This originally came about back in 2014, progressing quickly before leaving off. Browsing my hard drive, I rediscovered it, read it and deemed it interesting enough to post. If there's interest and demand, then I'll probably post some more.

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They called it the Murder Club. Actually, it was only who Tyki had taken to calling it that mentally, since he had first learned of it and unwittingly joined it as well.

They called it something else; the Noah family or the True Apostles of God and whatnot. Personally, Tyki could care less about what the others called it and why they called it such. It was a Murder Club, plain and simple; a support group for the casual killer, although obviously, not just any riffraff qualified.

As far as qualifications went, it was less about the kill count and more about doing it with style. Some of the members of the esteemed Murder Club had had plenty of opportunities to refine theirs.

Despite having recently turned twenty-six, Tyki Mikk still counted as one of the least experienced in the group. This could definitely have bothered him, but it really didn't. After all, he was just your average guy with a taste for murder and fries. As a killer, he was still young; young in the sense that he had not yet been active for very long and also young in the sense that he had only just begun to establish proper routines.

As far as classification went, Tyki liked to vary his methods; didn't want to get stuck in just one shape or repetitive patterns. This aversion of his might have had something to do with his evidently drifting nature and the vagrant lifestyle that had come of it, maybe.

Regardless, killing was Tyki's hobby. It was also his lifestyle; an important part of it anyway. He killed men and women, young and old, rich and poor. What they were and what they were not were of little concern to him. He just liked the thrill and the satisfaction that killing them brought him; much like a man gives himself a pat on the back after a day's hard work.

Some of the senior members of the so called Murder Club claimed that Tyki was still in his experimenting phase; that he was still right in the middle of trying out different things in search of his own niche. Perhaps they were right and perhaps they were not; it was all the same anyway.

Unlike most other members of the Murder Club, Tyki did not have any specific method or favourite type of victim. Road, a young but senior member of the club, preferred hunting those with a taste for children. The methodical Lulu Bell preferred hunting those who preyed upon women. Wisely, young and but talented, preferred preying on the feeble-minded, driving them to kill others and then themselves. Sheril, Tyki's actual brother, was a sadist. The JasDevi Duo liked to play games with their victims before killing them. As for the others and their modus operandi, Tyki figured that he still knew far too little to pass judgement. After all, even though the Murder Club did meet up on occasion to discuss and brag about their respective kills, some were less elaborate about their escapades than others.

The Duke, their undisputed leader, was decidedly tight-lipped about his. So were most of the new members, with Wisely being the notable exception. Tyki himself was also something of an exception to the rule, although he was by no means as fresh as the others. Obviously though, this didn't prevent the others from making jokes at his expense.

Frankly, Tyki hated the biannual get-togethers; they were basically the biannual reunion of a family connected not necessarily through blood but rather through common interests.

Family reunions demanded action, and there was one just weeks ahead. Having managed to withstand his urge to commit murder for almost six months, Tyki found himself in a bit of a pickle. He also found himself driving a car, heading northwest on Route 491 while considering his options.

After all, if Tyki failed to perform in the biannual show-and-tell, then people might get the impression that he was calling it quits, and this would by no means end well for anyone, least of all for him.

However, with the reunion taking place in Oregon and him currently nearing the border between Colorado and Utah, Tyki did have more than a bit of time and mileage to overcome before reaching his final destination.

Hoh, final? Well, if he didn't pick his next victim soon, then it might as well be.

Thus, Tyki found himself driving through a dry-looking landscape on a stretch of road that was not only long but also empty for the most part. It was not completely deserted per se, but it was definitely close enough. Also, it was fairly hot, meaning that he had the car's AC on full blast as he himself blasted through the mostly flat landscape, glimpsing mountains off into the far distance and perhaps a few scattered bushes and utility poles supporting the power lines. Eventually, the latter melted into cultivated farmland.

Soon after that, Tyki caught sight of a small number of trees by the roadside. They, along with a sign, marked the spot of a state line tavern. There was a rugged-looking building and the sign announcing it also promised antiques one mile ahead, but Tyki hardly had any interest in that.

Judging by how the place looked, Tyki didn't even know whether it was still operating or not. Besides, Tyki had brought along his own supplies and kept them in a cooler that took up about half of the backseat; a huge bag of clothing and other necessities occupied the rest. Thus, he saw little need to check if the tavern was still up and running as he took a slight break. Instead, he took some time to rest, drink, eat, and relieve himself before getting back onto the road.

Tyki had just crossed into Utah when he had first seen him; when he had caught his first glimpse. He had just passed a sign warning him that the road may be icy. Tyki had smirked at that, because considering the sweltering heat outside, icy roads had seemed rather unlikely. He had then passed a sign telling him to put his seatbelt on, and his smirk had by no means diminished.

It was then that he had caught sight of a heat-blurred figure in the distance; the silhouette of someone walking by the roadside. From a distance, they had looked rather peculiar, but as he approached, Tyki noted with some surprise that there appeared to be someone walking with a black umbrella on the edge of the asphalt. It was a peculiar sight; Tyki had to admit as much. Curiosity piqued, he slowed his speed to get a better look; they were still quite far away, but now they had stopped. From what Tyki could see, they appeared to be contemplating the green sign ahead that announced the distance to the town of Monticello as well as that to Salt Lake City.

Unable to recall having passed any abandoned vehicles for the last twelve miles or so, Tyki contemplated his own options. The figure could only really be either one out of two things: a lost hitchhiker or a vivid hallucination. If it was the former, well‒

Surprisingly, they didn't even turn around when Tyki made his approach or even as he pulled over, winding down his window slightly. "Hey, you lost?"

The figure startled slightly and then turned partially, giving Tyki an opportunity to confirm that the other was indeed a he and indeed a teenager, although the stark whiteness of the other's hair definitely proved unusual; some fashion statement perhaps? The grey eyes surveying him also proved something of a surprise, evidently weary but wary in a way that definitely fuelled his interest.

"It's rather hot out, isn't it?" Tyki tried and gained a rather deadpan look in response, but still no answer; annoying yes, but also intriguing. "How about a lift into town?"

The stranger's eyebrow climbed at the offer. Then, grey eyes flickered briefly to gauge the distance to the nearest outpost of civilisation. "I think I'll manage," the boy eventually decided, hoisting his backpack further up his shoulder as he seemingly prepared to continue the trek.

"You sure?" Tyki gained a somewhat irritated look for that, but remained amiable. "You look like you could use some water and AC."

From the way the other stiffened, Tyki knew he had hit an in. Moments later, a noticeable sag in the other's posture proved that it was a good one.

"I could use some AC," the other muttered, folding his umbrella before walking up to the car, opening the door to the passenger seat and sliding into it. Then, with the pack on his lap, the young vagabond reached into it and kept his hand there, seemingly clutching something. Tyki figured it was probably a knife or possibly even a handgun; he found himself trying to keep his face straight while inwardly applauding the other's keen instincts of self-preservation, simultaneously experiencing some excitement at the thought of outwitting and overpowering them.

Truth to be told, it would probably be too easy. If he put his seatbelt on and then slammed on his breaks, odds were that the action would break the other's concentration long enough for Tyki to subdue him, especially since the boy was not wearing a seatbelt. Then again, offering up a spiked beverage also had its advantages. Then again‒

"Put your seatbelt on. There was a sign a while back."

There was really no need to hurry.

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