the desert and some farmer picked her up and brought her back into town. Can't remember where the hut was and nobody can find it. Not even sure if most of the victims are still alive." I started to feel those Justice pangs. Something your average psycho would call the urge to kill. Realising I had to keep up a front, I acted slightly terrified to be so near the location. "I guess that's my cue to leave huh?" I walked out, but something told me that store-owner figured me out. Probably wouldn't be surprised when that guy's body turned up a few days later. The interrogator interrupted. "So how did you do it?" "Trying to flashback here. K? Good." I just hung around the edges of the desert. Some loner outside of town. My plan to get caught worked. Knocked me out, carried me to his shack. Luckily, I'm pretty good at snapping out of it. Props to you government guys, by the way. You managed to get me here without me waking up. The interrogator interrupted again. "It was a car. We run you over." "That makes sense." Anyway, I woke up to see all this stuff the woman described. Everything was a shade of rotten brown-yellow. And the bodies were long gone, circled by flies. I swear I saw maggots burrowing. Luckily for me, the guy had a cleaver on the side of his apron. I snagged it when he was carrying me. He walked over to the wall, finding the exact right kind of cleaver for the job, and wiping it along some sort of meat. He went to the apron to hang up his other cleaver, then he realised. If you could see his face... well, you couldn't. He was all bandaged up. He started striding towards me. He was a big guy, little on the chubby side but tall. Just before he could go down to grab me I swung my hand across the floor, connecting the cleaver to his leg. He froze in shock, and I got up, tripping him up via his injured leg, and he fell. Awful long way to fall being so big, and he was going to struggle getting up. I made the stupid choice of trying to pull the cleaver out of his leg. He was thick skinned. Luckily, he kicked me so strongly that I ripped it out of the leg, causing him to flinch as I fell back to the door. I guess he expected me to run, but he didn't even know what he was in for. I bounced off the rickity wooden door with the momentum from the kick, and slashed his face with the cleaver. Some of the bandages tore off, and oh was he not pretty. So, he started to tower back up, and that moment I realised I could not use a cleaver for shit. But i was starting to get the gist, and that was not to slash or slice and just chop them up. Y'know, like meat. So i ran past him, as fast as I could, using the one advantage I had. And, as I found myself cornered at the meat hooks, I realised the other advantage I had. A pistol. As he charged at me like a mad bull, I whipped out the 'ol boomstick and popped a cap in his belly. Sadly, that didn't stop him. Probably all the meat he was eating. So I made the one smart move that any sane/insane person would make. See, I happened to be standing in front of the last hook on the row. The only vacant one, left behind by that woman. So he was running straight at me at high speed and I think we all know where this is going. So I took that hook and I swung it right into his chest. Right through him, the fat bastard swaying and attempting to fight his way out. "Gonna need more than just bandages for that one pal." Had no chance. I ended up sitting outside waiting until he bled out. Can't remember how long. I went back in, realising he was facing the wrong way. Wanted the police to see him first thing, you know? Ended up twisting the hook to make him turn around. Had been wearing gloves since I left home. Maybe I knew I would do it again. Was still sitting out in the desert, waiting until it was sundown. And that was when I saw it. Him? Not so sure. But I swear I saw Jeff. I try to avoid calling him that. Makes him sound more serious. That's slightly less worse than him being named Bob The Killer. That tier of naming. Just walking out there, a black and white blur. When i left at sundown I went over there, and there were no footprints. Not sure if I was hallucinating or if he was really there.
The interrogator spoke up. "And that was the start of your obsession with him. But I guess you could say that started when his influence on the world caused your parent's death." Caster started to look angry and emotional. "I knew, if those creepypasta's were out there, if... things, like him, were real, I would find them. And I would stop their influence. I would save other's from having to be like me. Whether it was by their hands, or those spurred on by them. I would cut out the pain at the source. See, I really started to grasp my life-defining discovery. Violence begets violence. Insanity begets insanity. Was what I did really making a difference? Was I just causing more of this? I was considering just continuing to sit there until I baked away. I wanted it to end. But that would be selfish to all the people I could save. And with that thought, I stood up. And I walked out of that hell." The interrogator smiled. "There's the admission of guilt we were looking for. Then you started using that mask, with the yellow spray painted eye. With the X through the pupil." "Took me a while to be able to do it perfectly, but time was what I had the most of." The interrogator continued on. "You mowed your way through the world, killing murderers and cults. Most obsessed with these - creepypastas. And apparently you had some run in's with some yourself." Caster grinned wide. "Oh you bet I did." The interrogator sat down, looking deadly serious. "Your last known victims were the Brotherhood of Bone. Cracked heads and necks, killed with their own ritual knives. It is frankly astonishing, your use of whatever you can find as a weapon." Then Caster started to notice something was up. He was piecing together his own case. "Wait... why are you so eager to defend them? At first you call them innocent, and now victims. And you're putting me through this interrogation to build some kind of court case. But why? Who are you defending? The scourge of this planet that you can't even remove? And why have you shown me absolutely zero identification? That's the first thing that's supposed to happen." He had already started work on freeing himself while he was saying this, and could probably do it on a whim. But he wanted the satisfaction. The interrogator laughed. "You're smarter than I thought. But I always knew who we were dealing with." The door opened, and entering the room came four men in red robes. "Your symbol is similar to that of somebody else. You know that?"
Caster didn't respond, and prepared to escape. "Oh, you do. Our Lord. It is disrespectful to speak his name as you do. And to kill those who would ally with us. Your last mistake was massacring the Brotherhood Of Bone. You know his name. Slenderman." Caster was ready to escape, so this pun had to count. "With all these court case accusations you've been throwing around... you should really be worshipping Slander-man." With that, he whipped his hands from the chains, at the same time kicking the table forward into the Interrogator and two of the cultists. He then threw the chair back onto the floor as he got up, turning around to catch the hand of one cultist, taking his knife and stabbing the other in the gut with it when he tried to advance. He then kicked the cultist to the floor, and throwing the one he held over him by his hand that he had been slowly crushing. He stepped over the table to see the two cultists leap over it, attempting to overpower him. They knew they couldn't beat him... they were buying the Interrogator time. As they both ran towards him, he ducked through the middle, grabbing both their hands, and smacking them down with his shoulders as he went through. He then hopped on their faces, using it to knock them out and boost himself over the table. He landed with one foot on the table and the other on the Interrogator's gun, on the floor. The Interrogator recoiled his hand away in pain. "Too slow buddy. While you were conducting your investigation, I was making my own case. And y'know, I'm actually LESS worried about a cult than I am about the government." He grabbed the Interrogator by the neck with both hands, slamming him through the unlocked door, him landing on the other side as it swung open. He looked down the hall to see an auditorium. Packed full of cultists. They all turned towards him. "Uuuh... well. This is awkward. You guys made it awkward." While he was speaking, he started extending towards the floor, quickly grabbing the Interrogator's pistol and rapidly spraying into the crowd. They started to advance towards him, apparently not caring that they were falling as the mass of red attempted to funnel into the hall. Then he realised he was out of bullets. "Shit." They started to enter the hallway en masse, and he took the only option available, swinging the metal door back and forwards into them, then bouncing off the other wall, over the ones closest to him. He then landed on one, crushing him as one swung with a knife, that he instantly caught, sliding under his arm, then spinning around the backpedallers, grabbing the one farthest back from behind, slicing his neck with the knife. He then continued to run into the auditorium, stopping to look for a way out. A cultist tackled into him from behind, but Blind Eye grabbed him by the hand and threw him back, screeching along the auditorium floor. He vaulted over a few seats, locating an exit near the top of the stairs. He could hear the Interrogator's voice screaming, echoing through the hall. "FIND HIM! KILL HIM! WE MUST SATE OUR LORD FOR OUR FAILURE!" He jumped over the final row of seats and emerged at one exit, at some sort of theatre. He ran towards the main doors. Ah. Revolving doors. With cameras visible in there. He dashed into them, cracking the camera with a swing of the Interrogator's now-useless pistol. Just before a crack opened for him to escape, the door froze, and the cultists funnelled into the lobby. "Welp. Not the first time I've had to do this, and probably not the last." He crashed through the glass sheet, shards sticking into him and making him bleed. And just to rub it in, he waved to the outside camera, holding his mask that he had also pickpocketed from the Interrogator. He smiled, put it on, then ran out of it's view. There, he found himself running anywhere he felt he would not be found, ending up in a forest. It was dark, very dark, but it was just light enough for him to make out a wrecked house. There, he entered, opening the unlocked door. He probably could have broke in, but what was the point. He felt like he remembered this place. He walked into a back room, creaking open a door, to see a completely empty room, clean and unnatural compared to the rest of the house. All there was a poster on the wall. A poster of Jeff The Killer. He took of his mask and looked down. It was practically as if he could feel it, he was here again, in this same situation. If he could change it all, if he handed him in and didn't pull the trigger, would it be better? Would he be better? He would never know. He turned to walk away and leave as he put on his mask. "It doesn't matter either way. This is me now." As he left the ruined house he didn't notice what was on the opposite wall to the poster. Written perfectly in blood.
"I know what you did".
When I was young, life came pretty easy to me. Not gonna lie, I had mental health problems. But I was too stubborn and too scared to go see a doctor about it. Mom thought I had autism, but I just didn't want to even bother. Maybe if I didn't know I would be able to live life without a struggle. Didn't have many friends, but I got by just fine. By 15 I was acing my self-defence classes. Smart, too. Although I never really applied myself. Fast forward in time. I'm 20, and I was basically living the dream. Not anyone else's idea of a dream, my dream. One holiday, I came back to the ol' town to see my parents. Stayed over in my old room for a week. Smelt like memories. And it was going pretty nicely until the 6th day. Settled down to go to sleep, and I woke at midnight. Somebody had broken in. I went upstairs but it was already over. Dead. Blood stained the sheets, in a pattern where I could basically tell where they'd been stabbed. Probably nothing more than a kitchen knife. There was a lot of holes. They'd somehow got into the garden, opened the shed with some keys and gone down to the basement, using it as a passage to enter through the other exit. Then they jumped out through the window. Some glass was shattered, and they had left some of their own blood in the garden. That was when i turned around, to see the back wall splattered with blood spelling out "Qo to sleep". I could get what they were going for, and now I understand why. See, blood is actually really hard to write with. It's like trying to write into a steamed-up window. All the lines become thicker than you meant and start to join together. So, the police were going to be here soon, and I had basically ruled out the possibility of it really being that guy with the peeled-off skin. Numbers were just too low, and obviously this person was also a blood writing newb. Murder was messy too. Now, just so you don't think I'm too crazy, I'm going to clarify any sadness or shock was long gone by now. I was apprehending this kid, and I was bringing him to the kind of justice only my boot could bring. And that was when I pieced it together. My parents, being older now, had paid some hillbilly kid from near town to mow the lawn. Had to have keys to the shed, to get the lawnmower out. I'd seen him around. You know the type, all black, hair needs cutting, edgy kid who'd do this kind of shit. I remembered where he lived from when I was younger, some of my friends used to go down there and huck stuff at his house as a dare. Dad always came out screaming. So I put on a trenchcoat and left. Funnily enough, this is where luck came in. They hadn't moved house. So, the balaclava was on and I was ready to kick this kid's ass. In a trenchcoat. I actually looked sort of stupid. But anyway, I found the house. Complete wreck. I'd heard stories about how much of a broken home the kid had, and his parents basically screamed 'abuse', but it only dawned on me then. Kids are cruel, you know? So I was starting to feel a little sorry for him. That was until I looked through the window and saw the bodies. His mom, dad... and little sister. Barely above four or five by the look of it. The red mist started to come up, more than it already was. He killed my parents for NO REASON, and his little sister. Maybe the parents, I'd understand. But she didn't deserve this, no matter what. So I opened the door, left it unlocked. Probably could have busted in, place was so rundown the only reason it was safe was that there was nothing worth stealing. So I hear him in the back, his own small room. "Have I pleased you? Have I pleased you? I wish to be your proxy, or something. If you have those. Please you're my hero. Accept my offering." Kid had a Jeff The Killer poster. Kneeling in front of it. The way the bodies were arranged in the front was pretty ritualistic. While the rest of the world was only half-sure these 'creepypasta's' even existed, this kid was worshipping them. I'd heard about shit like this before, but never so close to home. I had personally always dismissed them as an urban myth. You know what the internet does to stuff. Like Chinese whispers. So now, he was basically sobbing into his hands. Maybe he realised it was all for nothing. When i entered the room my first instinct was to go for a weapon. When I'd heard an intruder at home, I'd grabbed the pistol instantly. Kept it in my pocket. I held myself back from quick-drawing it Cowboy style and blowing him away when I realised he was unarmed. I snuck up behind him as he sobbed, so loud he didn't notice. I'm gonna assume the last thing he felt was the cold steel of the muzzle pressing up against his neck. "I'll help you go to sleep if you want." Best impression I'd ever done. Inbetween the sobs, I heard him whisper. "Yes." His body slouched over, then fell face-first onto the floor. This was by far the best way to kill someone. Well, more like putting him down. To this day I still don't know what he went through, whether he had any evidence of his "hero"'s existence, or if he knew i wasn't Jeff or not. And I don't think I ever will know. Unless ghosts exist as well.
The man interrupted, standing up. "And you skipped town after. Which made you look guilty and become wanted." Blind Eye looked up at him. "Yeah basically. Actually, correction. Robert Caster is wanted, and mostly long forgotten." The man sat back down after pacing around the room. "So now we have confirmation. A solid starting point. The moment you were unmasked we thought we knew. So coincidental that those two murders were linked, but it never made sense as to why you would go out of your way to kill some random kid after killing your parents. And why his family's body's were older than his. But now it makes sense. This was the starting point. Of course, you weren't using your current... format at the time. But now we can make the connection. If I'm not mistaken, the next time you popped up was in Nevada, quite a distance from where you disappeared. Or are there any more dead bodies we didn't know were your work?" Caster laughed. "Well, if you've got the Nevada case figured out i'm sure you have a solid trail by now. So yeah, that one."
I'd basically made it as far as I could. Surviving with what I could get, beat up a few homeless guys and thugs who thought I'd be easy pickings. Life was hard, and I was questioning why I still went on. Luckily, how unkempt I was meant I looked nothing like Robert Caster. That was the turning point. See, i stopped at a gas station in a barren area far out. Tried to steal a drink, when I saw the papers. "Serial killer butchers 6- 'It was like something out of a horror movie, escapee says'. The man at the counter noticed me staring. "Guess you're from out of town then, huh? It's a thing now. The Desert Butcher. Happened three times, every time they say they caught him and he's on death row. Then it happens again. Take's people from out in the deserts. Been worried for customer safety ever since. Even more reason to keep a shotgun, I guess." I decided to push for answers. "So this victim escaped?" The fat old man behind the counter answered. "Local mother. Used to come here occasionally. 'Pparently he had her in some hut out in the desert. Five people, hung from hooks she said. Like how butchers hang pig meat. Wall full of cleavers. One of 'em started making a scene, and when he went over to sort 'em out she made a break for it. Passed out in the desert and some farmer picked her up and brought her back into town. Can't remember where the hut was and nobody can find it. Not even sure if most of the victims are still alive." I started to feel those Justice pangs. Something your average psycho would call the urge to kill. Realising I had to keep up a front, I acted slightly terrified to be so near the location. "I guess that's my cue to leave huh?" I walked out, but something told me that store-owner figured me out. Probably wouldn't be surprised when that guy's body turned up a few days later. The interrogator interrupted. "So how did you do it?" "Trying to flashback here. K? Good." I just hung around the edges of the desert. Some loner outside of town. My plan to get caught worked. Knocked me out, carried me to his shack. Luckily, I'm pretty good at snapping out of it. Props to you government guys, by the way. You managed to get me here without me waking up. The interrogator interrupted again. "It was a car. We run you over." "That makes sense." Anyway, I woke up to see all this stuff the woman described. Everything was a shade of rotten brown-yellow. And the bodies were long gone, circled by flies. I swear I saw maggots burrowing. Luckily for me, the guy had a cleaver on the side of his apron. I snagged it when he was carrying me. He walked over to the wall, finding the exact right kind of cleaver for the job, and wiping it along some sort of meat. He went to the apron to hang up his other cleaver, then he realised. If you could see his face... well, you couldn't. He was all bandaged up. He started striding towards me. He was a big guy, little on the chubby side but tall. Just before he could go down to grab me I swung my hand across the floor, connecting the cleaver to his leg. He froze in shock, and I got up, tripping him up via his injured leg, and he fell. Awful long way to fall being so big, and he was going to struggle getting up. I made the stupid choice of trying to pull the cleaver out of his leg. He was thick skinned. Luckily, he kicked me so strongly that I ripped it out of the leg, causing him to flinch as I fell back to the door. I guess he expected me to run, but he didn't even know what he was in for. I bounced off the rickity wooden door with the momentum from the kick, and slashed his face with the cleaver. Some of the bandages tore off, and oh was he not pretty. So, he started to tower back up, and that moment I realised I could not use a cleaver for shit. But i was starting to get the gist, and that was not to slash or slice and just chop them up. Y'know, like meat. So i ran past him, as fast as I could, using the one advantage I had. And, as I found myself cornered at the meat hooks, I realised the other advantage I had. A pistol. As he charged at me like a mad bull, I whipped out the 'ol boomstick and popped a cap in his belly. Sadly, that didn't stop him. Probably all the meat he was eating. So I made the one smart move that any sane/insane person would make. See, I happened to be standing in front of the last hook on the row. The only vacant one, left behind by that woman. So he was running straight at me at high speed and I think we all know where this is going. So I took that hook and I swung it right into his chest. Right through him, the fat bastard swaying and attempting to fight his way out. "Gonna need more than just bandages for that one pal." Had no chance. I ended up sitting outside waiting until he bled out. Can't remember how long. I went back in, realising he was facing the wrong way. Wanted the police to see him first thing, you know? Ended up twisting the hook to make him turn around. Had been wearing gloves since I left home. Maybe I knew I would do it again. Was still sitting out in the desert, waiting until it was sundown. And that was when I saw it. Him? Not so sure. But I swear I saw Jeff. I try to avoid calling him that. Makes him sound more serious. That's slightly less worse than him being named Bob The Killer. That tier of naming. Just walking out there, a black and white blur. When i left at sundown I went over there, and there were no footprints. Not sure if I was hallucinating or if he was really there.
The interrogator spoke up. "And that was the start of your obsession with him. But I guess you could say that started when his influence on the world caused your parent's death." Caster started to look angry and emotional. "I knew, if those creepypasta's were out there, if... things, like him, were real, I would find them. And I would stop their influence. I would save other's from having to be like me. Whether it was by their hands, or those spurred on by them. I would cut out the pain at the source. See, I really started to grasp my life-defining discovery. Violence begets violence. Insanity begets insanity. Was what I did really making a difference? Was I just causing more of this? I was considering just continuing to sit there until I baked away. I wanted it to end. But that would be selfish to all the people I could save. And with that thought, I stood up. And I walked out of that hell." The interrogator smiled. "There's the admission of guilt we were looking for. Then you started using that mask, with the yellow spray painted eye. With the X through the pupil." "Took me a while to be able to do it perfectly, but time was what I had the most of." The interrogator continued on. "You mowed your way through the world, killing murderers and cults. Most obsessed with these - creepypastas. And apparently you had some run in's with some yourself." Caster grinned wide. "Oh you bet I did." The interrogator sat down, looking deadly serious. "Your last known victims were the Brotherhood of Bone. Cracked heads and necks, killed with their own ritual knives. It is frankly astonishing, your use of whatever you can find as a weapon." Then Caster started to notice something was up. He was piecing together his own case. "Wait... why are you so eager to defend them? At first you call them innocent, and now victims. And you're putting me through this interrogation to build some kind of court case. But why? Who are you defending? The scourge of this planet that you can't even remove? And why have you shown me absolutely zero identification? That's the first thing that's supposed to happen." He had already started work on freeing himself while he was saying this, and could probably do it on a whim. But he wanted the satisfaction. The interrogator laughed. "You're smarter than I thought. But I always knew who we were dealing with." The door opened, and entering the room came four men in red robes. "Your symbol is similar to that of somebody else. You know that?"
Caster didn't respond, and prepared to escape. "Oh, you do. Our Lord. It is disrespectful to speak his name as you do. And to kill those who would ally with us. Your last mistake was massacring the Brotherhood Of Bone. You know his name. Slenderman." Caster was ready to escape, so this pun had to count. "With all these court case accusations you've been throwing around... you should really be worshipping Slander-man." With that, he whipped his hands from the chains, at the same time kicking the table forward into the Interrogator and two of the cultists. He then threw the chair back onto the floor as he got up, turning around to catch the hand of one cultist, taking his knife and stabbing the other in the gut with it when he tried to advance. He then kicked the cultist to the floor, and throwing the one he held over him by his hand that he had been slowly crushing. He stepped over the table to see the two cultists leap over it, attempting to overpower him. They knew they couldn't beat him... they were buying the Interrogator time. As they both ran towards him, he ducked through the middle, grabbing both their hands, and smacking them down with his shoulders as he went through. He then hopped on their faces, using it to knock them out and boost himself over the table. He landed with one foot on the table and the other on the Interrogator's gun, on the floor. The Interrogator recoiled his hand away in pain. "Too slow buddy. While you were conducting your investigation, I was making my own case. And y'know, I'm actually LESS worried about a cult than I am about the government." He grabbed the Interrogator by the neck with both hands, slamming him through the unlocked door, him landing on the other side as it swung open. He looked down the hall to see an auditorium. Packed full of cultists. They all turned towards him. "Uuuh... well. This is awkward. You guys made it awkward." While he was speaking, he started extending towards the floor, quickly grabbing the Interrogator's pistol and rapidly spraying into the crowd. They started to advance towards him, apparently not caring that they were falling as the mass of red attempted to funnel into the hall. Then he realised he was out of bullets. "Shit." They started to enter the hallway en masse, and he took the only option available, swinging the metal door back and forwards into them, then bouncing off the other wall, over the ones closest to him. He then landed on one, crushing him as one swung with a knife, that he instantly caught, sliding under his arm, then spinning around the backpedallers, grabbing the one farthest back from behind, slicing his neck with the knife. He then continued to run into the auditorium, stopping to look for a way out. A cultist tackled into him from behind, but Blind Eye grabbed him by the hand and threw him back, screeching along the auditorium floor. He vaulted over a few seats, locating an exit near the top of the stairs. He could hear the Interrogator's voice screaming, echoing through the hall. "FIND HIM! KILL HIM! WE MUST SATE OUR LORD FOR OUR FAILURE!" He jumped over the final row of seats and emerged at one exit, at some sort of theatre. He ran towards the main doors. Ah. Revolving doors. With cameras visible in there. He dashed into them, cracking the camera with a swing of the Interrogator's now-useless pistol. Just before a crack opened for him to escape, the door froze, and the cultists funnelled into the lobby. "Welp. Not the first time I've had to do this, and probably not the last." He crashed through the glass sheet, shards sticking into him and making him bleed. And just to rub it in, he waved to the outside camera, holding his mask that he had also pickpocketed from the Interrogator. He smiled, put it on, then ran out of it's view. There, he found himself running anywhere he felt he would not be found, ending up in a forest. It was dark, very dark, but it was just light enough for him to make out a wrecked house. There, he entered, opening the unlocked door. He probably could have broke in, but what was the point. He felt like he remembered this place. He walked into a back room, creaking open a door, to see a completely empty room, clean and unnatural compared to the rest of the house. All there was a poster on the wall. A poster of Jeff The Killer. He took of his mask and looked down. It was practically as if he could feel it, he was here again, in this same situation. If he could change it all, if he handed him in and didn't pull the trigger, would it be better? Would he be better? He would never know. He turned to walk away and leave as he put on his mask. "It doesn't matter either way. This is me now." As he left the ruined house he didn't notice what was on the opposite wall to the poster. Written perfectly in blood.
"I know what you did".