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PLAYING GOD

Part 2: Fun's Over

This moment.

(oh no... please... Finn.... you... you can't do this)

This one sweet moment contained a thousand worlds of potential.

(god... it hurts so much... Finn, I - I'm begging you.)

_ _

Finn gazed pensively at the glittering rows of knives laid out before him. Every last one had it's place, it's function, it's point of intent. Every last one could inflict an exquisite and unique agony. And here, as he savoured the process of selection, poised in the one moment of peace

(no no no... please someone help me... please...)

before the fun and games began again, the very air sang with all the possible choices he could make. All the pains that could, by his flightiest fancy, manifest in the screams of his beloved victim.

Behind him, Sarah's pleas broke off as she started to cry again, the tears running gently down her tawny fur. He smiled without turning round, and amused himself for a few seconds by trying to find a pattern in the sequence of her sobs. Alas, they were broken and irregular. Even if she repeated the same cycle of weeping in precisely the same rhythm over and over, an nth term could not be found.

Hmmm. Broken and irregular? "Ah-ha..." he murmured, sensing the lynx stiffen with dread as he reached out and selected a particularly beautiful Maccathian splinter dagger, admiring the play of light over its artfully shattered, mirror-like surface. Time? Here in this room, isolated and intimate, it ceased to possess any meaning.

He turned and looked at her, for the first time in almost half an hour. After all, to try to rush his craft on such a beautifully innocent creature would be nothing short of sacrilege. Sarah sat slumped in the chair, her wrists raw and chafed where she had squirmed and writhed in the straps: to no avail, of course (he'd remarked that he felt mildly insulted at that. Would he really have chosen straps she could wriggle out of?). Her soft fur, once a deliciously smooth pelt of unbroken lines of light and darker tan, was now bedraggled and defiled by sharp lines of cruel crimson. The exquisite deep emerald of her eyes had become glazed with the endless tide of tears that had flowed softly free as he worked. Gazing at him, beseeching him, begging him. He grinned playfully at her, and raised the glittering blade.

"Magnificent, isn't it? It was murder to get my hands on one of these antiques." Finn smirked at his own joke, twirling the between his fingers. "But I can promise you: it was worth every - "

Ding - DONG.

_ _

Interesting. But more importantly...

Finn didn't move a muscle, letting his amber eyes stay where they truly desired: the trembling, bleeding form of his captive. Watching her... and... yes, there it was. Hope. A pathetic little glimmer of it, blackened and barely living, tiny beyond belief, but nonetheless: there. Beautiful. She jerked upright, staring desperately at the one door - large and solid, bolts and locks - extremely good locks - on both the inside and the outside, but the only escape she could imagine.

And yet, he mused as she shied away from his touch, whimpering with instinctive terror, it wasn't. She knew as well as he did that there was one other way out. One final escape. One that he would give in the end, that she would beg for.

"Wh...Who...?" the lynx's voice trembled with the sheer force of delirious, delicious emotion. Finn chuckled lightly, and stroked a bloody gash across her trapped forearm, making her whimper as the wound stung. A single tear escaped the vibrant jade of her eyes, a drop of crystal agony.

"No-one who can help you, my dear." The grey wolf flicked his hand out, and the splinter dagger whirled into a wall, sinking half an inch into the white plaster. He grinned."I shall retrieve that later, Sarah... don't go anywhere."

Finn padded over to the solid door, producing a small silver key. He took a moment to savour the experience of unlocking: the vastness, the imposing physical presence of the door...and along came this small glinting piece of metal. And all it's powers were as nothing before it. That was power. That was control.

Taking a lazy backwards glance at his shivering, hopeless beloved, he shut the door and walked through his house. Spacious, luxuriously and magnificently furnished - and nothing out of place or defiled by untidiness. Everything flawless. Everything... Under... His... Control.

Control. He would have it. He'd sworn he would.

He realised one of his fists was clenched, nearly hard enough to draw blood, and reordered his mind with a shake of the head. Time to become "himself" again. Finn closed his eyes for a fraction of a second, composed his thoughts, and stepped into his body.

An observer might have thought that some sort of optical illusion was taking place. The wolf's posture slouched forwards only slightly, his large ears twitched barely a millimetre, but when Finn opened his eyes again, he wasn't the Finn he'd been before. He was the joker, the cheerful one, the one who everyone wants to have as a best friend. He was smiling, the cocky, confident smile which had won so many glorious friendships. He was the Finn that the world knew and - to his everlasting delight and private amusement - loved.

He opened the door, still grinning.

And he stopped.

_ _

Interesting, mused his internal monologue. What a pleasantly unusual development.

He looked at the ranks of grim-faced Police officers, clad in enough body armour to survive a small war. He looked at the Authority Peacekeeper Mark XIV armoured personnel carrier, which had first been used during the extremely bloody 4th Rebel Wars on the eastern fringe, and had famously survived direct missile hits, gas attacks and even the detonation of Sandara Five. And he looked at the short, burly rat glaring at him with such utter hatred that Finn almost thought his fur was being scorched.

And he smiled again.

_ This is going to be fun..._

_ _

"Detective Inspector Redstone... What a nice surprise."

The stocky rodent gritted his teeth in return: a feral rictus of pure loathing that had contorted his features every time he was interviewed about his department's progress.

"Mr... Mr Finnley Sharpe?"

Inwardly, Finn snickered to himself. Sharpe. Oh, what fun that had been. "Not my real name anyway. Please... call me Finn. How goes your progress on the Mr Knives case? I understand you've been masterminding the manhunt since two months ago, hmmm?"

"Don't play games with me, you scumbag."Terse and brutal. Dripping with suppressed rage.

Finn grinned. "Oh, my dear Brutus... that's your name, isn't it? Brutus... haven't you learned? Playing games is what I do."

"Is that a confession?"

"No. A confession implies embarrassment; regretfulness. I'd call it... a proclamation."

He was going to enjoy this. Right up until the last breath.

"Well, that'll make this a bit easier."

Wrong, you little fool, Finn chanted silently, while his body said, "Shall we do this by the book, then, Detective Inspector?"

The rat growled. "Mr Finn, I promise you that if the Authority allowed their police forces to carry guns, and if I didn't have a... personal determination... to bring you to justice, I would blow your fucking head off right now, and every last one of these boys," he gestured curtly to the bulky, armoured figures of his officers, "would swear to it being in fucking self defence. It was me who wanted to raid the whole place: tear gas through the windows, break the door down, take the whole place to hell." He grinned for the first time, coldly, as Finn winced, glancing at the rich red hangings on the hallway behind him. "Nice place. It would probably end up totally trashed. And who knows.... in the confusion, a stray bullet may end up in the wrong place... somewhere that deserves it like hell."

The wolf yawned, unconcerned. "Oh? Wouldn't have worked. I was downstairs in the basement. Working with a dear friend of mine. Sarah Colfer. Do you know her? The one The Daily Moon described as "Knives' Next!" She has been simply... exquisite."

"Sarah?" A stubby, plump figure, who Finn hadn't paid much attention to until now, suddenly burst into life, charging towards him. "WHERE IS SHE, YOU BASTARD?WHERE THE BLOODY HELL IS MY-"

"MR COLFER!"roared Inspector Redstone, tendons standing out on his brown-furred neck as two thick-set officers - a female black bear and a (rather attractive, Finn thought devilishly)male horse bull-rushed the raging, middle-aged lynx. "THIS IS A BLOODY POLICE OPERATION! YOU WILL NOT INTERFERE!"

"Colfer?" Finn, momentarily forgotten, smirked at the struggling feline. "You must be Sarah's father, then. May I say what a delight your daughter has been?"

"YOU FUCKI-"

"QUIET!"

Chuckling, Finn leant against the doorframe and observed the scuffle with a casual, detached amusement. Redstone was a damn good inspector, he had to admit, but when it came to shouting, the rat was a champion. A lazy smile spread across his muzzle as he watched the furious lynx be led away from the front door.

"Shall we get on with this?" He held up his paws, ready to be cuffed.

Redstone gave a curt nod to the horse, who produced a pair of heavy-duty handcuffs and began to advance. Cautious, unsmiling.

Finn grinned at him. And with blurring speed, his hand came out from behind the door, holding a knife that had been strapped to the frame.

One last bit of fun.

***

Don't move. Don't breathe. Don't think. Sarah chanted to herself in her head, over and over. Don't do anything to disturb the pain, to let it blaze up again and take you. Any movement was agony. She concentrated every ounce of her willpower into staying still.

But not enough. A weak ,quavering sob wormed it's way into her chest. She felt a tear roll down her face, felt her muscles make that fatal contraction, and -

"AAAAAAAARRGGGHH!" She screamed with pure excruciation as every last inch of her flesh came alight, again, searing, roaring, howling. And of course this made it hurt more. So she screamed again, harder, chafing her throat raw with the shrieks and cries. Until her exhausted lungs ran out of breath and she collapsed, gasping through her sobs, begging for an end to this, any way out she could imagine.

(movement is life? not here.)

_ _

(here, any move is pure pain and death)

_ _

Noises now, seeping through the walls - they were only soundproofed for the screams coming OUT, and Finn had delighted in taunting her during the first day, letting her listen to the sounds of the city outside, a life which she would never even see again. She whimpered at everything, her aching eyes of green managing to summon a few more tears. Finn had kept count of them for a while, his amber eyes gloating at her as he made another notch on his a scrap of paper, using an old fountain pen and her own blood for his ink. He'd even gone so far as to applaud her when she first passed the five-hundred mark.

(finn. even after all this, after everything, she just couldn't believe it. not him. not the tall handsome wolf, the eternally cocky and cheerful one, the one she had almost loved. )

_ _

The noises were getting closer now. Shouts. Screams. Crashes and bangings. Was it another torture? Another mind game for her captor? She felt the tears begin to flow in a silent stream, running down her damp fur.

And -WHAM! Finn burst through the door, not even trying to shut it after him. Voices clamoured through from behind him.

" - bloody son of a - "

"- I think he went that -

"- afraid he's dead, sir-"

"-GOING TO FUCKING KILL THAT BAS-"

The wolf ignored it, ignored it all. He strode over to a table, one she had never seen him approach before. It held one knife. Just one. Not even an intricate one, like the glittering abominations of metal and cold agony she had felt before. Just a knife. Nothing more, nothing less.

Finn turned, and for the first time he wasn't smiling, or cocky, or any of the masks he presented to the world. This was the real him. The real Finn.

And it was more terrifying than anything she had ever imagined.

"No..." her trembling voice beseeched him as he approached. The feeble plea was all her ravaged throat could muster, but she spoke with every last fibre of her being, with every last atom of her soul.

And he didn't even register that he'd heard her. Finn smiled slightly, laying the cool blade against her throat. It tickled the thrumming of her adrenaline-gorged jugular, and that was why this blade was special, she realised through the haze of pain and pure terror. This sliver of cold metal, this knife of knives, had ended the lives of all his prey. This was Finn's murderer.

He leaned over her, looking her straight in the eyes, and with those amber orbs - now as unto the flames of a dying sun - peeled away everything she was, to expose her naked soul beneath, helpless and doomed. His fist tightened around the hilt...

And he stopped. He tossed the knife away, letting it clatter to the floor. The voices were getting closer, but neither of them noticed. They were cocooned, swathed in a bubble of terrible peace amidst the blood and chaos.

"Sarah..." Finn whispered, tenderly, lovingly. "I promise you I'll finish you properly. One day."

And he kissed her, full on the mouth.

For a second, she cringed away, and then, helpless and hopeless and horrified, she was kissing him back.

They were like that when the police found them. This time, Redstone took no chances, firing three livestock-strength tranquilisers straight into the wolf - roughly enough to knock out a roomful of people for two days. Finn spun away from her, the sheer force of momentum ripping his lips away from hers. He was unconscious before he hit the ground.

But the cocky smile was still across his silver muzzle, even as he slumped against the hard floor.

"Restrain the bastard." the Inspector called shortly to an armoured black bear who'd entered after him - nursing a bloody cut on the underside of her forearm, Sarah realised with a rush of horror, and she nodded, taking out a straitjacket that looked about as comfortable as a solid steel cage - and about as easy to escape. The rat turned to Sarah, taking in the dripping wounds across her body with a hard grimace on his pointed muzzle. She felt herself start to cry again.

"Miss Colfer? We've got you. You're never - "

"SARAH!"

Her father batted aside the protesting Inspector, and buried her in a hug that made every laceration sting with excruciation. Her sobs wracked through her as she clung to him.

"Dad... oh god, Dad..."

"Don't worry, Sarah." he whispered to her, and she realised he was crying too. "They got him. They got him. I swear to you, my love, I promise you, that bastard will never, ever, hurt you again."

But Finn would.

Every night, he would.