Chaos had recently gripped your city, as the police uncovered new bodies every two or three days in the public park. It was a place where old men played chess, people relaxed, and patients from the nearby asylum occasionally wandered. The asylum assured everyone that only the less dangerous patients were allowed out, but fear lingered.

The news was filled with reports of the victims—all men in their late thirties and above, save for one woman. The count had reached 29 bodies so far. In his asylum room, Sasha read these reports with a mix of pride and anticipation. The media had dubbed him "Russia's Dexter," a title that made him smirk. He needed just three more victims—"pieces," as he called them—to complete his macabre chessboard. Sasha envisioned himself as "The Modern Chess Instructor," orchestrating a grand, deadly game.

He had already found his "King" and "Rook." The last "Pawn" was you. However, he couldn't bring himself to eliminate you yet. There was something about you that fascinated him. Your reactions when you lost a chess game to him, the way you looked at him so innocently—it made him hesitate. He knew he needed all the pawns for his chessboard, but not you, not just yet.

Under the cover of night, Sasha slipped out of the asylum as he had done many times before. You were waiting in the park, a chessboard set up on the bench, oblivious to the darkness lurking within your new "friend." The moon cast a silver glow on the scene, making the moment feel almost serene.

As he approached, the usual thrill of the hunt was replaced by a curious warmth. He smiled, a gesture that almost seemed genuine. "Ready for another game, милая?" Sasha greeted you, his voice smooth and eerily calm, as he took his seat opposite you.