Beginnings Of A Killer

[Pukkina]

Author's Note So this is basically...well....what drove Jackson Rippner to be the person he was. It's not the best but it was an idea I came up with and I figured I'd just roll with it, along with the other three-million fanfictions I have going. Hehe. So....I hope you like it...if you don't I can always delete it.

Born With Only A Name

It has often been said that one’s future depends on the home they were raised in. In many cases, however, this judgement is often false. In Jackson Rippner’s, it was true.
Were his parents somewhat of a modern-day Bonnie and Clyde, fixated with a life of crime and a passion for misdemeanors, simply finding it amusing to name their son after a sociopathic murderer? No.
Drunks, maybe, with a habit for drugs and steroids, what some might conform to calling “trailer park trash”? A father, an alcoholic coming home late at night to beat his wife and son? No.
And last, maybe they were the preppy, upper-classmen who settled for nothing less than perfection from their children? Again, the answer is anything but yes.
Jackson Rippner didn’t have parents.
Some people, adults, mostly, justified him as an angel sent from heaven. Not the kids, though. He was on the opposite end of that spectrum, closer to satanic, a view he much rather chose to see from. They never saw him coming, the adults, they never could anticipate that he was misbehaving unlike any normal child was. Stabbing a child in the arm with a plastic knife was translated to bullying of Jackson for his name.

“Christina, we need to get that cleaned up.”
“Christina, a child was sick in the third quarter.”
“Christina...”
“Christina...”
“Just shut up for a few minutes,” she said, garbage bag in hand as she stepped onto the New York city sidewalk. “I’m busy.”
The young woman, aged only by the thin lines of tension on her face and her internal dilemmas worked as a janitor, or a custodian, whatever it may be translated to, at the Blessed Keep orphanage in Manhattan. She was often stressed, being one of the only two cleaners at the large house for children. Often she was mocked for her subordinate position but she took the insults graciously. After all, she could take advantage of the free staff lodging at the orphanage or she could find someway to make a cardboard box more welcoming.
Christina cursed as she stepped into a puddle. She hadn’t seen it, the streetlight clicking out overhead as she tripped.
“Damn,” she cursed quietly as she pulled herself back up, the seat of her pants soaked. Just more ridicule, especially from some of the teenaged residents. The orangish light of the streetlight flickered slightly back for a minute and she saw something directly in front of her. A steady drizzle began to fall again.
Curiosity killed the cat. A phrase she’d always thought highly of....until something told her to further inspect the bundle.
Looking back, it probably would have been better if she’d left it for dead.
A baby, no more than several weeks old, was fast asleep, surprisingly, inside the bundle. Parts of the blanket was soaked but the tiny infant was completely dry. She should’ve taken that as a sign something fishy was occurring, too, but she didn’t.
Something in her heart twinged as she lifted the light child and pressed him against her. A small, wrinkled and damp note was tucked inside the blanket. She pulled it out and read it, the words slightly blurred.
Couldn’t afford to keep him. Raise him. Name him Jackson. Jackson Rippner. Like his dad.
The baby awoke and began to cry.
“Shh,” she consoled him. “Sh, Jack. It’s okay. I’m here.”

[andrea]

ooh i love it! please keep going

[Pukkina]

*Thanks Andrea.*

Warning for Violence and Jackson’s Sadistic Side

A Passion Unrivaled By Others

Jackson flipped his hair and flashed a smile into the mirror. Which mood should he choose today? c*cky? Mischievous? Don’t-give-a-sh*t? There were, after all, more to choose from than the variety of Mr. Potato Head’s faces. He wanted to appear full of charisma for his business meeting, wanted to make a good impression on his boss so he would give him a half-decent job this time. The Machinov job had been anything less than entertaining. Jackson preferred the more trying jobs, the one that invited positions of cunning rather than those of brawn. He wanted a “fun” job, one that would be more like putting together a jigsaw puzzle instead of going to the shooting range. Fun.
He finally settled on c*cky with a hint of dedication. He tried it out in front of the bathroom mirror and, satisfied, clicked off the bathroom light. He’d practiced these faces so often. It was only necessary, in a job like his, to always be able to put on a facade, no matter what the occasion. It was also one of the reasons he’d slid by so easily as a child and young adult.

“Jackson....I don’t want to upset you...but I need to know. Did you hurt Tim?” Christina’s face was anxious and concerned.
Jackson simply smiled calmly. “No.”
A pause. “He says you did.”
“I greased the floor of his room with cooking oil,” he responded coolly. “I don’t believe I should be held responsible for any accidents he may have had.”
“Well...why would you do that?”
“Simple.”
“Would you...care to elaborate?”
“He called me Jack. Jack the Ripper.”
“I see. Well, then, back to class. Jackson.”
He had been six at the time. Christina hadn’t quite known how to handle him but she regarded his misbehavior in a nonchalant air. After all, childish pranks weren’t unusual for one of his age or intelligence.
She didn’t realize then how she should have nipped them in the bud to begin with.

Jackson lifted his briefcase from the office table and opened it gently. A knife glistened from the inside, its blade sharp and shiny. He lifted it and regarded it carefully, smiling contentedly.
Killing had always been what one might call a hobby. Pastime, passion, no matter what it was, Jackson had it. It gave him the strangest sense of power to drain the life of another. It was merely amusing to harm them....but to make them stop breathing, their hearts stop beating, now that...that was another story entirely.

“Jack Ripper,” Tim’s voice was mocking. “Weak, scrawny Jack Ripper the orphan.”
Jackson regarded him coolly. “Shut your mouth.”
“Why? You’re no match for me.” He was partially right. At ten Tim was at least twice the nine-year-old’s size. Why should he be intimidated?
“The mind has more power than any of your physical capabilities,” he said gracefully. The other boy had given him a blank look. Leave it to Jackson to have the vocabulary of one twice his age. He hadn’t had to say more. At least, not then.
The other children didn’t know about the secret stockpile of weapons he had hidden in his room, in a box under his bed. He was proud, he’d made them himself, out of various items found around the orphanage. Items that any other child or even adult would deem useless. But they weren’t.
He also had several knives he’d stolen from the cafeteria when on kitchen duty. Kitchen duty, a chore assigned to him for his various misdemeanors. Not that he minded, it was his chance to steal cutlery to add to his collection of tools.

Oh, how pleasant it had been, that first kill, Jackson looked fondly back on that memory. He’d had it coming to him, really he had. None of the children had ever expected. At that age the only real weapon, they believed, was a gun. But Jackson didn’t need guns. They were below him, a weapon reserved for those wishing to leave big, brash messages. Jackson preferred to work in stealth, dealing his blows as his victims screamed for mercy. With a gun one just shot and ran or got caught. But that was not the case with any of the torture implements Jackson used. Not the case at all.

“Jackson,” Tim’s voice had been strained and fearful.
“Deciding to use my real name now that I have the upper hand, eh?” Jackson’s voice had been mocking, the knife blade glinting in the darkness of Tim’s room. “Weak.”
“I-I-Jackson, I-didn’t mean any of it,” Tim tried to laugh. “It....it was all, just-a joke, buddy, you know? Just a joke.”
“A joke?” Jackson repeated his words slowly and carefully. “Hm. Is that so?”
“Yeah,” he could almost feel the boy’s relief pulsing through his veins. “Yeah. Haha, man, can’t you take a joke?”
And then he pounced. The knife slid easily into flesh, so quickly Tim hadn’t had time to scream or say more. Jackson had calmly backed away from the slowly pulsating, slowly dying body. He wiped the blood free from his hands on the boy’s shirt.
“Yes. I can.”

That he could. He’d proven it...and he’d proven something else, too. He’d proven that he wasn’t going to be Jack the Ripper. He would leave his own legacy as a feared assassin, dreaded killer named Jackson Rippner.

[andrea]

oh my god! that was sooo good! you've got something awesome here!

[Pukkina]

Thanks so much! I hope to write the next part today and I'll have it up as soon as possible.

[Kizuna]

Jackson is one creepy little kid.

That really reminds me, I have to get working on my own Jackson-childhood fic of my own.

I can't wait for summer vacation.

[idolize]

Ooh, it's so cool!

[Pukkina]

Thanks so so much! And I love your avatar!

[Pukkina]

Slightly Innocent Misdemeanors

He never felt any remorse for the path he’d chosen to follow. Jackson knew that by doing this, by being a murderer, would be the only way he’d ever gain any respect in this city. Sure, he could always become a doctor, or a teacher, or some sh*t like that, but really, who wanted to go through all the trouble of college and job applications, anyway? This was just as easy...and satisfying. He loved watching people cringe as he looked at them. Smiled his cold smile. The fear had begun soon after he’d killed Tim. Students saw him in the hall and they were genuinely afraid. They knew he’d done it...but the only people who really mattered...where the adults, the caregivers, the teachers. And they were too naive to guess. No, not their precious angel Jack, sent from the heavens above on that stormy night...

“I-I know who did it,” Sam whispered to Christina. The young girl’s face muscles twitched anxiously. “I know who killed Tim.”

“Who, Sam, sweetie?” Christina pressed eagerly. “Who?”

“J-Jack Rippner,” she stuttered. “But don’t tell him I told!”

“How do you know?” Christina frowned. It didn’t seem likely. Jackson was michievous, that was sure, but he wasn’t...a killer, was he? He grew so upset at the taunts of his namesake that he surely wouldn’t follow his path, would he? She truly did not want to believe anything of the sorts about Jackson...

“I just do, Ms. Smith. He does it every time. He’s...screwed up,” the girl’s voice quavered nervously.

“Sam, I can’t judge this based on your assumptions,” Christina said forcefully, standing up. “I think you had better leave now.”

“No! I’m not lying!” the girl continued to cry as she left the room. Christina shut the door behind her and leaned against it, sighing. Why was everybody so hard on Jackson? She loved him like a son, and he practically was. She had found him after all, he’d been sent to her like a blessing. After she’d discovered him lying in that puddle the orphanage had rewarded her with a promotion. Now she was third in charge of disciplinarian actions. Still quite subordinate, but at least she didn’t have to carry a dust mop everywhere she went.

Sam nervously tiptoed down the hallway to her locker. She needed to be getting back to class. She’d certainly missed enough of French, after her scheduled appointment with Ms. Smith. A hand on her shoulder startled her. She turned around and dropped her French book. It scuttled down the hall on the smooth floor.

“Why, hello, Sam,” Jackson Rippner said cheerfully. He was eleven at the time.

“H-hi,” she tried to sound nonchalant. “What’s up?”

“Oh, Sam, I think you know,” he grew angry and slammed her against the locker. She was shocked at how strong he really was. His muscles were no match for his wiry frame.

“N-no, I don’t, Jack, please, what,” she stuttered nervously. His eyes glinted coldly.

“I believe you’ve been spreading assumptions about me, Sam,” he said coolly. “Now, those are never good things to make, especially a girl of your age, your emotion based female driven assumptions.”

“What?” she asked quickly.

“I overheard your little heart-to-heart with Christina,” he snarled, his grip sliding to her throat. “That wasn’t very smart.”

“I-I-” she stuttered at a loss for words. “W-what are you going to do?”

“I think you and I know very well, Sam,” he said mockingly.

“You-you’re going to-kill me?”

“Why don’t you just wait and see,” was all she heard before she was gutted. Jackson smiled casually and cleaned his knife blade with a handkerchief, then restored it to his pocket. He returned to class, whistling gleefully.

Jackson smiled sweetly at the recollection as he got in his car. Fun times. It really had only been a matter of time before the organization found him.

“Rippner.”

“You know my name.”

“We know a lot about you.”

The nineteen-year-old’s temper raged. “You keeping tabs on me?”

“You could say that,” Martin’s voice was cool and collected.

“What do you want?”

“You.”

“Beg your pardon?”

Martin removed his glasses and sighed. “We want you to work for us.”

“You terrorists, are something?”

“You could say that. Governmental overthrows, assassinations, you get the picture.”

“Well, what do you want me for?”

“We want you to be an assassin.”

“Why would I do that?”

“We can already see, Mr. Rippner, that you have a sick passion for killing. Not that there’s anything wrong with that, most of the Organization have sicker delights than that...but we like it. You are a born machine, you have a gift.”

“Thanks.”

“Yes. But again, why would I do that?”

“Pays well.”

“How much are we talking about here?”

“At least six figures a job.”

“Fine. When can I start?”

“Glad to see you’re so enthusiastic. Here. First job, meet at this location, alone. Do you care about ever seeing your friends again?”

“What friends?”

“Well, that Christina woman for one.”

“Please. She’s a mere acquaintance who I didn’t feel like murdering.”

“I see. Well, that’s good, because basically, Rippner, you need to disappear. For this job to work you need to become a new person.”

“Why’s that?”

“The government finds out that you’re a threat, they trace it back to us, we get shut down, you either go to jail or we kill you. Simple as that. Plus, Jack, we’re giving you the charming job.”

“Beg your pardon?”

“Charming, Jack, charming. Conning innocent accomplices into assisting us with the job so they get framed, not us.”

“Fine. Just one thing.”

“What’s that?”

“Don’t ever. Ever. Call me Jack.”

[happiebunnie]

Omg omg, this is a great story! Can't wait to read more!

[Pukkina]

Thanks so much! Its fun to write because I'm usually not this dark. I let my friends read it and they all backed away very, very slowly...

[happiebunnie]

It's the dark stories that are the best ones! I love scaring friends with those dark, creepy, total mind bending things, ya know?

I support your darkness! ;D

[kudva]

oh man, do i love this fic!!! you have got to hurery up and writte more, i joined this site just becuase i have to tell you how much i love this fiction!!!! i think this is by far the best Red Eye Fic i have ever read!
not that i dont <3 this site for other reasons lol. i just had to tell you that i think this is very well written, i like to think of Jack as a STONe cold killer, i dont like too think of him as "some what nice" as i have read in other fics, i love the dark ones is this is the bst, please dont take too much time right onther chapter, i will be watting!!! please hurry i cant waite to read another one

(watting)

kudva.

Ps: sorry if the Eglish is bad, still working on lareing it lol

[Pukkina]

Kudva-A, thank you so much. That was the sweetest comment in the world, I swear! I love that you love these. I'm sorry I haven't been updating much. I have HMUN position papers due soon and have been tremendously busy. But I did write another chapter. If you aren't crazy about the slow updates, however, it would be cool if you could join MY website, its www.cillianfreak07.proboards75.com It's not a Cillian site, its just me and a bunch of other people randomly talking, but I post more frequently there. They have all my updates of all my fanfics. Anyway...so yeah.

B-Don't worry about your English. My friends is worse....and they're all American.

[Pukkina]

The Joy Of Sisterly Love

Jackson knocked loudly on his boss’s door and sighed. This was his least favorite part of the job. Going in to see the boss. The stressed boss. The pressuring boss. The arsehole boss.
He entered the room and instantly every hair stood up on the back of his neck. Maybe that was because everybody who entered the room was frisked by security. Jackson grumbled loudly.
“Nice job on the Krakov job, Jack,” his boss, Matthews, said, crisply and hoarsely. “Although I really don’t think you had to go as so far as to murder the biatch’s sister.”
“Trust me, it was,” Jackson said in disgust. “She f*cking pushed me down the stairs.”
“I see. Anyway, are you ready for another job? I do know how weak you are, after all...you probably need some....recuperation time.”
Jackson glowered at him. “No, I don’t,” he responded coolly. Even though he did.
“Fine. Here,” a smooth manila folder was thrust into his hands. He blinked. Another girl he had to kill?
He voiced his thoughts.
“No. She’s going to help you.” Jackson raised an eyebrow. This was a new one.
“So...I’m not killing anyone this time?” he tried to conceal the disappointment in his voice.
“No. Unless there are...complications.” Jackson nodded. There was hope yet.
He rose, tucking the folder under his arm as he strode out into the bright sunlight. It stung his eyes and he winced. Jackson had often been compared to a vampire, in the sense that he was inside most of the day, resulting in his light skin color.
Jackson began whistling as he got into his car and clicked on the radio.
“Miami governor Gregory William’s daughter was murdered brutally today...”
Jackson grinned.

“The name’s Jackson,” he smiled innocently at her. She batted her eyelashes in a cat-like way that made him want to puke.
“I’m Wendi,” she said in a sickening sweet tone. “With an ‘I’. Maybe you’ve heard of me. Wendi Williams?”
“Oh, yes,” Jackson gritted his teeth but still played the facade. “Of course. Although, I must say, you are way more beautiful in person than on television.”
She giggled girlishly and waved her hand. “Oh, my, aren’t you the charmer!”
“Of course.”
It had been hard at first. Not that she didn’t like him, or something...she clung to him like gum on a chair. It was annoying and pathetic, really. It was hard trying not to kill her instantly.
But he couldn’t. She had to trust him 100% before he could carry out the operation. Otherwise it would be a flop. And misdemeanors were not handled gently in the Organization.
Three weeks. Three weeks he “dated” Wendi with an ‘I’. And finally....finally it was time for the fun.

Jackson tapped his fingers jubilantly as he waited at the red light intersection. He couldn’t wait to get home and review the files. Part of the fun of the job in itself was the research.

“Wendi, sweetheart?” Jackson fought to conceal the malice and utter delight in his voice. “Jackson!” she squealed, thrusting herself into his arms. He grunted under her weight and set her down. “What’s up?”
“I have a surprise for you,” he grinned mischievously at her. That wasn’t a lie. Her death would shock her.
“Ooh...” she squeaked, allowing him to lead her to his car. She sat down, playfully toying with her straw-like blonde hair. Jackson began to drive deep into the wooded part of the city.
She began to look nervous and he chewed his lip. “Jackson, baby, where are we going?”
He just winked at her. Right. Like he would ever get it on with that bimbo.
After several more minutes of driving in silence he stopped the car. They were, in all of its glory, in the middle of nowhere. He opened her door like a gentleman. It was, after all, the very least he could do.
Jackson led her to a clearing completely invisible from the roadside. He gently pressed her up against a tree and kissed her. He felt her smile and he grinned inwardly. So far, so good..
A few moments later he sneakily reached to his back beltloop and withdrew his knife, twisting it into her gut. She screeched once and then fell silence.
He smiled as he hoisted her over his shoulder. Now time to make sure her mutilated body got to Daddy.
Jackson drove for a bit, finally ending up back at her house. He didn’t think anyone was home, and let himself in with the spare key Wendi had given up. The biatch still lived with her parents.
A sudden noise behind him startled him as he wrote a note out to Gregory Williams. He spun around and saw a girl, her features quite similar to Wendi’s but more hawk-like and young, staring at the body with a mixture of shock and horror.
“Hello,” he said cautiously. She looked at him a moment, eyes wide, instantly darting upstairs. He cursed and followed her. Damn.
A chair connected with the edge of his head as he rounded the corner. It drew blood and made him see stars but he withdrew his knife and kept going.
As he came around the next curve she was directly in front of his face. Before he could react, she moved on his unstability and shoved him hard in the chest, sending him tumbling down the stairs.
He wasn’t down long. His lip split open and his back throbbed, but he pulled himself back up and instantly dove at her. She hadn’t counted on this and the knife slid easily into her neck, instantly paralyzing her vocal chords. She kicked out several times but within moments she was dead. Jackson just grinned sadistically and wiped his knife free, then continued to write the note.
Ah, the joy of sisters.

As soon as Jackson arrived back at his apartment he opened the file.
Lisa Reisert.
He was shocked at how...different...she was than the usual targets. Her features were soft and not plain but not anything to make a fuss over....but...she was beautiful. In his opinion, anyway.
He shook his head. What the hell? Never get involved. She’s ugly. And a biatch. The ugliest skank that ever walked the planet.
Well, at least he could have fun with placing the cameras in her house, if nothing else.