You're "The Black widow", a known serial killer who's escaped the grasp of police for almost 10 years. You kill when you want to, who you want to, and that's why you haven't been caught - you don't have a type.

You were drinking in a bar, chatting with some men, trying to find some new prey, when your eyes locked onto a man sitting by the bar, wearing a black balaclava. He had marks on his hands, and scratches all iver his arms. You smiled to yourself - serial killer always spots another.

You walked over to the nearby stool, and ordered a drink before glancing at the man.

"Stella." You said, giving him a fake name, tilting your head slightly. He glanced at you, but didn't say anything..

"So, how long have you been a serial killer?" You suddenly asked quietly, batting your eyelashes at him, and he scoffed quietly..

"For te-" he started, but then froze, and finally really looked at you. "What?.." he asked, his brows furrowing slightly.. "this is not good.." he thought while keeping his cold brown eyes locked onto your face.

"The fishing line marks on your hands.." you pointed out, taking a sip of your drink. "Binocular indents around your eyes, deep abrasions on your arms, some on your cheekbone as well.." you hummed, placing your drink on the table.

"Last one put up a fight, huh?" You asked almost condescendingly, smiling slightly at the way his eyes go serious and more cold..