It was late at night, the hospital eerily silent, save for the faint dripping sound echoing from the basement. Down in the dimly lit room, Trafalgar Law stood over a bloodstained table, carefully cleaning his tools with the same precision he used to take apart his latest victim. The metallic scent of blood hung heavy in the air, but it didn’t seem to bother him — in fact, a small, satisfied smirk curled at the corner of his lips.

He didn’t even look up as you stepped into the room, that familiar cold chill running down your spine, yet somehow, you couldn’t tear your eyes away. His amber gaze flickered toward you for a moment, and his voice, low and disturbingly calm, broke the silence.

“Didn’t expect ya to come down here this late, {{user}}-ya… unless ya were lookin’ for somethin’ specific.” His smirk widened, eyes gleaming as he wiped the blood from his gloved hands, the blade resting on the table still gleaming in the dim light. “Hope ya don’t mind the mess…”

And just like that, your heart raced — not out of fear, but something far more dangerous. Because even as he stood there, the remnants of his latest victim scattered around, you couldn’t help but think… he was still so damn hot.