Chapter Text
It's fun being a killer, but it's not easy.
I mean, okay, it *is* easy... Most people just don't have it in 'em to confront their own mortality on any given day. Most people can't even quit smoking, much less fight back when a masked stranger is holding a razor sharp hunting knife to their throat.
But it does take work, right? Like, real training and shit.
So, a couple'a times a week, in between classes, weaseling his way into Sid's friend group, catching whatever was playing at the local theater with Randy, getting footage, and gutting the occasional fellow college student, Mickey would hit up the gym to do some cardio and get some reps in on the equipment.
It was always weird being in a room full'a jocks and gym-bros. Mickey wasn't exactly there to "get his pump on" or whatever the fuck, so he just plain couldn't relate to a lot of the other guys there. There were always a couple'a girls, too, but they were *all* cardio. Mickey figured they were just there to sweat off the single almond they'd probably eaten that day and he couldn't fuckin' understand that, either.
So, late that Thursday evening, he kept to himself, like always.
Until *she* walked in.
The fuckin' ticket-girl? He hadn't seen her in here, before. Usually, she was behind the glass at the movie theater, smiling blandly and taking his hard earned cash. He'd kept to the same schedule for months and never noticed her here. Was this her first time? Or was she a regular doing an off-schedule drop-in? She didn't look strong all the times he'd seen her before... but that was just her disembodied head and torso behind the counter, so, like, who could say?
Mickey studiously avoided eye-contact as she walked behind him to the lockers and changing rooms. She came back into his field of vision a few minutes later and stepped onto one of the treadmills in front of him.
Interesting...
Usually, Mickey only did a half hour running before hitting the weights and equipment, and he was almost at time, but he chose to keep going a little longer... you know, to see where things were going.
Ticket-girl's hair was in a loose ponytail high up on her head, curls swaying as she moved. Her workout gear was tight, a form-fitting top and a pair of revealing shorts.
"A show-off... boring." Mickey considered punching the button for cool-down mode and leaving the machine, but as ticket-girl keyed in commands for speed and elevation, he found a reason to stay. Watching her ass bounce with each footfall was incentive enough, but the pace she'd set was brutal, beyond even what he would normally select. Her thighs and calves rippled with each stride. Her legs were *much* more muscular than he'd thought they'd be, and after fifteen or so minutes at top speed, she'd barely broken a sweat.
Was she a track member? She wasn't built like one. Mickey'd watched a couple of races from beneath the bleachers, smoking weed with a few of the local stoners, and he'd never seen her attend any of the meets. He was fuckin' *so* sure he would have remembered her.
He lost track of time, not sure how long he'd been staring at her body, when he had an ugly thought...
"I bet she's fun to chase."
The idea slammed out of his subconscious like a hurricane.
She wasn't on his list, but the more he saw, the more Mickey knew that he wanted to run her down like one of those lions with a gazelle on the Discovery Channel. She was a moving target, a *challenge.*
Mickey felt something stir in his shorts. He wasn't one of those weird-ass perverts who got an erection at the gym, so he slammed the button to end his run and turned towards the bathrooms. Locking himself in, he strongly considered jerking off, but he was supposed to meet Randy for a movie in an hour and, in any case, he really wanted to see more. Would she stay on the treadmill like all those sorority girls or did she have strength to match her sprints? Mickey turned on the sink and splashed his face with the ice-cold tap water until he was in control again.
Exiting the bathroom, ticket-girl was nowhere to be seen, so Mickey turned right and walked towards the free weights area.
And there she was, exactly where he'd intended to go next.
She was doing weighted squats in the corner, finally sweating.
"Thank god," Mickey thought, "She's human, after all."
As he walked past her to the abduction/adduction machine, they made eye contact. Mickey froze. She smiled, and for the first time, he got to see a real one. It was awkward, like a kid caught with their hand in the cookie jar, like she hadn't expected to be caught out of the context of her work. He smiled back. It was so easy, putting on that natural grin he'd practiced with Sid and the gang. He flashed his teeth like he knew he should.
"Hey movie-man, fancy seeing you here." She huffed, in between reps.
"S'not what I'm called, 'ticket-girl'" He flung back at her, prompting a chuckle.
"Touché, I guess! So, what's yer name then, 'Not-movie-man?'"
Mickey's grin spread wider.
"Name's Mickey." He drawled. "You'll be saying it a lot, so no slip ups next time, m'kay?" This earned a genuine laugh, one which he worked hard to burn into his memory.
"Okay Mickey, then my name's Parker, for future reference." She winked.
Oh... Oooooh. Mickey didn't just want to tear her apart. He wanted to own her.
"Used to seein' you at the movies, you come here often?"
She laughed again, like music.
"Does that line work for you, like, ever?"
"We'll find out, I guess," Mickey responded sheepishly, rehearsed charm on automatic.
"Well, smart guy, I'm usually here Mondays and Wednesdays, but I had to cover a shift. Fucking college kids and their midterms or whatever," Parker rolled her eyes, dramatically.
"Well, 'smart girl,' I guess I've gotta shift my schedule, then, don't I?" Mickey let just a little bit of edge through the facade, testing. She showed him her teeth, again.
"Guess you do."
They didn't talk again until Parker leaned in against Mickey on the chest press.
"See you around, tough guy."
Her breath ghosted against the side of his head, tickling his ear.
"Not if I see you first." He turned to face her, but she was already walking away.
... He would *definitely* see her, first.
---
Mickey spent his free time, the next day, on the campus computer, in the library. He wanted to know as much as he could about his newest target. Hacking into the college's enrollment and payroll data was a walk in the park. Honestly, he loved the internet but why anyone would put anything sensitive on there when it was this easy to crack was beyond him. He was grateful though, because there was Parker Ramsey's address, phone number, and age (27).
"Ooh. An older woman."
Basic info in hand, Mickey set about trawling municipal and school records.
Ticket-girl was, in fact, a former Windsor College student. She'd dropped out a little over five years ago, previously an English major, (a useless degree). She'd cited financial hardship as the reason for discontinuing her studies.
Mickey spent quite a few moments pondering what a shithole town thie was. If she'd needed money, he could have told her how to make it in spades...
While a student, she'd been a member of the Archery Club, (sick), and the Judo Club, (hot. And concerning).
All of that helped fill in the blanks of her gym routine and why he'd never seen her around campus, but as for anything else, Mickey found himself coming up empty. There were no headlines, no special accolades, she was just a regular girl with regular, unfulfilled dreams. Normal. Boring.
Fuck, man... he could almost sympathize. But also, he wanted to tackle her like an animal and plunge a knife into her gut.
Strange times, am'I'right?
Mickey kept on looking for more info, but he eventually had to admit that he'd hit a wall as far as his own skills were concerned. He should have been satisfied, but there was this nagging feeling, right? Like there was more to the story he didn't know and Mickey *hated* being in the dark.
So, against his better budgeting instincts, he hit up his usual data broker, funneling some of Nancy's cash their way. They were expensive, but they were fast and thorough, and Mickey needed more intel if he was gonna add a target to his roster.
He kept on going to class, attending parties, working on his "documentary," and, of course, taking care of his "side gig," but Mickey was distracted. He kept on thinking about Parker, against his will, fantasizing about kidnapping her. He'd never done that before, but now his mind was full of elaborate fantasies about collaring her like one of those fake rabbits at the dog track and chasing her whenever he needed a quick release. She'd run until she was panting for mercy and, in his imagination, Mickey would always overtake her at the finish line. Body slamming into hers, he would pin her down, sliding the knife in just far enough to do some damage, but not so far that he couldn't use her as target practice one more time.
Fu-uuuuuck.
He'd gotten hard thinking about it in more than one class, that day. The desk covering his erection was a small fuckin' mercy. Randy wanted to show him some fuckin' foreign horror flick, but Mickey declined. He was too in his head to do anything but go back to his place. Thank fuckin' god, there was a manila envelope leaning against the door when he arrived.
Inside was some photocopied paperwork and a hard drive with social security info, credit stats, and a video of the Windsor Judo Club's annual competition from a few year's back, featuring Parker absolutely *bodying* her opponent.
Mickey locked his door and jacked off to the footage, repeatedly and with vigor.
Wiping himself down, he fished back through the package to retrieve the last of the documents: A marriage certificate, a divorce decree, and a restraining order against her dirtbag, meth-addicted, rich ex-husband, which Mickey got to read about in detail in the included discovery documents for the case.
The charges were lurid. Sensational. The shit Parker had accused her ex of was the stuff of nightmares. Shit even Mickey found himself grossed out by, and that was really sayin' something. By the time he got to the end of the court paperwork, he was vibrating with rage. A guy can love killing and still have some sense of human fucking decency, after all. Mickey's hands were shaking when he sealed the papers back into the envelope. He had half a mind to drive out of town and, fuck the knife, just dig the guy's intestines out with his bare fucking hands.
Inhaling slowly, Mickey sat down on his bed and started thinking up new plans. He'd keep up his end of the bargain with Nancy, of course. That shit was his legacy and was priority numero uno, no question, but he had a new little hobby in the works in the meantime, and he was excited to work through the minutiae of setting his new plan in motion. Honestly, it was gonna be so simple.
Step one - Put Parker in danger.
Step two - Gain her trust.
Step three - Get the girl.
Step four - Kill the girl.
Step five - Profit.