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Inspired by u/guitarist2505

I look at him and I look at his wife. My eyes dart back and forth between them rapidly, almost cartoon-like in nature. They both look back at me confused by what must looks like very strange behavior coming from me.

We are at a fancy dinner function. Many veterans were invited honoring some general who did a lot of blowing up enemies. I obviously expected to see a lot of high numbers today. I am used to it, this isn't my first rodeo, and honestly not much surprises me at this point. But this. This surprised me.

It is not too shocking when you see a military man with his kill count at zero. It happens all the time honestly. Maybe they are just stationed at base, maybe they are never in action, and maybe they are just a bad shot. But this guy was a war hero. His count should be higher. And his wife... she is a traditional military wife, hosting parties and taking care of the children. Where did this 200 come from?

I start talking to this guy, asking him all sorts of questions. Trying to be subtle but really digging for information at the same time. I ask about his medals, why he is considered a war hero. "Everybody is talking about it and telling me about how brave you are." Flattery and things of that nature.

But he is coy. He doesn't give. He says he saved a lot of his brothers on the field. Okay, so maybe he is a hero because he saved people, not because he killed people. This is possible... But it still doesn't explain the 200 over his wife.

I do notice immediately that they are the same height. And that their physiques are honestly not too different all things considered. She is not particularly curvy, and he is not particularly muscular himself. Is it possible? Could they have? But even if they did, then why?

I ask her a bunch of questions now. How does it feel to be married to a hero? Again, buttering her up. Things of that nature. She remains coy as well. I cannot get anything that I can really use to figure out this mystery. I decide to give up. What ever their secret is, I am not going to figure it out.

I soon start drinking and forget all about it and just start having fun. Every so often I will see that 200 and wonder, but I let it go. I've been drinking so much I finally have to go take a piss. I excuse myself from some military guy's boring story and beeline towards the restroom.

At the urinal, Mr. 0 Kills comes up next to me. We do an awkward greeting. The kind you can only do while you have to acknowledge you know the other person but your hand is on your wiener. As I wash my hands and then leave, he blocks the door. I laugh uncertainly, thinking this might be some weird joke. But as I try to move past him, he blocks me again. From one of the bathroom stalls out comes his wife in her dress. Oh, and she's pointing a gun at my face. Not cool.

Now it is their turn to start grilling me. Why I was asking so many questions. Why I was so curious about their lives. I try to answer their questions without giving away the fact that I had this weird power. I can tell they don't buy it. My eyes dart around so I lunge for her gun in a last-ditch attempt to get out of the situation but slip on a puddle because someone pissed all over the floor. I look up at the ceiling. I hear three loud bangs.

The last thing I see is a large 201.

Aha this is good.

Was hoping to hear some badass story about the wife helping out the husband as he didn't want to fight.

But yeah it's writing prompt (⁠☞ﾟ⁠∀ﾟ⁠)⁠☞

I don't get it. Could someone explain what is going on?

Our narrator is an idiot who feels that he has the right to dig into the life of a speculatively skillful duo of killers who have lived a dual life of pretending to be each other. So he dies for being nosy as fuck.

“Is it hard?” I was just drunk enough to ask. “To kill a man?”

Ed took a long drink from his beer and looked away toward the horizon. The bottle looked small in his hand. It was easy to imagine that hand on a rifle, or a knife, or wrapped around an enemy’s neck. Easy, except for the zero floating above his head that only I could see.

“It’s hard for some people,” Ed said at last. Amber reached over and put her small hand over his. It was hard to imagine that hand killing anyone.

“Was it hard for you?” I couldn’t help myself. I had to understand the numbers.

“Here’s the thing,” Ed said, still looking into the distance. “It depends on your reason. Some guys, they do it for the country. Now, that gets abstract real quick. I don’t even like most people in the country, do you? But if you’ve got a good reason,” he trailed off.

“Every shot I took,” he continued at last. “I took for my wife. Not to keep her safe, none of that nonsense. I did it to make her proud.”

He looked at Amber now, and she looked back at him, and the intensity was enough to make me feel like I was invading their privacy.

“And it worked,” Amber said to me, her eyes still on Ed’s face. Then she turned, and reached for the zipper on the back of her dress. At first I thought she was going to climb on top of him right there, but then I saw what she was showing me. Her back was covered in ink: tattooed tally-marks, and I knew without counting there’d be about two hundred of them.

“I am so, so proud of each of his kills.”

Solid writing!

Thanks!

I’m an investigative journalist with a strange skill. I can see people’s “kill count.” I’ve had this skill as far back I can remember, never understood what it meant until much later in my life. That’s probably because for most of my life the “kill count” on almost everyone I met was a big fat zero, even those who claimed to have killed before, for example sheriff Higgins who claimed to have killed at least a dozen skinnies when he was in the army and five perps when he was a street cop. No one really pressed him on his claims since he “doesn’t like talking about it, because it gives him PTSD.” It was in high school when I saw my first non-zero number. We visited the county courthouse and jail for one of my social studies classes, and that’s where I met the Blue Basin killer for the first time. They didn’t know who he was back then, he was picked up for shoplifting and causing a scene outside the local Walmart, but when I saw him and the number 12 on his head, I instantly knew what he was and at the same time what those numbers meant. I guess it was at that point when my career in investigative journalism began.

I’ve met, interviewed and investigated many people with non-zero numbers, even helped solve a few crimes, but solving crimes was not what motivated me to do what I do, I was just fascinated with the stories. I’ve interviewed dictators with some of the highest counts I’ve ever seen calmly talk about their deeds like it’s another day at the office. One of my more haunting stories was with a cashier lady who oddly had a count of two. She had a terrible life of abuse and two dead ex husbands from mysterious circumstances, which were both ruled as accidents. After hearing and verifying most of her stories, I decided not to pursue it any further. It also gave me some insights to how this skill works. For example, your kill count goes up only if you had the intent to kill as well. So accidents, even if negligent, such as drunk drivers who cause a fatal accident won’t raise the kill count. Self defense on the other hand does raise the count. So from a criminal liability perspective, the kill count isn’t that useful.

One of the more interesting stories I pursued was with a couple I met when I decided to shift gears from serial kills and war criminals to those who killed with intention and purpose, but not of their own volition, or quite simply soldiers. The husband, Sergeant Olson, was a decorated war hero who was campaigning on behalf of a veterans relief organization, normally I wouldn’t be interested in any veterans who had a zero count, but the way he talked and the things he described suggested that he absolutely was in the thick of the fight, so his zero count intrigued me, and I asked him for an interview, to which he begrudgingly agreed. The next surprise came when I got to his house and met his wife, who had a kill count of 200. Immediately the interview got far more interesting, I instantly shifted my questions which focused on the war, and focused on their relationship instead.

They met during the war. Sergeant Olson worked as a medic, and he received his decorations for immense number of lives he saved. He said that regardless of how bad the fighting got, he refused to draw his weapon, he also treated anyone he came across on the battlefield, friend or foe and it didn’t take long for the enemy to notice this. On several occasions, the enemy soldiers simply ignored him rather than shoot him, which allowed him to save even more lives. After one particularly fierce battle, Olson was severely injured by an artillery shell, which he seemed to heavily imply came from the friendly side, and was evacuated to the combat service hospital where his now wife, Natalie worked. She worked in the intensive care unit where the most severely injured and for the most part, the most hopeless cases resided. When I heard this, it all clicked. Natalie became the Angel of Death, or mercy depending on your perspective and had put down many of the worst cases. It was one of the most fascinating interviews that I never published, the story of a battle hardened warrior that didn’t take a single life and a healer that took so many. It’s an interesting look at the complexity of life, and easily the best part of having my skill.

So the wife has one tally mark for every kill the guy got, like the Killmonger does. But that still doesn't click for me on how SHE has the 200 above her head, can someone explain?

So the wife pulled the plug on a lot of people, basically? That explains it well.

You see a number over every person's head. That's the number of "floating numbers over heads" writing prompts they've submitted to reddit.

In my mind, she's the one who wants him to be a killer, and their bond is so strong it makes her ultimately responsible for the deaths, even if he pulled the trigger. It was more about vibes than a detailed magical system though.

We could make some variation maybe.. like, what if the numbers were not floating above people's heads but above (and a bit off to the side maybe) their butts? Butt numbers?

"You noticed?"

By that time, his wife had drawn her pistol, aiming it at his head. Calmly, he shot her in the side with a stun round. She dropped her pistol, and he caught it, flicking the lever to full-auto and emptying the magazine—all 60 rounds—into her body. As she collapsed, his kill count flickered to a 1, then back to a 0, then after a few seconds it changed back into a 1.

"Y-yes, I noticed..." I was still in shock at what happened. Most notably because of the assassination, but also because of his kill count. "How do you do that?"

"Change my kill count? It's more of a filter, really. Since I've fought against so many terrorists, fascists, socialists, and communists, I've seen what they've done, so they're considered less than human. That's why they don't usually go on my kill count." He stood up, inviting me to follow him. As I did, he continued.

"If I wanted to, I could disable all filters on my kill count to show just how many people I've killed. Besides, I've had Geneva Scanners recording my kills, so no civilian was killed." He stopped at a certain lounge, decorated with lavish paintings, gilded decorations, and expensive wood and velvet furniture.

"I'm not proud of what I did, but I suppose it was just. I'm willing to let you see my true kill count, if you want."

I nodded, and soon after pressing some buttons on his wrist, his kill count shot up from 1 to 7,626,198,989. He noticed my shocked look, and he soon sighed.

"Tyranny is found everywhere in the galaxy. In the universe, even. Just get within a few clicks of an inhabited planet and you'll find some form of tyranny, dictatorship, or oppression."

This was true indeed, considering my experience. Astounded, I asked him "If they can be spared or redeemed, do you allow it to happen?"

"Yes," he said. "Every time they take the offer, I make sure they stay alive....one moment, please." Some officers had arrived. He walked over to them, and after a short conversation, they let him go. Walking back over to me, he explained the situation. "They found out about her. Turns out she was just a murderer killing people for their money. I would have been the youngest of her targets if she killed me."

"How old are you?" I asked.

"Only 27, why?" Only 5 years younger than me.

"I think the stress is starting to show its effects." I was talking about his mustache and beard, which were going white in the center.

"It's nothing too serious, Colonel. That being said, I am feeling a bit hungry. Do you want to grab a bite to eat?"

"I could use a good meal, General. Does Terran Tom's sound good?"

"I was just going to suggest that. Let's go."

200

That seemed odd to me. How in the world could she be responsible for 200 deaths? She seemed so sweet, they both did. I continued to smile as she spoke, but I wasn’t really listening.

203

Wait, what? How did it just tick up? I am literally sitting right in front of her. She hasn’t left the chair in the last 20 minutes.

204

I blink in confusion as she walks away from the table. Drinks. She’s going to grab us more drinks. Maybe I shouldn’t have anymore… after this one.

“I’m sorry, man”, I turn to her husband. “I’m a little sloshed. What does your wife do again?”

Her husband chuckles. “Don’t worry, it’s cool”, he assures me. “She’s a health insurance claims adjuster.”

I turn forward again as she gracefully places the last three drinks down on the table in front of us. I glance up above her head.

211

That’s an interesting perspective.

Very dark, but I do like it.

Who shall be remembered in the ancient house of war

All those medals, all those stories. In the alley of the greats!

[removed]

> We do an awkward greeting. The kind you can only do while you have to acknowledge you know the other person but your hand is on your wiener.

This made me laugh so hard because it gave me a great answer and visual as to something I have always wondered about The Mysteries of The Mens Room. Thanks for the laugh! Great story!

[removed]

Yikes. This is amazing and horrifying. Love the implication here that he is the one who pulled the trigger, but he was more a weapon of her bloodlust than anything else.

That is… whew. This one is going to stick with me for awhile.

Reminds me a bit of Karla Homolka

Thank you!

“How did you do it?” I asked.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” He responded, angrily.

“Cut the bullshit man,” I stated. “You know why you’re here. Sitting in this room. I know you’re thinking that somehow I know. The only thing you don’t know is why IM the one sitting across from you.”

“I. Don’t. Know. What. You’re. Talking. About.”

Maybe. Maybe there was the slightest chance he didn’t know. Maybe he was just dumb enough to not think anyone would ever find out. Except I did. Because of my special gift. And someone higher up had to know too, otherwise I wouldn’t be here talking to him. I would have never had the power to question him like this without permission.

“Is this some Mulan type thing or what?” I said, with a soft chuckle.

And then I saw it. That look. For just a split second he gave it away. I knew then, in that moment, he knew what I was talking about.

“You’re wasting your time questioning me. Theres nothing to find.” He said.

I momentarily wondered if he was giving me an answer, or if he was still playing dumb, and decided to toss the distraction and continue questioning him.

“Okay, I’ll play your game then,” I said. I pulled out a piece of paper and wrote a big zero on it. “Explain this to me then. How is it that you, a decorated war hero, who has been on the news multiple times might I add, has the same kill count as a toddler fresh out of the womb?”

I slid the paper towards him, and again saw that look on his face. His facade was fading fast, he was getting vulnerable. Just where I wanted him to be.

“Bullshit.” He said. “I’ve got 200 confirmed kills.”

“Put your hands on the table sir.” I said, not wanting to waste my time listening to his lies. He slowly picks his hands up from under the table, and rests them palms down on the cold metal surface. I pulled out a trigger mechanism from my bag. Just something I brought along to help me close the deal on this specific case.

“Do you shoot right handed or left handed?” I asked, while setting the trigger mechanism on its steel base.

“Right handed.” He replied slowly, with a slight slur to his words. Good, I finally caught a slur. Maybe his secret medication is wearing off? Either way, more evidence for me.

“I want you to pull this trigger as many times as you can in three seconds.” I said to him, sliding the training tool towards his right hand.

He obliged, with a confused look on his face. I pulled out a stopwatch. “3…2…1…Go”

Click. Click. Click. Click.

Only 4 trigger pulls in 3 seconds. Way below average for a man of his status. “Sir, do you know how many rounds the average person can fire in under a second?” I asked.

“No.” He replied dully.

“Well according to FBI research, the average person can fire 3 rounds in under a second. They also found that trained shooters can almost double that number. So its pretty peculiar to me that you are only able to pull 4 shots in 3 seconds. Being the trained shooter that you must be and all.” I stated, watching his eyes the whole time.

(1)

“I’m a sniper. I don’t train to shoot fast. I train to shoot precisely.” He said, still looking down at the trigger mechanism. Was it guilt? Did he know he was caught? Was that why he wouldn’t look me in my eyes? Or was he trying to come up with his next string of lies? I kept watching for any noticeable signs. He had tucked his hands back under the table, almost as if he was trying to hide them from me.

“Do you really train at all Mr.Jacobson? Or are you making lies to cover up your big secret?” I asked.

“I have 200 confirmed kills.” He repeated, as if repeating the same lie was going to make my line of questioning stop.

“Do you really? Or do you just enjoy the fame sir? You know, I did quite a bit of research into your past. You’ve been married for 18 years. Pretty impressive for a man with multiple tours under his belt. And you were active for how long during those 18 years?” I asked.

“We got married after my first three years in the service.” He said.

He started fidgeting. I could see the muscles in his forearms twitch slightly, indicating that he was rubbing his fingers together, or possibly tapping the underside of the table. A sign of nervousness. Bingo. He knew he was caught.

“And if I recall correctly your first three years were spent in Fort Wainwright, correct? Three years in Alaska, with no deployments. Am I correct in my statement?” I asked.

“Yes thats correct.”

“Now whats peculiar to me is that after those first three years, you were moved to Fort Benning. You moved off post to live with your wife, and you were supposed to go on a deployment for two years in Afghanistan around this time, correct?”

“I did go on that deployment.” He said, angrily.

“I never said you didn’t sir, just implied that you were supposed to. Now could you tell me why, in the two years that you were gone, your wife had no new employment history, in-fact she had no employment during those two years at all. Didn’t purchase anything new with the extra money you should have been getting, except for a few things during the first month of that deployment that she purchased in Kuwait. Around the same time and location that your unit would have been doing their pre-deployment readiness. Isn’t that peculiar?”

He stared at me with a blank expression, most likely surprised that I dug as deep as I did. I wouldn’t have gotten the reputation I have as a detective if I didn’t do my homework. He should have expected this when he saw me standing in the room when he walked in.

“You probably told her not to use her personal bank over there didn’t you? But you didn’t tell her fast enough. Im sure you didn’t think anyone would ever question it. Did you have her call her bank as well, and tell them she would be out of country on a vacation of sorts, so they wouldn’t raise red flags? Because I found the account notes from the bank as well. And what is even more peculiar to me is that during every tour you had overseas, her bank would make a note that she was going on a ‘long term vacation.’ Seems pretty obvious to me whats going on here. But just incase you don’t think I’ve got enough evidence on you to claim stolen valor, lets dive into your secret medical history shall we?”

He looked as if he was going to start crying. His eyes got red and puffy. Probably a mixture between anger and distress. They always make that look when I’m about to close the deal.

“20 years ago,” I stated while pacing the room, giving an extended pause for added suspense. “you were diagnosed with a very early stage of Parkinson’s disease. Among the youngest ever to be diagnosed, at 24 years old. Thats stressful I’m sure, being young, full of life, and then all of a sudden getting told you’ll be dependent on medication for the rest of your life. I feel for you I truly do. But somehow, you joined the military, and as a sniper nonetheless. Arguably a role that requires such precise handling, that you couldn’t possibly be competent enough to complete it successfully, given your diagnosis and all.” Bombshell dropped. He was done for and he knew it. He raised his hands to his face, shaking ever so slightly. I couldn’t tell if it was the Parkinson’s or the distress. But I wasn’t done. I had to make him suffer just a little bit more. I had one final question before I would accept any confessions from him.

(2)

“My last question to you, now that you know it’s over, how did you make it through MEPS? What doctor did you pay off to hide your medical history? The people who hired me want to know, so they can prevent this from happening again.”

I waited for a response. Finally, with a shaky voice, he started his confession.

“I had no bad intentions. I never intended to go as far as I did. My family has a history of being in the military and I didn’t want to disappoint them. In the beginning it was simple really. I told my doctor I wanted to go into the military and he recommended me not to, but I was firm on my decision, and offered him $5000 to fix the paperwork and hide the medications. Just in case. I got to the recruiting station and didn’t say a word about my medication, or my diagnosis. They tell you to lie at MEPS anyways to prevent any elongation of your process, which made it even easier. So I went through like everyone else did, and I made sure to hide some pills with me when I went for the overnight trip. I passed, and got a ship date for basic training. I knew I had to be smart enough to hide my pills for training, so I paid off my doctor again for a 3 month supply of pills, and told him I would contact him after basic with another payoff for pills for my AIT. He knew it was risky for him, but I offered him big payouts for these pill supplies. $15,000 for each 3 month supply he gave me. I knew in the long term the military would pay me enough money for me to forget about those payoffs, and I wasn’t dumb with my money so I had a good amount in savings anyways. I ended up crushing all of the pills and hiding them in uniform pockets and under the soles of boots, places that were very seldom checked. I was very secretive about it and after the first week I figured out the perfect amount to take to equal one pill. I stayed on my Ps and Qs so that the drill sergeants would never question me, and I performed to the best of my ability. After training it got easy again. I would find civilian doctors and pay them off to hide the paperwork and documentation of meds, and continued this every time I moved stations. Once I met my wife, I knew I couldn’t hide it from her. So I told her everything, and she offered to help. She took my place on deployments, and played the Mulan role like you said earlier. She would wait till all the other guys were asleep to shower, things like that. She was never gifted with curves so it made blending in easier for her. And being a sniper in the field, other soldiers seldom see you anyways. After the first tour she enjoyed it so much that she offered to continue taking my place until we could find a more permanent solution. When they would return I would go back to my duties as normal, and attend the awarding ceremonies that took place, accept the medals that truly belonged to my wife, and lived out a career in the military until I decided to be done.” He finished, with a sigh. Desperation? Embarrassment? Who knew. I was just happy to have a recorded confession.

“How?” He asked.

“How what?” I replied.

“How did you know? How were you so confident that it wasn’t me who got those kills?” He asked.

“Well you see sir, I have a gift. A very special gift. And when I was old enough to understand the concept of money, I realized that life had given me an unfair advantage. An exotic lemon that nobody else possessed, if you will. And I realized that if I didn’t plant those lemon seeds, and sell them to the highest bidders, I would be wasting my gift. But just know, all I need to do to put away a murderer…or in this case, a non-murderer… is look at them.” I said.

“But what is your gift?” He asked, quietly.

I leaned over the table slowly, looked him in the eyes and said with a smirk, “Now if I told you, I’d have to hire your wife to make it 201.”

— Case Closed —

(Final)

Yaayy you made it.

Good story, love your punctuation...

Thank you!!

Yeah and this is actually something that goes on in hospitals even today.

That's pretty much the tone I was aiming for, thank you!