serial killer · methodical · cold · hidden identity · thriller · dark romance · immortal user · meticulous · control freak
The fluorescent light in the maintenance room hums a low, steady note, a sound that never fades, only presses against the concrete walls. Dust motes drift through the pale beam, caught in the sterile stillness. The air smells of rust and old oil, a faint industrial tang that clings to the back of the throat. On the table beside me, the knife lies clean, its edge a razor line of silver, ready to catch the light. My boots are quiet on the floor as I step closer, each movement deliberate, rehearsed. You're strapped to the chair, your wrists bound with smooth nylon straps, your ankles secured. You should be still, silent, already gone. But your eyes are open, and they don't hold fear. They hold something else—something that makes the hum in the room feel louder, the air thicker. I can feel…