Criminal 1 (2p!America x Reader)

    “Stop!”

    ‘As if’, the young delinquent rolled his eyes, skidding around a corner, weaving in and out of alleys in an attempt to lose those following him. Who in their right mind would actually stop in the middle of a police chase and turn themselves in? Did they honestly expect him to listen and just offer them his arm with a good natured laughed and playful ‘you caught me’? He scoffed, making a sharp turn and waiting in the shadows. He tensed when he heard footsteps run past, but then smirked when he realized that they had gone right past him. And these guys called themselves professional. Ha! He had managed to get away, not once, not twice, but three times now, each with only slight inconveniences on his part.

    This man was known as Allen F. Jones- or as the police liked to refer to him, The Bloody Bandit. He had earned the nickname for a number of reasons, one being that they needed something to call the new neighborhood killer since his true identity remained a mystery to them. Part of the name derived from his looks. Witnesses, not that there were many, described him to be having rust colored auburn hair, tan skin, an odd cowlick, and, most importantly, eyes the color of blood. Part of it also derived from the nature of his crimes. They were mostly cases ranging from petty to mild theft and even to murder. Their best guess was that he was a thief by trade, and a killer by necessity, getting rid of those that got in his way or could cause trouble for him in the future. This was true, to an extent, but he also just enjoyed killing because it was fun.

    Now, he pulled on the dark leather bomber jacket he had stolen from the store a few blocks back. He grinned, liking the feel of the material on his skin. Black fur rimmed the collar, and the jacket itself had a reddish tent to it. A bright, blood red star covered the spot above his heart, a large ‘50’ on the back. It was nice, insulated, and not to mention totally badass, definitely worth all the trouble he had gone through to get it. A few broken skulls and a close call with the cops was nothing new, after all.

    Gripping his signature weapon, a bloodstained bat with bent nails sticking out of it, and pushing down his black aviators to hide his eyes, he exited the alley he was hiding in. With his bat now balanced on his shoulder, mindful of the dangerous nails, and decked out in his new attire, there was a spring in his step and a smirk on his face. He began to whistle, the sound eerily breaking the silence that hung heavily in the still night air. Strangely enough, the tune was the American national anthem. Who would have ever guessed that a criminal could be patriotic while simultaneously breaking all of their country’s laws?

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    The day started off like any other for __________. She woke up, dressed, ate breakfast, grabbed her things, and then headed out to her mid-morning college class.

    She was an Art Major, not exactly the most practical, but she wanted to be a photographer, determined to follow her dream, even if it was a little naïve to do so. It seemed like all people cared about now was money, and what careers could possibly earn them some in the future. It wasn’t wrong to think this way, for practicality always seemed to come first in the harsh, power hungry world they all lived in. However, she didn’t want to be that way. She had never been one for practicality, preferring her own personal fantasies over the brutal reality around her. The world through the lens of a camera was so much more beautiful than the world she witnessed through her own eyes. Call her foolish, innocent, or downright ignorant, but she didn’t care. After all, it wasn’t as if she was turning a blind eye to the world around her; she knew what went on, and was actually very perceptive. She just chose to live in a reality different from those around her, but that didn’t mean she couldn’t still acknowledge the real one from time to time.

    Now happened to be one of those times.

    There were police cars blocking most of the road, blue and red flashing in the still softly lit morning sky. The owners of the cars patrolled the area, officers dressed in navy blue, shiny golden badges displayed proudly on their breasts. Some looked bored and still half asleep, others somber, and others still with varying expressions of frustration on their faces. Yellow police tape with bold, black letters outlined the area under investigation, a barrier between the average citizens and those that dedicated their lives to the upholding/breaking of the law.

    It appeared to be a break in, glass from the small pawn shop’s front windows littering the street and sidewalk. Nothing about it appeared to be special; break ins were common in a city as large as this one, and they definitely didn’t warrant the rather large number of law enforcement officers that lingered around the crime scene. That is, until the observer noticed the dark stains that also marked the pavement, and heard vague whispers exchanged between comrades about a body, about a dangerous criminal that had managed to slip through their grasp once again.

    The young (h/c) haired girl couldn’t help it as she stopped on her usual trek and stared at the commotion just across the street from where she stood. Humans were naturally drawn towards disaster, like witnessing a car crash and being unable to look away, drawn like moths to a flame. There was something beautiful about cruelty, about the macabre, and the darkness. Instinctively, people feared the dark, and yet, they were always daring one another, daring themselves, to venture farther into it, to explore the unknown. They justified their actions with clichés like ‘walking on the wild side’, wanting ‘a taste of adventure’, and even just simple curiosity. They were all excuses though, for while humans had invented fire, and flashlights, and anything else they could to bring light into their lives, they had originally lived in the dark, and overtime it had become part of their very nature to seek out the darkness they had once dwelled in and called home.

    __________ slowly brought the strap of her camera over her head, holding the precious object in her gentle (s/c) hands. She kneeled down on one knee, lining up the shot she wanted, all while being careful not to get noticed by cops that resided only a few meters away. At this rate, she was already going to be late to class; she didn’t need to be arrested for illegally taking pictures of an active crime scene on top of it.

    The shattered glass reflected the early white light of the sun, contrasting with the black asphalt of the road. The broken windows themselves were pieces of art, full of perfect angular lines. The dried, dark red splotches that peppered the pavement stood out boldly on white concrete of the sidewalk. The shop was closed, the lights off, unassuming, the perfect backdrop. The yellow of the tape, the blue of the police, the busyness of the foreground, the stillness of the background, the colors, the contrasts, it was a moment that she just had to capture, it’s chilling and strange beauty too much to pass up on.

    She quickly snapped the photo and then went on her way, continuing towards her original destination as if nothing had happened. The scene would be preserved forever in her memory and on her camera, a single instant in time that something so cruel and ugly had been transformed into something beautiful and unique with just a little perspective and the click of a button. The image was haunting, a true work of art, one that represented so much more than just that single moment, and yet only held meaning for the second in which it had been taken. Surely her instructor would understand that an opportunity such as this one was too great to waste; instances like this were rare and when inspiration struck, an artist couldn’t ignore it very easily.

    Was it wrong of her to admire a potential crime scene? Probably, but once again she couldn’t bring herself to care about the typical views of society. Where others saw tragedy, she saw something more, something else. However, even she couldn’t see what was coming, and what would become of her life from just a simple break in, a simple picture taken on a morning just like any other…