Cctv camera caught sex

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2020.08.04 06:49 forget-it123456 Cctv camera caught sex

Finally coming clean about my fucked up childhood
This is the first time I’m actually typing my story out.. please be nice I’m not good a punctuation..
Not sure when it started, maybe on the bus when I was young with the older boys always being vulgar and loud, I do know it started with a curious mind and too much internet freedom
I was 9-10 when I got my first iPod touch for Christmas. I was so excited as I longed for one after seeing my sister get one, even better mine had a camera! At the time I was thrilled...
I was severely bullied in school by kids since I could remember, sadly I went to a small school district so I was with most of these kids my whole school life, it was torture, the kids on the bus even were mean to me. I was alone finally my parents caught on and decided to get me help starting with ADHD as that was what the media and doctors were shoving in everyone’s face at the time. I ended up going to a horrible doctor, trying all sorts of ADHD meds that made me loose weight, and turned me Into a zombie. At this time they decided to pull me out of school, It was October of my 5th grade year that I started to homeschool. The bullying continued online as everyone my age had a Facebook. It just wouldn’t stop, I was deteriorating
Finally my parents decided to find a different child psychologist and I was diagnosed with PTSD from the relentless bullying, depression, anxiety, panic disorder, social phobia.
My mind was fucked I was alone, I hated myself, my parents were busy with work I had no friends no way out of my house I was stuck but I had my I pod..
my Curiosity started when the boys on the bus talking about boners when I was 9 I had no clue what the term was so I went on YouTube and googled and was confused as not much my young mine could understand popped up. So I searched and searched that night, clicking on all sorts of links, watching videos, pictures etc. it was crazy this was sex? My parents neglected to give me the “talk” when I was younger but I remember the day they gave my sister it and I was so intrigued on what they were saying in the other room. But I never found out.
When I was 10 I found this game called disc golf, you were able to play with strangers and chat while you played. I would always ask them “do you wanna have cyber sex?” I would then explain it and I would get a leave game or a ok and we would start sexting like we knew each other, I did it everynight. It’s not my real name, what’s the big deal? They won’t find me
When I was 11 I was playing on my I pod alone while my parents were distracted, I also had a “quiet space” in my closet I could go and calm down or relax when I was having a rough time. I was on some weird app I had found where you could watch CCTV feeds from all over the world. They had a chat room and people were saying usernames to another IM app and saying sexual things like people do (can’t remember what the name was) so I added a guy on that app as I was curious. I lied about my age and the guy started to talk sexual and I followed along with what I read on the internet. Sending “pictures of myself” which were pictures of pornstars I would find on the internet. I loved the attention, even if it wasn’t actually me I loved the way they would talk about the porn stars and tell them they were pretty and how much they wanted them.
Then when I was 12 boy from my old school started talk to me, he said I was cute he gave me attention we talked on Skype for hours and hours, video chatted etc. I don’t remember if it was me who brought it up or him but It started to get sexual we faked sexual for a long time then I moved into nudes.. I told myself “it’s a friend, not a stranger” we continued like that for awhile then a dumb fight happened and we stopped talking.
But I was addicted to the attention, I needed to be told I was pretty, that I was wanted, I wasn’t a reject. I needed it so bad I was willing to find anyone.. a stranger.. Omegle..
I got a kik as that seemed to be the big IM for that stuff back then. I found people, lots of people... it was an addiction I would be doing 3-4 at a time a day and would block them when I would get bored or they found me out.
Then I started to send pictures of myself. At 12 I had pretty much developed so I thought I can pass for a woman so I’ll do it just once. With this one guy, and man the rush I got from getting a compliment that was actually directed at me. I continued kik for a long time sending nudes, finding people to sext with on Omegle, lying about my age etc. this is when I started to self harm.
My family then decided they would send me back to school 9th grade, my local highschool.. still all the people I went to school with when I was younger.
I went boy crazy, I hadn’t gotten to interact with boys my age since 5th grade I was obsessed I wanted all the attention.
In comes Snapchat.. when I asked my mom if I could have one she said “ok but don’t be sending bad pictures” I assured her that was disgusting and I would never do that...
You can probably pretty much guess what happened next it’s pretty typical what happens with highschool teens sending nudes, but i personally was sending them to multiple guys. My mom was strict in certain ways at home. I could never go out, rarely had friends over strict in who I hung out with (as my sister was able to snitch as she was a senior at the time I was a freshman) I started to rebel, and send more and more and more till, what do ya know they spread. And my sisters friends ended up finding out at a party. They told my sister. Not only that it had gotten around to the school moms. So my mom was already contacted at that point...
All hell broke loose, I came clean, disciplined obviously. My mom decided to make an appt with my psychologist the next day as in the raging talk we had the night I brought up I didn’t wanna live anymore.
I wasn’t allowed to have my phone in my room at all or have my phone at night, my mom had to have the passwords to socials etc. I was good for a couple months..
I thought I was smart if I just delete everything how will she know?
My mom thought I was doing good so I was allowed to have my phone during the day, with the door open.
My mom worked in a separate out building on our property at the time and my dad was always asleep in the morning. I figured out if I take all my pictures in the morning while I’m getting ready for school and getting dressed that would keep the compliments coming. Always deleting the evidence. So I thought.. one guy had saved a snap message. And she saw it.
No more Snapchat. And she downloaded a program on my phone without my knowing. She could see every move, every search, every dm. And she could see what I had deleted.
I started to sext one guy through text and of course she found out and finally ended up confronting me and telling me I had a sex addiction, and I was disgusted. I realized it.. I had a sex addiction, I needed the attention to survive. That’s an addiction. I got into therapy and slowly started to heal.
With all this pedophilia coming up, it’s made me think, wow I haven’t dealt with the gravity of what I had done.
I’m disgusted, revolted, horrified all sorts of emotions that I did that when I was younger? What possessed me to do that? Was it my parents, was it the internet was it the sexual stuff on tv?
I’m disgusted because I probably am on the internet in lots of places with how many people I’ve sent to. It makes my stomach turn to not know who has these photos of me when I was younger. Makes me want to puke as I know they are probably on pedo websites.
I’m scared, what if someone is busted and I’m found in the photos? What If in the future I get charged for some reason. What if somehow they spread again. What if I get kidnapped because someone saw me on a website.
I’ve healed a lot, but realized I still have lots of new trauma to work through
I’ve found empowerment in the aftermath of this, for so long I hated my body, disgusted at how sexual I was. How I loved sex and the thought of it.
Now that I’m older I’ve realized sex shouldn’t be taboo and loving sex shouldn’t be seen as disgusting or promiscuous. I’ve also learned with the right partner sexual trauma can be healed and worked through and that I’m not tainted and that No one will ever love me.
One of the big things I take away from this is If I just had “the talk” with my parents I feel so much would’ve been different. I’m lucky things didn’t turn out worse... very lucky.
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2020.02.11 15:43 throw-away-pr0n Am I an addict?

list of behaviour may TRIGGER
Struggling a bit and feel like I need I’ve not admitted to myself. Here’s a list of what I’ve done in the pursuit of porn for from the age of 12/13;
Torrented and pirated videos
Found gay bdsm dating sites and got off on the content
Taken voyeuristic pictures of hot girls to fap to later on work camera - swapped out the memory card after doing so I didn’t get caught
Saved random girls photos from Facebook to fap to
Joined and deleted porn sharing forum memberships multiple times
Spent hours and days waiting to download pirated porn from file sharing sites edging the whole time
Downloaded GBs of porn and hidden on my pc
Kept backups on thumb drives and external drives
Had browsers on my phone specifically for porn
Had password protected VLC on my iPad so I could store porn videos there
Created multiple porn email addresses and twitter accounts to sign up for content
Spend $100s on niche porn and humiliation videos then deleted them after cumming
Spent days organising my collection, tagging it, researching actors
Edged myself in sessions that would last the whole weekend, ‘forcing’ myself to watch as much porn that I’d gathered as possible
Watched porn in the bathroom at work
Used google images to find triggering images when I’ve been at work computers
Used my porn twitter account to lust after dominatrixes and DM then
Created a ‘Slave’ alter ego on twitter, fetlife, image fap etc and posted content there
Emailed dominatrixes about booking sessions
Sent online $ tributes to a dominatrix
Paid for a dominatrixes only fans
Written porn stories to get myself off
Kept notes on my phone of fantasises based on porn
Had an RSS feed on my phone so I can keep track of when new clips comes out
Memorised my favourite stars, websites and clips and obsessively checked for new content
Watched porn while working from home or studying
Watched porn and masturbated while my partner slept next to me
Made ASMR porn/triggering playlists and spent hours listing to them while in self bondage
Dressed alone in fetish gear and watched porn for hours
Streamed porn over my car Bluetooth to listen to while driving
Had a second phone/sim so I could verify adult accounts
Found passwords for porn sites and site ripped the entire site to add to my collection
Paid for subscriptions to porn sites
Created a fake second PayPal so I could transfer money from my main account incognito and use to buy porn
Spent $100s on erotic photo books
Been to sex museums in multiple cities
Fapped while sniffing a work colleagues boots she left behind
Used work cctv to zoom in on girls, saved the footage and fapped later at work
Taken photos of girls from the window at work to fap to later
Researched online to find a porn stars private fb/identity and address
Been to fetish club nights to watch people
Been to sex conventions
Been to sex/fetish fairs
Spent $100s on sex toys and latex clothing for partners
Had custom sex toys made and visited the maker to collect
Fapped on webcam for friends on chat Screenshotted friends on chat and saved to fap to Screenshotted friends stories to fap to
Hooked my Laptop up to TVs and projectors so I could get it more immersive Watched VR porn
Followed models and photographers on fb and curated my feed so I’d see it first
Searched for porn on my phone while sat on the sofa with partner, out and on vacation
Paid for a VPN to hide my activity
Joined dating sites to find photos to fap to
Arranged fetish shoots with partner
Worked for free for a porn site on their website
Made my own amateur site for partner Signed up to be a reseller of sex toys Added local models/sex shop workers on personal fb
Let me know if you can relate - how much of this is healthy and normal?! I’ve hidden this from everyone I know.
submitted by throw-away-pr0n to pornfree [link] [comments]


2019.07.11 05:22 QueenMarceline1998 Cheat on my sister? Well I hope you both like wearing orange

Hey y’all. From the title this story isn’t about me but my sister. Well sort of. I am an only child but grew along side plenty of cousins whom I consider my siblings. TL;DR at the bottom, I’m on mobile so spare me.
For some clarifications:
-this story takes place in a 3rd world country in Asia. Laws are different here from other first world and western countries
-our country is a conservative and catholic country so marriage and married life is held sacred and any idea of divorce or separation of spouses is frowned upon by most traditionalists
This story happened a few years ago when I was about to go to college. My cousin and her husband had been married for a year or so by then but haven’t had much success in conceiving a child. We live in a south East Asian country and surrogacy isn’t legal for some reason so that option was not in the cards for them. They talked about adopting but both of them really wanted a child of their own. Anyway after a few months more of trying they decided to just postpone it for a while considering they’re still young as both are in their early 30s (contrary to popular belief women can still get pregnant at 30 until 39, 40 is the high risk/ slim chance age).
They instead decided to focus on their respective careers and travel whenever possible. All in all they were having a great life. On the outside that is. About a few months later; my sister noticed a few things, nothing too drastic. Like her husband would receive these late night calls (husband is a doctor) and he would go to the other room to take it, her husband always clearing the history in their shared desktop computer at home, him having to go “over time” way too often. Sister asked me and some of our cousins on what to do. At the time I was dating a guy pretty tech savvy (who on multiple occasions hacked my Facebook but that is for another story) so I asked him for help. Within 2 days we had his Facebook, gmail and Instagram account. We found nothing. I thought okay weird, maybe sis is being paranoid. Then I had a thought; what about his Viber? After a bit more digging we were able to get hold of his viber and boy did we find things. This asshole has been cheating on her for almost half a year.
We found dozens and dozens of messages between him and some girl. In one of the messages the girl even admits that even though he is married; she loves him and likes the “thrill” of being with a married man. It made me and my bf then sick. The girl was just a few years older than me, in her early 20s. They’re even exchanging nudes with each other and talking about their little sexual rendezvous. I was absolutely heartbroken. My older sister always wanted a family of her own and this ass whom she thought was the love of her life had just did this to her.
I told my boyfriend to save all of it in a hard drive and log out the accounts. I was hesitant at first to tell my sister but I knew she deserved the truth. A few days after debating it with myself, I finally showed her EVERYTHING. As expected this broke her. She cried and cried. I was crying along with her as I didn’t really like seeing her like this. After hours of both of us sobbing, I decided to get her to get revenge. My sister was never the vindictive type. She was often the timid girl who let people get away with everything because she didn’t like confrontation (she was heavily bullied for this during her school years according to our other cousins that were her age).
THE REVENGE
I told my sister of my plan. Now she wasn’t really planning on revenge, she wanted to just file for an annulment (divorce isn’t legal here too) but I knew someone had to teach that jerk not to mess with our family. I told her to pretend everything was okay and that she was oblivious to his cheating. It took a good amount of coaxing but she finally agreed.
I decided we needed to catch them in the act because despite the overwhelming evidence; I had a hunch they would deny it. A week later my sister called me and told me that her husband messaged her from his work. He told her that he might work overtime again at the hospital and would just be sleeping at THEIR condo that was about 10 minutes away. She said sure and called me almost immediately. I smiled and told my sister to meet me at the restaurant across the condominium where her husband would be. I arrived there alone and waited for my sister. A few minutes later she arrived. Lucky for us their condo unit was outfitted with cctv cameras you can view on your phone/tablet/computer. Husband was not fully aware of this since when they got the condo, it was my sister who took care of outfitting the unit with furniture and stuff. He only signed the paper work with her at the beginning and rarely had a hand in it. It was supposed to be a rental unit but husband convinced my sister to let him use it when he would need “over time” at work so he can just sleep there and not have to drive the 1 hour journey he had to take to get to their house.
We viewed the footage as we were sitting down having some drinks. Nothing yet. Husband wasn’t there. An hour passed and we see the front door open and in walks husband with his mistress. What is good about the CCTV though was that it had an audio function so we can hear their full blown noises while they were fucking.
At that moment my sister was about to cry but I told her that he wasn’t worth shit and it’s time to confront them. We went to the unit and sneaked inside using my sister’s key. They were in the bed room making gross sex noises and I slammed the door open. To say that these bastards were shocked would be an understatement. Their jaws were literally on the floor when they saw us. He tried explaining and rationalizing the situation but I cut him off. I told him to shut up and prepare for a lawsuit. My sister was in tears at this point and I had to drag her away as her douchebag of a husband was pleading.
We drove to her home and packed all his shit up in boxes and his bags. The drive home was not pleasant as my sister was still bawling. I comforted her as best I can and told her she would be okay. He got home just a few minutes after we were done packing. She told him that he can’t live in the house anymore and that she was leaving him. He said nothing knowing my temper and the fact that if he tried lying I would have his head then and there (yeah I know I am a little ghetto) and loaded his things in his car.
The next day I got the evidence from the hard drive and sent it to the board of directors of the hospital he worked in, the medical board, all his colleagues, friends and family. I also sent out the evidence to the woman’s family, friends and to her boss and colleagues. The fall out was glorious. They both lost their jobs, husband even had his license revoked & his parents disowned him. One of our cousins was a lawyer and he helped our sister sue him AND the woman for concubinage (PH legal term for adultery). She won the case and was granted an annulment and she got most of their assets in the separation; the house, the condo, cars and money. His husband got a bit of money but he had to pay a hefty price for the lawyer since his parents refused to help him. I don’t recall how many years they had to serve in jail but since neither can afford bail; they would be spending a lot of time in a facility and have a permanent criminal record when they get out of jail. My sister is fine now. She’s still healing from all that bullshit. She’s currently single and is a proud furmom to two adorable dogs.
TL;DR asshole decides to cheat on my sister, gets caught, both him and mistress lose EVERYTHING and they end up in jail. And my sister wins in the end
If this ends up on YouTube, you have my full permission to read it.
submitted by QueenMarceline1998 to MoarStories [link] [comments]


2019.07.05 02:39 Alex_Bigger Here's What I Know About Ti

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2019.06.24 12:44 yourlilpeeweeherman Cctv camera caught sex

EDIT 2: stop sending messages like these. https://imgur.com/a/gLs3UFG.

Alternative account.

TLDR: Got filmed at Heartbeat@Bedok ActiveSG Swimming Complex washroom, confronted the pervert, end up with police.

This happened on 22/06/2019.

It was a rainy Saturday and i was at Heartbeat@Bedok ActiveSG Swimming Complex from 3.15ish.

I went to the male washroom/changing room/shower area (it was a all in one thing, so from now on i am just going to refer to it as the washroom.) to change into my swimming gear. While i was in the washroom, i saw a man from a bench away. The man who is Chinese have a skin complexion that looks sickly. He was only wearing only a singlet with nothing covering his private parts except a towel. The towel which he remove to expose himself time to time while walking around in a male washroom filled with people ranging from kids to adults. [Point 1]

Nothing happened and fast forward to me back into the washroom for a shower after my swim. The same man was there still doing what he was doing before. I took cubical 13, at the point in time, cubical 12 and 14 which i was in between of was empty.

While rinsing off shampoo of my hair, i caught a hand holding onto a phone angling with the rear camera facing me underneath the gap of the plastic wall separating cubical 12 and 13. The hand immediately retracted once it was within my vision. Which shocked me, so i took a step to the right to see further in between the gap to find that a towel on the floor of cubical 12. Looking back, i think he was laying on the floor filming/taking a photo/streaming/peeping (i really didn't know what he was doing with the camera but i am just going to say filming cause that was what my account was to the police later.) of me while i was showering while looking at the phone screen so he knew exactly when to remove his phone. That towel was on a floor for a long time before he picked it up.

After which i was doubting what i saw but being extra cautious about what happened that may happen again. It happened again while i was rinsing off my body wash so i knew something was up.

Got out of my cubical, butt ass naked slamming on his door, yelling for the man to get out while calling for my friend to help me. To which i only received dead silence from cubical 12 for a long time, so i took a slipper from his cubical gap, so even if he ran out the CCTV will show that a man walking oddly. Thinking about it after, i sense that he knew shit was up so he went to clear off whatever he was doing. After a long time, he came out revealing to be the same man from before with a long scar from the middle of his chest claiming that he just had heart surgery and denied whatever i said about him filming me. Very willingly offered to me his phone to show that there was nothing on his phone, which i didn't bother with and asked my friend to dial for the police.

Fast forward to the part where the lifeguard usher me to their office to wait for the police while the man was held in a room elsewhere. The police took notes from me, their investigating officer came. In the end, i got a card with some information as they have deemed this case worth pursuing. [Point 2]
----------------------------------------
[Point 1] Point 1 is just my suspicion of what he was doing, in no way am i able to confirm his actions.

The man was cruising for sex in the male washroom. Read about it here [Wiki: Slightly NSFW?]. You can read the behaviors from RiceMedia post about it here or Google about it. There are sites out there that cruisers use. Such as this [Slightly NSFW?]. Not the first time such incident happened at bedok.

What i want to point out here is that this isn't the only pool that such stuffs occur. And that pools aren't the only place that cruising happen. A quick Google search about Singapore gay cruising and you can find a bunch of stuff. Another instance, public toilets [Slightly NSFW?].

I am not saying that only cruisers enjoy voyeurism or that eliminating cruisers would have prevented filming cases. But if actions were taken on it, i could say that my case could have been easily prevented.

[Point 2]
With the investigations on going, i can only think about NTU peeping tom, Monica Baey and the Tampines incident which the offender only got 12 weeks of jail.

Looking at how " 'Insulting modesty' law does not apply to men, rules court ". I only can think about how the man who filmed me may get a lighter sentence cause i am a male or even no sentence if the police found no evidence on his phone.

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If you read it all to the end, do take action if your feel something was wrong. Call for help, take evidence if you are able to, better yet confront. Cause if you have nothing, the offender got away or police can't find the deleted evidence, it is he said she said.

Sure you can be cautious but doesn't mean it wouldn't happen to you. This is Singapore but it doesn't mean you are safe. You maybe a man but that doesn't mean you aren't a target. May not be a person with a phone but a hidden camera.

Honestly, it was scary to take actions and confront the man who was filming me. But luckily, i felt sick to my gut and i let my anger took over and went batshit violent on the door of cubical 12, not to condone actions taken in anger but if i were to held back, he could have easily slip off.

I am not going to argue how the law should be equal with men and women or about how disturbing it is about cruising, cause honestly i am not even at the age where i can vote yet. But that doesn't mean preying on the young means you can get away with it. I do however, feel things should change.

Edit 1: had to mark it to NSFW due to the photo reddit took from my first link.
submitted by yourlilpeeweeherman to singapore [link] [comments]


2019.04.04 15:00 alleybetwixt Cctv camera caught sex

BURNING MOLKA ARCHIVE WIKI will contain all future updates for this listing.
This post was last updated on 190915 at 6:55PM KST
This is a compiled list of all the significant figures involved in the Burning Molka scandals. It is our attempt to make an easier-to-read breakdown that focuses on the Who's Who of these cases and what they did.
⚠ TRIGGER WARNING: This will be the only warning in this post. The contents of many of these stories and notes may be triggering. If you are sensitive to straightforward mentions of criminal activity, especially regarding sexual assault/rape, do not continue. ⚠ There are two primary threads to follow in this story. One thread is Burning Sun and the general club culture of Gangnam. This includes illegal activities (drug use and dealing, gambling, entry of minors, sexual assault, illegal hidden cameras set up to film sexual abuse, tax evasion, embezzlement) and police colluding to cover up and/or participate in these activities. The other is the celebrity members of chatrooms sharing molka (illegally filmed videos, especially sexually exploitative in nature). They are intertwined as they involve some of the same people.
The ever-growing web of these stories are happening concurrently with a widespread spy-cam (molka) epidemic (hidden cameras in hotel rooms, public restrooms, etc) as well as a feminist movement (#MeToo) where awareness is being raised of the patriarchal culture of South Korea, which has facilitated sexual harassment and abuse of women as a 'norm'.
Throughout all cases, there are authority figures (police, politicians, celebrities, chaebols) committing crimes. Due to their wealth, power, and the entrenched corruption of those that could bring them justice--they get away with it.
(190503 Expansion) The two primary threads of Burning Sun and molka-sharing chatrooms have split into a few further threads through the investigations. As it stands now, there are essentially five threads.
CedarBough T. Saeji wrote an excellent piece introducing these threads and the ways they are connected within the larger cultural context of South Korea. Highly recommended reading!
KOREA EXPOSÉ - South Korea’s Corruption, Exposed by the Burning Sun
 
(see footnote in comments about all the Kims and repetitious names)
Directly involved: Victims speaking out: Indirect connections: Further investigations: People on the case: submitted by alleybetwixt to kpop [link] [comments]


2019.02.24 08:21 WeaponizedVaccines Cctv camera caught sex

A quick preface

  1. this all happened about a year back
  2. I will not be using real names because I could be in deep shit if I did (all actors in this story will have their names replaced with Jojo references)
  3. this is a long one
Context
My little sister, henceforth known as Holly, is mute (she can actually whisper a little but it takes a lot of effort on her part). she's been mute ever since she was five, when she lost her ability to speak in an accident. she's very smart, and she's a good looking kid. at the time of these events, she was 16, and I was 21. me and my sister live together in an apartment, because my mother is a roamer who isn't well suited to take care of a teenager. she has our twin kid siblings, but not my sister and I. my dad is distant from the family, so helping my sister through highschool falls to me. I work at a car parts shipping company, so I get paid just enough to get by. because of our relatively poor living situation and my sister's inability to speak, she gets bullied at school. generally it isn't much of a problem, but in the few months leading up to these events she was having increased problems with it.
Build up
at the time, Holly was 16, but she was a Sophomore in high school due to failing a year in middle school. (she refuses to take special ed courses, now because they didn't help her at all) Because she's good looking, and is older than most of her class, she gets attention from juniors and seniors. it's mostly negative attention, but there was one guy, who I will refer to as DIO from now on (he's the villain of this story), who treats her really nicely. he's a senior and at this time is 18. he repels bullies from her, because he's a tall, handsome, tough guy, and bullies don't want to mess with him. I don't interfere with them because my sister is visibly happy when she comes home from school and whenever she's around him. (I didn't let them hang out alone together, but supervised them hanging out a few times) anyway, king crimson a few months, and she stops coming home happy. she isn't hanging out with him anymore either, and although I ask her multiple times, she won't tell me anything about it. I confront him about it, and he evades the topic. at this point I'm suspicious, but I don't know what to be suspicious of.
Researching
I'm getting more and more worried about Holly, so I go to her counselor and assistant principal to ask about her activities at school. from what I learn, she still spends all her free time near DIO at school. I find this strange, since she doesn't seem happy anymore. This is where the illegal stuff starts. a few days later, I invite Holly and DIO on a dinner night to Olive Garden (no one can resist Olive Garden). while we're there I do two things that are completely illegal. 1, I steal his phone (which I've seen the password to), and 2, I read his texts and Emails. anything I can to find out what's happened between them. I don't find what I'm looking for, but I do find out that he drinks and smokes weed with his friends on weekends. (this will be relevant later) a few days later I "find" his phone in the laundry, and say it must have ended up in one of our coats on accident. I know for a fact he got it back, because he called me to thank me for having Holly return it. I still didn't have what I was looking for, so I went back to the school, and used his previous texts as grounds to check CCTV for any suspicious activity. there wasn't anything suspicious by school standards, but there was something that caught my eye. it was my sister, going to the central bathroom in the school, and him going to the boys room of the same bathroom about a minute later. the bathrooms are separated by a wall, but there's a janitorial closet that opens into both bathrooms and is completely in the blind zone of anyone walking into the bathrooms, let alone the CCTV cameras. at this point, I began to suspect that something was happening between them in that bathroom. it was the only one with a closet like that, and if my memory served me, the closet didn't have a proper lock. it just locked from the outside on both sides.
Boiling point
now that I suspected something, I confronted Holly about it. she broke down crying, and after 15 minutes of consoling, she shakily signed to me something that made my blood boil. apparently, it was far worse than I expected. I had thought they were going in there and doing drugs or something, since DIO was the kind of guy who would pull that kind of thing. as it turns out, according to Holly, he brought her in there one day, closed the doors, held her down, and raped her. he told her that he would know if she told anyone, and he would hurt her if she did. because she physically could not scream for help, or make any kind of loud noise for that matter, he got away with it. and the worst part is, he was threatening her into meeting him there every couple of days and doing that to her. I was LIVID. my first instinct was to call the police, but I realized that there was no evidence except the testimony of a mute girl. I wouldn't be satisfied with police intervention anyway. the first thing I did was call Holly in for a week from school. ("family emergency" can get them a week of excused absences easily) the next thing I did was find out where he lived. after that, I planned the most brutal revenge I could think of.
Highly Illegal Revenge
My first step was to break into his house. It turns out his parents go out a lot, and he leaves to smoke and drink with his friends. I knew from reading his texts that there was a spare key on top of the porch light in the back yard. that Saturday, I scoped out the place, and waited for everyone to leave. I then began phase one of my revenge. I went in to his house through the back door, and found his room. I smashed his PC, stole his wallet, and pissed on his bed. then I poorly hid 2 small bags of weed in his house. (I have a friend who grows). finally, to hide the fact that it was targeted, I tossed up the rest of the house, but didn't take anything. I then went to a Starbucks and used the WIFI and DIOs Debit card (he didn't have credit) to purchase a bunch of sex toys in his name and send them to his house. I then left his wallet sitting near homeless man sleeping on a park bench. next, I contacted his parents and told them I had seen their son drinking and smoking with a group of teenagers. they were furious, which leads me to believe that wasn't the first time something like that had happened. Finally, I went to the back road he walked on his way home from his drinking parties, which i had found out in a text from one of his friends. I waited for 2 hours in some bushes for him to walk by, and then (wearing sunglasses and a hoodie) jumped him. I demanded his money and phone (although I knew he didn't have his wallet). I kept one hand in my hoodie pocket, pointing it like i had a gun, which he believed. he handed over his phone and ran away. I then finished up my plan by using his phone (which i still had the password to) to send an email to the school from his school email, confessing to raping my sister in the janitorial closet multiple times, as well as possessing drugs on school grounds and drinking alcohol when he was underage. then I snapped his phone on my knee and went home.
Aftermath
My sister went back to school the following Monday, armed with a can of mace I bought her. DIO wasn't at school, and she was called in by her counselor. she confessed, and he was charged with rape, underage drinking, and illegal drug possession. on top of that, his parents completely disowned him, and he was expelled from the school. sadly, this story doesn't have a completely happy end. this whole ordeal sent Holly into a downward spiral. her grades fell behind, and she barely smiled. in march of 2018, she attempted suicide by cutting herself, and it was pure luck that I found her in time. she's getting better now, but the emotional trauma will probably affect her for life. I pray to whatever cruel gods are out there that he gets a taste of his own medicine in prison.

EDIT: HOLY SHIT This blew up! thanks for gold and silver everyone! my sister says thanks too.
EDIT 2: My god, 3 silvers and a gold, 1.2k upvotes. I really appreciate everyone here.
EDIT 3: PLATINUM OMG THANK YOU
Last EDIT: 2nd Highest of the month, 4th of ALL TIME you guys are all amazing and I thank you all for the support from the bottom of my heart.
submitted by WeaponizedVaccines to NuclearRevenge [link] [comments]


2018.09.05 13:25 please_b_nice1 Sex caught cctv camera

So massage parlors in my neighborhood and in other counties are being raided and shut down. I can count like 5 parlors being shut down since last week.

Being an awkward and shy person, I couldn't talk to girls so I used massage parlors which turn out to be sex workers.

Now my face was caught on camera entering the doors in the parlors. I know they have cameras since I could see myself on the CCTV.
My question is: if the cops shut down a parlor, can they check the cameras and then see the johns and then issue warrants for arrest?

I have used only 1 parlor. But my face has been in the cameras of at least 3 parlors where i entered to ask questions and leave.....

I am a sad person.
submitted by please_b_nice1 to SexWorkers [link] [comments]


2018.08.31 16:19 Dracola112 I'm going to die, and probably soon, because of what I saw through an unsecured webcam one night

Before I start I’m going to come right out and say that I know that this story doesn’t make me look that great. I understand that what I was doing, what got me into this in the first place, it was wrong. There was no malice behind it, no voyeuristic sexuality involved, but I get it. Watching all those people, invading their privacy so deeply, it was a creepy thing to do.
Does that mean I deserve what’s happened? I don’t think so. I hope not, at least. What I did was technically criminal, sure, but I can’t shake the feeling that I’ve been sentenced to pay for it with my life. Unlike most on death row, though, I don’t have the luxury of knowing the exact date of my punishment. All I have to go on is the vague sense of mortal dread that’s been tugging at my gut more and more throughout the last few days. The sickening, nauseous plunge my heart takes into my groin every time I so much as glance at my bedroom window, even with its curtains drawn and its lock latched, is how I know that I’m going to die, and almost definitely soon.
Sure, there’s more I could be doing to prevent it. Maybe I could alert the authorities, try and go to the hospital or maybe even jail, anywhere with surveillance and people and no goddamn windows. But I’ve never been very good at taking action. I’m really much more of a spectator.
I suffer from what a therapist once described as “crippling agoraphobia.” It started out as a vague fear of crowds and public places that, following the car crash that claimed my mother’s life and my own physical mobility, metastasized into a paralyzing, overwhelming aversion to human contact. My phobia has swelled and sprawled since then, gradually reducing me from a nervous wreck to a social invalid to a full-blown hermit. I live in a small uptown apartment, a sparse studio that I can, luckily, just barely manage to maintain on a spotty freelance writer’s salary and monthly disability checks. I don’t exactly get out much. I can’t stand the thought of running into a stranger--or, god help me, strangers. The mental image of pairs of eyes trained on me, taking in my patchy facial hair and greasy complexion and clumsy leg braces, stares hiding anything from pity to judgment to outright revulsion, it fills me with almost immediate panic. So, to avoid that, I do the easy thing. I stay inside.
I leave my apartment maybe three times a month, four if I’m fielding an emergency. I go out at three-ish in the morning, walk a few blocks down to a CVS and pick up basic necessities (ramen, toilet paper, maybe some chips if I’m feeling frivolous). I use the self-checkout and I pile everything into a bag myself and I hurry home. It’s been maybe two entire years since I last talked to someone who wasn’t delivering me takeout or expecting a rent check.
Unfortunately even I’m not completely asocial. Deep down, buried under a painful self-perpetuating snowball of neurosis I’m still a person, still completely subject to a basic need for human interaction. For a while I filled that hole with podcasts and light tv, then online chatrooms, then an anonymous, email-based penpal service, but those all grew to feel insubstantial after a while. They left me feeling empty, like I’d tried to satisfy hunger with chewing gum.
One desperate evening I stumbled across a method for viewing unsecured webcams remotely and almost completely inconspicuously and I knew almost immediately that I’d found my outlet. Well, ok, “stumbled upon,” is being a bit facetious. I looked it up. Again, I know how creepy this appears on the surface, and I’m aware how morally iffy the practice is, but you need to understand that I was at the end of my rope in many ways, emotionally. I wouldn’t say I was on the verge of outright suicide, that was too active, too messy. But I think I had it in me to just give up. I was very close to crawling into bed and never coming back out. It was a dark time in my life, and this webcam trick was a hail-mary attempt to trick my diseased monkey brain into thinking I was socializing again, participating with other members of my species.
And it worked. Though I’m sure I look pretty similar to the stereotype of the greasy, antisocial computer hacker, I’m not actually amazing with computers, which speaks to how disturbingly easy the process of accessing these random webcams was. Most of the cameras were public-use CCTV type things, usually pointed at street corners or parking lots. Those were rarely very interesting. Even still, I was able to worm my way into quite a few personal webcams, usually affixed to laptops or the occasional home desktop.
I saw a lot of bedrooms, a lot of dorms, a few kitchens or living rooms. More often than not the spaces I peeped at would be empty at first, and I often bookmarked interesting ones to come back and check later for human activity. I ended up watching probably upwards of a hundred people, keeping a rotating cast of a dozen or so that I found particularly entertaining. An old man with three pet birds in his bedroom who seemed to spend most of his time writing in a leatherbound notebook and hand-feeding his pets sunflower seeds. A diminutive Japanese woman with a genuinely impressive commitment to yoga. A university student who alternated between poring over complicated-looking architecture homework and smoking weed with a constantly shifting parade of boyfriends.
And yeah, sure, cards on the table, I watched a few people have sex. Yes, that was wrong of me to do, but I feel the need to say that I didn’t do that out of anything other than detached interest, hand to God. My libido’s about as dormant as Yellowstone at this point. I also watched plenty of eating (I saw an overwhelming amount of cereal, eaten by people from all walks of life. Seriously, cereal is insanely popular), reading, aimless web-surfing, talking, exercising, relaxing, cleaning, and sleeping. Mostly sleeping.
It got to the point where I struggled to doze off if I didn’t have a feed of some stranger sleeping playing on my monitor. It was comforting, in a very elemental way. It didn’t eliminate my self-imposed loneliness, but it dulled the pain, made it manageable. Ironic that it was probably the most innocent aspect of my little one-man peep show that ended up dooming me.
It was late one night, late even for me, and at this point I was almost entirely nocturnal. I was sifting through my list of bookmarked webcams, looking for something to put on while I turned in. Most of my usual favorites were off the table that night; either their laptops were put away or they were pointed in the wrong direction or the subject themselves was either obstructed by something or gone from their room entirely. So I dove back into the raw feed of new potential cams, clicking past parking lot after parking lot after abandoned computer lab after parking lot, until I came across one that caught my attention.
On my screen I saw a youngish girl, maybe in her mid-twenties, kneeling on her sheets, peering out of the window set into the wall right above her bed. Something about the way she was sitting, the nervous, insecure folding of her arms, the hunched shoulders, the wary, almost defensive way she was peeking out of the window, caught me off guard. I’m not the most socially intuitive person in the world, but even I could read the obvious body language on display here: this girl was scared.
Her room was decently well-lit, considering the lateness of the hour. Between the lava lamp on her bedside table and the several yards of fairy lights strung up on the ceiling I could make out most of the room. It was tidy, in a crowded way, packed with neatly-arranged stacks of books and baskets of laundry. The fidelity of the camera was high, so her computer must have been relatively new, and between that and the fancy four-poster that she was kneeling on I got the sense that this woman was very successful. An observation that made her shivering, fretful vigil at the window seem even more unusual. What was she looking at?
The woman made a few more attempts at looking outside, taking quick, birdlike glances through the glass before ducking back behind her wall. She kept this up for maybe another half an hour before eventually settling back into bed, clutching her covers in tight fists, eyes clenched shut. I kept watching; something about the surreality of the situation had jostled the exhaustion out of me. My pulse had picked up inexplicably, and I found that I was sweating a bit. I pulled up a cheery sitcom on another monitor and waited, glancing back toward the girl every few minutes.
Around dawn I saw her jolt awake, head whipping around to face the window. I couldn’t hear anything (I only had access to the webcam’s visuals, not the audio) but the way she sat, head tilted to the side, hands held out, still and tense, was the picture of someone straining to hear something. Whatever noise had woken her up must have sounded again because she jumped, scooting away from the wall and climbing out of her bed, eyes fixed on the window. Without looking down she fumbled with her bedside table, grasping for her phone. She brought it to her face, dialed a number, and backed out of the webcam’s field of vision.
I watched that feed well past daybreak, until I couldn’t keep my eyes open anymore. She never reentered the frame, never opened the blinds, and I went to bed completely bemused by what I’d seen. I rested fitfully; I think I had a nightmare, but when I woke up that evening I couldn’t recall the details.
I continued to tune into this girl’s webcam several times a night, hoping I’d see something that might explain what had so terrified this woman. Nearly a week later I caught her staring out her window again, phone held in one hand, ready to be dialed, but usually I’d just see her sleeping soundly, or occasionally watching TV. Whatever had startled her before failed to show up. At least, at first.
One night I tuned in to see her room shrouded in uncharacteristic darkness. Normally the woman slept with her fairy lights on, but, for the first time that I’d seen, she had a man over, and he must have insisted they sleep in the dark. I imagine they came to a compromise because the lava lamp was still on, casting shifting, meager orange light around the room.
The window’s blinds had been left open, from what I could tell. It was too dark outside to make out any details past the glass, but for whatever reason I couldn’t take my eyes off of it. Something about the window seemed off, and I don’t think it was the fact that it was the first time I’d ever seen it opened. The darkness outside it was bugging me. A cold, roiling anxiety sprouted in my gut, making me shiver as I squinted at the dark pixels. I thought, for a second, that I caught something glinting in the shadows just outside the glass, but if I did it was impossibly brief and incredibly slight, nothing that the woman’s PC webcam, as nice as it was, was outfitted to capture clearly.
Out of curiosity I took a few screenshots and pulled them up in a photo editor. I played with the contrast and saturation a bit, pausing every few minutes to check back in on the webcam feed. Most of the screenshots belied nothing out of the ordinary, even with extensive tinkering, but cranking up the brightness on one revealed a twin pair of white dots, barely a few pixels in diameter, floating in the center of the dark window.
These dots could have been anything, from video artifacts to insects, hell, chances are they were the product of my own tampering with the image, but I couldn’t get them out of my mind.
When I went to sleep that night I dreamed of eyes and shadows.
When I checked the webcam the next night the room was even darker than last time; the lava lamp had been turned off. Squinting at the image I could just make out the dark outline of the window, backlit by thin moonlight. The blinds were gone. Not just unshuttered but completely missing, leaving the window bare, exposing the glass-
No, no, wait, the window was open. I could see it now, I could just barely make out the white lip of the bottom pane, pulled up to its highest point, exposing the room to the night with no apparent screen or barrier. I couldn’t make out anything else in the room, couldn’t even see if the woman was home. The moonlight was too dim, the webcam too limited. I started to get that anxious feeling again, looking into the dark of her room, and before I could reconsider I exited the surveillance program, wheeling backwards from the chair. Somehow I knew that scanning the darkness again would do nothing but further disturb me, and I felt moments away from a panic attack as it was. Looking back I didn’t have any concrete reason for this panic, nothing specific that I could point to. People open their windows plenty often, it doesn’t mean anything. But somehow, instinctively, I knew to be worried.
I checked back in on her at dawn. Now that the sun was out I could clearly make out everything in her room. The window was indeed open, the blinds completely missing from the frame. The floor and shelves were as neat and busy as always, almost entirely undisturbed. The bed, though, the bed was a mess. The blankets and sheets were piled in a tangled lump in the middle of the mattress and the half-dozen throw pillows that usually lined the bedframe were lying in scattered disarray. I couldn’t tell if the pile on the bed concealed a sleeping person or not; the comforter was too bulky, the shape too ambiguous. There was a brownish splotch on one of the pillows that I could have sworn wasn’t there before, one that looked not unlike a stain.
When I checked back in that evening nothing had changed. The bed remained messy, the lump was still there. When I looked at dusk and saw the same thing I felt my mouth go dry and my stomach drop. I grew more and more confident that there was someone in that bed, and that they hadn’t moved an inch in nearly 24 hours.
I should have called the police. I know that. But then, what would I have said? I knew nothing about where this woman lived, I still don’t, other than the fact that she must have occupied roughly the same time zone as me. Maybe the police could have used her IP address to narrow things down, but then I’d have had to provide that, wouldn’t I? And I’m sure what I was doing was illegal, if not exactly something you’d get life in Alcatraz for. And then, of course, a police call would have involved interaction. Face-to-face contact with probably a half-dozen strangers, over the course of maybe a few days. Stressful conversations, tense ones.
So I chickened out. I did the cowardly thing and I kept watching. I tuned in around two in the morning that night and this time I swallowed the fear seeping up my throat like bile and scrutinized the hell out of the darkness on my screen. It was a full moon that night and her window must have been facing west because the room was surprisingly well-lit in comparison to how it had been the night previous. Silvery white light silhouetted the major features of the room, a space I had come to be intimately familiar with over the last few weeks.
The bed was different, that was the first thing I noticed. The mass in the covers was still there, but something rested atop it, an egg-shaped blot of grey-black shadow. It was shifting almost imperceptibly, rocking back and forth, so I knew it was animate. At first I assumed it was the woman; if she’d been sitting fetal atop her bed then it might have been roughly the right size, but something about the way it moved made that hard to believe. It was writhing, shuddering a few inches back and forth with manic quickness.
There was a release of some sort, a sudden relief of tension, and the shape rocked back, a limb-like protrusion drawing back from the bed, something clutched in it. It had been pulling on something, had torn something off, and now the limb was bringing it back to the center of the mass
It was then that I noticed the twin white dots, again almost too small to be recognizable, set into the center of the shape. The instant I found them the form ceased all movement, becoming instantly still.
My heart burned in my chest as the dots slowly rose, fixed themselves in the direction of the webcam. The shape extended another limb toward the bed and began violently tugging, ripping at whatever the sheets were concealing, the dots still fixed on the camera, on me.
It was too much. I turned off my monitor with a shaking hand, then unplugged my PC. I bit back the urge to vomit and instead worked on keeping my breathing regular, my heart rate down.
I again found myself struggling with the idea of calling the authorities. I could take a fine, I could take some minimum security prison time, if they let me remain isolated. It was obvious that whatever I’d stumbled into was bigger than anything I was equipped to deal with. There was danger here, vague and hard to define. There was something primal about the fear I felt, the terror of a prey animal squinting its eyes and straining its ears, trying to determine if there was a predator in the brush.
I made the mistake of waiting. I made the mistake of turning my computer back on. I made the mistake of pulling up my surveillance program and making my way to the woman’s feed. It was morning, now, and I wanted to check, one last time, to help me decide if I should get a third party involved.
I blinked at the screen. I leaned toward my monitor, gawking in disbelief, and then recoiled when I came to recognize what I was seeing. I screamed.
Sitting in the woman’s open window, perched haphazardly on the sill, was the woman’s head. Her face, a slack, unmoving grimace, was still perfectly recognizable, but her throat was little more than brutalized meat. The head hadn’t been cut off, it had been torn from its body, ripped unceremoniously from its base and enshrined on the window like some perverted trophy. It was turned to face the webcam, the woman’s half-lidded eyes set to stare unblinking into my own. Everything about it looked deliberate, looked like a message: “I see you.”
I still haven’t called anyone. It’s classic me, really. I’m too paralyzed by my fears and neuroses, by my own crippling inabilities, to do anything but watch and wait.
Something tapped on the window in my bedroom tonight. I can’t open it, I refuse to. I can’t run, either. I can’t hide.
So I’m going to watch, and I’m going to wait.
There it is again. I can hear it from here.
submitted by Dracola112 to nosleep [link] [comments]


2018.08.03 03:47 notasci Yorknew Ch. 3: Rough x Drafts

Rough x Drafts
I won’t lie. I won’t say it was easy. You see, for all my father loved me… he hated me more. He didn’t do anything for anyone but himself. I still remember the first time he struck me. The first time his blade pierced into my flesh. The first time he fixed me after breaking my bones.
It was the day that I began the path I’m on now, so I can’t say I don’t look back at it fondly. After all… I am proud of what he made me. Even if he never had a chance to live long enough to see me after all these years.
Though, in a sense… he lived longer than I ever will.
The room was dimly lit, but that was enough for the purpose that brought those in it together. A basketball court in the city’s YMCA, just after close; the owner was one of the men in red scarfs, a handsome fellow with muscles that pulsed with power even as he sat down among the others in the circle, his gym shorts showing thighs that were almost as big as most of the other men and women who were gathered her today’s torsos.
“I’ve locked the doors, we won’t be interrupted.” He smiled as he looked between the chairs. “It is eleven thirty-five. The meeting time of eleven o’clock has been eclipsed, and all Lennies given time to arrive.” A short, balding man in a business suit, his red scarf tucked into the suit jacket was to the gym rat’s immediate left. Continuing clockwise, two men, both with the same green eyes and bulbous noses, though one of them was clearly new; likely the brother of the other? A blonde woman, dressed in a blue and black dress that hugged her curves, making her bosom and rear stand out, with a red scarf wrapped tightly around her neck. She gave the muscled man a bit of a playful wink, though he paid no mind. To her left was an empty chair, followed by an older man, the oldest of any of those present, with a hunch that made even the young, buff man’s back hurt. Another woman, dressed in a three-sizes-too-big hoodie and her red scarf, with her dark brown hair done up in a pony tail. A mousy man, his face looking as if someone had taken a shovel to the lower half when he was young and simply pushed everything up to make his nose stand on a point, was to her left, fidgeting with his scarf. The last one before coming full-circle was a man with a sour look on his face, a bottle of booze in his hand hanging just beside his folding chair, and a homeless look to him.
And then there was the muscle-bound man himself. “There are nine present, and one missing. This is… unfortunate.” He paused for a few moments. “Has anyone heard from Lenny DeVoe?”
A few murmurs followed, before the brothers rose their hands. A nod followed from the Lenny with the muscles, and the older of the brothers stood up. “He had informed us he was pursuing a potential Lenny a while ago. This was back in March, and we haven’t heard anything since.”
“Did he tell you anything about the man he was pursuing?” the short, balding man asked. “Wealth, social standing, name… Anything at all?”
“He seemed to think the man was a powerful Nen user, though I can’t say I’m sure why. He showed me a picture of the man; he was a fairly wealthy seeming individual. It looked a lot like the suspect in the Bartholomew Wadsworth murder, you know, that Angel of Death case.”
“The one the Angel called ‘An Enemy of Freedom’?” the blonde woman asked, raising an eyebrow. “Samson Darrylson… You know, if I had known we had been pursuing a man suspected to be the Angel of Death...” She giggled a bit. “I’d have gladly helped. Oh, it would be interesting to fill in his shoes for a time.”
“In either case, wasn’t that man found dead?” the muscle bound man asked, gesturing for the older of the two brothers to have a seat. “Clearly Mr. Darrylson is not the Angel of Death, nor did Lenny DeVoe succeed in converting him. In fact, the most likely situation would be that the Angel of Death disposed of them both, but if Lenny DeVoe’s body was never found, well, why did he choose to let Mr. Darrylson be found but not our Lenny?”
“P-p-perhaps he only saw Lenny a-... a-... as a loose e-e-en-end, as a w-w-wi-wit-witness to the murder of M-Mi-… Mister Darrlyson?” the mousy man asked, his head bobbing with each stammer. There were times the muscle bound Lenny wished his compatriots could have a little less individualism, be more uniform. There weren’t a lot of things he asked for in a Lenny, but some Lennies…
He shook his head.
“It doesn’t matter why, does it?” he asked, laughing somewhat. “What matters is that he did it. And that we don’t tolerate that kind of behavior. We’re Lenny and the Jets, after all.”
The sour looking man rose his bottle, and his hand. Silence filled the room as all eyes turned to him. He let out a slight burp as he lowered his arm, and then placed a finger on his head, only to point it to the muscle-bound man. A short pause followed before he nodded in response, standing up.
“Our mute brother has a point. We should commence the ritual before it’s too late to do so; I know that Lenny Henderson must be tired, given his age, for instance.” The old man let out a short cackle as he stood up, flinging his scarf back behind him as the others stood and began to walk towards the center of the room.
A pressure filled the room as each of the men and women gathered began to reach their hands out, to about head-level with the fellows beside them. One by one as they drew closer their hands touched one another’s heads, forming a link, a chain unbroken as it ran around the room. Aura flared to life around them, flowing through them. No Lenny knew much about Nen, other than that it was a power that allowed them to propagate their movement. No Lenny knew much about how to use Nen, other than that they could see auras around others who had it, that they could use it to spread their memories and their minds.
Visions raced through their minds. Memories of the oldest of them, Lenny Henderson, going to the shopping center and stripping naked, running through it while screaming about the coming of the Great Old Ones, just to get a rise blended with images of the muscled one, Lenny Stallone, getting into fist fights over the smallest of things. They remembered, as a group, when the older of the two brothers had approached his sibling, revealing his true nature as a Lenny – and then the first memories of the new Lenny, the remnants of horror and despair from the body that he had stolen fading away as the two brothers began to go out on long bingers at the bars, usually picking up women and living fast, loose lives that made those who remembered them as people who were not Lenny worry.
They remembered a nine different lives bridging the gap of experiences between the last time they had all come together, and now. They remembered when Lenny DeVoe told the brothers that he was going after Samson Darrylson, and they remembered when the mute Lenny, Lenny Nocturna, had seen the woman who, among the art community, was known for her obsession with the Angel of Death. They remembered following her to her apartment building, and up to her room. They remembered leaving just before the police arrived, the address of the building seared into the minds of each and every one of them.
At once, each of them knew what must be done. No further conversation was needed for each Lenny there to have his or her orders. Avenging Lenny DeVoe would be their next order of business, after all.
---
Arata scarcely noticed the ringing of the phone, so great was her investment in her newest piece. The depiction of her own imagined killing of those who had drawn her ire, who she thought the Angel of Death should target next. A part of her felt that the piece was lacking something, an authenticity that her pieces on their actual killings had. Why that was she did not know. The focus of her vision clear in her mind’s eye, yet something felt missing. The dead faces of her downstairs neighbors stared at her, as if mocking her, despite the technical artistic merit of her work; she could not, without effort, improve upon the actual artistry. But yet, it didn’t feel authentic. It didn’t feel… alive.
In many ways, it lacked inspiration, despite the fact that it represented an image that had hung in Aataa’s mind for some time by now. She wasn’t sure why she felt as if there was no… truth to it.
“Maybe it’s because it isn’t real...”
She shook her head, only now realizing that her phone had been ringing for some time; not too long, it hadn’t gone to voice mail yet, but long enough that she should have answered it by now. It could be work, it could be someone looking to buy a piece they had heard about, or it could be a telemarketer or a pollster she’d have to hang up on. Usually it was the later, but ever since that Adachi Muerto fellow had stopped by her booth, had bought her piece, she had been thinking that she had a good chance of selling something, anything, and soon.
She moved to the phone, feeling the dread of knowing that it was getting close to the last ring before voice mail. Mid-ring she took it off the receiver, silencing it just for the moment it took for her to put it to her ear.
“ArataKyofu here,” she said, her voice a slightly higher pitch than usual. A short pause followed, her heart pausing for a brief moment, before a response came at last.
“Good evening, Miss Kyofu. It’s Adachi – I hope things are going well. I had thought to call you sooner, but there were complications I had to deal with, so my apologies for taking so long to reach out to you.” His voice was smooth and calm, and Arata felt a smile cross her face. She had not expected Adachi to be calling her, not now, at any rate. Not so soon. But he thought it had taken him a while? Arata found herself saying nothing for a brief moment, before realizing that she had let the line fall silent.
“Oh, it’s no problem!” She said, before realizing that she had shouted it. “I’ve been dealing with artist’s block on finishing a new piece, so I hardly noticed any time at all, honestly.”
“Oh?” His voice carried a level of interest Arata had not expected, the kind of oh she made to herself upon hearing about a new murder by the Angel of Death. A part of her felt a bit light at that, having not expected much to come out of the short lived connection she had with Adachi the other day. “I would love to see it, sometime. Actually, I was hoping we could meet up sometime – the piece I bought from you has inspired something in me, Miss Kyofu. I was hoping, actually, that perhaps we could convene at some time and discuss a collaboration? I understand, of course, if you’re busy...”
Collaboration? She had inspired him with her piece based on the Angel of Death’s “Heartlost Lovers?” Her body felt light and heavy at once. Her cheeks turned rosy as she felt her face heat up, at a loss for words as Adachi left his request hanging there, the silent sound of his waiting for her answer driving itself into her head.
“I- I’d love to, actually,” she said, her voice just a bit more than a whisper. “It might be just what I need to get over my artist’s block, actually. Stepping away from it for a bit and doing something else, that is.” Arata’s tongue seemed to be stepping on its own toes, and she was sure she sounded either naive, smitten, or both in the way she was conveying herself.
“I’m glad to hear it,” Adachi said, and Arata swore she heard the smile on his face. “I don’t suppose it would be possible for us to meet today, would it?”
“Today…? Well, ah, I’m free today, actually. This evening perhaps? I don’t know if my place would be the best suited for it, though, it’s just a studio apartment, and it’s cramped...”
“We can use my studio, it’s attached to my apartment, and might be a good place for us to work on our collaboration together in the first place,” Adachi said, and Arata found herself nodding, as if somehow he’d see that. “If that’s alright with you, of course.”
“Oh, that sounds wonderful actually,” Arata said – and she meant it. A studio? Dedicated to the purpose of doing art? She had always dreamed of working in such a space, and now she would be able to, and in the company of someone who truly understood her vision, the type of art she saw the greatest value in. It was likely she’d always have to live with the stigma of her obsession with criminals, so here was a chance that she knew was once in a lifetime. A chance to not only be understood by someone, but to share interests and vision with someone. “I’ll need the address, but that would be great.”
Adachi gave her the address, which seemed to be somewhere in the Old Chateau neighborhood by the sound of the address; a rather upper class neighborhood, not far from Arata’s own apartment. She was lucky to live in a nicer part of town, though the Old Chateau neighborhood made her own look rather lower class. She felt a bit of a rush at the chance to see some of the houses and apartments in that neighborhood for herself, having never thought she would ever be inside them, let alone in the same neighborhood. Before the Troupe attack destroyed the mafia community, only those the mafia wanted there were permitted in the upper class neighborhoods. Following that, well, most upper class neighborhoods had hired their own private security forces to keep them safe, and Old Chateau was no exception to that.
Apparently, though, Adachi would let the security who made sure no troublemakers got into the neighborhood know she was coming. She didn’t have a car, but it sounded like it was walking distance if she left an hour or so before the meeting. Which was pretty close to the same amount of time it took for her to set up her stand at the cafe. Getting back home she’d have to get a taxi, even the nicer sections of Yorknew City weren’t safe to walk at night, especially not for an hour.
After a short conversation, they ended up agreeing to meet at seven at his studio.
Arata marveled at the elegant and ancient buildings that lined the streets of the Old Chateau neighborhood, their craftsmanship a relic of earlier settlements, of a time when Yorknew City was still colonial. The titular Old Chateau was not near where she had walked to get to Adachi’s apartment building, a tall and grand building that reached up to the sky, as if grasping for something, with windows that shimmered even in the dusk. The air was still hot and muggy, typical for this time of year, though the sprinklers that ran along the streets left a fine mist that lingered without wind to disperse it, cooling Arata at least somewhat. She had dressed a bit nicer than usual, though nothing particularly fancy; just a nice button-up top that she had tucked into her shorts, which ran to just past her knees. Her black hair she had put up in a bun, like she did while working to keep it from getting in her eyes, and while she felt a bit nervous she also couldn’t help but smile.
She pressed the buzzer for Adachi’s fifth floor apartment, looking up to see that the fifth floor was the second highest the building had to offer; she supposed that the fifth floor, though, was the last with apartments. Above that it looked like there were lofts, presumably the second floor of the units on the top floor. She would be finding out soon enough, though, she supposed. The sudden ring as the front door of the building unlocked caught her attention, and she entered.
Not only was the stairwell here wider than in her own place, but there was an elevator, with red stained wooden doors and an old fashioned dial to show which floor it was on, too. Without a moment of hesitation Arata went to the elevator, and in a matter of seconds she was at the fifth floor.
With only five doors per floor, finding Adachi’s room was easy, even without the bonus of it being the first door on the left of the elevator. She knocked.
Her knuckles rapped the door, and it opened – Arata didn’t even hear the locks unlatch. Standing before her was the man from before, dressed in a light blue button-up, halfway tucked into his white shorts, with a few paint stains splattered across it. He smiled and Arata smiled back without realizing it. “Come in,” he said, and once she had done so he closed the door behind her. “Can I get you anything to drink? Coffee, tea, water, soda...”
“Some tea would be great.” Arata looked up from taking her shoes off, setting them in the small, empty shoe rack next to the door. Adachi nodded. “Thanks for offering.” She glanced about as the man made his way to the kitchen, taking in the niceness of the place. Woodwork reached up along the corners between the ceiling and walls on all sides, while warm lights gave the place a welcoming glow.
“This place is gorgeous,” she said, continuing to look about the entryway and living room, only glancing for a moment into the kitchen where the woodwork seemed to blend seamlessly into the cabinetry. Towards the living room, shelves built into the ceiling hung down, like stalactites, with books ranging from economics to true crime lining them, as well as one or two about modern art.
“Thank you,” Adachi said, bringing her a cup of tea, a small metal ball of mesh sitting in the bottom, color leaking from it into the cup. “I hope you like earl gray, it’s all I have.”
“Oh, earl gray is fine with me. You won’t hear any complaints from me,” Arata said, taking the cup. “So, you wanted to meet and start discussing a collaboration, right?” Adachi gave a nod, and gestured for her to follow.
The tight spiral up to the upper floor studio of Adachi’s apartment was not far from the main entryway, and as they ascended it, Arata could not help but wonder what the man’s studio was like. A part of her imagined it being lined with canvases, or perhaps empty except for one that he put all of his passion into, free from distraction. Silence surrounded the two as Adachi came up through a small hole in the ceiling, beyond which was his studio.
A soft gasp pierced the silence as Arata entered the studio, her eyes widening as Adachi strode forward, towards the center of it all, turning around only as he reached the easel at the center of it. Along the walls were canvases depicting the various murders of the Angel of Death, or so Arata assumed each of the canvases depicted the scenes. Sketches hung over most of the canvases, some over each other, loose pages of sketchbook paper taped together so that the layers all met and bled into each other, though the faint breeze that carried up from downstairs allowed Arata to see, as the papers rustled, that each layer was a previous revision of the sketch, carefully aligned so that the finished sketch lines were on display.
She turned along, looking at the wall in clockwise order; each murder was represented, in order, from the first to the latest. Her own canvas was not up here, and she did not think any like hers were. These were not interpretations of the Angel of Death’s works. These were not the work of someone inspired by the Angel of Death’s works. They’re so precise, clinical… this is another level, it’s like he was trying to catch an element of reality, but… no, that doesn’t make sense… Her eyes lingered on the first canvas, the one depicting her favorite of the Angel’s murders, the “Heartlost Lovers” piece. Most of the details matched, the positions of the bodies, the mutilations done to them, the alleyway itself. But small details – the color of the man’s shirt, the scattered bits of litter on the alley floor. She knew each of the Angel’s pieces by heart, had memorized the smallest details. Why would he be so clinical and precise, only to change things? It… it doesn’t make any sense?
“Welcome,” Adachi said, stepping to the side as her eyes moved to him. The canvas behind him had sketches taped to the sides of it, though none seemed to sync with the others, and none covered multiple pages. “What do you think?”
Arata stammered over her words, unsure just how to express what she was feeling. Confusion and excitement raced through her, as did fear and panic. Her mind raced with terror, unsure just what she had walked in on – was he a fan of the Angel of Death too? Was he someone investigating, hoping she had clues? Or… her eyes flew across the sketches over his canvas, depicting bodies lain out in various ways, each cut open along the sternum, their ribs splayed, hearts removed. Some showed bodies lain out along stairs, another inside just barely opened elevator doors. None, however, were more than loose sketches.
Rough drafts.
“I was hoping you might have some ideas, Miss Kyofu. Something new to bring to the table.” He smiled, lifting from the easel a small sketchbook, designed with a pencil case built into the rings that held the pages together. “When I saw the passion you had, I just couldn’t resist working with you. I have my own visions, of course, but I want to bring out your vision for now. I want to help you make something truly beautiful.”
Arata smiled and nodded, reaching out so that she could take the sketchbook. She sought for words, looking desperately for something to say. “Thank you,” she said at last. There were no other words to say.
“Dammit, there’s nothing on these bastards that actually matters.” Keanu cursed, shaking his head as he threw the manila envelope onto the desk in front of Jaune, who had been flipping through pages of his own. Their investigation into Lenny and the Jets had not been going well. Police records on the gang were sparse at best; that all known members wore red scarfs was something the two already knew, and Keanu had dug through at least three or four reports on robberies, assaults, and even a case of indecent exposure from an elderly man who had been defecating in his neighbor’s lawns. “No signs of where they meet, who their leader is – they all just talk like everyone else is named Lenny in their little group. Like some freaky cult. And the ones that have actually been sentenced all ended up going to Kirkbride Asylum, though a few of them ended up being killed pretty early on by inmate on inmate violence.”
Jaune looked up from the desk at the other Crime Hunter, a dour look painted on his ordinarily less-than-expressive face. “You do not need to swear at me, or throw things at me,” Jaune said as he set his own folder down. He sighed, grabbing his coffee mug, taking a soft drink as Keanu ground his teeth together with impatience.
“Well, what’s your idea, then, Jaune? I doubt we can get much more information out of the few Lenny and the Jets members in Kirkbride Asylum, and finding their members is a crapshoot – they just vanish sometimes, it seems Sure, they all went by different names before joining, but that’s probably just some weird cult stuff.”
“That is… interesting,” Jaune said as he set his coffee down, only to gesture at a chair sitting next to the desk. The Yorknew City Police Department gave them access to some offices in the main police headquarters, where they could set up offices to work from while on the case, though only Jaune had taken them up on the offer. Keanu didn’t see much point in an office when he could be looking out for clues and suspects, out in the field or in the evidence rooms.
He sat down, while Jaune took the envelope he had been reading, eyes skimming over the highlighted sections Keanu had marked. “All taken to Kirkbride, you said? Why?”
“Because they’re insane, obviously,” Keanu said, waving a hand dismissively. “Why does it matter?”
“Is it not odd that they are a gang of people that have all pleaded insanity successfully? That they have all been deemed criminally insane?” Jaune paused, looking through the paperwork again. “All of them refer to themselves as Lenny, and all of them refer to their leader and fellow members as Lenny.”
“Yeah, they’re insane, or in some cult. What about it?”
“Are you actually dumb?”
“Who are you calling dumb?” Keanu snapped, leaning forward onto the desk as his chair scooted back with a screech. “You’re asking dumb questions, about their names, and them being criminals, I’m just facing the facts – there’s – there’s...” his voice trailed off, before he sat back down, grumbling to himself. Jaune had simply stared the whole time, an impassive observer to the process of Keanu’s brain clicking the pieces together. “Nen.”
Nen, yes. I do not think they’re Nen clones, though – their appearances are too variable, and they all went by different names before joining. I doubt a Nen user is going around kidnapping and replacing random people with clones – that would not be very wise, after all.”
“If they aren’t clones…” Keanu trailed off again, before his eyebrows furrowed. “They’re being controlled, then. We need to go talk to one of them, see what we can learn. If we’re lucky the Nen user responsible isn’t bright enough to hide his aura on them, whatever it is he’s using to control them. I mean, he’s clearly a competent Nen user, but that doesn’t mean he got any formal training, or that he even knows what In is. Worst case we can try using Gyo.”
Jaune nodded, pushing the envelope of files on Lenny and the Jets back towards Keanu. “That is a good plan,” he said, resting his hand on the folder he had been looking through. “I have been digging into Dr. Galileo, as well as into any files we have on this Harvy Sark individual. There is… not much, I have to admit, but there is a little bit more than we knew before, after looking into some files in the archives. At first it did not look like Mr. Sark actually existed. His name was nowhere on file. But while looking into Dr. Galileo’s work...” He flipped through some pages, before pulling out a photograph that was stapled to a file on the investigation. The only man to survive the Angel of Death stood with two others, a petite woman with dark black hair and black eyes, and a glowering Harvy Sark, staring at the camera.
“They knew each other. We knew this from Mr. Sark’s own words, but I did some more digging while you were looking into the Lenny and the Jets gang. The woman is from Kakin, a scientist by the name of Ani Hua. She was working with him before the Angel of Death’s attempted murder, though she left Yorknew to return to Kakin recently. Supposedly, at least.” Jaune paused as Keanu nodded. “Mr. Sark here, on the other hand? I looked for pictures matching him, and found only one other.” He reached in to pull out another photo, holding it to Keanu.
Keanu took the photo and looked at it, eyes squinting a bit. Harvy was a bit in the distance, though he could tell it was the man. It was just a CCTV photo, from an investigation of an earlier Angel of Death murder. This was from outside the morgue Councilman Bartholomew Wadsworth had been in after the so-called “Enemy of Freedom” case, as the Angel of Death called the scene. That morgue wasn’t here now, having been blown up by a bomb, but if Harvy had been there…
“He’s been investigating for a while, then?” Keanu asked, handing the photograph back.
“Perhaps. It also might have been a coincidence. But, well…” he held the photo so that both of them could see it, pointing towards Harvy’s right arm. At first glance it seemed normal, until Keanu realized what exactly Jaune was point out. Stitches along the inner arm, though clothing obscured most of the arm. “His arm did not have this in the other photograph. And given that strange aura, the aura that was not his, in his right arm when we ran into him, I have a theory. Dr. Galileo was working on something, involving Mr. Sark’s arm. Whatever it is, it must be secretive – otherwise the V6 would not have grown interested.”
“Is that related to the Angel of Death, do you think?”
“Possibly. I can not say for sure. I do not particularly think it is an aspect we should investigate into, though – if the V6 is hiding his research, we do not want to get on the wrong side of that.”
“Screw the V6 and their hiding – we have a job to do, and if he’s doing work with human subj-”
“Do not be so loud!” Jaune hissed, silencing Keanu with a glare. “If they are hiding things, we do not want anyone reporting us to their higher-ups. Understand?” Keanu nodded. “Good. Now, we need to focus on the job. I do not like the idea of just ignoring what the V6 is hiding, whatever it is, but I do not want to be killed for putting my nose where it does not belong before I can solve this crime.”
“But whatever they’re doing has to be wrong, right? We aren’t just going to ignore it, are we?” Keanu seemed irritated again, leaning forward. “I didn’t take up Crime Hunting just to ignore crime.”
“Neither did I,” Jaune said, “But getting ourselves killed does nothing to solve this case. We can not solve everything at once,” he continued, pausing for a few moments as Keanu watched him. He waited for Keanu to seem to be calming down before he finished. “When this investigation is over and the Angel of Death has been brought to justice, investigating what the V6 is hiding with Dr. Galileo and Dr. Hua, and with Mr. Sark, can take priority. However, as of now, we have a job to do that I do not want to get in the way of.”
“Yeah, yeah… that makes sense, you’re right,” Keanu said, grumbling as he waved his hands. “I don’t like it, but you’re right. Getting killed doesn’t stop the Angel of Death, that sick bastard. One job at a time.” He groaned. “So we’re going to go to Kirkbride and talk to the Lennies, then, right?”
“I believe that would be the best route to go as of now,” Jaune said with a nod. “They are our only lead. And whatever their Nen is, well… I would like to know. If they are involved with the Angel, it may be crucial to find out what they are capable of before we go after the Angel any further.”
“Do you think that he’s in charge of them?”
“No, but it is possible,” Jaune said with a simple shrug. “We will find out soon enough. We can go to Kirkbride Asylum tomorrow morning, then, I will make the calls and set up a meeting time.”
Keanu nodded as he began to stand up, giving Jaune a curt nod. It was clear that it would take a bit longer to crack the case, but there was still time. Not much, but it was unlikely that the Angel would strike tomorrow. Or so Keanu hoped. It could happen at any time, at any point, and they still had almost no leads. How the man managed to stay hidden in the shadows so convincingly was infuriating to him; he had always thought that they lived in a time where practically being a phantom was impossible. Between government surveillance and Hunters who were experts and tracking, and finding, and at following, it was maddening to imagine someone being able to simply… not exist in any records, to have avoided being found on any cameras. How did the Angel manage to do so much with no footage of a consistent suspect?
And what’s with every one of the suspects dying, anyway? That doesn’t make a lot of sense, either, come to think of it. Is there something going on there that we’re missing? Nen has to be involved, but how? Keanu shook his head as he left Jaune’s temporary office, heading through the police headquarters. They were empty at this time of day, abandoned by all but the most obsessive or overworked officers. Well, it doesn’t matter right now, does it? We don’t even have a suspect list that makes any damn sense. Hopefully these loony Lennies will give us some answers, but… I doubt it. Probably just raise more questions. Maybe it’s time for the Ghost of Crane Town to visit Yorknew...
---
Peyto grumbled to himself as he stalked through Yorknew City one early night, his hands buried into his coat pockets. A two week deadline to find the Angel of Death and already he had wasted one day simply wandering the bad side of town, scaring people off by giving them looks that conveyed just how ready to stick them with a knife he was, especially if they fucked with him. Damn those bastards, he thought to himself, shaking his head. Even someone who didn’t piss him off, he was ready to vent his frustrations – though he had learned that doing so violently did him few favors. Fuckin’ Izwiz and Rammel, Who the fuck do they think they are? Giving me deadlines like a teacher in a school? Still, I don’t want to get on their bad side, and finding the Angel might be good for me...
He had ran it over in his mind over and over again, walking through the dangerous Capone neighborhood and through Wyattearp, where even Peyto’s knuckles turned white from how tight he griped the handle of his switchblades. Now, though, he was coming back up through some nicer streets, to blocks where it was safe to be out past the start of evening. Peyto was wondering if it was worth his time to head into nicer neighborhoods on this night, though he was near the Old Chateau neighborhood – not that it would do him much good to check that out. “Like he lives there,” he muttered to himself, the thought passing through his mind for a brief moment.
All the same… There may be some easy marks there. Yes, the neighborhood was gated, but there were ways in he knew from friends on the streets. He weighed his options as he shot a glare at a young couple, daring the man to step closer instead of forcing his girlfriend off the sidewalk to make their way around him. The man glowered back, until Peyto began to pull his hand from his pocket, moving to make it clear he was carrying.
The young woman made an indignant protest as her boyfriend forced her into the street, bumping into her and stammering an apology, trying to make it look as if it was not from being intimidated. Peyto cracked a smile at that. Good. That’ll teach you for being macho.
He turned his head and spat at the ground in between them, as if trying to cement his dominance, when the sound of the man’s footsteps came to a stop. Peyto continued walking, not looking back, even as the sound of footsteps resumed. Getting louder.
A crack rang out as Peyto felt a fist connect to the back of his head, sending him forward in a stumble. Peyto let out a gasp of pain as he fell to his knees, the woman letting out a cry of protest. The man shouted something, but the ringing in Peyto’s ears covered whatever fool thing the man wanted to say.
Rage filled Peyto, and in a flash he was pulling both his switchblades. He wanted the man to suffer now, not just feel humiliation. A tingling filled his body as heat welled up inside of him, and he drew back his head to begin hacking up phlegm as he held his blades up, daring the man to come closer.
The man did not. Peyto spat again, the glob landing on one of the man’s hands. His aim was pretty good from doing this time and time again, and he knew just what was going to happen soon. He had seen this type of man get scared off from his ability before, after all.
Peyto grinned with delight as the stranger screamed, flailing his hand as skin sizzled in the spittle. The woman gasped, and a laugh came from Peyto as he began to put his blades away. He was done, and that was that. No fight had to come of it, even if his head hurt like a bitch, and he got to see some poor sucker burn himself on spit! This was a damned good day, as far as he was concerned. It was this line of thinking, though, that blinded Peyto to what was happening just in front of his face. The man snarled as he lunged forward, fist flying at Peyto’s face – where it crashed into his nose, blood gushing out and down the poor man’s black coat, cartilige crunching as he flew back onto his ass, to the concrete with a crash.
The man shook his fist as he began walking away, grabbing the woman’s arm and dragging her along with him. Peyto watched as they left, gritting his teeth, eyes shaking with rage as focus faded in and out. Humiliation coursed through him as he spat on the ground, aura flowing from him into the blood and spittle that landed near him. It remained a shapeless blob for a few seconds before taking on the appearance of a cockroach as Peyto closed his eyes, and chuckled.
Once more a scream filled the air. Peyto’s spit roach had climbed onto the leg of the woman, beneath her pants, scuttling around so that its hairy legs seemed to be everywhere. She flailed, slapping her legs, kicking, as the man stepped back in shock. More screaming, this time in anger at the man for just standing there, followed. Peyto chuckled to himself as she began to undo her pant buttons, trying to get a better angle for hitting the spit roach.
He pushed himself up to the ground, letting his roach go into autopilot to harass her as he walked off, his switchblades in his pockets as blood trickled down his face. He heard the word “bit” somewhere in the girl’s screaming and laughed again, glad to know that the spit roach had bit her.
All the same, he was fuming. His desire to investigate the Old Chateau neighborhood for signs of the Angel of Death had vanished, as had his desire to continue looking for the night. As the cries of panic at his roach faded into the background he passed through a somewhat seedy stretch of businesses that sprouted up in a neighborhood not far from his own, called Groper Street by most the folks in this area but officially named Grove Street. Three strip clubs, known for their extra services, lined this section of street, as well as a few bars and an abandoned building known for its drug slinging. But Peyto had his eyes set on one he knew quite well; Cherry Blossom Gentlemen’s Club, his favorite place in Yorknew.
The smell of booze, drugs, smoke, sex, and sweat blended together as Peyto came in, the bartender’s eyes widening at the sight of his blood-soaked face. A large bald man, built like a bulldozer, the bartender was at heart a compassionate soul. Peyto thought he was soft, but he was not going to complain that the man was grabbing a roll of paper towels and rushing to the edge of the bar nearest the door, even though Peyto was already walking his way.
“Peyto, your face, what the hell happened?”
“Nothing important, Delano. Don’t worry about it. I need to wash it up, though.”
Delano sighed, a hand going to his hip, though he held out the paper towel roll for Peyto all the same. Peyto took a few sheets and handed it back, barely listening as Delano told him off. “… you can’t just let blood get all over yourself, it’s going to stain, and cleaning blood out is hard and makes you look suspicious. Either way, come on, let’s get you to the bathroom.”
Peyto let Delano guide him to the bathroom where he washed up, and the bartender took his coat, saying he’d make sure it got a good cleaning before Peyto left. Of course he could do that, this place probably cleans blood up more than it should, Peyto thought to himself as he looked at his face in the bathroom mirror, water dripping from his ratty hair. He looked like shit, and he knew it, But he had money, and this was a place that considered that more important than anything else.
He bandaged his nose with a few rolls of tissue paper shoved up into it, using some bandages to straighten it so it didn’t look so broken. The swelling was unavoidable, but he doubted Sherry would complain. She never did, after all.
Grumbling to himself he left the bathroom, putting on a bit of a smile as his eyes ran to the stage, where a redheaded girl pole danced, a few other men throwing bills her way. Peyto patted his pants to make sure his wallet was still there, and once he confirmed it was, he made his way forward. He knew better than to vent his frustrations through violence, but there were other ways to do so.
---
Chapter 2
Chapter 1
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2018.05.25 16:42 bluejonquil Cctv camera caught sex

Hello all. This is my first post to UnresolvedMysteries, so go easy please! My introduction to this case was through an episode of the wonderful Australian podcast, Casefile (episode 14). I have thought a lot about it ever since. I couldn’t find a write up here about it, and there isn’t a ton of information online. I’d love to hear your theories!
Helen Munnings was a pretty, blonde 20-year-old and single mother of one when she went missing without a trace on July 23, 2008. Born and raised in the port city of Burnie on the northwest coast of Tasmania, Helen was close with her mother Karel and three siblings. According to Wikipedia, Burnie is the fourth-largest city in Tasmania, but only has about 20,000 inhabitants.
In 2004, when she was 16, Helen met Adam Taylor, who was 30 years old. They had a sexual encounter the night they met, and Adam claims he was heavily intoxicated at the time. They remained in contact despite the fact that Adam was in a long-term relationship with a woman named Karalina, with whom he also had a child. When Helen turned 17 in March of 2005, Adam Taylor claims she became obsessed with him and began to pressure him into having sex with her regularly. Adam later said he only continued sleeping with her because he was frightened that Helen would report him to the police for their first sexual encounter, when she was below the age of consent in Tasmania. Soon after, Helen was pregnant.
Helen gave birth to a baby boy in 2006, not long after her 18th birthday. Though he initially denied it, paternity tests confirmed Adam Taylor was indeed the child’s father. He convinced his distraught partner Karalina that the baby had been conceived during a break in their relationship, and promised he would cut off all contact with Helen other than what was necessary in their custody agreement. However, Adam Taylor bought a secret, second cell phone so that he could continue the clandestine relationship with Helen. Explicit text messages between the pair were later retrieved from the cell phone.
On July 8, 2008, Helen took a pregnancy test and told Adam she was again pregnant with his child. Adam has repeatedly denied that he is the father of the second child and has said he believes Helen had been having sex with another man.
On Wednesday, July 28, Adam Taylor returned home from work around 2:45 p.m. to drop off his car and picked up his mother’s truck. His partner Karalina said she saw Adam leave in the truck about 3:30 p.m. after putting a saw in the back. Helen left her mother’s house on foot around 4 p.m. with nothing but the clothes on her back and her phone’s SIM card, and was picked up by Adam around 4:20 in front of Green’s Hotel on Marine Terrace. A CCTV camera from the Centrelink office next door caught Helen walking past the office at 4:16 and then a truck driving by at 4:22. The truck is believed to be the one Adam was driving, and Helen has never been seen again. She was reported missing by her mother the next day.
Police have interviewed hundreds of witnesses, including her family and Adam Taylor, the most likely suspect. In a sworn declaration to police, Adam Taylor claims that on their drive Helen was upset and told him she’d rather commit suicide than have an abortion. Although it would have been getting dark, he said Helen requested to be dropped off at the beach so that she could take a walk to clear her head; afterwards, he went home. Adam sent her a text message at 6:08 p.m. that said “Keep your chin up,” but Helen never replied.
In 2008 and 2009, extensive searches were conducted in Burnie and the surrounding areas (including waterways), but no trace of Helen has been found. In 2009, investigators found a bucket of concrete with rope attached in the water outside Adam Taylor’s home, near where they kept a dinghy. It looked suspicious, but no forensic evidence was found. An inquest was held in 2012 by coroner Robert Pearce, who found that Helen had likely died on or about July 23, 2008 in Burnie. Although testimony was given alluding to Mr. Taylor's suspicious behavior on the day Helen disappeared, no conclusion has been found. “No finding can be made about how or why she died, or whether any person contributed to the cause of her death,” said Mr. Pearce. Helen’s family is convinced she met with foul play, most likely at the hands of Adam Taylor.
It’s pretty clear to me who had the motive and opportunity to get rid of Helen Munnings: Adam Taylor. But now, almost a decade after she went missing, no new evidence has come to light. Adam Taylor seems to want people to think she committed suicide, but her body has never been found. What do you think happened to Helen Munnings, and where is she now?
LINKS:
Casefile episode on Helen Munnings
Coronial inquest findings
Australian Missing Persons Register entry
2015 article from The Mercury
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