Mission for Mel: Jeremy Dahmer

A police officer was waiting at the train stop, staring at a picture. Was this the girl that was coming to solve their...problem? The officer wondered if the DWMA was laughing at them, but he wiped the look of despair from his face as the train pulled into the station. As the people filed out of the train, the officer kept his eyes peeled for the diminutive weapon.

"Where are you..." he muttered, "Oh! Excuse me, miss?" The young officer pushed through a few lines to come to a young woman in worn jeans and a plaid shirt, with a distinct 'country' vibe to her. It certainly looked like the girl on the picture.

"Er, are you Mel Thatcher?" he asked, "I'm Officer Wilson, and I'm to be your escort around Milwaukee."

Well, the girl certainly got right down to business, Wilson thought.

"We thought it was animal killings at first," he said, "People would disappear at night, and we'd have no idea how. Then...parts started showing up. A hand one week, a leg the next. We found five thumbs, none belonging to the same person. Then it was a head, entirely unrecognizable." Wilson swallowed, with some difficulty. He'd seen the pictures, and they were enough to give anyone nightmares for a week.

"All of the parts had bite marks," he continued, once he'd gotten over his nausea spell, "and the bites were...inhuman. Far too powerful for a human to make, and too sharp for normal teeth too. It's...scary."

"Amijals rarely write mocking notes i their victims blood," Officer Wilson said. He began guiding Mel through the train station as he spoke.

"We thought it was an animal too," he said, "Until the notes started showing up. They were generally obscenities directed at us, the police, although he did laugh at the families once. A few times, he's insulted the victims themselves. The reason we called in DWMA is because, in the last note, he named himself. I don't know how much Milwaukee history you know, Miss Thatcher, but Jeffrey Dahmer was a horror for us a few decades back, when he was human. We can't imagine what havoc he could wreak now that he's...whatever he's become." By now, Wilson had made it to his squad car, and he openes the passenger door for Mel. He then climbed into the driver seat, and drove off

"I'll take you to the place he's been most active," Wilson explained, " He generally shows up at night. Just make enough noise and he should come to you. Also, my superiors asked me to tell you not to break too many buildings, okay? Any questions?"

"We thought we did," Wilsonsaid grimly, "I can show you his grave, if you'd like. He got beaten to death in prison. We've never had a problem like this before, ex-serial killers coming back to life. Maybe if we were in New Orleans, it'd be a bit more normal, but when a zombie-cannibalistic serial killer starts saying hello, we call in help. Hence, your presence."

Wilson pulled the car up on Main Street, strangely deserted. He glanced at his watch, and up at the sky. There was a little bit of time to go until dusk, and Wilson didn't want to leave the girl alone.

"Well, we're here," he said, "But no way's Dahmer gonna show himself before it's dark...You want to grab a bite to eat?"

[color=darkgreen]Mel's stomach audibly growled at the mentioning of food. The dining car on the train was a little too pricey for her tastes, and she went through the food she brought with her within hours of her trip beginning.

"Yeah, food sounds great." She grinned.

As the two of them continued to wherever the officer was taking her to eat, she thought about what she had gotten herself into with this mission to track down an undead serial killer. Yes, this was the kind of mission that the DWMA most likely took on, according to what her grandmother told her about her time at the academy.

Would she be able to do it? She took on almost everyone in her hometown and only came out with a few scrapes and bruises, but she had never fought anyone like this Dahmer guy before. Well, she'd find out when the time came.

"Come on," Wilson said, "There's a Meals on Wheels van closeby. Best barbecue in the city." The police officer led the way to the small van that smelled absolutely divine. He paid for whatever Mel wanted, and got a pulled pork sandwich for himself. Then Wilson found a bench to sit down on, and took a massive bite of his sandwich.

"Guh," he grunted, "I don't get enough of this stuff...they got barbecue where you come from?"


Up above, a thin frame crawls along the roofs of Milwaukee. Small, black eyes scan the horizon, now dark red. The eyes travel back down, surveying the street. They land on a pair of figures, sitting on a bench. A dark tongue peeks out and travels over a set of uneven fangs, and the man (if he can even be counted as a man anymore) smiles. One smells of power.

Moving like a spider, Dahmer scuttles over the rooftops, never taking his eyes from the park bench. He backs up to get a running start, then launches himself through the air, his claws flashing down to sever the bench in two. Dahmer backhands the man sitting on the bench, sending him flying into a nearby wall, and points at the girl.

"You. Die soon." Dahmer grins again, his hideous teeth jutting out at odd angles, and slashes at the girl's head.