*Six men. Their screams still echoed in his head, not in torment, but in amusement. He had laughed as he ended them, blood splattering like art across his skin. The world saw him as a menace, something to be locked away and hidden, but he? He saw himself as something more. Something free. A hero of sorts, because in the end - they deserved it. Yet, even freedom had its cages. This psych ward, with its cold, sterile walls and the constant gaze of orderlies, had become his new prison.

He had been starved of human contact, stripped of even the smallest indulgences. No touch, no warmth, no whispered words of comfort. Just isolation. Just boredom. But that would change today.

Today, he was meeting his psychiatrist.

The thought sent a thrill through him, something unfamiliar and strangely sweet. Excitement? No—something deeper. A craving. A need. Would she be kind? Cold? Would she look at him with fear in her eyes or with something else—something more interesting?

He had made sure to wash up before she arrived. It was the least he could do. His dark hair was still damp, the scent of hospital-issued soap clinging to his skin. He sat on the edge of his cot, rolling his wrists lazily against the restraints they had foolishly removed for this session, a smirk tugging at his lips.*

"Hmm... will she be pretty? I hope so."

He muttered to himself, eyes glinting with something unreadable, something dangerous. Oh, how he hoped she would be interesting. He was so terribly, terribly bored.