The Purge [Nevermore x Fruit]

[Fruit]

 

[Fruit]

Chloe Kern​

F

"Chloe". There was a sigh after her boss muttered her name. He looked up from his monitor and meet her eyes. "I can't publish it like this, you know that. Its.. speculation". Jeff removed his glasses and held them in his hand as he awaited the woman's response. I do know that, she bit her lips before answering him, "I'll.. try and get some evidence, sir. But its a big exclusive, if we don't-". She couldn't finish her sentence before the old man interrupted her. "Other newspapers will beat us to it. Unsanctioned Purging" he read the title on the piece in front of him, "Its a very big story, Chloe, I get it. It could change the general perception of how effectively the government is regulating this madness. I appreciate how important this is to you but I can't run a story based on gossip. At least have your lead go on record, try and find a witness, anything. The story needs credibility if its going to the American people". Ughhhh.. She had known exactly how the meeting would pan out even before she approached him yet somehow he left her disappointed; he left her with more work to do. Work that Chloe didn't believe she could do because no matter how much she'd pleaded, Mrs. Harper adamantly rejected going on record with her statement, because "People will go come me". Not only that, but the older woman had no tangible evidence to offer the journalist as to support her claims. "Jackson's Facebook status was online at 9:00 AM on the 22nd, a few hours before his body was found near a lake". That's all she has. She said at least twenty times as if she was spreading a gospel. If that meant the man was alive at 9 in the morning then his death was homicide, and there was no way it was a legal purge. When she called the police, the detective sent to her never took her claims seriously. Perhaps I should do the same.. Traffic had always been exceptionally heavy the last few hours before sanctioned time, yet Chloe had never anticipated to only be able to get back home a mere two hours before the world would succumb into chaos. Its been five years since the very first Purge, but waiting never got easier. The last few hours before the Purge, she'd always feel uneasy. She'd think of everyone she knew; everyone she had seen that day, and everyday since since the previous year's Purge, and wonder how'd she feel if she woke the next day and found out they had died overnight. Then she'd ponder on the possibility she, herself, would die during the Purge, and how others around her would react. The first hours after the Purge period, every year, Chloe would quickly learn that someone she knew had died overnight. She'd wonder if, given the chance, she could have saved any of them. Five people in five years; In 2012, it was Amanda Collins, and in 2013, Gerard Fay. 2014, Ashley White. 2015, she lost Courtney Bloom, and last year, she lost Ian Walker. Every year, it was someone closer. Amanda was her neighbor. Gerard and Ashley were her friends from college. Courtney was a childhood friend she had known since middle school, and ended up becoming her college roommate. And Ian was her fiance. "People will come after me", Elena Harper's voice played in her mind like a cassette tape, and like a chemical reaction, Chloe spontaneously broke into panic. The journalist started panting, her mind frantically trying to assess the widow's claims. Her eyes shifted from one corner to another as she questioned her own moral compass. She's probably going to be fine she hissed to herself, like a criminal trying to justify her crimes, but what if she doesn't?, the saint in her argued. The debate lasted for close to an hour, and at 6:50 PM, Chloe was behind the wheels. ​

 

[The Nevermore Bird]

Money was the second most powerful thing in the world. Clark had learned that long ago. Money had encouraged his father to pedal drugs, his mother to whore herself out, and the government to trod on the poor and less well-off. For the right price you could circumvent the law, attain the impossible, and twist politicians to your will. But it was only the second most powerful thing. "Mr. Scholtz." The man on the other end of the phone conversation spoke with a slow, pronunciated drawl. Clark took a moment with his lighter before bothering with a response, and the other man had enough respect to give him the luxury, "Yes?" "I am calling on behalf of our mutual employer. It is in regards to your last contract with us. There is an - issue." He scowled around his cigarette, "And what is that, exactly?" "The delay. You were tardy. That in itself was not the issue. But it was noticed." The young man grit his teeth as he glared out from his back deck into his backyard. He said nothing. "He never slipped a word of what he knew to anybody as far as we can tell. But his grandmother, Mrs. Harper, has been making quite a bit of noise lately. Apparently enough to attract the press. Nothing has come of it yet but we can't afford anything turning up because of a nosy reporter asking the wrong sorts of questions. Even an old woman is more credible with the papers behind her." He drew a breath, "You know my rate. Press connections are double." "The reporter is tertiary. A woman by the name of Chloe Kern. If she presents herself as a threat, you are cleared to do as you see fit. We want the grandmother dead, and the apartment torched. Leave no evidence of Mr. Harper's research or notes. Assuming you are on time, we are willing to double your fee. An - incentive - for a good performance." Clark didn't say anything. He simply hung up. Money was the second most powerful thing in the world. A man who would kill for it was the first.​ It had been four months since that phone call. Four months memorizing an address, learning faces, and studying as much about his potential target as he could. He'd thoroughly cased Mrs. Harper's apartment complex, and used forged papers and a uniform to convince the landlord to happily divulge many details about the building's safety measures. For instance they had at one point hired a security guard to escort non-tenants from the building an hour prior to the sanctioned time. But it was the funniest thing that after he'd been handed a thick enough wad of cash that the job grew too taxing and stressful and he quit not two days before it was set to happen. That meant Clark was left wholly alone as he lingered by the apartment's back door. He smoked a cigarette and lazily glanced at the inside of his wrist where a dull watch face rested, ticking down the minutes and hours. Three hours before the Purge would officially commence. Six o'clock rolled by and not very long after it came seven. When that fateful hour struck, Clark heard the heavy thud of the lock on the door next to him and speakers began to pipe out the usual announcement. He didn't pay it any mind as he double-checked the pistol tucked under his shoulder and pushed off from the wall. He started for the stairs. When he reached the landing of the fifth floor, he turned down the hall, and quietly stepped past one door after the other. He settled his eyes on his target. Room 515. The German assassin drew his pistol from its holster and came to stand beside the door. A single finger was pressed over the peephole and he lightly rapped on the door with the barrel of the pistol.​

F

Clark Scholtz​

 

[Fruit]

Chloe Kern​

F

The city donned an eerie mist as the sun shied itself to a thin, violet band in the horizon. Driving in those dark streets was akin to taking a stroll in a military encampment anticipating missile bombardment. People crawled into their houses and barricaded their doors and walls. The lucky few had electric fences around their backyards, while others had to settle for more primitive means of sealing their doors and protecting themselves. She could tell each family's economic background with a quick glance at their safety measurements. While some had nothing but bolted locks, other had advanced security systems that included keypads and mechanical gates that were too thick to drill or dig around and bulletproof metal-sheet windows. While most people crawled into their dens in fear, few were brazenly assembling their guns and loading their ammunition on the streets. They oscillated between impatiently checking their wristwatches to nervously looking at their surroundings. Purgers hunted in packs as it increased their chances of surviving the night alive. She watched four people hop into their car, 6:57 she thought to herself. They didn't need a reason to kill her, and 'three minutes' was likely the only reason they still didn't shoot at her. One of them flashed her smile, his metal teeth glistening, like a pirate eyeing a treasure. They killed for fun. They pillaged for fun. They raped for fun. 'Pirate' was hardly a metaphor, and Chloe was in the pirate's own island. At 7:00 sharp, the dreadful announcement played as usual. "This is your emergency broadcast system announcing the commencement of the annual Purge. At the siren, all emergency services will be suspended for 12 hours. Your government thanks you for your participation." She could hear the words as if the announcement was playing inside her own head. There were being broadcast in every street, every intersection, and every alley. Escaping the noise was impossible, Chloe had come to learn years ago. "This is not a test. This is your emergency broadcast system announcing the commencement of the Annual Purge sanctioned by the U.S. Government. Weapons of class 4 and lower have been authorized for use during the Purge. All other weapons are restricted. Government officials of ranking 10 have been granted immunity from the Purge and shall not be harmed. Commencing at the siren, any and all crime, including murder, will be legal for 12 continuous hours. Police, fire, and emergency medical services will be unavailable until tomorrow morning until 7 a.m., when The Purge concludes. Blessed be our New Founding Fathers and America, a nation reborn. May God be with you all." May God be with us indeed, she sighed. As soon as the siren played, she heard gunshots from a block away followed by a woman's shriek. Her heartbeat raced faster and faster. On her left she saw a man breaking into a house by smashing its window with an axe. Sick fucks she hissed as she bit her lips. Gunshots and screams painted the battlefield around her as she drove towards Mrs. Harper's house. Its only three minutes away she tried to assure herself but she wouldn't stop sweating. I'm such a dumb bitch for- BAM! A bullet found her left rear bumper, and Chloe found it within her to be louder than the siren. A black van gave chase and a man on the passenger seat started shooting at her car. "Fuck! fuck! fuck! fuck!", she started gritting her teeth nervously as she stomped the gas pedal with all her force, turning right and left, turning her course from a straight path to a zigzag. BAM! Another bullet shattered her rear windshield, and Chloe managed to hit a parked car and cause its alarm to go off. "FUCK!". She reached under her seat and grabbed her pistol, her fingers clenching around it as she made a left turn into an alley hoping to lose her pursuers. BAM! "Motherfucker!" the bullet sniped her tire as her car turned, and it turned and swiveled, almost twisting like a dying animal, before it flipped and blocked the alley. The culprits drove past the crash laughing and shooting celebratory rounds. They didn't even bother checking if she had anything worth stealing. They really are doing this for fun.. "Shit.." she moaned as she pulled her body from underneath the car. She had a scar on her left waist but most of the blood that almost drenched her clothes came from the cut on her left arm. She crawled towards a building and bit her lips as if that made her pain any better. Her gun was resting between her legs, just in case any of those sick bastards gets closer. She took off her shirt, leaving her bloodied tank underwear as the only garment covering her modesty, and tied the shirt around the gash. The fabric grew redder instantly as Chloe's sealed lips quivered, muffling her cries of pain. Her jeans had scars of their own, and burn marks, and blood stains blemishing her like a whore's kisses. The things I do for a raise, Jeff. She left a trail of blood drops from her car all the way to the apartment complex Mrs. Harper lived in. Well, we made it she chuckled as she used the key card Mrs. Harper had given her. Once inside the complex, Chloe limped her way towards room 515 and knocked on the door. "Mrs. Harper? Its Chloe Kern from the New York Times! I made it!" ​