AN: I was listening to music and I had the urge to write this.

Blood Red: Chapter 1

Juniors club is not the kind of place one would expect to find me. My sister is the kind of girl you would expect to find "hitting the clubs" as she calls it at 23:30 on a weekend. Yang is the partier of the family, a role she inherited from our father.

Me, not so much. I have all the social abilities of a rotting corpse.

I think that counts as a joke. Uncle Qrow tells me normal people use jokes as a way to defuse tention and encourage team building. He still hasn't gotten around to teaching me how to recognize jokes, but I think I have a fairly solid grasp of it.

No complaints so far at least.

But back to the important things. I am not here for the music, or the drinking. Dancing among the crowds and clouding my judgement with downers or the drugs some of the party goers are passing around, while it certainly would be an interesting experience, would at best end up with me making a complete fool of myself. So, no. I am not here to dance and drink the night away.

Actually, I am looking for someone to leave with.

No, not like that.

I am only fifteen after all, far too young to go looking for such things. Or am I sixteen? I stopped having birthday parties a few years ago when I explained to father that I don't enjoy them seeing as I don't like parties and have none of those "friends" to "hang out with". I think Yang reminds me every year regardless of my wishes but without the actual full day of "Hurray you survived another year and for some reason this is important enough for everyone to care" I find it difficult to actually update my mental calendar.

I should have asked how one identifies their friends at the time. Everyone else seems to find them easily enough. Is there some sort of scroll number I can ring up for their information? Maybe I'm supposed to ask each person I meet if they are my friend.

Note to self, try that sometime.

On a normal night I would probably be relaxing at home with my family. Watching television, reading books, or working on Crescent Rose. Tonight, however is the day before my dearest sister leaves to attend Beacon Academy.

I want few things in life, but one of those things is to attend Beacon. The idea of Yang going there years before me, leaving me behind and going off on wonderful adventures? Hunting Grimm and learning to be a huntress?

It makes my blood heat with unhealthy amounts of jealousy, something I normally don't feel. I do feel things of course. But normally I only have positive thoughts towards my family. Well Qrow and Yang at least. So feeling unbridled rage towards my loving sister is very strange to me. It would be improper of me to act on it of course, Qrow taught me that much early on, so I need to find a different outlet for it.

To say the least, I need to burn off some energy.

Which is why I am here in this noisy, smelly, way too hot club and allowing this pig headed idiot to cling to me believing he might just get lucky tonight.

The idiot in question is about the same as the ones who came before. Average looks and alcohol enhanced confidence that makes him brave enough to grope me when I don't immediately turn away from him. It's a good thing Yang isn't here or his head would probably be wedged through the bar.

Another grope from the idiot gets me to turn my head towards him. The smell of alcohol on his breath is almost enough for me to put my elbow through his chest, but I just barely manage to keep myself back long enough for him to get some words out.

"What you say you and I go someplace quiet and get to know each other?"

Wow. Subtle. I've heard better lines from the idiot children I am forced to be around at Signal.

My little shriveled up tic-tac sized ball of dignity wants me to punch him in the face, but this is exactly the kind of thing I have been waiting for all night. It took a surprisingly long time for anyone to approach me this time, maybe I'm not doing a good enough job anymore. That or Juniors patrons are better at identifying underage girls than other establishments.

Regardless, I turn to the meat-bag and give him my best imitation of Yang's flirty grins and allow him to lead me away. I must admit I have gotten quite good at them over the past few months. All it took was for me to stalk my sister on a few of her party runs and snap photos of her, then spend a few hours a night practicing in front of the mirror until I got it down perfectly.

The inebriated man quickly leads me through the club towards the private areas. A quick show of money later, and the two of us are alone in a small black-lit room. Most of the room is dominated by the horseshoe shaped couch wrapping around a circular table with a bottle of what I assume is more alcohol and a few glasses. For some unknowable reason the walls, table, and upholstery are all black, and the outlining for everything is that special paint that glows under blacklight.

It's actually quite annoying to the eye.

The door clicks shut behind me.

I did my research before visiting this club. It has no cameras, soundproof rooms, and the private rooms are paid by the hour and only get checked when someone inside requests something.

The meat-bag and I are all alone now. No one will hear a thing.

On queue the so-called person pulls me back towards him and grinds against me in what I assume would be considered aggressive or sexual.

I'm not really the most knowledgeable about such things. The internet can only teach you so much when the image of intercourse makes you physically ill. Those weeks following Yang often left me in dry heaves, which made it really difficult to not get caught.

Which brings me back to the annoying grinding.

And also the hand reaching up my shirt.

I should really take care of that.

The thing touching me yelps and jumps back in pained shock. All over my body a find red mist wells up from my skin and floats through my air as I force my aura through my body.

Poor little thing. It hurts like a bitch when you are touching someone when they flare their aura. Feels like getting hit with a hammer and burned at the same time.

Before the drunken fool can react, I tackle him to the ground and straddle his chest. His struggles are week, and between the confusion and alcohol he isn't entirely sure what is going on. Part of him might even think I am just being overly aggressive.

I shift on top of him and feel a hardness under me. Looks like one very specific part of him thinks that.

What an idiot.

His head slams back into the thick black carpeted floor, dazing him even further and allowing me to easily collect both his wrists in one hand and force them to the ground over his head. My other arm gets busy reaching behind me.

"GAAAAAH!" The man screams and his eyes, previously fogged by alcohol, visibly clear as pain fills his body. I let go of his wrists. The knife impaling both of them sticking into the floor is more than enough to keep him from doing anything with them for the rest of my evening.

I lick my lips and begin pulling more knives from Crescent Rose.

Time to work off some stress.

Quick swipes of the knife leave the man's shirt a pile of tattered ribbons that are quickly tossed aside. The man whimpers oh so beautifully while I trail the tip of the blade down his chest leaving a thin line of red behind.

I want nothing more than to plunge it deep inside of him over and over again. Covering myself in his wonderfully sticky blood before watching the light slowly leave his eyes.

But I know to savor my food. I don't know how long it will be before I get to kill one of these pitiful animals again.

So obviously I don't want to rush things.

The pitiful man beneath man's screams get even louder. Stabbed through on the end of a knife like a little hors d'oeuvre is one of the man's brown eyes.

Whoops. I really enjoy saving the eyes for later.

Oh well.

The other eye leaves its socket with an accompanying shrill scream from the quivering man.

A shiver runs up my spine. Such wonderful screams. They are truly beautiful things. Like a nice glass of ice-cold water after a day of hard work.

I love them so.

Now please excuse me. I only have an hour to enjoy this after all.

A few hours later I am wandering aimlessly up and down the poorly lit streets of Vale. I already washed myself clean of all the blood in a public restroom, burned my blood sodden clothes with a small vial of red dust, and left the area without being spotted by any cameras just like my dear Uncle Qrow taught me. The ferry to Patch doesn't run again until 04:00 so I still have pleanty of time to kill so I duck into a dust shop I frequent.

I really should know its name by now considering I am here several times a week.

Inside the shop I give a quick nod to the owner. He is used to servicing hunters and doesn't bother trying to make any sort of small talk or help me looking for things which I certainly appreciate. I quickly stalk to the back of the large store and plop down on a bench with a stack of magazines to look through.

As I begin to read about the finer details on precision earth dust firing canisters my thoughts turn to my wonderful uncle.

Qrow, unlike father, was always there for me. After the Summer died he collapsed as a person, leaving little me and Yang pretty much to take care of ourselves. After around six months of poorly cooked meals and not being able to use the top counters Qrow finally stopped by and came back into our lives to fill the gap while Father recovered.

As soon as the old bird took one good look at me and realized I was not like everyone else. While Tai and Yang get a thrill from fighting and have anger issues, he quickly found the butchered animals and family pets I buried in a shallow grave in the woods behind our house. From what I have read on my scroll, most stories would have ended there with me either being outed or with the so-called people trying to "fix" me for the rest of my life.

But Qrow didn't do that. I don't know why, but instead of pushing me away or trying to fix me, he helped me.

He taught me how to fight alongside my sister, eventually helping me master using he trademark scythe fighting style and helping me find my own fighting style using my knives.

Of course, that's not all he taught me.

He taught Yang how to fight, but he taught me how to kill. Eventually I learned he had a different job from most Hunters. Instead of being sent by those in charge to hunt Grimm, he was usually sent out to hunt the monsters that take human form. He has a vast amount of knowledge about killing other humans that most hunters just wouldn't have.

He taught me where the weak points on a human body are. Where to hit to kill, disable, or cause pain. How to kill a man in a single blow instantly, and how to cause a lethal wound that will take days to slowly drain them of life.

More importantly he taught me how to not get caught.

I don't know if he ever knew someone like me before, but from the beginning he was convinced (rightfully) that even if I got to kill people on missions constantly I would never be satiated enough to avoid the occasional body turning up. By the time I was twelve his belief was proven true. He took me on his less dangerous mission occasionally under the pretense of taking me out to learn proper scythe techniques so Yang wouldn't be curious and would let me sate myself on his targets.

It was the most fun I had ever had at the time. So many warm bodies to play in and no one to stop me. No need to dig a hole to bury a butchered cat. No need to sneak into family's home and slip back out with a passed-out pet to play with.

And yet within week of returning home I found myself standing over the bleeding corpse of a dock worker.

The training took over of course. I cleaned up any evidence of my presence and disposed of the body properly. No one suspected cute little Ruby. The wide-eyed curious child with dreams of heroism would do such a thing.

I stopped killing on Patch quickly enough though. It's not healthy to leave the trash near where you live after all.

So now I venture into Vale whenever I get an urge and don't have a suitable excuse to sate it. Plenty of people in Vale. More than enough crime to bury my kills under.

I can feel the itch in the back of my head, even now after only a few short hours. Already I want to kill something. To feel the strain on my arm as my knife cuts through them. To see the moonlight, reflect on the arc of blood that flies through the air when my scythe removes a head.

I'll have to kill again soon.

"Put your hands in the air!"

Speaking of which...

I look up from the magazine I am not really reading and take in the ridiculous suited thug with red shades pointing a cleaver at my face. Doesn't the fool realize its more threatening to have the weapon drawn back ready to strike? Having it extended adds an extra motion to any attack.

Qrow taught me that day one. What moron teaches these people?

I casually toss the magazine onto the pile.

"Are you robbing me?"

The thug face flashes confusion for a moment. Must be the first time anyone had to ask.

"Yes!"

I wet my lips and my hand twitches to my knives.

"Oh this is going to be delicious."

Welcome to the bottom!

So... that was a thing. As i said above i was listening to some tunes and the thought popped into my head, "What if Ruby was a psychopath and a serial killer?" Turned out it was interesting enough of a concept for me to quickly bust out a chapter based on the idea. Honestly not that I think about it this is probably because my brother whistled the "Dexter" theme song yesterday. Just got blood themed murder on the mind or something i guess.

Regardless, I hope you enjoyed. I'm a sucker for "Ruby is crazy" stories. When i started this chapter I actually originally planned on writing a "Ruby is adopted by Raven" story because all the ones of those i read are never updating but this came out instead! So maybe look forward to that in a few days or something.

For the first time i actually had to rewrite part of a story to censor myself. The original version of this i write involved Ruby having sex with the guy, and in the end stabbing him in the heart when she came. It was pretty fucked up. Especially when she latched onto his mouth and inhaled his last breath.

I figured that may be a tad too... completely fucking insane so i toned it down significantly.

That is about all i have to say. If you have any questions, or suggestions with what I can do with this, send me a PM or drop it in a review. I have no plans for this sense i just wrote it on impulse, so any suggestions are more than welcome.