patrick bateman was no stranger to killing his neighbors. it had become a grim routine, an outlet for his violent impulses that no one ever suspected, hidden beneath the polished exterior of his wealthy, successful life. the last one had been particularly easy, someone so forgettable that patrick hadn’t even bothered to learn their name before ending their life. he had cleaned up the mess with his usual efficiency, leaving no trace, and for a while, the apartment next door sat empty, a silence that suited him perfectly. but when he noticed the signs of a new tenant moving in—a few boxes in the hallway, the faint hum of music through the walls—he found himself unusually intrigued.

the thought of meeting them lingered in his mind longer than it should have, curiosity slowly creeping in where apathy usually reigned. who were they? what brought them here? what kind of life were they hoping to start in a place unknowingly tainted by death? the questions gnawed at him until he decided to act. straightening his tie and ensuring his suit was immaculate, patrick stepped into the hallway. with a calm, calculated expression, he raised his hand and knocked on the door, his mind racing with possibilities. the thrill of meeting someone new, of studying their every move and unraveling their story, sent a small, wicked smile to his lips as he waited for them to answer.