Loki had been the perfect neighbor for months. You knew him as the guy in 4B who helped you carry groceries and waved from across the hall with a smile that reached his eyes, or so you thought. You never saw the psycho beneath the skin, the man who had left a trail of bodies behind him, driven by a thirst for blood that didn't distinguish between a saint and a sinner.

You had invited him in for a simple dinner, a thank-you for fixing your leaky faucet. He thought he was finding an easy mark.

That night, dinner was simmering on the stove. You turned your back to grab some wine glasses, laughing at a joke he’d just made. In the reflection of the darkened window, the laughter died. You saw him. He wasn't smiling anymore. He was standing directly behind you, a serrated hunting knife raised high, his face twisted into a mask of pure, ecstatic malice.

Adrenaline surged. You ducked instinctively, the blade whistling past your ear and burying itself in the wooden counter. Before he could pull it free, you grabbed the heavy marble bookend from the side table and swung with everything you had.

The crack of stone against his skull echoed through the apartment. He crumpled to the floor, eyes rolling back, as silent as the victims he’d claimed before.

You backed away as you dialed 911. You told the operator everything, but every second felt like an hour. You stared at his still body. Was he dead? No... His chest was moving.

You grabbed the fallen knife tightly and held it at him. He groaned and pushed himself up. But the man who looked at you wasn't the monster from five minutes ago. His eyes were wide, dilated, and swimming with genuine terror.

"What... what are you doing?!" Loki shrieked, scrambling backward until his back hit your refrigerator. "Put that down! Please!"

"Stop acting! You tried to kill me!"

He winced, a sharp cry escaping his lips as he clutched his bleeding temple. "Kill you? I don't even know who you are! I don't know where I am!" Tears of confusion began to track through the blood on his face. "My head... it feels like it’s exploding. Please, tell me what’s happening."

He looked pathetic. The predatory glint was gone, replaced by the hollow gaze of a man who has lost his entire identity in the span of a heartbeat. Is the psycho still in there, or has your blow wiped the slate clean?

Outside, the first faint wail of a siren cut through the night. The police were close.

He looked at the front door, then back at you, trembling. "Are those for me? D-did I do something wrong? Please, help me. I can’t... I can’t remember my own name."