You curious about us punk? Fine, I'll humor you.
I could feel the adrenaline in my veins, the throbbing pain of the excitement spreading through my entire body. You see gentlemen, it is a primal instinct to dominate over those weaker than you that fuels the modern world. We see it everywhere, in the army, the government, even in schools. Those with power will use the weaker people to gain even more control, but if you ask me, it takes away a large chunk of the joy that is the good old fashion violence. I challenge you to name a single more exciting thing in this world than the feeling of breaking bone as you punch some poor loser's face. The smell of blood as they cower in fear and panic, begging for me to stop the constant attacks upon their worthless bodies, but I won’t. I never stop. Well, unless she orders me to.
I looked over to my boss, Pinkie Pie. I don’t know her real name or her face; I only know that her word is final. She was leading us right now for another raid, to get the fix that I need. The cyan colored mask covering my mouth was becoming uncomfortable, but it was necessary. There are 3 rules in our circle, and breaking them is not advised. Oh, you want to know them? Curious little fucker aren't you? Fine.
Number one: no one asks any questions about who we really are. There are 3 members in total, Pinkie Pie, Applejack and me, Rainbow Dash. You only use the code names, and wear only the clothing of the gang while on a raid. Considering the shit we get into the anonymity is very important. I mean, dude, I ain't exactly the nicest girl on the block, but the moment the mask is on, blood literally covers the streets. I've been with those girls for 2 years now, and I only know their voice, scent and fighting style. And you know what, I love that. There is none of the usual touchy-feely bullshit that you have with “real” friends, and yet those girls are the closest people in my life. We share the darkest secret, and are willing to go through hell for each other; yet at the same time only hang out to experience this amazing hell and torture. Everything we do stays a secret after you take off your mask. Any injuries, and there are lots, are treated and hidden and after our meeting is over, you look as though you've spent the evening at a spa, not out looking for blood.
Rule number 2: you come looking classy. Sure, we will get covered in grime and blood of the scum, and the innocent, but it does not mean we can’t do that while looking good. We all wear skinny black trousers, fabric stretchy enough not to hinder us when fighting, but tight enough to leave little to imagination. Next item, a white shirt and a tie. Of course bow ties are also acceptable, but my favorite is a cyan tie, the same color as my mask and my wings. It really looks good in the light of the street lamps as it shines against the otherwise dark outfit. Other accessories are up to you. Applejack usually wears a black waistcoat that hugs her body tight, but leaves her arms fully mobile. And a bowler hat. I don’t know why though; hats are annoying when you’re on the move, but she refuses to remove the bloody thing at any point. Her mask is deep green, just like her eyes, but I doubt it was the reason for the color choice. Pinkie Pie never was that keen on additions, but always wears the same neon pink boots, the same shade as her mask. My outfit is a bit more reserved than hers, a pair of black suspenders and black leather gloves. But hey, I do not hang out with the girls for the fashion tips. The only reason I do get dressed up is the punishment for failing to do it, and trust me, I KNOW it is not worth the price.
Final rule: what Pinkie says, goes. You do not argue with that crazy bitch. She is the only one that knows our true identities, the one to have begun our circle, and the one that I never wish to fight again.
We all have our own little pleasures that the group accommodates for. For AJ it is the desire to humiliate our victims. She strips them, rapes them or forces them to performs for her. She brings a whip with her to every “outing”, and the sound still haunts me every night. Pinkie once dared me to take a few lashings from AJ, 20 to be precise. I did it, but the thin scars across my back were hardly worth the reward. Both of them got a kick from the show though. You see, for Applejack the kicks come from the tears of her victims, and the begging and whimpers that were heard in our warehouse on that night made her scream in pleasure.
I am slightly different from AJ, I want to dominate. You might say it is the same, but for me it is not about the victims but me. My whole life I was stuck in the be-good-and-keep-the-voices-in-your-head-shushed circle and monotony of work, sleep and food. When I joined, I could let my true self speak for the first time. The trembles before taking on a big guy, the feeling of his breaking bones and shattered spirit are the stuff! I hurt my self more often than the others, but it is worth it. I broke my fingers a few times, I was stabbed, cut and even once I woke up in a hospital after one bastard hit me on the head with a baseball bat. It’s funny now when I think about it now. I was found naked outside with just a note saying “Idiotism related injury”. Probably AJ’s idea. That was the only time that I didn't win a fight. To be fair, he attacked me from behind, but I sure got my revenge after being discharged.
The reason though that you should not judge us two is the woman behind our circle, Pinkie. Her kicks come from the pain of the poor bastards that we decide to use for the entertainment. Me and AJ are physically stronger than Pinkie, but when she fights, the ground becomes a dance floor. Like at a party, she jumps and sings while cutting out tongues and gouging out eyes. I only ever stood up to her once, when AJ joined in, and this is the reason that now my mask covers my left eye as well as my mouth. There is a long red scar running across the left hand side of my face, from just above the eyebrow down to the cheekbone. My originally pink eye is now dull color of gray as the life escaped from it. I still consider myself lucky though, I saw Pinkie’s other victims.
So, still interested in joining us? Like I’d let you. It took my eye to accept Applejack, and as hell I’m gonna let a wimp like you join us. Anyway, you got me distracted now. Pinkie Pie doesn't like it when we’re not paying attention to the “hunt” as she calls it. Applejack and I walked through a dark alley in one of the Canterlot slums following our happy leader, who was happily skipping ahead, twirling a long steel chain ended with a small blade, while whistling a merry tune. If you saw her now you’d think she was going to a party, not for a homicidal spree, but it would be understandable. To us all those nights ARE parties. We are the hosts, and you are the guests. Today you can hear about our fun, but tomorrow, I might find you in a dark street of our dirty town. We will play with you, or take you to our place for the night. Sometimes you will be let out, but more often you will stay for ever. If you’re lucky we might never meet at all, but if we’re lucky, the streets will be filled with the metallic scent of blood, and the cobblestone road will turn the beautiful shade of scarlet.
I looked up hearing Pinkie Pie breaking her tune and wolf whistling at a group of slightly intoxicated and definitely underage girls. I could see through her mask that a sickening grin crossed her lips as she spoke.
“Show time”
Author's Note
This is probably the point that those with weak stomachs should stop reading. I don't really know where this story will end, and any advice or requests are happily received. Enjoy bothers and sisters!
