Chapter 262 Takes One to Know One

The sounds of gunshots filled the air, and yet no one was alarmed. It was normal in this neighborhood anyway. The police must be chasing down some thug, maybe a drug dealer or gangster.

It was probably some morsel anyway, a petty thief that was unlucky enough to be reached by the police lights.

"Use your flashlight! Don't let it escape!"

An old man's voice yelled, and almost everyone in the neighborhood recognized it as the police chief of the New York Police Department.

"I'm doing my best, old man! Here, you even forgot the batteries, you fucker!"

They did not recognize the second one. It must be some new cop, a piglet that was having his first stakeout. The piglet had a strange voice, since it was softer than one would expect from a cop but he was also bold enough to cuss the chief himself.

They were pretty loud for a stakeout, but that was what the people assumed the flashlight was for anyway.

Little did they know that it wasn't to illuminate the surroundings to see their target.

It was to lure them out, cover everything with lights until they do not have any shadows to hide from anymore.

Roland fired three shots point-blank, and there once the bullet did not hit anything solid, he knew he got the Imposter they were chasing today. Maybe he hit on those points that Chief Fieldings told him about. Those points that connect to a string being pulled by the leader of the Imposters.

His hair was wild and unruly. It looked like he had not slept for weeks, and his face was gaunt and . He had requested to postpone the trial for Felix Garcia as he had some 'health conditions', and allowed Paul Pheme to handle some of the matters in his stead.

It wasn't exactly untrue, though. He was suffering from insomnia, malnutrition, and mood swings.

But he felt so alive. He was a different person once he held a gun and chased after some monster lurking in the dark.

He fired four shots once more, and there was a thud! as something invisible seemed to collapse.

"Bullseye!" He grinned, as he went to reclaim his 'prize'.

Chief Fieldings patted his shoulder. "Good job. The second one is mine, you take the thing on the back of the trunk."

The thing about Imposters, as he learned from the chief, was that they reattach their strings eventually after some time. To render them useless, you have to completely destroy their body while they are still unattached to the Mother.

And they are still very much 'alive' even without their strings attached. They just could not move.

Roland easily pulled the weight of an 8 feet tall slender hunk of plastic onto the trunk, tying its limbs and twisting it until it fit there.

He looked at it with pure malice. "That's what you get for being a monstrous freak!"

He hit it with the back of his pistol.

There was no response from the living mannequin. But as Roland was about to close the trunk:

"If this is what I get for being a 'monstrous freak', then shouldn't your friend suffer the same?" It said,

Roland stopped closing the trunk halfway, and gritted his teeth.

"So you know Harker. I suppose all of you know him since he just completely wrecked dozens of your fellow plastic friends to pieces."

"Your taunts were better when you were still not part of the Hunter's little pups. Your brain is constantly loaded with wrath that all you could think is that everything that does you wrong deserves to be killed. I wonder..."

The faceless mannequin's tone was enough to give the impression that it was sneering:

"What if he does you wrong? What if he does something awful to you in that state? Would you be able to restrain yourself from pulling the trigger on him?"

Roland growled, and hit that face again and again with the back of his rifle.

"Shut up! Shut up!" He yelled. "I wouldn't be so cocky if I were you. All we need is to give you some skin, maybe a pig's so we can hear you squeal once we chop up your body."

The mannequin laughed. "Hahaha.... What was that saying again? Takes one to know one? Takes a monster to know what would hurt a fellow monster."

Roland growled deep within his chest, a growl that no human could make. He slammed the trunk shut, and started firing on the ground with a hissy fit.

As he was done firing, he huffed, catching his breath.

"What... What is happening to me? I'm changing so fast...."

But then, he remembered that he had also changed, hasn't he? He had also changed, and the past doesn't matter anymore. It's always there, looming over him like a grinning shadow, and it's about time that he fights it off.

It won't be so bad if he changed too, right?

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Masked figures dance in a lavish ballroom, wine in hand and conversing with others. All in fine, tailored suits, exquisite dresses, and luxurious branded bags, shoes, and accessories.

It was a Charity Ball, as the posters say. Every one of these people were philanthropists and generous souls that were partying for the sake of the poor, hungry children in Africa.

Or at least, one or two of them actually are.

It reeked of crocodiles here, with all the crocodile tears that they shed for the needy that they couldn't care less about. One of the guest's green eyes scanned the area, her face hidden under the mask, wearing a vermillion dress the color of a fiery sunset.

"I have set it up now. 5 minutes and 30 seconds left."

She was talking to another woman by her side, a redhead with a luscious long and flowing red gown.

"Very good, my dear. But that's not enough for these people, right?"

"It isn't." Joan's lips turned up ever so slightly. "They need to suffer more for their lies."

There was a large screen that was showing the pictures of these 'impoverished African communities' that these people would be 'donating' to. Some were small-scale politicians, old celebrities, and leaders of 'non-profit' organizations that profit off the membership fee for this pageantry under the name of 'charity'.

Suddenly, the screens changed.

The people were stunned in surprise. There was a video, caught in a low quality camera and zoomed in so much that the quality had become grainy. But the figures were still recognizable.

It was the figure of the head organizer of the Charity Ball in a seedy hotel. And...

He was naked, below him was a black woman.

"You like that, you n**** cunt? Sluts like you need to be shackled like back in the old days if you keep squirming like that and being a bitch!"

The guests gasped in surprise, and the organizer was frozen in terror as his sex with a black girl was being shown for everyone to see. Including his wife and children.

Joan did not feel any guilt this time, even though her face was mostly blank and expressionless. But there was a sense of satisfied thrill within her, as another video showed.

This time, it was one of the prominent members of the board for the Charity organization yelling at a homeless kid on the street. And of course, that kid was colored and impoverished, just like the children they were claiming to help.

Many more of these had been shown, and the video compilation lasted perfectly for 5 minutes and 30 seconds.

The last one was simply the words written on the screen:

[People like you are the reason this world deserves to burn.]

And soon enough...

There was an explosion at the top of the villa where they were holding the ball. Another one came, and caused the large chandelier to crash on top of some 18 or 19 guests.

Screams filled the halls, and they tried to flee the area. Some journalists got out first, and that was on purpose. They were the important ones as they surely would be making news out of this 'terrorist attack' for months, along with the revelations of this certain famous charity organization's misconduct.

Joan just picked up a wine glass and drank as the third explosion came, this time fully blocking the exits. Fire was spreading, and yet she could not smell a whiff of smoke.

The wine glass she picked had become heated, and the red wine bubbled up inside it. She just drank it, not caring about the burning sensation on her tongue.

"Will this be enough for you to burn those murderers down?" She asked the woman beside her, who also drank bubbling red wine.

"Oh, yes. I believe you have earned your part of the deal, my dear. Then you would be free." Pele grinned. "I am not like the others who keep my pets for too long when they do not want to be one with the fire. But I do have one question..."

Joan just raised an eyebrow. "What is it?"

"Are you sure you want to stop destroying? Aren't there things in this world that you would enjoy watching them burn?"

Joan shook her head. "No. I only enjoy these ones so far because they are heartless people." historical

But...

Deep down, she knew it was a lie. And that lie continued to sizzle up inside her bubbling up as the joys of delivering pain to others increasingly became stronger.

And she too, was becoming part of the heartless.