5 The Quanialyistic Underogaray
—5 Years Ago—
April 12th, 1979
4:30 PM
Jogo POV
It was my first dead body. The man's death was fairly pedestrian. There was no blood, his chest was caved in.
I figured death was going to be part of my life from now on, but it left me unnerved, especially after I did the deed and was alone with my thoughts. I was left wondering, 'what did the person dream about as a kid? How did they feel when they first fell in love? And when they were brushing their teeth that morning, did the soon to be deceased even have an inkling what was going to happen to them later that day?'
I figured they didn't have a clue what was coming.
———
—A month before meeting the Troupe—
June 5th, 1984
9:12 AM
Don't make assumptions.
Every now and then, I remind myself of that. Every now and then, the universe does the reminding for me. When I meet new people, they're usually dead.
An older white male lies on his back in the parking lot of a party house. According to the local law enforcement, his name is Sawa. He is four months past his forty-first birthday. It's a fair bet his parents are long gone. No one to care about his passing.
As for his facial features….a bloody mush. His body? A bloody mush. Crushed by something heavy. Just like all the other ones.
I made an assumption. 'Nen.' I just didn't see how a normal person could flatten a human body like paper without supernatural strength. 'Maybe not?' I argued back and forth with myself. 'Sledgehammer? Wait…no way a normal person flattens a body with a sledgehammer, it would just break the body's bones and splinter. This kid is imbedded in the ground. Car?-'
I went on and on for 30 minutes.
But…at some point you need to make a decision. Boxes need checking. It says a lot about our desire for simplicity that there are an infinite number of ways to die but only five manners of death.
Homicide.
Suicide.
Natural.
Accidental.
Undetermined.
This job begins with the dead but continues with the living. The living have telephones and tv's. They have regret and insomnia and chest pain and bouts of uncontrollable weeping. They ask: Why.
Ninety-nine times out of a hundred, why isn't a real question. It's an expression of loss. Even if I had the answer, I'm not sure anyone normal could stomach it.
I do the next best thing. The old switcheroo.
They'd ask for why. I'd give them how. Knowing that it's impossible to live without assumptions, I try to choose mine carefully.
'Experienced nen user. Most likely male. Victims all have been between the ages of 40 to 50, my guy might be in this age range as well. Due the fact he has been evading capture for 15 years, he is highly intelligent. Psychopathic as opposed to psychotic. This is not unusual as true psychopath's usually have above average intelligence. Probably blends in to a crowd easily, this means he's highly functional, social. Violent nature of the crime may suggest past criminal record or deeds, perhaps petty in nature, perhaps not.
Follows the news…..has good hygiene. Because he's smart the only physical evidence found is what he wants people to find. Organized killers have a fascination with power and control. He'd get off to his victims powerlessness, their fear, surprise, anger, whatever. This might stem from past trauma such as an humiliating event that happened in his past. Made to feel emasculated, powerless, embarrassed, Perhaps bullied, maybe outshined in front of his peers.
He might still feel anger towards this event and satiates his ego by killing the helpless.'
——
—Now—
November 15th, 1984
2:06 AM
I decided to walk back to the Hotel. I debated whether or not going back but decided that giving my goodbyes to Menchi-
My instincts went off, a card sailed past were my head had previously been.
How annoying.
"Hisoka. I didn't think you'd attack me." I knew he was watching us from the start, so had Moritonio, I guess.
"Fight me-"
———
3rd Person POV——
Hisoka had realized Moritonio was the famius serial killer in the surrounding lands rather early on. He might have thought himself sly but Hisoka could tell.
When he thought no one was watching his eyes would go cold. His muscles would twitch like a junkie excited for their next high. This is exactly what he was. A junkie excited for his next high, a high that involved killing random people.
Most people would be put off to learn of Moritonio's hobby's. Hisoka wasn't. At first you could say he was delighted to learn of a kindred spirit.
That quickly turned to disappointment when he learned of Moritonio's bland high coming from bland people. And here he thought he found a similar soul.
Hisoka wouldn't get off by killing him. He was weak. You'd think someone who's been practicing nen for longer than Hisokas' been alive would be stronger but no. This is due to Moritonio's choice of prey.
Those weaker than him.
He stagnated.
Hisoka reckoned thats why Jogo killed him so easily. Jogo obviously didn't stagnate. He saw the giant of a man train every single day all day.
It was obvious Jogo was strong. His life filled with training. And the budding murder clown just had to have it.
———
Jogo POV
"Hisoka. I didn't think you'd attack me." I knew he was watching us from the start, so had Moritonio, I guess.
"Fight me-"
Before he finished I was burying my fist in his chest, I felt as my knuckles impacted his diaphragm and before he could even react, his breathe was gone and his stomach emptied itself on the ground. "Weak." I taunted before walking away.
'No doubt Hisoka will try and fight me in the future, I simply cannot wait.'
Unconsciously my tongue licked my lips at the thought. 'Im becoming a battle maniac, aren't I? Damn.'
———
4:55 AM
3rd POV
For 2 hours Menchi sat amongst the partying. She tried to enjoy herself. Thoughts of her master came to her whenever she found herself relaxing.
For some reason she had a sadness following her.
"Menchi." Jogo's deep rumbling voice seared through her ears.
She hopped from her seat, drink spilling in her lap but she didn't care.
"Im leaving. The jobs done." He declared before allowing her to greet him.
She became heartstruck. She stood still as a statue. While she knew he would have to leave eventually, she didn't think it would be the night of!
"W-what-" she asked. "I-I thought you would stay a few-"
He shook his head. "No, Menchi. I've been here a few months already, its time to leave."
She hesitated, "T-then…c-can I come-"
"No. The jobs I will take on might be very dangerous. I cannot look out for you and the mission all the time."
"You could train me! Please!"
"No-" he looked pass her. The sight of the still parting troupe entering his view. "Look at your family." She did. Her eyes swelled up with tears as she came to the grips that he couldn't take her.
He absentmindedly gathered his things, which wasn't much. A few minutes later he had a cloth pack, held by string hung over his shoulders as he approached the exit of hotel. Menchi watched as he stopped momentarily.
His mack shifted to the right, as if looking back at her. "Come find me when you're stronger."
——
Hope you liked the aftermath.
I dont think I do aftermaths very good but here ya go.
Also….
