A/N: After taking nearly a year's hiatus on my other page, I've decided to post something worth-while to my new page. To those who don't know me, I've been a veteran of FictionPress for 12 years now. I've changed a lot from my former self. I will be carrying over all of my stories from my old account, minus the discontinued ones. They will all be in edited and revamped condition, and those who review them will be reviewed back. However, do not just review on the pretenses that I'll review you back. If all you say is 'it's good will you plz review mah stori' then more than likely it will not be followed through. Tell me what you like about it, what you dislike about it, anything is fine.

Now, please enjoy and remember, review and I shall return the favor providing that the above is done.


Title: Psychopath

Author: Melissa Norvell

Rating: T/M , depends really. I am a little unsure.

Pairings: Unless you count that main character has a loose love interest, none.

Genre: Horror/Psychological

Warnings: Blood, Gore, Dark Themes, Graphic depictions of death and murder

Summary: TWO-SHOT. This cycle repeats…Happily…Endlessly…Merrily…It's happening again…


By: Melissa Norvell

Part I

The sun shone brightly on the innocent hills of the country side, and the wind flowed with a gentle, fluid movement as short, slightly curly white strands danced on its unspoken melody. The faint humming of the song 'A Bicycle Built For Two' filled the silent air around a man in his mid-thirties as he peddled along on his powder blue bike. He was clad in the most inappropriate of military attire, but didn't seem to mind as he went along merrily, without a single care in the world.

In the back of the bike, a basket was placed. The chrome reflected the sun in shimmering glory as something circular sat in the back, wrapped in a less than pristine white cloth. Out from under this shroud, a good five feet of shimmering, sky blue, wavy hair cascaded from the back, creating haunting questions of what one might assume was encased in the fabric.

'The feeling of being free is an interesting one to someone who has never truly been free.' The white-haired man thought as his golden eyes scanned over his surroundings. In his eyes, all of the things that normal people took for granted, he now cherished. The things that people thought mundane were suddenly fantastic, fresh, and new. He smiled in peace at these thoughts, but then his expression changed to a gravely serious one. 'However, if there is one thing that people cannot escape, it is the memories of the past.'

Those who have betrayed him haunted his every thought. They consumed his life and infected him like botulism clinging to a freshly slaughtered body. Those irritants needed to be cleansed from the world, and cast into the abyss to be forgotten until the sands of time ran out. Immersed in these thoughts, he stopped in front of a quaint-looking house where his black boot released the kick-stand for the bike. The white-haired male loomed over the basket and reached down, gently picking up the wrapped object as he carried it inside of the building.

'Everyone insists that this cannot be done, and in order to truly get over the past, you have to face your obstacles…and take them out one by one.' His thoughts further tugged at his strings as he continued to walk deeper into the house. Clacking of his boots echoed through the barren abode, whose blackened rooms looked as if they may suck someone in if they were not too careful.

Golden eyes glanced up, past the brim of his military hat. They were cold and dull, barely holding any life to them. 'Alright…I have managed to successfully gather the irritants of my past into one…neat…little…place.' His thoughts turned wicked as he stopped walking.

Before him was an odd placement of chairs. They were all wooden, painted midnight blue and placed in a circle. In the center was a single chair. With an arrogant huff, the male smiled as he placed the wrapped object in the seat of one of the chairs and yanked the cloth free to reveal its identity to the world.

It was the severed head of a young woman.

'Ayumi…The last of my worldly sins have been gathered to this very place.' His thoughts perceived darkly as he glanced across the room at each chair. They all had severed heads seated in them. The heads all shared similar characteristics. They were all male, ranging from slightly younger than himself to their mid-fifties.

Satisfied with his work, he walked to the center of the circle and took a seat. Crossing one leg over the other, the demented male seemed quite pleased with himself. His mature, chiseled face wore a look of calm, but it was a façade that hid his true unstable nature, a kind of composed that could not be trusted.


'HELLO!' His thoughts echoed in an untamed, crazy tone.

"My name is General Siberia." He spoke cooly.

'GENERAL MOTHER FUCKING SIBERIA!' The crazed voice inside of him screamed, putting the slightest of pauses between his curse words.

"I haven't killed anyone in four days."


"Going without killing isn't as easy as I thought it would be. I keep having…" His unstable voice shook as he glanced at the head of a younger male with short, black hair. Staring into the man's dark eyes, frozen in horror from his time of death, he could hear his pleading within the confines of his mind.

'No! Don't kill me!' He screamed in terror and fright.

Siberia smirked to himself. "Urges…"

'No! Please!' The young man screamed once more, his voice more desperate than the last plea as flashbacks reeled through his head. Yes, it was he who had picked up that sub-machine gun and shot his defenseless body full of holes. It was he who was laughing in sick pleasure at the terrified screams of his comrade. Siberia made him beg just to listen to the sweet horror in his voice as he viciously robbed him of his life.

"I think I'm finally figuring out what I was meant to be in the first place." Calm, baritone words poured from his pale lips. 'What I was meant to be ALL ALONG!' His inner voice agreed. "It's not so bad, really." Golden eyes shifted to the woman's head.

'Siberia, please…' She beseeched with all of the emotion she possessed.

"In fact…"

'Please, you don't want to do this!' Her voice continued to persuade him to put the knife down.

'It almost feels like it was MEANT TO FUCKING BE!' That insane vocal echoed through his mind with the pitch that abruptly changed from calm to rage-filled and uncultivated. Smiling to himself, he spoke once more.

He turned his head up and pleasantly looked to the ceiling. "Now, there is no one left who will EVER mess with me again. I am NOT the man I used to be back in the army."

'Kill them, kill them.'

A static sounded in his brain as he could hear the mixed voices of his victims begging, pleading and screaming like hysteria in his head. Flashbacks of their slow, torturous deaths reeled through his mind at light speed. It was almost as if their lives were flashing before him. Siberia had to wonder in his moment of psychosis, if that was the last thing they saw before they left this world.

'Kill them.

Do it, Siberia.

Do it…kill them.


Kill them…ALL!'

He felt himself shake with excitement as adrenaline coursed through his veins with such fury that he thought his heart might burst in his chest. This elation was an indescribable type of high. He shifted his gaze to the woman's chair, staring into her hollow expression.

"Hah," he let a slight chuckle escape his lips as a wicked smile painted its way across his features. Reaching out, his black gloved hands lifted the severed limb as he began to swing it in a circular motion as he spun in place and started to sing in an unstable and loud tone.

Ayumi! Ayumi!

Give me your answer, do.

I'm half CRAZY all for the love of you!

It won't be a stylish marriage

I CAN'T afford a carriage

As he watched her hair dance in the wind, flashbacks of the day he decapitated her ran through his mind in fast forward and her screams were all he heard. They were so loud that they even blocked his song.

But you'll look sweet upon the seat

Of a bicycle built for TWWWOOOO!

He finished as the room filled with insane cackling that could send chills down the hardest of heart's back. The high-pitched sounds reverberated off of the blank walls of the darkened room as he spun around an extra time for good measure and fell back, still holding tightly to the severed head.

Lying on the ground, he looked up as his victim's hair cascaded around her lifeless face with the fluidity of water. As he continued to stare into her expression, his mind faded to black as vivid colors and sounds reminded him of how it all began.

How everything came to this moment…


'Inside of me…There are feelings only one word could describe…' A flash of the short-haired man's smiling face, etched with the warm tones of a campfire ran through his mind. 'Happily…' Another of his victim's smiling faces ran through his head. It was a spiky-haired man with closed eyes and a goofy smile. Both men were young, in their mid-twenties with their whole lives ahead of them. Their laughing echoed through the night air as they sat around a small fire. 'Merrily…It repeats…' The faint orange glow bathed their uniforms in dim light.

"So tell me, what kind of weapon do you think makes the best killing tool?" The short-haired soldier asked his spiky-haired friend.

'It repeats…'

"I think that it's more of a slow, painful death to kill someone with a butcher knife." The spiky-haired soldier suggested. "Think about it. You can get a lot of stabs in and just watch them as they squirm in pain. What do you think, Tezuka?" Since he had brought up the question, his friend had figured that he may have a different suggestion for a weapon of choice.

"You're out of your mind, Kizashi," Tezuka waved in dismissal. "I'd prefer a sub-machine gun. You can kill them in one shot. What about you, General?" He asked as they both looked to Siberia, who had been seated off by himself. The visor of his hat shrouded his eyes and a stern look was plastered onto his face. He stared straight ahead, as if the very flames of the fire hypnotized him.

"General Siberia?" Kizashi questioned.

'It repeats…on and on…'

"What?" His voice was dry and unemotional.

"Tezuka and I want to know what weapons you think would be the best to kill someone with. Have any you might want to share?" The spiky-haired underling repeated the topic at hand.

"That depends. Every weapon has its own advantages." Siberia replied as he began to list and pros and cons of a few weapons that came to mind.

The first weapon was a chainsaw. If it was the killer's desire to feel the blood and pieces of flesh of their victim assaulting their body in all of its warm glory, then it was definitely the best weapon for the job. The teeth of the chain would rip and tear the flesh and open a great deal of wounds. The rotation of the blade made it easy to saw through bone if the killer wanted to remove limbs if the victim was fighting too much. This would leave their victim in a vegetable-like state. It was a plus to watch the look on their face as they saw their body being ripped apart savagely, and their limbs removed one-by-one.

If the killer wanted an even sicker pleasure, they also had the option of removing them joint by joint, which allowed for a more painful and drawn out experience. Making the victim watch their parts being removed in such a fashion would be enough to send chills down anyone's spine.

If the killer was after a short sense of gain, then it was always an option to hunt down a victim from afar, while watching them much as a hawk watches a defenseless field mouse. Watching the victim's terror and paranoia as they ran in circles, unable to escape, was a sense of excitement noteworthy to any assassin who enjoyed what they did. The gunshot would be quick, clean and precise. It would take out the victim in one or two blows and left the body virtually spotless. Cherishing the one moment in which they realize their wound, capturing that expression of shock was the key. There was something about the look on a dying person's face that provided a killer with their own sick pleasure.

If the killer desired a little of both worlds, then his ultimate suggestion would be using an axe. It required more strength than the gun and the chainsaw, but it provided its own demented amusement. The killer could hack at their victim at any pace they wished. Hack them slowly and intake their melodious sounds as their life was slowly taken away, or slam the blade into their flesh with all of their might and fury until they did not speak or struggle anymore. They might get a little dirty, but the prolonged agony made it all worth it.

However, the choice was strictly up to the killer, and anything could be used as a weapon. It all just depended on what suited a murderer's desire and need at the moment.

Kizashi stared at him, dumbfounded and shocked that the general would provide such vivid explanations on weapons of torture. "You…seem to know a lot…about that…"

"Torture is my specialty,"Siberia replied. "After all, when you're in the military, you continue endlessly killing, feeling nothing but hate and indescribable pain. Deeper and deeper the hole gets, until the light starts to vanish and all you see is the darkness of the abyss. Farther down you realize that you can't break free of the carnage that takes hold of you. You slip through the cracks of a dark eternity, consumed in all of these emotions. When you make another move, there will be no glancing back. Everything changes and it begins to fade into black. The only things you are left is to wonder if tomorrow will ever come. If you make it through the night and if there will ever be a place for the broken in the light."

He wanted to speak more, but before his mouth could utter another word, he felt a bullet rip through his body. All around him, confusion, chaos and shock ran through his friend's faces.



The shouts filled the air and the sounds of gun fire rang through his senses. Enemy troops filled the camp site and several more bullets pierced his body. They ripped through his flesh as his blood sprayed the air with a twisted sense of artistic glory.

'This pain is so sweet…

I think I'm going to go insane.

The first bullet is effortless.

The second bullet is effortless.

The third is…'

"General!" Kizashi shouted to his superior, but he was grabbed by Tezuka and pulled away.

"Leave him! There are too many of them!" Tezuka's words reached the white-haired man's ears as his form struggled to get up, but the pain was just too great. His vision blurred as the more muscular of the two soldier's struggled against his friend's thin body, trying to reach out to his fallen comrade, but after a few minutes he gave up his fight and left, never looking back.

His blood stained the ground beneath him as the stomping of military boots echoed through his senses. The pain resonated through his senses. Siberia reached out to his two friends with a pained expression. "Wait! Tezuka! Kizashi! Don't leave me!" His vision blurred once more as he watched his friend's bodies grow farther and farther away from him. 'Some soldiers they are. Did they never think to rescue their injured?'

For soldiers to act with that level of disrespect sickened him to the core, for those soldiers to be friends of his was twice as sickening. Siberia wasn't sure which situation was worse- his fellow soldiers abandoning him, or his friends. He glanced up to see that one of the men was standing above him; his uniform was a dirty brown in contrast with his black and gold once. The man wore a smug look as his beady eyes widened and his twisted, gnarly smirk increased in width. He held the blunt end of his gun up and suddenly, everything shot straight to pitch black.

'It's so sweet!


The pain is so enjoyable…

I want to see it on your face.

I shake with excitement.

It's enjoyable…

So enjoyable…





I think it's so.








When he awoke, all he could see was a dim, red light that flooded the room. The smell of must and death filled his nostrils. He glanced up at the hanging lamp above him, and then down to his feet, which were bound to either leg of the small, wooden chair he had been seated in. His arms were bound tightly behind the chair and as much as he struggled against them, the ropes only dug into his skin, causing him more pain. Siberia's jacket and hat lay across the floor. He was topless.

It was ironic, really. At a time like this where everything seemed hopeless and futile, absolutely no thoughts ran through his mind. All Siberia could do was stare up with a calm, blank expression. Moments passed before he heard the lone clack of boots that made strong, even contact with the floor.

There wasn't a doubt in his mind that those were not the steps of his possible interrogator.

The footsteps stopped at the back of his chair as a man dressed in dark, round-framed shades with a surgical mask spoke. "Now, I suggest you cooperate and make things simple for us…General Siberia." The masked man's voice was slightly muffled as he glanced over his shoulder at a second figure that came into the room. The figure walked in front of him and held a drill with a long bit in his hands.

Siberia leaned back in his chair, as if he were sitting there casually. "Oh?" He seemed amused as a crooked smile crossed his face. If they were intending on giving him hell, then he didn't mind it. After all, it was a moment that he enjoyed as much as he enjoyed giving other people pain. Siberia was an odd man who was fascinated about death, pain and brutal murders and beatings. It was a twisted pleasure of his to partake in such actions.

The fact that he was a general and famous executioner was only a plus to him. Being tortured was nothing, and all the pain could have made his insanity all the more prominent. If that happened, then he might just have to snap. His friends had already betrayed him and anything more would only fuel his fire at this point.

"Tell us were the missile base is," the man who held the drill demanded.

Siberia simply watched the drill bit reflect the red light from the lamp above. "I can't tell anymore. Am I really hurting? Am I really sad? Should I stay or should I go? Did I ever really have a plan? Did I ever really know? Can I even take another step?" His answer was obscure, and not truly an answer. Instead of thinking about getting out of his situation, the white-haired man reflected upon his life and how he had lived it, as well as the here and now.

His emotions were blurred, and his feelings were indistinguishable from each other. Everything ran together like a frenzy in his mind. The male could slowly feel himself cracking from the inside out.

"I didn't ask for your mindless babbling. I want an answer," the man continued to demand.

"I want to only love feeling the darkness," Siberia's voice had taken on a more sinister sound.

"We have ways of making you comply. You can't play stupid with us. We know that you are the sole holder of the whereabouts of its secret location." That was the very reason that they had sought out to take out General Siberia and his underlings. That missile base was critical. Destroying it would give the enemy the edge. That base was their secret weapon, and it was capable of blowing up a good portion of their army in a single press of a button.

Destroying it meant losing or winning the war for them, and they would get the answer by any means necessary.

"I could tell you where to go," Siberia's voice reverted back to its amused tone, "I can say the words with my mouth. I don't think I would care one way or the other. If I told you, then it would all fall apart. Nothing would be left. My heart will never be pure. All of this is black. Am I seeing this all now; or have I forgotten if I can see at all?"

It was true that he no longer cared about the outcome of the war, but he did care about Tezuka and Kizashi. If anyone was going to kill them, it wasn't going to be them. No…he wanted their lives for himself. If he didn't kill them, he would never be able to live with himself for letting those rookies get one over on him.

"I won't get anything out of him but nonsensical bullshit. Torture him!" The command was given as the man wielding the drill moved behind him, drilling a hole into his shoulder.

Siberia couldn't help but let out a small noise of pain as he felt every bore of the drill impact him, breaking through flesh and tearing it apart in a turning manner. Flesh twisted and bled within him, the dull sensations soon took him over as the rhythmic sound of the drill flooded his senses. After a few moments, the drill was pulled out and the light dripping of his blood on the floor was the only sound that could be heard as he hung his head.

He could feel the blood flowing from his new wound, as well as the pain of his gunshot wounds. His body shook and before he could completely recover from his wound, the drill assaulted him over and over again. The noise reeled through his senses and the drill bit ripped open his skin relentlessly. It was the same sensations, repetitively. As soon as one hole was made, another began.

'It's so sweet…


This pain is most enjoyable…

So enjoyable…'

Again, and again, one after another, he was put through abuse. After the drill had assaulted his back and shoulders, he was punched in the face with bare fists. Still, he would say nothing in regards to dispelling the information they had wanted from him.

'I want to see it on your face.'

A whip with razor blades assaulted his form, lashing out over his pale skin over and over again. New abrasions formed and more blood rose to the surface of his skin. The pain was numbing and it blurred his sense of perception.





Strike after strike, various weapons collided with his body, marring his once perfect flesh and creating wounds that would scar him when they healed. Whips, screw drivers, blades of various weapons that dug and tore at his flesh.

'The pain is so sweet…I think I'm going insane.

The first bullet is delightful.

The second bullet is pure bliss.

The third is…'

A knife was plunged deep in his back, and at that moment in time, he found it humorous in a sick way. It was strangely iconic of what his life was at this very moment.

'So sweet!

So sweet!

So red!

So red!'

Siberia tipped his head down and began to laugh feverishly and uncontrollably. It quickly turned into a mad cackle as pure psychosis lit up his golden eyes. The lines had all been blurred.

There was no stopping what was about to happen.

The male who held the knife looked thrown off by his sudden burst of insanity and backed away slowly. Siberia lunged forward with all of his might. He no longer felt pain, and he no longer valued his life. The ropes were pulled tight and snapped off of his arms, leaving several burns adorning them. It was a small price to pay considering his torso had been assaulted viscously. The battered general stood and ripped his leg from the chair with such force that he snapped it off. First, his right leg and then his left leg, both of them had the legs of the chair still tied to them and the front of the chair toppled over from the lack of support.

His assailant rushed to a table where several of his torture devices lay. Quickly, he grabbed the nearest tool and held it out in defense.

"I'll kill you," Siberia uttered in a serene voice as he charged at the weapon-wielding man. The man defended himself by plunging his weapon of choice into the psychotic general's arm, but it didn't even faze him. Siberia quickly shook it off and grabbed one of the chair legs that had been strapped to his limbs and yanked it out of its rope. With all of the might he possessed, he rammed it straight through his attacker's chest.

The pop of the blunt object as it exited his body brought a malicious smile to the general's face. The man tried to scream in anguish, but only gargling noises could be heard as blood quickly filled his lungs and brought him straight to death's grip.

"Your screaming is melodious against the red light of this room. This color of slaughter…such a sweet shade of crimson," Siberia pulled the chair leg out of the man's chest and nuzzled it with the side of his face. His enemy's blood smeared across his cheek like war paint. "It's like a sweet, red rain."


Looking down on the man as he pulled the inanimate object from his cheek, the general's eyes turned cold. "You deserved this."

'Kill them!'

"Now, it's time to fade to black."

'Kill them ALL! Do it now, Siberia!'

"…and never turn back. These urges are too strong to hold back." His voice was shaky and uneven in tone. Bursting out into another fit of giggles, he lunged towards the other male, killing him with the drill as he rammed it through his chest. After that, he made his way to the table of weapons, where he chose a select few to carry with him on his way out. The fact that he was in a torture room was more than pleasing and more than opportunistic. He also grabbed his coat and hat from the ground and threw them on as he made his way across the room.

Siberia made his way down the corridors of the enemy's facility. In his hand, he held a long sword that was used to torture him. His blood still clung fresh to the steel blade. His adrenaline pumped and his heart raced. With each soldier he met, blood was spilled. The more that he killed, the more that he took enjoyment from seeing those faces, twisted in terror and those agonizing screams as their lives were being ripped from them savagely.

One by one they fell. With a single slash, their blood spray painted the walls and ground in a sick, artistic glory. His body was airbrushed in life's essence, and the feel of it against his skin made his heart flutter in bliss. He nearly leaned into it, welcoming the warm, slick sensation.

Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed that one of the guards was actually running from him. How amusing. This would be great fun to him. He gave chase to his fleeing prey and as the horrified man rounded the corner; his form was pinned to the wall by the chest. The victim's face lit up in distress as he realized that his wound was fatal. Soon, he passed away.

Another guard rushed out of his quarters to attack Siberia, but he only met with the blade of his sword as he decapitated the man where he stood. His head rolled onto the ground at the general's feet. He smiled at it, as if it were an innocent child then kicked it away.

He turned around and glanced at the carnage behind him. Bodies littered the ground and the stair way. Blood painted the walls and floor in a vibrant red. Siberia was proud of himself for his macabre display. It looked like a true scene of genocide.

"This world is mine."


"A beautiful stage that I dance on alone," Siberia walked to a strange door and shoved it open. There was a general inside of an older age than himself. The man was shorter than he was, of a bigger build and had darker skin and jet black hair. He whirled around to face Siberia, who wore a sub-machine gun one side of his belt, and a butcher knife on the other.

His visage was calm and nearly happy.

'The screaming.

It repeats.'

"What the hell is going on?" The man's voice was irritated and angry before he realized who it was. It was then that his face lit up in fright.

"That look of horror etched onto you face? Did your dreams get ruined? Are your thoughts being suppressed? Has your hope been severed? Is there rage on your face? Has your blood been set ablaze?" Siberia asked in a wicked tone as the man backed up a few steps. The general walked up to him slowly as his victim's eyes darted around quickly, trying to find a way to escape. "Have you been defiled…and then left to suffer with your invulnerability!?" Siberia's voice grew loud and angry as he raised the blade of his sword above his head and brought it down. A haunting scream echoed through the empty room and hall.

Siberia rose up, his body splattered in blood. He smiled happily at the work he had done and the sense of accomplishment that he felt from killing so many in one day. It was enough to put him in elation for days after their massacre. His mind raced, thoughts still blurred together and a sense of madness had overtaken him. There was no turning back now. There was only one choice now- to keep killing and never stop.

He stood above his latest victim; their body hunkered down in submission, doused in blood and lifeless. Murdering the general of the enemy squad was but a simple victory and repayment for the torture that he instructed his men to give to him.

"Now, bow to the monster you created."

To Be Continued

A/N: I hope that I'm not rusty with this piece. I haven't written anything for this site in a year, and I hope that this gives off the scary and crazy feeling that I tried to put into it. Part two will be coming next week, so I hope that everyone checks up on this story to see the end of it.

Until next week.