Helluva Psycho

Good Morning/Afternoon/Evening/Night(whichever one it is in your part of the world),

Hi! I'm Kate and I'm here to leave a quick review!!

First Impression

Well this was quite the tale. I didn't quite know what to expect off of a fanfic with someone like Patrick Bates but I think you did a wonderful portraying his life and death and his motivations and the way they way it brings about change for him.

Anyway let's get right to: Kate's Line by Line Reactions;

‘But they should, because it's not just about the pleasures of conformity, and the importance of trends, it's also a personal statement about the band itself.’

‘Hey Paul.’

AAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHH!!!’

There is an idea of a Patrick Bateman, some kind of abstraction. But there is no real him, only an entity, something illusory, and though he can hide his cold gaze and you can shake his hand and feel flesh gripping yours and maybe you can even sense your lifestyles are probably comparable: he simply is not there.

Well this is quite the start here, immediately establishing the terrifying serial killer aspect of the whole thing more to a persona than a person. It makes for an interesting introduction especially given we appear to be headed right for hell.

But god damn, did nostalgia feel good. Patrick remembered the look on that smug bastard's face, for the few moments he still had one. Then it was gone, along with his wealth, opinions, and most importantly, he would never get a reservation at Dorsia.

That's why he enjoyed killing. Anyone who fucked you over was gone. Anyone you despised never to be seen again. Anyone with a different lifestyle from you disappeared.

Water rivets down the drain. The smell of mint overpowers all other odors as something looks forward unyielding. Above the sink and the mirror were a wide assortment of non-alcoholic amenities, just the way the owner liked it. His red features were coated in plastic slowly being peeled away by careful hands. Not once did he blink during the two minutes it took him to take off his herbal mask.

Oooh well its certainly a very intriguing place to start here, to then go right into quite how much this one likes murder and what exactly seems to almost be a driving force in that matter there.

At fifty-seven years old and with a height of five-foot-nine, Patrick Bateman was attractive for his age. He was the former head of a Wall Street conglomerate headed by his parents. He was what most considered to be very fortunate. If only they knew. The wealth never made his problems go away, quenched his lust for blood, greed, and sexism. And two weeks ago that fact became translucent. The money didn't sate him anymore. This problem had been steadily worsening ever since that fateful day thirty years ago. His latent fatal desire had only intensified faster. He had to kill more, fuck more, and earn more. The richer he became the worse the problem got until he found himself at the mercy of the police… or lack thereof.

He'd never forget that day, it was easily the worst in his existence. He was casually chauffeuring his limo late at night. He was in the mood for prostitutes to maim and beat. What he came back with cemented the idea that a guardian angel was looking after him. Silky blond hair, diamond blue eyes, a generous bosom, and a body sculpted like a goddess of old. Bateman viewed women as nothing but tools objects to be used for the whims and pleasures of the upper class. In short, he viewed them as bitches, but turns out this woman really was a bitch.

Oooh really delving deep into the mind of Patrick here, and you can see his very twisted ideals come forth in full force there. Very much the opposite of what a normal person would tend to think and a very twisted place to be in, especially how its almost an addiction to need to keep doing this, to the point where its a problem that he's running out of women.

Turns out Ms. Jessica Garcia was an undercover operative of the NYPD. investigating a series of strange disappearances. Murders as she soon found out. Now Patrick was not careless( secluded area, disarm them, drug them, etc.) But Patrick was running thin on patience given his escalating issue, suffice to say caution took a backseat.

And did he pay for it up the ass. The minute she figured him out cops ransacked his place. All the evidence of his 46 murders– bodies, weapons, and all– was discovered. His status, his wealth. It didn't matter anymore because of one fucking screwup. All because of that whore, and her damn partner. Ohh of all the ironies that befell him, her partner had to be Donald Fucking Kimball.

Oooh well that looks like a successful little operation there although of course our boy here would view that as a horror show as a result of him getting a little careless and desperate there.

When he first laid eyes on him thirty years ago, it was… paradoxical. That's the only way Bateman could describe it. One second he's acting like your drunk uncle at a Thanksgiving dinner; the next like a debt collector. He barged into his office, asking about details relating to Paul Allen's murder, very suspicious about Bateman's alibi of being at the opera. In the end, however, Kimball couldn't prove anything without a warrant. Something he would need copious evidence for.

Two weeks ago he must've felt like the boy who cried wolf. He caught a killer who the world suspected to be innocent three decades ago, found enough evidence to give him the death sentence, and …

Well that's quite the case there for both of those officers although clearly something about this second one really makes Patrick hate the person even more. Definitely looks like quite an interesting moment there.

No, he would not muddy his first day on the job with such intrusions. He took a deep breath and threw a stolen prescription drug into his mouth before heading out the door.

He turned left on the alleyway near 66th Street, taking a good huff of fresh air. The sound of children playing in the park alleviated his ears, the smell of food from a Mcsatans made his mouth water and the sight of morning transit pulled him deeper into nostalgia. Nothing beats the feeling of a consumerist society, minus the sound of firearms.

Oh dear, looks like Patrick here's just off on a normal enough run for the kind of person he is and also the whole police sting operation that clearly went down. Definitely something to unpack a little bit on the slower side this one.

Patrick sighed. If there is one thing he despises it is people ruining his immersion. He turns the corner seeing the source of the ruckus. A gang war, of fucking course it was. The two sides were pointlessly killing, and fucking anything they could get their greasy claws on, as they had been for the last three weeks now. Except for the last three weeks, they had stayed in a single fucking block.

Bateman clenched his fist… He was Patrick fucking Bateman, no one–especially some goddamn hoodlums– ruined his perfect daily routine. He felt it in his pocket and smiled. He still had a kitchen knife. He would sneak up on the bastards and… no, he needed to contain it, he needed to control it, it would not dominate him. He thought of the consequences of his actions, he would stain his pristine navy-blue Armani Collezioni in blood, his raincoat was a few blocks back in his home, and-

Well looks like he's going right into what appears to be a bit of a rival crew here except he does seem to be alone in being annoyed that this crew here is messing with his hunting grounds as it were.

"Wrong place pal."

Fuck.

With a pistol to his head, he walked into a basketball court with his back pressed against the wall. Thuggish hands ransacked his pockets finding nothing.

"Turn around."

Patrick complied, getting a good look at the assailant's features; tall, broad, crocodile in nature, with hints of steroid abuse in his arms. This novice gangster was lucky, fucking with an incubus was a surefire way to put you and everyone you cared for six feet under for the rest of eternity. Fortunately, he got the jump on him. Unfortunately, the individual he chose was an experienced killer and a monster among demons.

Oh dear, well that's an interesting detail, suggesting Patrick here is already very much dead and commands the power of a demon here. Certainly not surprising in the slightest to see that its unfolded in that particular manner.

Batemans inched away, steadily reaching for the weapon in his pocket, he smiled as he felt cold aluminum. A rush of adrenaline overtook Patrick, as he spun around twisting the dagger in the air before slamming it into the gangster's kidney. An agonizing scream followed the sound of steel impacting flesh sent a strident cacophony throughthe air. His body convulsed as he began choking on his own blood. Urine pouring out from his left side. A sadistic grin covered Bateman's face, the bastard was crawling away, most likely trying to call for its comrades. The incubus stood there watching his victims puss and blood seep out all over the court until he was a few feet from the door, at that point he picked him up and started applying extensive pressure to his neck, he stood there looking at the poor sod with a cold callous gaze, not stopping until he heard the sickening snap of bone.

Well that definitely a gruesome murder by any metric you can measure from and it looks like Patrick thoroughly enjoys the feeling, the power it gives him and the satisfaction of doing it and watching the victim suffer so badly.

The gangster was dead. Blood and ichor splattered everywhere. Patrick sat down by a nearby bench, breathing heavily, staring blankly ahead, thinking about his ruined day. His suit was stained in blood and reeked with the smell of death. it wasn't likely that the interviewer would take kindly to his appearance, even Hell had standards.

But it donned on him, he was alone. In hell he hated being alone. For one reason.

Well it looks like we're definitely dealing with our boy spending his current time in a nice fresh hell made for himself, now I'm wondering if there will be some sort of catch to his actual plan here.

Then it hit him, that horrible ringing. It echoed throughout his mind like a broken record until the same piercing noise filled his ear once more as he stared at a distant street lamp. Then it hit him, the ringing in his head grew louder until it was the only thing he could hear and then suddenly stopped. His breathing became heavy again, he was sweating profusely. The man tried to stand up to calm himself down but failed. He stumbled through the streets, the metallic taste in his mouth was unbearable and the ringing wouldn't stop. The darkness surrounded him, he saw lights far behind him flickering like candles before they flickered completely out. He was so exhausted all he wanted was to sleep right now but he couldn't.

His feet seemed numb as he forced himself onward stumbling every which way he dared until finally, he collapsed in a heap of limbs next to a large building. As much as he tried to fight it, the fatigue was too powerful. And all that he could see was the visage of his coworkers.

Oooh well it looks like something's making some sort of big impact on him possibly as a result of the whole being in hell thing but that is much harder to judge here.

The cocaine addict David Van Patten, who always did drugs in the company bathroom and waved bills at the homeless.

Craig Mcdermott, a superficial, smug, repulsive banker, and exemplar bigot.

Timothy Price, a homophobic, racist idiot who ultimately failed to reject the Wall Street lifestyle.

Luis Carruther, a hated bastard and homophile that always got the worst from his colleagues.

Well that looks like quite the crew, no doubt at all about their credentials for being down here in hell but it does look like a very pointed crew to assemble to work specifically with Patrick here.

Finally, Paul Allen, a man who always had a better life than him. Better business cards, a nicer apartment, his own tanning bed, and always had a higher standing than him, despite them both having the same fucking job! It was him that took away the only thing that mattered in his sad pathetic life, it was him who ruined his dinner, his wife. He was the most idiotic, exasperating son of a bitch he ever had the misfortune of working with.

Pathetic.Pathetic.Pathetic.Pathetic.Pathetic.Pathetic.Pathetic.Pathetic.Pathetic.Pathetic.Pathetic.Pathetic.Pathetic.Pathetic.Pathetic.Pathetic.Pathetic.Pathetic.Pathetic.Pathetic.Pathetic.Pathetic.Pathetic.Pathetic.Pathetic.Pathetic.Pathetic.Pathetic.Pathetic.Pathetic.Pathetic.Pathetic.Pathetic.Pathetic.Pathetic.Pathetic.Pathetic.Pathetic.Pathetic.

Well you can see how much Patrick things of all of this colleagues as it were and especially of this one person who was in fact one of the bigger victims of his from the look of it.

This is what he was destined to be, a sad pathetic loser who was never meant to survive.

A hand placed itself on his shoulder. "Hey, hey, buddy, I know this can be hard but we need you to pull yourself together!" said Allen.

It happened, the tears, they came faster, his vision blurred, unable to hold in the pain, the anger, the betrayal, he screamed and screamed and screamed.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry.”

Well looks like its really hitting him hard here with some really powerful feelings there. Patrick is really being practically incapicitated there from the looks of things here.

Then something burned inside of him, some voice, some feeling that his life was worth living. That he needed to fight it. Fight the darkness. Fight the light. He could feel a flame burning in him, something beyond bloodlust, beyond consumerism or meaningless wealth.

Something bigger than money. Something strong beyond physical strength. He didn't know what that something was, where it came from, how he knew it, or what it meant, but he knew that it would lead him to victory. Victory over whatever it was that kept tearing him apart.

Well this makes for quite an interesting study here, going from the calm and composed cold blooder killer to a vulnerable person falling apart trying to pull himself together for a moment here.

In a moment it seemed the as if entire world fell apart, the ground cracked open and the sky itself was set on fire, his colleagues slowly faded out of view one by one, their faces fading and their bodies going soft and waxy, until there was only a black mass in front of him, a black void that stretched towards the heavens. A revelation dawned on Patrick. He was feeling love. Not some sexual arousal when hiring a slut, or the short burst of pleasure when you get a new trinket. No, he was feeling true love. It was stronger, deeper, profound and more powerful than any he had ever felt in his miserable life. There were no words, only emotions. Emotions that filled his soul, made him whole, he cried, he was doing what he loved. And thats what freed him from this godforsaken experience. He did not know why but he was back in hell, but it had something to do with what he felt.

Oooh well that's interesting. Never thought this would be the direction to go in a fanfic of this nature, but it appears that we are in fact having Patrick here experience a couple of strange emotions that he's not used to all here coming in and causing a bit of havoc.

He looked down at his claws for a moment, love, how would he do what he loved in hell? he loved letting loose his bloodlust, but not just arbitrarily. it was directed at a select minority, Pompous rich magnates. He wanted to kill those bastards that made society like shit every day. Those fucking bankers that allowed people like him to get off Scott-free. Venal parasites who sucked the poor dry and flaunt it in their faces. They reeked of shit.

There was no answer, none at all, but he knew that he would have to figure it out somehow, someway. So he continued walking through hell, looking for answers, searching for some sign, some gesture of fate that this is what he was destined would do. Then it came to him in the form of a rustic jingle from a storefront window.

Well looks like Patrick here is going through quite the interesting character arc here and being struck with quite some specific urges as a result of it. This will prove quite intriguing I'm sure.

"Hi, there I'm Blitzo! The o is silent and I'm the founder of I.M.P! Tell me are you a murderous psychopath whose insatiable lust for blood isn't needed at your shit nine-to-five grind. Well come on down to our headquarters, tryouts are tonight."

When you want somebody gone and you don't wanna wait too long, call the Immediate! Murder! Professionals!

A grenade or cyanide!

We'll make it look like suicide!

Well that looks like quite the little organization. I already love the little rhyme there just two lines in. It really reads like quite the fun little jingle already, very suitable for hell too.

The Immediate! Murder! Professionals!

We do our job so well!

Because we come straight up from Hell!

We'll kill your husband or your wife!

We'll even let you keep the knife!

We're the immediateeee! Murdeeeer! Professionalssss!

Well that was definitely an advertisement and a half there. Looking forward to seeing where exactly we're going to go with this one here. It seems well set to cause some big changes.

Moxxie had just about enough of his bosses apathetic attitude toward using company funds. This is the second time they've used a commercial on a channel that nobody watches. The employees of I.M.P were currently in a company meeting. Well more like Blitzo announcing something causes an hour-long quarrel with the gun-toting imp.

"Sir, have you learned nothing over the past year and a half? Have all the stupid pyramid schemes, lost horseraces, and associated close encounters with death, meant jack fucking all?"

"Oh shove a dick in it, I'm surprised you didn't come up with this plan your name is written in piss all over it." Bitzo said as he walked around the table.

Well that looks like a bit of a heated business meeting there. Very curious as to what that's truly about. It looks like they're really in quite the pickle there as a company if things are this bad.

"Perhaps it's due to the reason I'm smart with the companies fucking money!" Moxxie shouted.

"Oh, big dog with a small dick thinks he knows better." Blitzo sat down and grinned, proud of his insult."

"Gladly!" The freckled imp stated marching over to the whiteboard, the marker in his hand soon becoming a blur. The black in dashed form left to right, side to side, as Moxxie murmurs curses and insults. After a good thirty seconds, the whiteboard was covered in ably drawn figures"

Well looks like they're quite fond of tossing insults back and forth there, although it looks like they know each other well and this is all mostly out of love than genuinely wanting to hurt each other.

"Every time you have gullibly put faith in someone, they either attempt to murder us, throw us in the basement, or try to indoctrinate us into a fucking cult!" Moxxie exclaimed, raising a finger for each of the named figures." Your trust has gotten this team, our family, nearly killed on multiple occasions."

"So?" Blitzo remarked with folded arms" they worked, didn't they, and I didn't hear any complaints when those cannibals were fried alive in their own home, Or when we got our parking space back from that uptight whore."

" A venture where I was nearly eaten alive."

Well looks like as horrifying as the situations they find themselves in are, they both are remembering them with just a little bit of fondness in their minds there just from the way its all set up.

"Shut up Moxx it's not all about you." The founder of imp mused, bopping his employee on the nose.

" I suppose it never is, yet I'm always the one who gets fucked in the ass. Every single mission, I'm either the fodder or the fucktoy and I always come back bloodied, beaten, and covered in piss. I'm always the ass monkey, the bumbling fool, the moron. Not once, do I ever get a fucking break.

"Which is exactly the point isn't it?"

Moxxie blinked "Explain."

Oooh that makes for an interesting little reveal. And also a bit more understanding for all the saltiness and arguing. It does look like this person is quite literally being put through all of that to ensure they can hit their targets here.

" Guys, this past year has given me a lot to think about, Loonie's first outing into the depraved world of man, the moon festival, and the D.H.O.R.K.S all taught me an important lesson." He paused dramatically as his eyes darkened, before turning around with a smirk plastered on his face." We are understaffed.``

"That… actually makes sense." Moxxie stated, bewildered by his bosses unusual competence.

"Now everyone has gone above and beyond their part–even Moxxie– so I made an executive decision of sorts and funded another commercial."

Ooh well looks like that little conclusion has managed to unite the discussion there just a little bit and this time they seem to be able to actually come to a personable conclusion here.

"Same channel?" The white-haired imp asked sarcastically, taking a chug of water

Blitzo scoffed." No Moxxie. What do you take me for an idiot? I funded it on channel 666."

Moxxie " You what!?"

"I know, pretty rad right?"

"If your goal was to humiliate us, yes."

Moxxie thrashed his head against the table. They were going to be the laughingstock of Hell. That jingle was going to be heard by everyone.

Well it looks like this plan despite sounding wonderful at the very start isn't exactly what was wanted either. Although maybe that opinion is now about to change in a little bit, we'll see.

The denizens, his parents, Millie's family, even the damn fallens would get a laugh out of this. How could he possibly explain himself after such a blunder? His career would be ruined, he'd lose everything he held dear, maybe the secret of how they entered the realm of the living would get out, in which case, they'd be brutally tortured. All because of one dumbass idea.

The room went silent, a knock sounded at the door of the I.M.P lounge. Everyone turned to see Blitzo standing outside waiting patiently for whoever it was to leave. it was probably someone Blitzo pissed off, they would yell some profanities, threaten them, then be on their merry fucking way. except they knocked again.

Well it looks like that advertisement has in fact worked in that moment there, and it will be very interesting to see how they're going to respond to it and especially how Patrick here is going to actually perform with this.

“Unm guys, you're gonna wanna see this" Loona said with a slight hint of worry. She stood in front of the large window of the office, behind it was a tall incubus, he was tall with well-groomed black hair. His suit, a navy blue wool option from Armani Collezioni, was foreign to blemish, clearly buttoned and pressed by a cautious hand, he waved with a smile and said.

"I'm Patrick Bateman, I've come here due to your advertisement."

Well this is going to be quite the little moment here. We'll see if this will be the start of a wonderful partnership or if this is all going to go quite horribly wrong here.

Shocked, that was the only way Moxxie felt at what was standing just a few meters outside. Was he infertile, Idiotic, or maybe he was looking for Verosikas building? Moxxie mulled through the options. It just wasn't possible someone would want a job in I.M.P. Sure they had been on successful hit after successful hit, but Blitzos arrogant demeanor had done more enough to refute it, combine that with the murmuring and gossip of other demons, it was a surprise they were still in business.

So why the fuck was an incubus, something at the top of hell's food chain, here? Surely he wouldn't waste his precious time trying to apply for a job in the most backwater, inept, and lazy organization in the underworld. Unless...

Well it looks like this lot can tell how big of a move this is for Patrick and where exactly his life appears to be headed there. It definitely makes for a pretty big move as a result.

Unless he really did need help. He must be desperate if he came here in hopes of being hired.

But why? What did he want with the Immediate Murder Professionals?

And why was he dressed like that?

It couldn't be a coincidence. This was fate. Satan, God, or whoever it was finally gave Imp another pair of hands But could this be it, their first iota of good luck they had gotten in years? the last time an event like this occurred, one of Hell's royalty almost bit the dust, and he and Millie were trapped in a basement. Moxxie was cynical, to say the least.

Well it looks like this is going to be one of those rather large events here involving just a little bit of fate too on top of it all. Let's see where exactly this shall get both parties.

The freckled Imp dashed toward his boss, twisting his lips and biting his tongue he said."Sir, should we really let this guy in here? He could be an assassin for all we know, and after what happened last time we tried hiring somebody, are we really going to take another chance like this?"

Blitzo groaned, turning to meet his employee and narrowing his eyes "Moxxie, get your shit together, we can't turn away what's possibly our only fucking Hiree. Besides he's an Incubus. meaning I can shove him right up Verosika’s cocksucking ass next time she tries to pull any bullshit."

Well this is going to prove an interesting hire here. It would seem that Patrick is going to get a job after all, and they already have plans on how to be able to use him.

"Fine, fine!" Moxxie replied gritting his teeth, stomping back over to the window and opening the glass. Patrick smiled and stepped inside, closing the door behind him. Moxxie glanced back at Blitzo and nodded. Blitzo sighed and crossed his arms, glaring at the newcomer.

"What's with the suit?" Blitzo questioned.

Patrick looked down at himself, noticing the fabric. He gulped at the realization, he had overdressed. "This is my work attire. My employer doesn't believe in casual Fridays, I have to wear formal clothes every day." He lied.

Well looks like there's going to be just a tiny bit of a dress code change in this one, that'll make for quite the moment for someone like Patrick who really cares a lot about that site.

"Ok rule one of hiring you, don't dress like an entitled asshole, really puts the vibe off."

"Vibe?" Moxxie raised a bemused brow.

Blitzo sighed"For fucks sake, Hell to Moxxie, is your small dick brain getting this?Our synergy, this team has a particular flavor, to it. Your wife is the unhinged hillbilly, I'm the confident, heroic, executive and Loona is the perfect in-distress princess."

Well that makes for quite the team there that's for sure. Certainly looks to be a good team there as far as carrying out these little murder missions are concerned at any rate.

"Whatever." Loona murmured, her eyes not moving from her phone.

"Sir, is this the impression you want to leave on your employee?" Moxxie stated, pointing to Patrick.

"Oh Moxxie, why the sudden interest?aren't you the one who said having a new employee was a bad idea? Aww is Moxxie admitting he's gay?” Blitzo said in a jeering tone.

Moxxie gritted his teeth before letting out an exasperated sigh his fist clenched."No sir."

Well this is taking some interesting little steps here in the hiring process. Looks like this crew really is quite the little gang here and are always bickering about something or the other from the look of it.

He looked toward the freckled imp, with a slightly worried expression."My apologies Mr. Blitzo. I hope I haven't offended anyone. I am quite used to working in a corporate environment, and I understand the importance of maintaining appearances. Please forgive me."

Blitzo shrugged and chuckled. "No worries, mi amigo, besides its nice to have someone who respects authority around here. " He remarked glaring toward the White-haired-imp.But why here, no offense but you're an incubus, and they usually don't work with those they view, how should I put this, as shit on their heel. Did some pink-skinned slut send you here to make my life hell?" Blitzo inquired, his face contorted into a rageful smile.

Oooh this looks like we're having a tiny vetting processing based on their earlier concerns about someone sending some sort of assassin. Definitely a smart thing to go through in a line of work like this.

"Who?" Patrick blinked.

"Verosika mayday, rich bitch, big horns, thinks she's queen of all Hell, and is overall a piece of shit."

"Oh I assure you, she did not send me, besides, her music is a little new wave for my taste."

Blitzo grinned "Keep making comments like that, and you're gonna take Millie's spot for employee of the month."

Oooh well looks like we have a rare little mutual hatred bringing people together moment. It seems like this lot will get along fairly well with Patrick here, definitely they have a few similarities here.

"Hey!” Millie exclaimed before she sat down and pouted.

"Sorry Mills, but you know how much I loathe her." Blitzo said, giving a middle finger to a bystander in the next-door office." Yeah you know what you did jackass!"

"Fuck you."

"Anyway Bates, is it okay if I call you that? I'll need you to answer one more question before we settle this."

"Ask away." Patrick stated

Well look like this little interview has mostly gone well although this final question here looks like its going to be a fairly loaded one here that definitely needs to be rather carefully addressed.

Blitzo paced around the lounge, stopping randomly to look at its decor."As you know we are in the business of killing, murder, shanking." Blitzo explained simulating an ice pick" What experience do you have in this area?"

Patrick said nothing, only smiling, his eyes lifeless and cold. The entire room became ice cold. Moxxie stopped feeling his spine shiver as he looked over to Millie and stared with disbelief. She was a seasoned sadist, and remorseless killer, the best close-quarters fighter he knew, and for the first time he saw fear on her face. Who the fuck was this guy?

Well it definitely looks like Patrick here has a terrifying aura being the kind of seasoned killer that he is. Definitely enough to make you take a few steps back and realize quite how powerful he must be as a demon.

"Mr. Blitz, for too long I felt a lust that could never be satisfied. A greed that could never be quenched, and sadism that couldn't be tamed. I hated my wealth with all my passion, I enjoyed killing those with the same wealth. they were bigots, stains on society that needed to be removed. you ask me what experience I have. once I killed a man, by hitting his head with a fucking hatchet until it split open. All while listening to Hewey Lewis and the news. Then I stabbed a hobo to death on the street before I stomped on his skull. Then I committed my opus magnum, I went on a rampage on Wall Street, and killed a dozen cops, and twenty-four pedestrians and what did it mean? Nothing, it meant jack fucking all! The company my parents owned covered it all up I wanted to be noticed doing what I love, but the confession meant nothing. I never felt lower than I did that day. Then, few hours ago I came to a realization, wealth, and consumerism,it means nothing without realization. To those like you you're nothing but a broken needle in the world's most depressing haystack. I'm here to make something of myself, Mr. Blitz, if you would let me i'd be happy to work at this fine establishment."

Blitzo remained silent, looking at the hiree with a neutral expression “Bateman, you should know one thing about me. It's that I love a good fucking speech. Holyshit, did you rehearse that? You know what, it doesn’t matter. Everyone meet the newest intern of I.M.P."

Oooh well its quite the interesting place to end off there. Patrick will be Patrick but maybe no he's on some sort of path to using that madness in some sort of twisted way at least to go against other evil people.

Aaand that's it for this oneee!!!

Overall

Overall I think this was quite an interesting exploration of the character of Patrick and the way he must feel about the crimes that he committed. I think it lends itself to a very intriguing little premise that I did enjoy.

As always remember to: Take what you think was helpful and forget the rest!

Stay Safe and Have a Nice Day!
Kate

Hello fellow writer! Ley here to write a tortoise-y review on this amazing work you've published! This is a new review style that I'm using only for the month of June, in spirit of the Great Tortoise Race! Let's get started, 'shell' we? xD

Shell Start: I usually don't review fan-fiction, but with mention of Patrick Bateman, I had to. I absolutely love the movie 'American Psycho.' Lets get right into the good stuff!

Favorite Leaf: Let's start with what I love! I loved the characterization of Patrick here: a man struggling with his violent impulses, guilt, and a desire for something more meaningful. His interactions and internal monologue reveal that he's tormented by his past and his nature. I loved how you embraced Patrick's recollection of his murders and his confrontation with a gangster as well as his reliance on violence to assert power and control. My favorite thing is that you actually gave him the chance to acquire redemption, as he seemed to be searching for meaning beyond the life he lived.

Shell Fractures:
There are a few recommendations I have for this piece:

This story jumps between past events and present actions. Adding clearer transitions or time markers can help the reader follow the timeline more easily. While the detailed descriptions are engaging, don't get me wrong, some sections can be more concise to maintain pacing. Focus on the most impactful details to keep the reader's attention. I got a little confused a couple times, but nothing that can't be fixed with a few edits!

Tortoise Wisdom:
Here are some of my favorite quotes/sentences from this story:

There is an idea of a Patrick Bateman, some kind of abstraction. But there is no real him, only an entity, something illusory...

This, to me, was very important to the overall theme of perseverance and redemption you gave us. It supports the idea that Bateman is more of a hollow shell than a real person-- and I'm guessing that's exactly what you were trying to achieve here! Awesome job!

A hand placed itself on his shoulder. "Hey, hey, buddy, I know this can be hard but we need you to pull yourself together!" said Allen.

This was the best way to describe Patrick's relationship with Allen (a person he'd previously killed). It suggests that despite his attempts to move forward, he is constantly reminded of his violent deeds and their repercussions. Amazing reference here!

Overall: Overall, I really did enjoy this fan-fiction. It was a different take on what would happen to Patrick once he dies and must deal with what he's done in the past. Thanks for sharing!

Thank you for taking the time to read this review! I hope to see you join the race, and keep being awesome! Happy Writing~