P O I S O N   S A V E S   B L O O D.

- Heinrich Wilhelm Schultz, The Cleanser.

FC - Justice Joslin 


The Serpent is a reptile of intellect and utter intelligence, whose bite is significant and worthy of a praise, for it does not halt its own stampede once it has latched on to its variable host. Its poison harbors the toxins of an elegance that deprives its subject of life, of the essence to hold within the desires and longings of passion and fervency. Hold not its rattling, constant rebounding, nor its fangs and talons of oppression, nor its defined and riveted textures of delight and delicacies. Once it grasps your soul, it does not remove itself from its victim.

Fear The Serpent, loathe it, esteem it, treasure its sins and demands.

Fear not its bite, fear not its strength, fear not its camouflage, fear not its boundaries.

Abstain yourself from its commands.

Never let yourself be perceived by its Spheroids of Slits.

Comprehend that no Tree of Malevolence or Benevolence shall ever surpass that of The Serpent between its branches.

Consume its venom, drink its nectar of comprehension, savor its teeth, never dispose of its carcass.

Favor its agility, its demeanor, its astounding negligence before fright.
Accept and welcome the arrival of its beloved instinct.

Heinrich's spirit animal is that of a snake. A snake is the representation of the Devil in the Bible, a reptile capable of strangulation and poisonous bites; these reptiles, in general, consider themselves to be incredibly superior to other beasts because of how selective they can be when it comes to engagements. Given how intelligent they are, they often outsmart their foes, even when outmatched, which is a clear representation of how Heinrich operates since he plays by these rules closely.

He analyzes, devises a plan and then strikes at his target's weaknesses.



There existed a Pacifist, a melancholic individual,

A Man of Gentility, whose Echoes of Remorse bestowed him of a Burden.

He had persisted in Wars of F utilities, in Wagers of Conflicts, in Benevolences of Malevolences,

For he had been whispered, by such a damsel, of a rigorous benefit, yet so, after a Period,

No man could ever recognize his own Tyranny.

- J.S.

Quotidian behavior;

A  G E N T L E M A N   O F   T H O U G H T


To think was to ponder, yet to ponder was to analyze. It was a surreal manifestation of incomprehensible attitudes, the life of a human being that went by the accordance of the name of Heinrich. He was weak-minded, ill-minded, corrupted, yet also superficially wounded as a figure of exemplification. No man could cope with a mind like his own, nor could a female envisage herself within his orbs for even the merest of seconds. He thought of what others had regarded as the unthinkable, as the imponderable, as enigmas embedded and intertwined with each other, awaiting the examination of one who had ventured from the depths of an unknown crevice situated between malignancy and benevolence. It was a carefully stitched wound, that of his mother, a memory long-forgotten, grasped as remembrance only in circumstances that allowed it.

What came next, was only the arrival of Hell, of him, of the Devil.

Of ...

            The ...

                                  Serpent ...

And ...

                                               With ...

                                           It ...

                                                            Came ...

N O  P E A C E.

If one thought, one could profess a truth when there was none! If one thought, one could participate in the bewilderment of others! If one thought, if Heinrich Schultz thought, one could potentially infect the wound that he had concealed from sight! Alas, there was no thought, no analysis, no credible hypothesis, not a singular sign of a conclusion, for the man that thought was none other than a devil flustered by the presence of others. A hand twitched, a lip was smeared of crimson, a lie was issued, and so the intentions of the man of thought were informed to the public.

All this blubber and the confusion persists

in the abstraction that is the mind.

He was a disaster, a chaotic outcome with no resolution, a spiraling flame that ended in no submissive gust. The incongruity was ravenous and ferocious, but so was the ambience that had surrounded him. It had all led to this very moment of change, of passion, of adjustment, of maturity, a moment he had not forgotten in the lands that he had coursed throughout the entirety of his life.

He had screamed mother!
However, no mother had replied!
For he had no biology!
But only tragedy.

A P P A R E L  &  A C C E N T U A T I O N S

In times of reconciliation and harmony, Heinrich possessed the casual, yet also superficially sophisticated, elegant attire of the contemporary epoch. Fashionably tailored and presented, most of his shirts and top-section, upper-body clothing shall have the characteristic, yet also very distinctive, color of the immaculate white, of the reflective pearl that gleams at the gentle caress of the radiance that perceptibly surrounds and embraces it with tantalizing atmospheres and ambiance. They had been of long-sleeves, decorated by the centralized buttons to tighten and adjust the shirt correspondingly, made out of an expensive textile or fabric especially designed for Heinrich’s own comfort and sooth. His lower-body, under-section clothing had been simple, efficient and enduring pairs of working, obscure or patterned pants with suspenders attached onto their superior, principal edge so that they did not face the possibility of ever falling in his treading.

 A  G E N T L E M A N  O F  T A L E N T S

An Observer

A Pianist

A Painter

A Professional Hitman

An Intellectual


Taught at an early age, by the years of five, Heinrich was under surprivision, everyday, by his grandfather. He was taught the art of the pianist, an art unforgettable by those who truly appreciate the touch of a man's fingers over that of a soft and illustrated key, or note, whose filaments are stronger as they vibrate and reverberate with ease. Each day, each week, week month, each year, Heinrich was continuously probed with the knowledge of a pianist, until he had managed to compose a piece of art, all by himself, in the quarters of the farmhouse, in the livingroom, next to his grandparents. There had been days where only he would play for himself, for the instrument beckoned him to touch her, to touch her beautiful, softened keys of ecstasy and pleasure. It hadn't taken him nothing to accustom himself to the beauty of her caress.

As other talents came, the desire for the piano slowly went in a decline, but it never faded. Another art surged, being that of the illustrations, of the capability of holding a pencil and drawing over a canvas with a diverse and numerous selection of colorations, varying from all the crimsons, to all the greeneries, to all the sapphires, to all the blacks and the immaculate. But, for Heinrich, the only colors that he saw were the black and the white, and none more, for his grandmother had whispered into his ears:

"The unseen beauty is the most marvelous, child."

         Therefore, Heinrich only paints abstracts of what he visualizes, as well as portraits, landscapes and, preferably, when with an age, women without their dresses or coverings. It was all for the art, for the passion within the boy, the teenager, the mild adult, for him, for Heinrich, and none else.

But, as time passed, and the grandparents were no longer, he withdrew from all these pleasures and dedicated himself to the study of himself, and of other subjects which guided him to the understanding of life, of itself, and of the unknown, of such a knowledge that only few understood and comprehended. Heinrich became a ponderer, a philosopher of the mentality of others, one who corrupted others with the simple use of mind-play, a tactician's tool for destruction and pleasure.

Yet, as he also destroyed minds, he also inserted projectiles into the bodies of others for the mere sensation of a gratification. He was a personal killer, one that sought the blood of others, the vile blood of the living. He only utilizes the Luger for close engagements, or that of a long-range rifle, his customized Kar-98K. Not a single thought is given to the kill, for the kill draws the blood, and the killer produces it, willingly, without the everlasting consequences of the death.

A N  A V I D  P R O F E S S I O N A L  K I L L E R

"It was a dependence upon a me,

A characteristic poison that slithered along my lips,

One that I could not ever deny of its existence, no matter the circumstance."

"I was not evil, I had not been corrupted, I had only started to release the world,

To release the world of its own vile nepotism, of its sources of malfeasance." 

"Mistake me not for a criminal, but for a vigilante, a male of self-respect that values the lives of the innocent, of the credible, of those that hold truth by their hearts, by their vivid consideration of benevolence."       

"There had been a longing... a longing for blood."

After the completion of the confrontation between countries and men, Heinrich, designated now as Matthaeus to evade the persecution of the Nazi's and the Trials of Nuremburg, educated himself properly with the art of death. The desire that possessed the gentleman surged due to his views on the wretched society of individuals that surrounded him at every given interval of time.

Each day, after securing himself in the United States of America, he vigorously trained himself with the mentality of terminating every soul that was impure and vile to his Spheres. As time progressed and pass by, he grew exponentially stronger, agile, dexterous and swift with the art, proving to be a quite difficult individual to take down if opposed by another.  Due to his dedication, he strengthened his muscles, his physique and his mind as well, growing severely mature and tactful with the years.

Recently, there was a change, an alteration, a modification that ended up, for his good, introducing him to another talent, the ease of removing from the phases of the Earth the species of Vampires. This, of course, was taught only by the majestic and ironically coincidental Vampire, Ekaterina Vakhrov, a good ally of Heinrich that he met in the 1950's in Italy as he was hiding by himself. Because of her, he obtained the knowledge necessary to eliminate her own kind, with ease, with no difficulty at all. On the other hand, the male has not applied his skills in the field with any possible vampire victim. He is, however, tracking one down.

T H E  C O D E 

Like most killers, Heinrich has a code that he follows when he is either about to justify the torture or death of an individual in his grasp. These are the following principles: 

  • 1st Rule of the Code: Never get caught. Heinrich must never be caught committing a crime that would result in his imprisonment or imminent death. In scenarios where an innocent being (refer to the 2nd Rule) discovers Heinrich's doings, he may seen forced to kill he or she in order to conceal his identity. 
  • 2nd Rule of the Code: Never kill an Innocent. Heinrich must be absolutely certain that the target has committed a profound sin, who either takes life for no condonable reason, adulterates, steals or covets the possession of others. Heinrich heavily follows the Ten Commandments in Exodus 20:2-17. 
  • 3rd Rule of the CodeTargets must be killers, thieves, adulterates, etc., who have evaded the justice system, although this rule is often disregarded by Heinrich. 
  • 4th  Rule of the CodeKilling must serve a purpose, otherwise, it's just plain murder. (Refer to 2nd Rule) 
  • 5th  Rule of the CodeFake emotions and normality when at all possible. 
  • 6th Rule of the CodeBe prepared. Leave no evidence of your torture sessions or murder. 
  • 7th Rule of the Code: Stay calm and collected. Do not ever panic. There is always a solution. 
  • 8th Rule of the Code: Don't make things personal because it clouds judgment. (Refer to 5th Rule) 
  • 9th Rule of the Code: Use women for your own benefit. Do not let yourself be blinded by them.


T H E  M O D U S  O P E R A N D I 

Like most killers, Heinrich has a technique or an M.O that identifies him. His methods revolve mainly around torture, stealth and the usage of speech. When his targets are caught in the web of distraction and destruction, he moves onto other staunch practices of the craft, which only concern executions and the disposal of the body; at times, he mutilates the bodies to his taste and preference. Up next is a list of his technique: 

  • 1st Technique: He will always involve religion in his killing and will force the victim to familiriaze themselves with his religion.
  • 2nd Technique: Knives will always come to the equation; the victim will either be sliced or stabbed, either to death or to a state of incredible injury.
  • 3rd Technique: If the victim were to be a male, he will be shot to death after strenous, agonozing torture. If a female, the woman shall be raped, tortured and then bled to death, usually by a stab wound.
  • 4th Technique: Heinrich utilizes medieval torture devices to have his victims suffer.
  • 5th Technique: Heinrich utilizes piano music during his torture sessions to appease his masochistic tendencies. If he weren't to listen to piano compositions, he'd lose it quicker than the usual and the victim would likely die a more painful death.
  • 6th Technique: An adaption of mockery -- he has gotten used to leaving Ace of Spades on the bodies of his victims with a fake signature of his.


A  L U R E   F O R

They did not understand. Everyone did not understand. One could never understand . . . the motive, the reasoning, the logical process, and none would ever, for it was an enigma hidden within a mind unbreakable by humanity.

Heinrich, or Matthaeus, was, and is, a man of a perfect conduct, with only a mentality for women, and never for men. He is a gentleman before all, and this is, gentlemen and women, the lure for. The man allows a gentility to overcome the woman, her knowledge, her passiveness, her personality, and it latches onto it, vividly, in a synchronization of ardor. A conversation is then ensued, a theme is provoked, eyes are locked, virtues are broken, and fornication is then committed. But, you will never understand, nor will you attempt to, for you will be found dead if you corrupt yourself with the ideals of a paradox. Meanwhile he fornicates and cleanses the world of its impurities, Heinrich becomes a paradox himself, a contradiction that lives on and perpetuates itself for all eternity in the void world of nothingness.

You see, but you do not perceive.

Once done, it all commences again. He achieves the knowledge, the learning, the education, the significance of a life, and debauches it. You would not understand how it functions, nor how it operates on its own. It is a mystery, you see, but you don't see. Do you visualize the lure in front of you? Do you acknowledge the gentility that has been put at your front? He will destroy you, he will annihilate you, and he will quench his thirst once it all comes down to one thing: you. You will not see the light of day, the darkness of night, nor the twilight of both, nor the eclipses of nature, nor the perch of a bird, nor the growl of a leopard,... only the hiss of the serpent. Beware, beware, for he who does not fathom the desire of the gentlemen is one known to trigger his own downfall.


T H E  E V E S

Mr. Eves and Mrs. Eves.

The Incestuous Twins.

The Couple of Intelligence


Evelynne Gwen Eves

Homo-chromatic hues, a sphere of brown, a sphere of blue.

The age of a dreadful female, the thirty's.

Golden mane of elongated filaments.

Creamy dermis of innocence.


'When one observes her eyes, one swears upon;

they're innocence, they're hatred,

they're a mixture of irresolute outcomes.'

Anthony Howards Eves

A normal vision, yet a worsened perception of an ear.

The age of a dreadful male, the thirty's.

Golden mane of shortened filaments.

Creamy dermis of innocence.


'He listens, he listens carefully, but never too cautious,

for he's a listener of an ear, yet a silencer of another; 

beware them.'

They're a mystery.

Nobody knows.

         It was a brief call, a connection of telephones that set a line between Heinrich and themThe Eves. It had been unexpected.

Heinrich belonged with them, so they thought, when he had emphasized the contrary.

Conspiratorial Agency.

Ultimate Intelligence.

Hacking capabilities.

Monetary Handling.


Unified Armed Forces of Germany

Founded 1955, during the Cold War

He was in Afghanistan from 2001 to 2014, in the war of Bosnia in 1995, in the war of Kosovo from 1998 to 1999 and, finally, the most current war, the war on ISIL ( Islamic State of Iraq and the Levant), where his current service is based upon in any present-time role-play. His friends also serve along him in his very own squad, making up a total of five men, including him.

With that settled aside, moving onto the details, Heinrich is a

Principal Lieutenant, or simply an Oberleutnant in German. His rank dictates his ability to command those below him and the amount of experience he possesses. He is very well trained, very well disciplined and very well instructed, which translates into how deadly the man really is in a situation of intense combat and stress over the body. 

The standard Bundeswehr soldier has an arsenal of the following items: Heckler & Koch USP Tactical P12 Pistol, all known variants of the H&K G36, especially variants K and C, the HK416 assault rifle, the Rheinmetall MG3 machinegun, Panzerfaust 3's and, of course, the mighty grenades, the DM51 hand grenade. Heinrich, however, only utilizes his customized HK416 alongside his augmented P12 pistol, with obviously a few grenades to cover up the gaps. His allies, those in his squad, hold a variety of other tools of war that facilitate life on the battlefield.



T H E  W E A P O N R Y  O F  A  G E N T L E M A N

E k a t e r i n a  u n d  V a k h r o v

With this responsibility, came, of course, the need to improve his arsenal weapons. Having already a secondary Luger pistol with his primary one, he converted these two into a new variant which he designated as Parabellum-Pistole 1908 Mk. VI - HeTT. He painted them black, completely, changed the grip to its metallic appeal while still remaining with its wooden composure, and re-did their ejection mechanism so it would be capable of firing even faster than before with less of a recoil effect. Afterwards, he engraved them each as, from left to right, Ekaterina and Vakhrov, after the very woman that trained him.

Their protuberances, or silencers, are entirely a disturbance for the male to wear in the usual, common, waist-type holster, and because of this they are carried underneath his always-worn trench-coat or tuxedo by the aid of their own, downward-facing holsters, which are carried by a harness that goes around his shoulders and across his neck to impede their fall and assure their security and ease of access.

List of Modifications installed:

- Sound Silencing Apparatuses

- Heavy barrel for added impact and travel speed of bullets

- Extended, six-teen bullet magazine

- Fast-reacting, bullet retraction mechanism

- Hardened, oak wood grips holding the appearance of obscured, studded metal

- Enhanced, fluorescent, iron sights. 

- - -

I wield weapons of destruction,

triggered by a movement of action,

Where none but the eye can prove that of a fraction.

- J.S.

Z E R S T Ö R E R  D E R  M Ä N N E R

T H E  D E S T R O Y E R  O F  M E N:

A Kar-98K designated factually by its creator and user. It is an accurate and precise, bolt-action rifle customized by Heinrich himself after the end of the war. He equipped a times twenty-four zoom scope lens on it bolt-action mechanism. He had also switched said mechanism with a new, more advanced one, allowing him to quickly reload the chamber with a new bullet if needed. Besides this, he granted the frontal end of the barrel a flash hider for the purpose of concealing the muzzle's flash upon firing the weapon. It holds a caliber of 8mm mauser.

Modifications Installed:

- x24 Zoom scope with night-vision capabilities

- A 'Pull-Bolt' Mechanism enhancement for the bolt-action function

- A tri-pod for added accuracy when standing still

- Canted, side iron sights for close engagements

- A flash hider


No matter the range,

No matter the pain,

No matter the length,

It would always be your final fate.

- J.S.L.

 R Ü C K N A H M E  U N D  Z E R S T Ö R U N G

R E D E M P T I O N  A N D  R U I N A T I O N

T H E  Q U E E N  O F  D O W N F A L L:

Mauser C96 9x19mm Parabellum

A secondary set of pistols of the Gentleman were put into consideration once he evaluated their proper performance and usage. These C96's are semi-and-fully-automatic pistols with ten bullet cartridges. They are more reliable than the Lugers, although slightly heavier than them, with about the same characteristics of accuracy and precision as the counterpart of them. As the Lugers, when transported by Heinrich, they are stored underneath his axillae in their proper holsters. They are sturdy, efficient guns.

Modifications Installed:

- Leather grips for added comfort.

- 10-round magazines.

- Loading mechanism altered to fit magazines instead of clips from the top.

- Slightly extended barrel for better handling and accuracy and overall damage increment.

- Sound silencing apparatuses

- Enhanced, fluorescent, iron sights.


'Twas their might that had bequeathed them their use,

For a sole one could devastate,

but a second could annihilate.

- J.S.L.

D E R  U N E R B I T T L I C H

T H E  R E L E N T L E S S:

Of course, sooner or later, the man discovered the mere pistols and a rifle would not be enough to deal with vampires. Designed especially for the vanquishing of beasts and monster alike, the crossbow known to him as The Relentless was born. It is a precisely customized, light-weight, semi-automatic, cartridge-required weapon with a rudimentary sight. Due to its mechanism, it does not require the user to equip it with a bolt after firing one; it, instead, allows him or her to fire off exactly twenty bolts of wooden stems and silver tips. After the ammunition is expended, another cartridge is inserted and latched underneath the bulk of the contraption. With this design in hand, it allows for a rate of fire of forty-seven shafts per minute.

Modifications Installed:

- Hardened, poly-fiber strings for added power upon impact

- Twenty shaft drum magazine

- Enhance, simple, three-digit sight

- Strengthened shafts with sharpened, silver tips


Antiquity had been the subject; 

I had only known of such an object.

It represented the youth of Virgins, as it fired and wrecked.

- J.S.L

B O S H E I T  U N D  S Y M P A T H I E
M A L I C E  A N D  S Y M P A T H Y:

Since the male had always been an expert in close quarters combat, he had decided to craft himself, with the aid of some of his allies, dual, silver daggers that he had named Sympathy and Malice. These blades are entirely capable of decapitating even the strongest of vampires, if Heinrich can manage to find himself that near to his target. If so, the slice of the silver sheet across the neck, applied by some additional, will be enough to severe the head. They are worn on the lower section of his back in their proper sheaths.


T H E  C O N T R A P T I O N S  O F  A  G E N T L E M A N


1 9 3 9  H O R C H  T Y P E  9 3 0  V 8

 P O R S C H E  9 1 8  S P Y D E R  


Chofer of the lovely, alluring and majestic


E K A T E R I N A 

V A K H R O V,

known only as

M S.  V A K H R O V.

T H E  T I G R E S S


M S .  A L I B I

P R I S O N E R  O F  W A R


A thief is always a thief, no matter the reason, no matter the excuses, no matter the desperation, no matter the amount of gold at present. To liberate the luxury of another for one's own gain was refutable and disgraceful by default. One had dared to challenge The Serpent. The Tigress had ventured deep into the nest of an Anaconda, into the foggy swamps, paws below the surface of the water, suddenly entangled by a monstrosity with talons and slits for eyes. The hiss was produced and the strike had commenced. Stealing from the German and his home gifted this Tigress a life of isolation, imprisonment and abuse without much chance for escape. Heinrich ruled her and dominated her, turning every one of her fibers into utter frailty, corrupted and beautifully eradicated, hope never spared. She became a vessel of anguish, of torment and of satisfaction, a morsel to consume only when the German's hunger struck him and depraved him of all sense and logical reasoning, for he could not ponder on his actions. Instinct betrayed him and worsened her condition. Yet, she did not reside within; heaven sooner than later shone upon her when he promised her to change her, to remove her habits of a thief, of a burglar, of a hand that picked at the pockets of others for self-advantage. He would not allow her to seek such a low life as the aforementioned. Unfortunately, she did not easily learn; his methods proved to be too forceful and violent, eventually producing a grave toll upon her, destroying her will to exist, to live, to carry onward through the valleys and the plains of reality. It is then that he retires from her, maddened by her ignorance, her powerless, to focus on another quarry, a Russian whom could not last a day in the German's grasp.

The breather, while appreciated, would not benefit the Tigress for too long. Heinrich understood that, to have the life he aspired to enjoy, he could only manifest it throughout his one and factual prisoner, not through the heart or body of another. The Russian would not suffice. Spheres of Sapphires had been directed toward the woman in her room and he had no quarrel against the motives. If only love had not interfered with him and his intentions.







The World War that Changed Him

 C O P Y R I G HT  A N D  I M P O R T A N T   N O T I C E


 Heinrich Wilhelm Schultz is my own creation, as well as other characters mentioned below this post.

I invented this character, all from scratch, and, thus, he is completely mine.

All of his details are mine. He is almost six or seven years old and he has gone through a lot of change, and a lot of diversity. I love him as if he were my own son, and losing him will be something that will devastate me, and I will die, honestly. But, of course, this will never happen. (XD)

All of the photos you see are, sadly, not mine. I’ve fetched a lot of them from the internet, as well as the gifs, mainly from Pinterest.

I ask for the total respect of this character, and that you approach him OOC'ly as a mature person, and that you do not insult him or me, because you’ll be terminated by the bullet of my (his) Luger. I ask for utter respect, as mentioned above, and I must repeat that. He means a lot to me. I’ll never have him be defamed by participating in ruthless or unnecessary sexual relationships. They have to hold a plot, or some sort of romance. I won’t tolerate anything that causes him to possess infamy. Heinrich is everything to me.

Esteem this.

Each role-play idea or plot that I started myself with anyone role-playing with me is deemed mine. Its copyright belongs with me. You may not steal the idea or use for yourself.

If you are caught copying this character or stealing information of this character, you will be reported.

Heinrich W. Schultz © 2010-2019 Character created by Jeremy Santiago

R U L E S  A N D  I N F O R M A T I O N


< Heinrich exists in two time-lines or universes, if you will. In one universe, he was born in 1976 and served in the Bundeswehr. In the second universe, he was born in 1921 and served for Nazi Germany. >

- Heinrich and Matthaeus are the same individuals. Heinrich is his real name, while Matthaeus is a pseudonym. Matthaeus is a soldier from his squad, but his name isn't Matthaeus, it is another.

noun: pseudonym; plural noun: pseudonyms
a fictitious name, especially one used by an author.
synonyms: pen name, nom de plume, assumed name, false name, alias, professional name, sobriquet, stage name, nom de guerre

 "Geisel was best known by the pseudonym 'Dr. Seuss'"

- I'm very picky with who I accept and who I send friend requests to.

- This character is not intended solely for sexual roleplays or smut, as some may call it. Review the information above to confirm this.

- I am ENTIRELY flexible. I can roleplay before the war, during the war, after the war, in the 21st Century, and whenever or wherever the player wants.

- This character is very old. Roughly eight years or so of age, for now. I know him very well, but am still learning or creating new things for him every now and then.

- If you don't like long replies, lots of details, philosophical initiatives, metaphors and a lot of effort, I'm not for you.

- I write a lot. A lot. A lot. I will never give you one paragraph unless you're boring the shit out of me.

- Plotting is a MUST for me.

- Don't control him, unless allowed.

- Don't kill him, unless allowed. (Ends the role-play.)

- I dislike Nazism. I don't, however, dislike my own character. He is the difference between all of the cruel men in WW2, at least to me.

- I don't know German at all. I fancy the language, but don't have the time to learn it. I only knew a few words. (I use Google Translate for complex words or sentences.)

- I do multi-shipping. Each relationship is in a different universe.

- If you bore me,... I might stop the role-play.

- Have fun!


21st Century Timeline [Bundeswehr] (1976-2018+) {42 years of age}

Heinrich Wilhelm Schultz was born on July 26th, 1976 to both a loving mother and a father in the outskirts of Berlin, within the farmlands. Unfortunately, at the young age of four, Heinrich’s parents were murdered. (Expand) He was taken by his mother’s grandparents at the same age. The two dedicated themselves to Heinrich’s education and broadly enlightened him with an immense amount of knowledge—varying from basics to math, science, history and much more—since the two owned an Christian elementary, intermediate and high school, unbeknownst of Heinrich’s parents. Additionally, they also taught him how to paint, draw and play a limited amount of instruments (piano, violin and cello, mainly). Of course, he was also educated in the Christian doctrine. He ended up skipping four grades total given his intellect and ridiculous capacities—he had exceeded all expectations in school. At fourteen, he graduated from high-school with immense honors. At the same age, however, his grandmother was diagnosed with cancer and, unfortunately, passed away in only a few months. The news devastated Heinrich but did not impede his progression and success. Immediately, he began to study in college and graduated with a Bachelor’s Degree, majoring in Psychology and minoring in Philosophy, refusing to take the route of a scientist, a historian or an engineer. At eighteen, soon after his graduation, he joined the military due to a rigorous rumination about life and death that set him on his path toward impeding insanity. Heinrich had always been a thoughtful man—he pondered too much.

In the military now—Bundeswehr, to be precise—he served in Afghanistan between 1995 and 2001. The horrors he experienced during the war produced PTSD in Heinrich; he suffers greatly from it. This was worsened by the fatal death of his grandfather, the last of his bloodline, for now. It heightened the effects of his PTSD and drove him insane in a matter of months. This was just at the end of his service in Afghanistan, in 2001. He returned to Germany to visit his home, a grand house hidden by a mountain to fetch for his belongings, only to be contacted by his grandparent’s lawyers. These men informed Heinrich that he was the rightful owner of the school his grandparents managed. He only received news of an immense inheritance that was valued, at the time, at €2,300,000.00. Having no reason to own the house and the school property, he sold both for a sum that surpassed his inheritance: €25,000,000.00. In addition to his, he had found in his room a letter from his grandfather detailing that Heinrich had a brother by the name of Krieg, whose importance will rise only again years later in the timeline, at thirty-five.

After processing all these transactions and realizing that he was beyond filthy rich, yet alone and melancholic, he moved over to the United States of America. He decided to become homeless, having only a backpack, his bank account details and nothing else, depressed and wishing for Death to visit him. One fortunate night, he did meet with the Lady of Death, but in a way he had not expected. He had stumbled upon the murder of an elder man by the hands of a crook as tall as Heinrich, slimmer, hungry for money. Heinrich froze on the spot, frightened by the silver flash of a knife—it triggered his PTSD. In the craze, he panicked, snapped and attempted to kill the man that had stabbed three times the old man. The old man died, whispering only: ‘Don’t worry, son, I’ll be with God.’

That night, Heinrich resolutely developed the need to kill those deemed to be of vile nature in the name of God because of the things he saw during the war and because of the fateful night; this was obviously influenced by his still-strong Christian beliefs that his grandparents had forced on him. He swore God had saved him from the Lady of Death in Afghanistan on various occasions and, thus, dedicated himself to God believe it would bring him his Salvation. Evil beings needed to be cleansed of the world—it was his ultimate motive. With his military training, he wrote down a codification and a set of rules that would allow him to legally and methodically murder individuals. This spiraled out of control soon after he discovered that he obtained sexual satisfaction from the killings and ventured to kill not only those were guilty of a crime, but also innocent. He drew pleasure from the pain he inflicted on others, no matter their background or ethics.

Sooner than later, his actions were noticed not by the government but by those with similar motives. The Eves, an incestuous, British couple dedicated to tactical, private espionage and senseless, ulterior intentions, contacted Heinrich because of his expertise and his skills as a professional killer. They offered him eyes on the whole world in return for his monetary aid. Persuaded, he accepted the deal.

Now age forty-two, he works for The Eves under their shroud, satisfying his needs and developing his Philosophy as a cleanser.

 20TH Century Timeline [Waffen-SS] (1921-1963+) {42 years of age}

Heinrich Wilhelm Schultz was born on July 26th, 1921 to both a loving mother and a father in the outskirts of Berlin, within the farmlands. Unfortunately, at the young age of four, a small, civil outbreak invaded Heinrich’s hometown and, consequentially, took away the lives of his two parents. He was taken by his mother’s grandparents at the same age. The two dedicated themselves to Heinrich’s education and broadly enlightened him with an immense amount of knowledge—varying from basics to math, science, history and much more—since the two owned an Christian elementary, intermediate and high school, unbeknownst of Heinrich’s parents. Additionally, they also taught him how to paint, draw and play a limited amount of instruments (piano, violin and cello, mainly). Of course, he was also educated in the Christian doctrine.

He ended up skipping four grades total given his intellect and ridiculous capacities—he had exceeded all expectations in school. At fourteen, he graduated from high-school with immense honors. At the same age, however, his grandmother was diagnosed with cancer and, unfortunately, passed away in only a few months. The news devastated Heinrich but did not impede his progression and success. Immediately, he began to study in college and graduated with a Bachelor’s Degree, majoring in Psychology and minoring in Philosophy, refusing to take the route of a scientist, a historian or an engineer. At eighteen, soon after his graduation, he joined the military due to mandatory enlistment, opting to join the Nazi Party’s SS, armed wing—Waffen-SS. Seeing that Heinrich was of Aryan ancestry, the supposed, perfect Germanic origin, he was quickly admitted to it thanks to the referral of his now-deceased father’s friend, Friedrich Gunther, an Lieutenant within the party. During World War II, Heinrich served in various fronts, starting with the North African Campaign on June 28th, 1940. He was trained to mainly operate in tanks, commandeering a Pz. Kpfw. IV for one whole year before he was relocated to serve in the Eastern Front around July 29th, 1941, where he remained most of his time up until the Battle of Kursk—he was issued a Pz. Kpfw. Tiger Ausf. H1. During the horrendous battle, he saw the true horrors of the war through the lens from his commander’s cupola. In that dreadful battle, a shot pierced his monstrosity of a tank and disabled it completely, forcing him to abandon his tank, his dead crew and take arms with a lonesome, infantry squad of seven men belonging to Heer (the regular army). Once they identified him as a member of the Waffen-SS, they immediately granted him the role of their temporary leader and revealed to Heinrich their mission. From them on, they became a loyal band of brothers and, ultimately, their interaction changed Heinrich’s perception of the war and of Jews. Specifically, a soldier going by the name of Matthaeus influenced him the most. He served with them up until the last, few months of 1945, where he was separated from them to commandeer a brutality of a tank—Pz. Kpfw. Ausf. B. Tiger IIH—to defend nothing more than Berlin itself from the clutches of the Russians.

After the defeat of Nazi Germany, Heinrich was forced to flee the country. He fled to South America like most Nazis did and there he remained in hiding before he moved over to the United States of America. There, he found out about his fortune and became wealthy immediately. Then, he discovered his love for killing, the Eves and set himself of the path of doom.

O T H E R  C H A R A C T E R S

If Heinrich isn't your cup of tea, ...



Déjà Vu & Jamais Vu



Sisters of Time 

Manipulators of Reality




July 6

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Writer's Writing Style (OOC)

Paragraph, Multi-Para, Novella

Writer's Favored Genres (OOC)

Fantasy, Romance, Violence, Realistic, 18+, Gore, Action

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  • Boo.


  • Some people were just fucked in the head. Nes was cognizant of this at a young age, thus she matured by knowing it. There were good people, and there were bad people. Some people did good for bad reasons and bad for good reasons or just bad for bad. It shaped them, turned them into either something dark or light in the eyes of others. And while he thought about this woman, some unnamed beachy girl. It started out nice, for the most part. Pretty gal, nice for him, then it went someplace dark that had Neseva truly questioning her pure reasons for coming here. Was she here to save a good named man that a demon targeted? Or was there some hidden agenda as to why he was targeted? Why this demon sought him out? Neseva could only guess it was because in truth, he had a wicked soul, and this demon meant to do something with him to get him. 

    A lust demon would want that. Would want every dark impulse that he had to ravage the innocents and feed off of it. He had.. a darker mind, Neseva could admit. Yet she'd already told that she would help him, she would stick to that, not cede just when things got a little freaky to her. Perhaps, rare, but maybe, on the way, he might change. Might see an error in his ways. Sadly, most people who went off the deep end with being sociopaths often stayed on that side of being it. It was easier to cope. People like this were a bit more vacillate to deal with. It only meant to her that she would have to have one foot on the ready just as the other took a step.

    Her golden eyes followed him where he placed the significantly smaller smoke stick in the tray. Ever heard of second-hand smoke, bubby? Probs just didn't care. Scrummy, ah well. She could smell just a tiny bit of herself over it at least. The sweet scent of a cotton candy spray. Not at all so sweet it would make one's toothache, on the side more of being a perfume over that of some kiddish spray. 

    "So," Neseva echoed him diligently, were they on to business now? She plucked the glass of water. Still a teen at heart, she didn't always fancy the taste, which was why she went with aloe water, it added just a hint of flavor at least. It was a truce in a way. Share bread and wine and one was safe in the den of the beast. Then again, the Red wedding happened.. shyyyyt. She took a drink though, careful, and watching him as she did. He was drinking the same water after all, and what gain would he have in killing her when she had information to give? He did not know that she was a patrician in her own right, it was likely that he did not care. Her blithesome personality might even get on his nerves at the end of all of this.

    She inveigled him a little at least, to want to know why she was here, although she'd already tell him. Slap that comic book down, we were going in one more time. Full lips opened to tell him after a moment had been taken to gulp the crisp water down. She held the glass in her hands to have something to do with them at least. Filled with perverse energy in her bones she would go on to explain... Or tried to. Cur off by him, slight calloused, yet within reason for him doing so. Her chin came down towards her chest, leveling a look upon him. It came up when he introduced himself. She was able to pronounce it well enough, "Heinrich Schultz, it's a pleasure to have a name to your face finally. I'm Neseva Belikov, feel free to call me Nes, most everyone does. Besides, Neseva is far too formal."

    "As I was saying. I had dreams, visions, whatever. The thing in them, I believe it to be a lust demon." She had to pause, wry of his reaction of her saying it a second time. Some people found it hard to believe, some people knew of the world outside of just humans already. It was better to access what he knew or not before she went on. "Some demons are their own creature, and some are born from something far beyond that of a demon of Lucifer or something like that. Lust, pride, wrath, such like that. " She waved her hand, speaking with them and her body. A hip cocked ever so often as she spoke or her head curving to make a point he would learn. "Each holds its own power. Lust feeds off of people. People who are dark, people who are too weak to live on and lust for something more, or people who enjoy the lust of life. Sex, money, killing. Whatever she wants you for isn't anything to take lightly. And I'm here because I'm a Hunter of those sorts of things. I have a card, not on my person, but with me if you'd like to see."

    Another helping drink, then a small clear of her throat. "I saw her in my visions lash visions. They were everywhere and of her..." Riiight... The wet dreams. "S-She was.. taking advantage of people. Or of someone... Of you, lusting for you in particular and who you were as a person. And the final one, the final dream. She was here. She went to the bookcase, she touched a book. It was then that I was able to see the location, and I have a set of.. skills lets say, that was able to pinpoint this place, just not you since in my dreams I did not see your face. I found out where here was, got a ride out to the island and I've been here since, searching out what book it is and seeing if there was a reason for it. A hint why she wants you, or even something that might weaken her from whatever small clue that the book gave."

    She stared up to him now, looking between his deep blues than scrunching her mouth thoughtfully to herself as she leered to the island outside the window. Neseva did want to think that this was worth it, that he might accept her help. Some men were too proud too. "I get that you're a grizzled person in things. You've made that clear and you don't miss twice. However, I feel like this is not just a thing you can aim your gun at and be done with it. She's planning something, A luxuriate kind of demon who is willing to wait in the shadows until the perfect moment. And together, we might be able to weed that out and save you."

  • Joker? Almond eyes tightened with a calculative squint. Was he not the one who commanded her to speak like a dog? She only did as he said. Neseva got the impression from him that he enjoyed to look down on people, be the one to strike fear into them, be the last thing that they see when dying is to be looking up at his soulless oceanic eyes that were abysmal compared to even the ocean for emotion or care for those that he kills. Nes had seen many people in her lifetime. People who wished for pain and death the world. Those who enjoyed the torment. Then those who found pleasure in it. And the off again on again sarcastic tone that licked his voice that he had as he had that gun to her, the way that he did not care for the consequences and even the spike of excitement that lingered in his mind when he knew that he could get away with it, Neseva knew the sort that she was. 

    Inexplicably? She was not fearful of it; like she wasn't frightened of many things in her life that she should be. It was hard to be in her state of mind when the world was as open to her as it was. Not willingly either. Neseva was as observant as she was a snoop. People didn't ask the people who were falling into the ridiculously thought out trap for the other to know that it's going to be there, after all. It wasn't fun when people spoiled scary movies or who perishes in The Avengers, yet that was who Nes was. Seriously, you try staying out of peoples minds when all that there is is that movie and everyone wants to blab about it, talk about spoiler central right there. 

    This was all besides the point though. And it was foolish of her to wander off in such a daydream while she had a gun pointed to her. This was what happened when she got to thinking too much. As nice as it was, it was cherishing to be able to hear other people and what they thought about the same situation around them. One could be horrified, another could find it pleasurable. It was the two types of people in the world scenario, they fit the bill with that.

    Nes inquired haughtily, "you're the one droning me like a dog. Play stupid games, win stupid prizes." His laugh wasn't comforting. Sure sure, Nes loved to make people laugh, it was in her bones to do it. Not when a finger could slip and a bullet could go flying through. It wouldn't hit, but it still would hurt in its own way. And she would humor him further if he so wished it. "Does that make me daddy then?" Hey, he was laughing like it and thought it... whoops. Either he would catch on, or not.

    Either way, Neseva tends to blurt out everything. Nothing was privet. Like how he found it hard to pronounce her name. It was Russian after all, given to her by her father, Deacon. She would help him. "Neh-save-uh." She said it slowly, then repeated it. Might help, might not. Nes was simple for people, thus he went with that. "Nes works, too." She murmured cognizantly while following that gun go down. While she did not have the fear that others might when faced with a gun, she still had some for it and felt better when he lowered it ever so subtly. She noted the pants, pastime sparking in her eyes. Okay, Jake from State Farm.

    It was then that all farces were set aside and she went on with why she was on this mans land. Quite puzzled that he didn't ask her how. It was a beguiling story if she thought so herself. Just like her humor was in this, what should be, severe moment to get him to believe. Her golden eyes rolling a little. "Not to shit on your parade or anything... I don't need your island when I could buy my own no questions asked. No offense to it, it's nice and all. I would rather have my little sanctuary in the middle of a lake. Ya know, only needing a little rowboat to get to it and not a whole damn cruise if you get my drift. The tropics were a bit too cliche. The forest had its own omens that spoke deeply to her.

    "If I had wanted you dead I could have set up a booby trap or something." Or you know, make your brains bleed from your ears, but I digress. The cigarette had pleasantly been ignored up to that point and beyond. All the pretty things kill you in life. Same with smoke. Same with guns, his gun actually which he finally put away and she let a light puff of breath leave her lips because of it.  While she had watched the billowing and ribboning smoke she brought her eyes back to his own, and her brows creased the center of her forehead. "It's hard for sociopaths to trust or believe anyone I'd presume. Doesn't mean you shouldn't. If the world is going to be open to me than why shouldn't I be open to it? It takes one person to make a difference. If I have to be that person on my own I will, and my difference is by helping you if you let me." The way it was leaning however, he just might. Even when he was walking from her. She watched him until he was away, then her eyes shifted back to the book. She caught him looking, sizing her up and she brought up her brows and looked at him again. She had intended to get back to her reading if he was leaving. Guess not.

    "Wouldn't reading and gating intel be helping the imminent doom? A glass of water seems dodgy to me. This is your house so, whatever." She'd bite. Nes put the book aside, laid flat so that the pages kissed the floor to keep her spot then she hopped up fluidly. Socked feet padded on the floor. She put her shields up in case she rounded the corner and she had the gun pointed on her again. Could never be too safe after all. When she presented herself in the doorway he would see that she was not a short girl, rather tall actually, and she would stand there if there was no danger and waited for him to, indeed, get the glass of water.

  • It might be stupidily--well no, it was pretty stupid of her. She thought this place was just a vacation home to some rich guy that she did not expect would come. It was summer, however, she should have thought better than to come and not think that anyone else might come for the show. Sure she had a gun, she had herself, her big ass brain that held far too much power, and she had her survival wit, minus the cooking. She should have come with more than just that. An attack dog or something. Maybe birds in boxes might help too? Eh, doubt it. 

    Still, the Huntress came far too unprepared and in doing that she came obviously. Thinking not that someone would come for a breath to this luxurious place to call home for a month or two. Or maybe even a year, who knew. She didn't think to sense that anyone had walked in, that there was another presence beyond herself and her music ringing in her ears. Nes was a bit too brave for her own good. Too hard headed to think that she was untouchable. She was taught better, and she knew better. Yet here she was with a death hungry man and a barrel aiming at her not a second later. 

    For her sake, she did swallow, golden eyes lifting to the dark figure of the man. Blue eyes, none like her moms which were piercing and cold, but blue none the lass. She could pick up a lot of things about him just from a look alone. Like his deep-set aura that was nothing friendly. How he looked uncaringly at her in a thick-accented voice. Now she was not fluent in German, but she knew a little of it at least. Enough to know what she said. 

    Full lips opened to talk, be civilized in all of this. Let him know that she did not mean any harm and all of that blah blah. She was the one trespassing after all. She would not make him play a game because she didn't want to get shot. Not that... not that it was possible, not with her knowing that she was being aimed at. That the gun was loaded, and that the mind let out a spark before anyone pulled a trigger alerting her to throw up the shields. Beyond it, he was confused, and angry that some chick was just here, and not one he ordered nor was she Candi with an I either.

    She was too busy reading him to understand that this man would kill her. He could hide her body easily on the island, discard her without a care. Possibly bitch that she made herself at home, clean up the blood, and be done with it. This man did not care. And he would not take mercy either. She could be killed, and he would not give a damn about it. She was okay with that, again, Neseva was the one in the wrong here, did he have to be so damn rude though?

    Let's not play games with the angry German guy, mkay?

    "Woof," Nes said if only to get under his skin after that warning shot because fucking ouch. This wasn't the damn Walking Dead, people could co deaf like that. She waited. If he was trigger happy he would just pull the bullet right there. Maybe he had humor. Or maybe he would just get angry. Regardless, she spoke quickly if he didn't do anything outright to harm her yet. Though not to his delight, she was still a bit peeved with all of her teeny angst, she set the book down in her leg crossed lap and gave him her full attention. "Are you quite done then? Hi, I'm Neseva." Her golden eyes lit up with a  500watt smile that had no place being in here where he was aiming a gun at her. "And I came here because I had... visions.. I guess. Visions that something wants you dead, and I wanted to help. The thing. The entity, I think it's a lust demon, came here in the vision. She touched a book. I feel like the book might have something to help so I came looking for it, then I was going to come to find you personally and warn you. But here you are."

    Right then, so that sounded just crazy. Ahem. 

    If he didn't yell or shoot her yet, Nes went on with a sigh. "Sorry I trespassed. This was just the only thing that I had really going for me and I fear for your well being if I waited." Delicate hands rose in the air to show just how guilty she was in her surrender, she did never take her eyes off of him though. She had to gauge him, had to know just how much shit she was in and he was not a friendly looking guy. "I have a gun in my bag, warning you now. Not that I intend to use it, but there you go if that is any calm to your nerves. I'll leave, eventually, once I can get a pass back to the lands that is. But I highly implore that you hear me out for your own good."

  • "....You've done it?"

                                              "....Yes, Mistress. He is falling nicely into the plan...."


    It was dreams like this... Visions when she was in her calmest stage of sleep. Lucid. Open. Astro projection wasn't something that she thought that she was capable of, she did not fly away in her sleep, but yet, she picked up on things. Things that were not in her ability to control or know. It was as though she was looking through the eyes of someone else, through anyone that was not her own person. Of a man who saw red, of a.. entity that craved that red, that fed off of it. The entity wanted some bigger prize, not a mear man out for blood, yet for something greater. The satisfaction of its blood, his blood. The entity wished to envelope itself in it, to twist in the blood and in the dead arms fo the corpse like a lover, a strangling love of a weed, sucking the life from. It wanted to taste the iron tang, to see if it was different, possibly sweeter, thicker than all the others. Hunting something for this long, it had better taste it. The entity lusted with its body, begged with its bones, clawed at its own skin because it thought that the pain would be enough to get it by until one day.

    The days that ticked by, that brought itself closer and closer to its desire as the plan executed itself without even having to lift a finger as another did it's bidding. It was beyond simple, and all that the entity would do was to wait, watch, and soon, so soon, it would rip its own claws into the flesh of the serpent. She would taste his blood on her lips. Hold his cold, skin stripped bones against her body, and she would reach such a climax that all these years of pondering and waiting, finding the right fool to do her bidding, and she would have it, she would have him.

    It was dreams like this, that the Huntress would wake out of a cold sweat, her body aching something sinful and need a cold shower to calm what strangers emotions were racing through her mind and body. "...What the hell is that...?" She'd asked herself the first time it had happened. After the fifth, it didn't seem like just any lustful dreams anymore. Not wet fantasies of what likely was a lust demon that longed for a man that she could not have. It was a murderer waiting to get her claws into him in the most Hellish of ways.

    The Huntress started seeing a place, an island, a library with a book and a warning in it. One that had been ghosted over and now it seemed too late to run away from but rather defend. Neseva had no clue what to make of this. It wasn't often she had dreams of other people, and she couldn't put her finger on it, yet something about this seemed grave. That if she did not figure out what this information meant that she was going to let someone suffer for it. And possibly die because she was not brave or smart enough to leave her own sanctuary to step possibly into the maw of the beast to help this other person who possibly didn't deserve it. In her eyes everyone did. Being selfless like she was would one day get her killed.

    Yet Neseva was not anyone who would ever allow someone to get hurt if she had the means of protecting them. Even if she didn't have the means, the least that she could do was to warn them, be something in this. The last dream, the thirteenth, that she had slept, she reached out into these dreams, reached for something that could help her grasp more information of this. The entity was in a home... on an island. Padding the wood floors, smelling him, smelling what she wanted. She caressed a book, a single red nailed finger down the spine of this faded titled book that sat humbly, undisturbed on a bookshelf, middle row. Then a whisper to the air, "Soon..." A velvety voice rasped the surrounding empty air of an identically empty house. It dripped its lust, it's hungering for his body before the dream ended again. Yet that was all it took, all Nes needed to understand strangely where it was that she needed to go, thus her search for a ghost began.

    She packed a bag, booked a flight, and was at the airport of Malaysia, talking to the locals about an island. She was told that it was privately owned, that it was not for public use. Well, that just wouldn't do. That was her beacon, where she was supposed to be. Why? She didn't exactly know right now, she just knew that she had to be there, she needed to sniff out what entity found it so tantalizing. Maybe even to warn whoever that something was coming for him. Help him before some sort of doom befell him then who would she be if not to take up this opportunity to aid? She would be nothing but a watcher who didn't care to help. She needed to be more than that, Neseva would be more than that.

    First, she needed to appeal to the better side of this worker to get her over there. Getting back would be another story, but she needed to get there first. "Privately owned, eh?" She played that sickly sweet card, doe eyes twinkling as she fluttered them. "By who?" The poor attendant who had been sacked with her walking up to him in line to book her ticket did not care for her sweet portrayed agenda.

    She watched him, watched the life leave his face in his obvious uncaring-itude of her ply. She dropped the act just then, and tightened her power, attacking all walls of his mind. She penetrated his deepest thoughts, took hold of his decisions, in yet another sweet voice she said. "I need a ride there, to this island. A private plane, to my private island, is that understood?"

    He couldn't resist, she kept a hold of anything rational in his mind that told him no, that this was not right. She was coating it with nothing but calm and ease. She was perfectly able. She was able and certainly certified to go to the island it was hers, after all, no, she did not need to show papers for it. It's mine. You will let me. The Island is mine..."

    "Shrimp or caviar on your flight, Miss?"

    Neseva smiled kindly. "Both please."


    When she arrived, which was less than an hour and it was a helicopter that had some bomb ass shrimp and caviar.When she got to the place it as pretty enough. A little bungalow, wood leading up to it. Whoever came here did it to get the hell away. And while Nes felt bad for legit trespassing into someone's property, it was for a good cause, right? She was, in the end, helping whoever this man was. She needed to find the information she needed, from the book that had been touched. Was there a hint in there? Something that might lead her towards figuring out who it was wetting her dreams and the person wich held her bloodthirsty interest? Nes could only hope.

    Granted, she did not expect that they would decide to up and show at the place either. It was the last thing on her mind, and this was coming from McStubborn over here that was going hard enough to trespass onto the dude's private estate in order to possibly save him.

    An easy flip of the locks was done mentally to open the front door. She checked that there was power and water running the placed what little food she brought which had been a ton of store-bought subs and yogurts because she couldn't cook worth a damn to save her life. She had a few dozen of them and 64oz aloe waters in the fridge. A plastic bag hung on the door for trash because she wasn't an animal, you don't just use other peoples trash cans, gosh. Then a stack of paper plates because again, this wasn't her place after all regardless of her staying there

    She was day 2 into it when his plane touched down. Neseva had... more or less made herself at home, however, making herself as small as possible while she did it. She only had slept on the couch, backpack perched next to it that held necessities. La top, clothes, phone charger, cleaning supplies, a gun...

    She didn't snoop around to find out every little thing about this man, not through his things at least. Only through bookcases were violated by her of its privacy. She was in her normal grab of jogger clothing where she sat perched in her little spot. Colorful tie-dyed Nike tights that had pictures of clouds going up the legs, a tank top, miss-matched socks, and her curly dark hair down and around her body. She had headphones in hooked to the phone in her pocket where she sat in a crescent of books that were littered around the couch, holding one dusty cover after the other. She had grabbed every book on the shelves which she saw in her dreams. One of the books had to hold the key, thus she skimmed each of them, looking for a spiritual echo or trace from the right one that would lead her in the right direction.

    Most to everything was going according to plan. She would eventually find the book, find the warning, find the man, and done. Problem solved. Right...? It was all she could hope in the end at least. That was soon to change through the second that door opened and the man knew that he wasn't the only one in his own home, on his private island, in the middle of the ocean. That was for another second or two Nes to worry about, this one right now could be in an ignorant bliss for a little while longer before that happened.



    Whether it’s realistic or not, humans contain fear. The anxiety inside the human brain triggers a sense of helplessness that engulfs the air around them. Making it hard to breathe, see, and think clearly. As if in a small box, ungrounded. Almost like you’re drowning, but everyone surrounding you is breathing. Panic causes irrational behavior, making one do things that they wouldn’t find themselves doing. The mind can play tricks on you, telling you that things are there when they’re not. Apparitions of the damned, something unseen, morphing into whatever the mind wants you to see. Creating this unease and apprehension. Humans are not designed to handle fear well. Most cower or run away. The feeling of complete terror is too overwhelming and can lead to passing out hyperventilation or vomiting. The human’s worst nightmares come to life. Causing insanity.

    The excitement Mimzi has during these nightmares fuel her intoxity. The way they squirm under her control. It’s almost an addiction. Her heroin if you will. Picking through the mind like a filing cabinet, scrolling through thoughts as if it were a book or a news article. The manifestation would pick one thought, one fear, and carry it out like a horrific fantasy. Playing the part the mind doesn’t want to see. Causing that fear, forcing the dreamer to face it, creating that chaos was her specialty. Her favorites were torture and sex. Lust is a powerful thing as well. One mind could have a million wet dreams lined up like a to-do list. In that case, Mimzi would stick around for a while. From sick, psychotic pain, to unimaginable pleasure. She’d be it all. You better hope she was there for a good time.

    His thoughts raced around like a heaping pile of papers getting blown away by the wind. This guy was all over the place. She scavenged to intake as many thoughts as she could. Taking in what he gave out, prying open his seems like stitches on a cut wound. Mimzi lurked, watching over the trailer of his memories, thoughts, novels of knowledge. Oh, we could have some fun. As the man sat, cowering against the wall in the alleyway, she repeated,

    “Who am I?”

    How would she answer that? There was no I, me, being. It was almost as if she was a figment of the imagination. Though,  she had a mind of her own. There was no right or wrong answer to his valid question. Mimzi was her own manifestation.

    “My name is Mimzi. A pest, if you will.”

    Her own answer made her giggle innocently,

    “I’m not a disease, I will not kill you. I am merely created. Normally, it’s by fear.”

    She soaked in the atmosphere of the man’s surroundings,

    “You shouldn’t stay in the rain, hypothermia, that’s a nasty thing to catch.”

  • “Well done.”




    The voice of a woman with a saccharine flavored tone. The nectar of sweet nothings a man would swoon over. The voice one would love to hear little moans from in the middle of the night. Soft ripples from the throat of a beautiful woman, that of which one would cut off with choking while fucking her roughly. The cooes of a morning stretch, the flirty giggles at a whore house, the voice of trouble.

    That of one he could not see, nor track its location. It never echoed, nor traveled in a certain direction. A voice that was carried in the mind of the veteran. Almost as a conscience. The tone was soft and alluring. The two little words carried through the mind like a tunnel, as if dragging out it’s existence. Where did it come from? There wasn’t a soul in sight to which it would have arisen.

    The rain was static noise, but the voice seemed closer. Almost inside the man’s head. Rain made puddles in the cracks of sidewalks and uneven terrain. No midnight strollers anywhere to be found. It was two in the morning, downpour, and there were two people dead in an alleyway. One man, standing over them, satisfied with the mess he had made.

    “What now?”

    There she was, again. The sweet, feminine, honeysuckle voice that dripped into the eardrums of the murderer. If it could grin it would, but it had no appearance. It wasn’t even female. A simple mind trickster if you will. A pest. Very much real, but not very well known. The thing was a dream jumper. An immensely powerful one at that.

    “You must be curious and confused,” It started, “Don’t worry, we’ll get along just nicely.”

    The voice was almost intoxicating, rippling through the mind like water droplets. Soft, but present. Where did it come from? What did it want? There were so many questions. The thing stayed silent for a while, lingering in the back of the veteran’s mind. Waiting. He’d have to fall asleep at some point.

    That’s when the fun would begin.

  • Then I shall tread lightly, to avoid your wrath.50509230?profile=original

  • Are you going to consume me, Heinrich?


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