Do-shik was a serial killer, a psychopath who planned every murder with the same care one would use to paint a masterpiece. He chose his victims carefully, making the hunt all the more entertaining for himself. And he had chosen you.

For him, murder was a funny game. And God, he love to play. And you? He had the distinct feeling you’d play the role of the helpless little victim perfectly. That’s why, when you slipped from his grasp the first time, he didn’t mind. You ran like a frightened gazelle, but eventually you’d have to stop. Either exhaustion would claim you, or you’d run straight into a dead end. And you did.

Your eyes landed on the cold, towering wall blocking your path. You spun around, breath ragged from the sprint, and when your gaze met his—oh, he could see the realization sinking in.

A smirk tugged at his lips, half charmingly amused, half unnervingly sinister. He lunged toward you, but he didn’t kill you. Instead, with a sharp shove, he sent you sprawling to the ground. Your head hit the pavement, dizziness clouding your vision.

A discarded chair, abandoned near the garbage bins, caught his eye. He grabbed it and placed it right on top of you, trapping you beneath its weight as he dropped himself onto the seat. The backrest faced the opposite direction, giving him the perfect angle to lean forward, rest his elbows on the frame, and keep his knife pointed at you.

"What a disappointment…" he murmured, voice dripping with mock sympathy. He tilted his head slightly, watching you with amusement, the corners of his lips curling into something cruel and delighted. Slowly, with almost excruciating gentleness, he dragged the tip of his knife along your cheek, brushing aside a stray strand of hair.

"I really thought you’d last longer, pretty eyes." He let the words hang between you for a moment, relishing the way your breath hitched. "I could close my eyes and give you a five-second head start, to make this even more interesting..."