InsaneJournal

History of Hayate: Guns & Requisitions
Who: Hayate — and some unfortunate punks.
When: Sometime in the late summer/early fall of 1992.
Where: New York City, New York.
What: Hayate moves in, and some others want him to move out.
WARNINGS: Not for the squeamish or faint of heart! Grotesque violence and gore. Also, some really nasty language.

The warehouse was situated beside a muggy street and surrounded by alleyways filled with pipes and black iron fire escapes, each glistening with moisture and dripping from either the rain or the remarkable humidity. Empty, abandoned buildings filled this quarter, left behind and forgotten by the community. However, it wasn't entirely forgotten. A few stray citizens occupied the area or passed through with severe caution in their gleaming eyes. None of them would talk to the cops, though. That was what Hayate liked about the area: seclusion and silence. They knew this was a bad part of town, and they weren't going to chance their already lowered survival rate by talking about their neighbors as well.

Hayate liked the small warehouse. It had a large open area and only three — separate and smaller — rooms total: a bathroom and two offices, one on the lower floor and one on the upper floor. In fact, the two floors were connected. A staircase led up to a thin landing maybe ten feet in width with a rail at the edge, which comprised of the "top floor" architecture. At the end of the landing, there was a door that led to an office — his bedroom now, and connected to that was the bathroom. It was stationed right above the lower office.

The rest of the open warehouse was spacious, although dusty with a lot of cracked paint. Hayate didn't mind the dust or cracked paint. After throwing a few things around, clearing it out, and bringing in some of his own furniture (all of it stolen), it was beginning to look like home sweet home.

He had only just set up the place a few days ago. As he was heading back on this particular night and opening the door, he found the cold barrel of a gun up against the back of his head.

"Open the fucking door, bitch," a lower, street-accented voice demanded. Hayate felt the corner of his mouth twitch. Is that how they talked these days? Hayate remembered when people still used formality, even with their enemies. These lowlifes wouldn't even know the meaning of the word.

"I said open the fuckin' door, bitch!"

"Yeah, open the fuckin' door!"

Great, Hayate thought. There was more than one of them. A third voice chipped in, and then a fourth. Hayate pursed his lips. There were four of them total. The barrel shoved harder against the back of his head, causing Hayate's head to hit the door. Oh, he really shouldn't have done that little number.

"Okay, I'm opening the door," Hayate said quickly. It was good to sound panicked. They responded well to panic. It made them feel like they were in control. Hayate liked giving people that feeling; how much easier it was to manipulate them when they felt in control. The punk grabbed him by the arm and shoved him into the warehouse, the rest of them piling in after him. He looked over, getting a clear view of his assailants. They were all Asian. They had a distinctly Korean look about them, too. However, they were all American.

"Don't you fuckin' know who's territory this is, bitch? You don't just fuckin' come up in here and think you can take what you want. You gotta pay for it, fucker—"

One of them came up to him and shoved a gun barrel right in his face. The man swung the gun suddenly, striking Hayate in the face and kicking him down. Hayate allowed himself to fall backwards onto his palms, felt the blood at the corner of his mouth and licked it. They really didn't know who they were messing with tonight. He stared up at the gun, even as the man drew closer and aimed it in between Hayate's eyes.

"Man, he looks like a fuckin' bitch, alright . . . " one of them said, laughing aloud. "Looks like a fuckin' woman. I say we fuck him up—"

"Hell yeah," said another, and they began to form a loose circle around him. There was still distance of a few feet or more at least. Only one of them had his gun out, though. The rest of them put their guns away, not thinking they would need them. How foolish.

"Please," Hayate said softly, holding up his arms. "Don't hurt me . . . "

One of the punks grabbed his own crotch, gesturing crudely. "Come suck my cock, bitch."

They all laughed. The one holding the gun went to undo his pants. Hayate struck out with his left hand and twisted the man's weapon-hand, snapping the twisted arm with a loud crack of bone as he bent it forcefully, and then stole the man's gun with his right hand. As they all swore and reached for their own weapons, Hayate aimed it at them and popped out four accurate shots: one bullet in each of the wrists connected to the hand that held the gun for the first two men. The third one had time to try and make a run for it — he made it only a few feet before Hayate shot him in each of his knees.

"Where are you going, lover boy?" Hayate shouted out to him, watching the third man collapse to the solid floor, bone colliding in a pleasant crunch against the cement. He grabbed the man with the broken arm around the neck and pulled him close, tightening his arm around his windpipe. Spattered blood covered his floor in spots, bright red and delicious. Like apples. Hayate did like apples. They were whining in agony, every last one of them. One even tried to reach for his gun with his non-injured hand, but Hayate aimed his newfound weapon on the young man and shot him in the crotch.

"It's not nice to grab at things when I'm not looking," Hayate said smoothly. He walked over to each of them, dragging the man in grasp along and kicking each of their weapons away. Metal skidded across the cement with a light screech, sending them halfway across the room.

Hayate began to walk to the man who had just lost both of his kneecaps, still dragging along the man with the broken arm. "Come here, pumpkin," Hayate said, shooting the guy on the floor in one of his ass cheeks. He wailed in pain, his hand having just moments ago tried to go for his gun as the rest of them had done. Hayate kicked his gun away as well. Grabbing the man by his shirt, he dragged him over to the other two men just as the one with only a wrist wound was trying to stand. Hayate dropped his friend with no kneecaps and fired another shot. It hit the man in the shin. He cried out in anguish. Hayate grinned wildly, a gleam in his eyes as he drank it all up gloriously like the bloodthirsty killer he was.

"I do love a good struggle," he said, suddenly biting into the neck of his captive. Instead of drinking from him, Hayate used his teeth to tear away the flesh and rip open the man's throat. Blood like red paint splattered across his face and shirt and onto the floor. Hayate spit out the excess skin and shoved the man to his knees as he screamed loudly.

"Oh, shut up," Hayate snapped. "There's no need for all this racket . . . " He tried to think. What did he want to do with them?

"You're fuckin' insane—"

Hayate scratched the side of his head with the hot barrel of the gun. "Like I don't already know that?" he asked, pulling away the gun to look at it. He brought it towards his mouth and licked the metal. Tangy flavor. Quite exquisite. He always liked the taste of guns. They had the same metallic tang as blood.

"We'll fuckin' get you for this—"

Hayate slowly dragged his tongue over his lips. "Oh," he said. "Will you?" The vampire leaned his head against the head of the man in his arms with the profusely bleeding neck. He would be dead soon. Hayate nicked an artery. "How are you so sure you won't be dead by then?" he asked softly, turning to lick the side of the man's bloody face. He opened his mouth, revealing his fangs, and grinned menacingly. Latching onto the man's neck again, he drank from him in front of his friends.

When Hayate pulled away, his face was considerably covered in blood and the man in his arms was dead. Hayate shoved him aside and walked up to the others. "Who's next?" he asked. The one with the crotch shot would probably die first. The bullet dug in far from the angle the man was shot at, and it probably hit a vital organ.

"How about you," Hayate said, pointing the gun at him and waving it idly. "I don't have much more time with you." He straddled the man's waist and leaned forward. "How about I break every bone in your body," he whispered, pressing the hot gun barrel against the man's cheek. It sizzled and burned skin, a wail of pain issuing forth. Hayate's mouth opened eagerly as if to catch it, his tongue flicking out to lick some of the blood off his own face as he temporarily closed his eyes and listened to the beautiful music of screams.

However, the other two still weren't quite cooperating. The one now shot in both the wrist and shin tried to hit Hayate from behind. Hayate whirled around just in time to headbutt him and then go for the man's mouth as if to kiss him — instead, his fangs closed and caught on lip and flesh. Hayate tore away, ripping flesh, and heard further screams. He should really focus on this one. So uncooperative.

Hayate fired one more bullet into the man's gut and stood up. "Twenty," Hayate spoke softly. "Maybe thirty minutes. Before you bleed out . . . " Grabbing the man by the shirt, he jerked him to his feet. "You . . . I'm going to play with you. But first—" Hayate turned around and fired a direct shot into the top of one man's skull. Mister No-Kneecaps and One Less Ass Cheek. "Quick death," Hayate said, turning back to look at the feisty one in his grasp. "He tried to run. I had to give him points for that. Smart man."

He leaned forward, breathing heavily against the man's warm but slightly chilled skin. "Your friend, Mister Dickless," Hayate whispered, "can wait his turn."

Hayate slammed his own head against the man's skull and shoved him to the floor. The other no doubt listened to the horrifying screams of his friend as disgusting sounds reaching his ears. The scent of blood tainted the air and spattered against more the floor. Pieces of flesh and other unidentifiable things were tossed aside or spit out of Hayate's mouth. The man nearby stared in horror for only a moment and began to try and crawl away on his hands and knees.

Suddenly, the screaming stopped. The man actually started to cry as he crawled across the floor. Hayate stood up and slowly followed him, gun in hand. The vampire's whole upper body was practically covered in blood by now. He stopped the man by sitting on him from behind, one leg on either side of the man's waist. Hayate leaned forward close to the man's ear. Luckily, he couldn't see the terror that was Hayate's face.

"Tell me," he murmured, stroking a hand over the man's hair, "who's place is this?"

"Yours!" the man cried. "It's all yours, man, please just, please let me—"

"Tut-tut-tut, I'm not done yet," Hayate said, applying pressure to the man's head.

"Please, don't—"

"Don't what?" Hayate asked, his voice completely innocent. His hand was pressing the man's head down against the floor, his chin flat against the cement.

"Please—"

"I'm afraid I can't hear you," Hayate said, and with that he stood, ignoring the final pleas from the man. Lifting his boot, the vampire crushed the man's skull against the cement using the flat of his sole and the immense pressure behind his strength. The end result was very, very messy.

"Oh dear god," Hayate said, removing his foot from skull and brain matter. "Disgusting . . . " He shook it off of his boot and stepped over the man, looking around at the carnage on the floor of his new home.

Hayate smiled peacefully.

"Ah," he said to himself in a cheerful tone, "just as it should be."

Afterwards, he showered off all of the blood and put on ragged clothes. Gathering all of the bodies together took a while. He would clean up the mess when he got back. Dumping them and his ruined clothes into his vehicle, which was really a stolen vehicle, Hayate drove them to another abandoned area of town, poured gasoline all over their bodies and the vehicle, and then set it on fire. It went up in soaring flames as Hayate lit a cigarette and took a drag from it.

He blew out smoke from his mouth, the wisps curling up into the night sky. Turning around, Hayate headed back home and stole another car to shorten the amount of time it would take to get home. The vampire cleaned up the mess more thoroughly and burned the rest of it, too. Then, he covered the floor in ammonia. No traces were left behind, and even if they were, no trail would lead back to him.

Home sweet home, Hayate thought as a small smile curled his lips.