Always-Second-Best I hope this helps with that boredom ;)

HEAVY TRIGGER WARNING! I'm serious! This is dark! Very, very dark!

And I'd also like to request that you read ALL the way to the end before commenting, please.

The only way to describe it was like watching a train pass through a station. The only sound was Scott's own breathing, hard and fast, as he tumbled through endless flashes of light and dark. He was barely aware of hearing his own footsteps as he ran, blind panic tearing through him; closing in on him; suffocating him. 

He wasn't sure why he was fighting it. He turned a corner and continued to run. Tears were falling from his eyes, a stitch burning within his stomach. It hurt. His own body betraying him, the urge to slow down almost convincing him. Dim lights above him were more off than on, cracked concrete walls like giant tombstones surrounded him, echoing every sound and throwing it back at him. 

He wanted to scream. It was like a nightmare. Perhaps it was. One of those horrible, terrible nightmares where you're face to face with a murderer, and you open your mouth to scream and all that comes out is a high-pitched wheeze. Again you try to scream, louder and louder, and you can't move, can't warn anybody, fear swallowing you whole and sucking the hope out of your soul like the marrow out of your bones.

And then you die.

Scott turned a corner again, and blindly ran straight into a wall. That was it. Game over. "Oh, God..." he whispered, turning around and facing the end of the corridor. It was empty, but Scott knew what was right around the corner. 

He came to the realisation that this is where he would die. Tomorrow morning, somebody would arrive at his mother's house, and knock on the door, and tell her. Right now, right here, Scott was about to end. He felt fear crawling in his stomach, a feeling that he could only describe as 'white' filling him from head to toe. He didn't want to die. He didn't want to die! He didn't want to die!

The lights flickered, buzzing off and leaving Scott in darkness. Another buzz, and they turned on again, and there was a figure in the hallway. 

Scott fell forwards onto his knees. Pain shot up his legs. He might have fractured his knee caps. It didn't matter. None of it mattered. He was snivelling mess, sobbing, his nose running like a tap. "Please..." he croaked. "Please, not me..." 

The reply was a low, mocking chuckle. It bounced off the concrete walls, reverberating in his ears and attacking him from all angles. There was no voice. It made Scott feel as though he wasn't being murdered by a human. Something else. Something less. An animal.

 Tap... tap... tap. 

Each footstep was carefully timed, the bottom of the shoe tapping against the concrete. It was a timer. A timer for his death. It was agony. Raw, pure agony. 

God, what did Scott even care anymore? He'd tried it himself. Tried to end it himself, one night when it all became too much. But he'd lived, and he'd thought that maybe it meant it wasn't his time yet. He'd forced himself to continue, as painful and terrible as it was. 

He guessed the world had given up on him. Maybe it just wanted him gone. In either case, it was going to let him stop, once and for all. 

"I like this bit." 

Scott flinched like he'd been hit as the voice revealed itself. It came from all sides, bouncing around in his head. It was deep, and suave, and had just the edge of excitement. Of music. It was the voice of a psychopath, the kind of voice that brought to your mind images of straitjackets and people pulling at their own hair and laughter in mental asylums.

"This is the bit when you realise that you belong to me." The voice continued. It was followed by that chuckle, again, and the figure stopped, about 5 metres away from where Scott lay, crumpled in foetal position. "Here's how it goes. I own you, for the last miserable seconds of your life. Everything that you ever were, that you are, that you would be, is mine. Do you understand?" 

Scott whimpered, the tears rolling down his face. He tried to pull himself together, enough to nod his head, or squeak out a 'yes', but his body disobeyed him. He could barely gain control of himself enough to twitch a finger.

Another deep, mocking chuckle, "Glad we're on the same page. Get on your hands and knees, bitch." 

A tremor ran through Scott's body, a choked sob leaving his mouth as he slowly pulled his jelly-like limbs close to his body. His arms were shaking as he pushed himself up. His elbow collapsed and he fell back down, making a short groan in pain as his chin hit the hard concrete. Once again, he pushed himself up, one arm lifting up to wipe the tears and dirt from his face. He didn't dare say anything, just cowered in silence, staring at the man's shoes. 

"Now crawl to me, slut," the voice purred, its silky smoothness worming into Scott's brain. "On your hands and knees, like a slave. Crawl to me, so that I can kill you." 

Scott sobbed once again, tears and snot running down his face. He was a mess, an undignified, grovelling mess. This was how he was going to die. He pushed himself slowly forward on the concrete, pain from his knees shooting up his legs and back. His pant legs were torn, his shins slicing open on the harsh ground and bleeding, and he crawled, humiliated and blackmailed, like a creature of no worth to its master's heels. 

"Gooood," the man praised, apparently satisfied by Scott's lack of resistance, lack of fight. "Now sit up, so I can look at you." 

Scott sniffled, and fell back on his haunches, groaning once again at the pain that shot through his entire body, radiating from his fractured knees. He closed his eyes for a long time. He didn't want to see. He didn't want to look his murderer in the face.

There was a sound, of fabric moving, and Scott caught the hint of cologne. His eyes screwed tighter shut as he felt someone leaning forward, their breath against his ear.

"Here..." the voice whispered, almost teasing. The man was enjoying this, Scott knew. It was in his voice. A kind of sick, twisted kink. A handkerchief was lifted to his face, "You look awful. Clean yourself up." 

Scott nodded slightly, letting out a smallish, uncontrollable whine as he took the kerchief from the man and wiped his eyes and nose. This wasn't just murder; it was torture. Every second of this was slow, and painful, drawn out for the pleasure of the other. He finished wiping his face and put the handkerchief down. 

He let out another pitiful whimper as he felt the man's fingers brushing against his chin, tilting his head back.

"Hmm," he whispered, his breath hot against Scott's face as his fingers traced the side of his face, down his jawline, over his lips, "You're a pretty one, aren't you? You're just my type..." 

"Please..." Scott choked out, a sick feeling starting in his stomach, whirling around. He didn't like where this was going. He didn't like this man touching him, being so close to him. He flinched as the back of the man's finger danced down his neck. He just wanted out. He just wanted it to be over. He just wanted to die. 

And then he felt the point of the knife digging into his spine. "Well?" the voice purred, "Any last words? Last requests? I can't grant them all, but I do sometimes try..." 

Scott hung his head, one last tear rolling down his nose, as he prepared for the pain, the shock, and then the abyss. "Thank you."

Yeah. I told you this was dark. LittleMarshmallowAli this is also kind of for you since you kind of requested this. I kind of feel sick now, but hey...

The main purpose of this was that I wanted to experiment with how my Vincent would kill his victims. It's pretty sick, I know. He's big on the whole domination thing.

 I'd really appreciate if you would be very considerate in what you comment on this. Before you go "OOH I LOVE MURdER MoRE LIkE THIS MmMM VinCENT'S SO SEXY I'M ALSO A PSYCHOPATH" just consider that this might not be the place.

Fun fact: Scott's panic at the start, up until the hallway picture, is what it feels like when I have panic attacks (I have chronic panic disorder if you don't know :P)

This was originally going to have a happy ending but I guess the ending is open. Just, if you're feeling uncomfortable, or really sick, remember that it's always possible that, shocked by Scott's last words and oddly concerned for him, Vincent knocked him out instead and ran off.  :)