There was no light as he worked, but he knew what he was doing. He did not need the rays of any star or the emissions of any glass bulb to aid him in his task. Besides, those very rays seemed to shun him, almost as if they could refuse to shine on him, they would.

He didn't care. Indeed, many things were beyond his caring. It had been destined to be, and he accepted it, had even grown to love it.

He took some slow steps back, and then suddenly there was light, a dim light that gave the room some illumination as the moon crept out from behind a death shroud of clouds. It was his only witness to his actions, and it acted like it, as his face lay in heavy shadow, as if the moon, like it's brother the sun, refused to cast it's beams on him.

He made a noise of arrogant non-chalance, followed by a low chuckle of mirth. The moon had no light of it's own, instead reflecting, stealing in a sense, the rays of the Yellow Giant star that served as the source of all life for planet Earth.

He knew all about stealing , the theft of things you took so that you could have something you could not product on your own. The moon was lucky. It took it's light from something that gave light for the sake of doing it. It would never have to worry. It was just a chunk of dead rock, reflecting the light of a star.

If only society could learn that what applied to the moon and sun did not apply to them.

But society hated to learn anything, especially anything that took away from it's pricipal pleasures.

Another noise broke the room, a small sob, and the figure, dressed in black jeans and a black shirt, looked over to it and smiled. His redemption was awake. Time for more fun.

The little boy was eight at the most. Had he been a normal child, he could have screamed. But his screams were all gone. He could no longer summon the air to do anything but take shallow breaths. In his mind, he wished he could lose that ability too.

Then he was there, and the child looked up in fear. The moonlight obscured him, but it glinted on the knife the figure held.

"Why…what did I ever do to you…" the child cried softly, and then he felt the cold steel under his throat, accented by the sharpness of the blade. The blade rose softly, and the boy gasped as it cut into his skin. His blood began to flow, wreathing the knife in crimson, before the precious life liquid fell to the floor in small drops.

"You…did nothing."

For whatever reason, perhaps the ignorance of innocence, or the fuzzy moral idea that everyone had a conscience, the boy felt a surge of hope. Maybe this man, the man who had taken him, hurt him, would be letting him go.

Then the knife bit deeper, and the hope shattered even as the killer spoke his next words.

"And that's what makes this so damn…saitisfying."

Some time later, the killer emerges from the shadows, a faint smile on his face as he looked at the newspaper he had bought this morning.

"Kiester Child still missing." He muttered, reading the headline to himself. "After four days, the search for young Triner Kiester continues with no luck. Edmund Kiester, a lawyer with the firm Kiester & James, has yet to receive any ransom demands. He and his wife Sally have appeared on several TV shows and in several articles begging for their son's return…"

The killer trailed off into a low chuckle.

"Oh, he'll be returning, Edmund. The only thing is, he'll be returning in a box. Or maybe…a few boxes."

With slow pleasure, the killer cut the article from the paper with his knife, even as some drops of blood dripped onto the newsprint, obscurring the words. He didn't care. He didn't want the fine print. He just wanted the headline.

Removing the article, the killer walked over to the wall and added it to the 23 others that were stuck there. He smirked. Soon there would be a 24^th, and unlike the last one, and unlike others in his collection, it would show no hope. Just the grim face of reality.

And destiny.

"Ransom…HA! Edmund, your grief…the fact that you will go through your life shattered thinking you could have done something for your son…you could have saved him…that is better then any sum of money you could ever give to me."

Smiling, the killer turned and looked at the corpse of the boy hanging on the wall. He'd gone too far with his fun, but it didn't matter. He was due to move on. Triner was the last. It was time for him to play the last and best hand of his destiny.

"Fate is cruel…isn't it child?" he whispered to the carcass. "Who knows what you might have been? Happy? Sad? Handsome? Ugly? Rich? Poor? Remembered? Forgotten? Who knows…I once wondered that every day, every hour, every minute, every second. But know I now. I was blessed with enlightenment in reward for my suffering."

The killer lowered his head and chuckled again, a low sound of malice and cruelty.

"My future, my destiny...is to make sure you and your fellow spawn have none. Your father…his kind, all of them…won't have any either. You lucked out. You are shattered beyond repair now. Their shattering will happen until they too die...day by slow day…while everything falls apart around them. Marriages…friendships…faith…everything. I know them too well. They are people who lived their lives on their fragile pillars, and I…am the wrecking ball that will knock them all down, never to be rebuilt. And the fools have no one to blame but themselves! They needed their godhood, and the tragedy they suffer…it is only the pun ishment they deserve."

The killer smirked to himself again, and then turned around to look at another montage. This wall was covered with pictures, all of one woman, a woman getting on in years but still beautiful, with shining eyes and a lovely smile covered by a lovely wreath of green hair.

"It is time…" he whispered, looking at the pictures, hate and fury in his eyes.

"I thought you were different. I hated them all…all of them…I hated them and I have made them all pay…but you were different. I loved you...I loved you so much…and you scorned me! You laughed at me! Was it my scars? Was it my flaws that I tried so hard to overcome? I thought you…I thought you coukld understand…but you laughed. You laughed. And you will suffer for it!"

The killer tossed the knife in the air in a slow flip and caught it blade first, and then hurled it with deadly accuracy. It buried itself in the picture forehead of the lone picture that was not of the woman who the killer spewed venom at.

"You…you child, will be my last…my masterpiece…my weapon to make the worst of them all suffer. My blood should flow through your veins! Instead…it was his, him, of all people! He's not even human! And she chose him over me! You should be mine…but your mother scorned me…she scorned me…and you…you will be the one. I will shatter your mother for her crime. I thought she didn't want godhood. I was wrong. It's time for my destiny to come to a head…soon, child, soon. I want to taste it slowly."

The killer turned away, back towards the body of Triner. Moonlight briefly illuminated his eyes. They glittered with insanity.

"I may not be a superhuman madwoman, but when I'm done…you'll wish I was, Bulma!" the killer said, speaking the name as a curse.

And as the killer was swallowed back into the shadows, a brief beam of moonlight passed over the picture of a young girl that the knife was buried into, even as collected moisture from years of abandonment flowed in a slow stream from the hole the knife had made. It mixed with flaking red paint, giving an image that the picture was bleeding.

The little girl's resemblence was uncanny to the woman's whose pictures dominated the wall.

Bra Briefs.