Physchopath(zarry|boyxboy)

01

Heartless.

That's what everyone said and thought – that Harry Styles felt nothing at all. He had no mercy and the only thing that fascinated him was fear. The agony; the cries of every man and woman that he kidnapped. It was all true.         

Every man and woman he tortured – their screams, their blood flowing onto the floor like molten lava. He loved it – all of it. It was the only thing that made him feel alive at this point.

Mostly the fear, though – the fear he sensed.

'Revenge is such a beautiful bitch,' he thought with a sickeningly gleeful look in his eyes.

"You humans took me away from my safe place – you ruined it," he laughed bitterly, making his new 'worthless shit' feel the same pain he felt. His victim begged, cried, practically pleaded for the torture to stop. It reminded Harry of his past self.

Harry Styles over here went through a horrible childhood that everyone would dread to have.

Taken away from his parents, raped by his uncle – there was almost nothing that he didn't know how it felt. After his uncle did all those horrible acts, he threw his now 'lifeless' nephew onto the streets where a car had run him over. That was really only beginning. Even these days, Harry stayed awake, thinking about the past. What he did was only an outlet to protect himself, but that wasn't the exact truth. The world made him this way, so it was only fair that the world would pay for what it did to him.

Harry Styles; age five.

Slept by the motorways, begging for alms and waiting for the parents who never came. He didn't even have a blanket – all the adults that passed him didn't even bat an eyelash at him. He was a child in tattered clothes, a wounded soul that had been thrown into the cruel world where nobody cared enough to help.

Harry Styles; age ten.

Started to grow these waves of disgust for the world. He had grown used to the oblivious nature of the world. It made his stomach twist with envy every time he looked at people his age. They looked so happy – so innocent.

'Why are they living?' he thought. 'They don't deserve to live. I need to show them what real pain feels like.'

Harry Styles; now.

A psychopath serial killer – Britain's most wanted – about to kill his latest victim before he was caught. He knew it would be his last victim for a while since the cops and agents finally got their shit together to be able to catch him.

"P-please stop," Brad Wilson – his latest victim – pleaded, eyes glistening and red from the countless tears he shed. Harry smirked at the fear evident from his body language – the shaking of the brunet's hands; the way he curled in on himself.

"Too bad – you're in my hands now," Harry laughed evilly with a crazed look – at least that's what Brad saw, just barely.

Just as Harry was about to plunge the butcher knife he stole into the brunet's neck, he heard sirens. Which meant that they were here – those shitheads that were good for nothing to him – the cops. They really were useless. Where were they when he got ran over by a car – when he got abused by his uncle – when his parents were murdered? They were just for show. They were the ones that handed him off like a present to his uncle.

Instead of running away, he smirked and plunged the knife into his victim, earning a loud scream of pain. He sighed in satisfaction as Brad's body slumped to the floor, limbs going lax and eyes clouding over with the permeating smell of death.

"Put your weapon down and hands up in the air!" shouted the police officers. It was a very cliché thing to say, in Harry's opinion. They really need to find something new to say.

He dropped the weapon and tried to follow the men's order the best he could – not without smirking of course. He was crazy, but he wasn't stupid. They had guns. "Oops – you caught me."

'Not for long, asswipes,' he thought before being shoved into the back of a cramped police car, gun cocked to his head.

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Edited ( by Nightlife_eva )
     - jason