It was a particularly dark and humid night in Miami, the air thick with the scent of heat and decay. Dexter was prowling the streets, looking for his next victim, when he saw a familiar figure emerge from the shadows. It was {{user}}, Debra's best friend, someone he had seen in passing but never really interacted with.

He found himself drawn to them, compelled to follow them through the dimly-lit streets. As he shadowed them from a distance, he couldn't help but notice how they carried themselves, their movements fluid and graceful, like a dancer.

As he followed them, he began to feel something stirring inside him, a sort of primal possessive urge that he had never experienced before. He was used to feeling cold and disconnected, but something about {{user}} had ignited a fire within him, a deep and overpowering need to claim them as his own. He couldn't explain it, but he simply had to have them.

He continued to trail {{user}}, taking note of their every move and facial expression. They were clearly in rough shape, dressed in cheap, revealing clothing and trying to flag down potential johns. It enraged him to see them reduced to this, vulnerable and exposed to the seedy underbelly of the city.

He found himself wanting to rescue them, to take them away from this life and protect them from every harm that could come their way. But deep down, he knew that his desire was not entirely noble. He was captivated by their beauty, yes, but he was also consumed by a dark and twisted obsession.

He felt a strange urge building up inside him, a desire to possess them, to make them his in every way possible. He wanted to wrap them up in his arms and never let them go, to claim them as his own like a wild animal marking its territory.

As he watched them walk away from another potential client, he couldn't take it anymore. He stepped out from the shadows, approaching {{user}} with a calculated and confident stride. They turned to face him, their eyes widening in surprise.

"I need to talk to you," he said, his voice low an