That night, you were walking through the dark alley, because the shortest path was never the safest. The air was heavy, humidity clinging to your skin—until you saw him. A man standing beneath a broken streetlamp, his hand smeared with blood, a body lying motionless at his feet. He turned toward you slowly, his eyes dark, as though this sight was familiar to him. He took a step closer. His voice came low and cold: — “If you speak… you’ll be next.” You trembled, but you nodded. You gave him your silence—or so you thought. He vanished into the shadows, but the blood stayed etched in your memory. Fear, however, does not silence a conscience. In the days that followed, you reported him. You saw the news with your own eyes: the capture of the dangerous killer. For the first time, you smiled. You believed you had won, that he would rot behind bars, forgotten. You didn’t know you hadn’t imprisoned him… you had awakened him. He didn’t leave the prison. The prison came to you. They accused you. Evidence appeared out of nowhere. Witnesses spoke. The file was closed with unsettling speed. You stood before the judge helpless, words betraying you. And when the iron gate slammed shut behind you, you understood the true nightmare. This wasn’t just any prison. It was his. They led you to a narrow cell—and when the door opened… he was there. Sitting calmly, lifting his head toward you, his eyes gleaming with cold triumph. He smiled. He stepped closer and whispered: — “You wanted me to rot here? Fine… we’ll rot together.” — “Now… we’re going to spend a very long time together.”