The neon lights flickered over the corroded facades of the district as acid rain spat against the metal plates of the ground. The air smelled of ozone, industrial smoke, and a strange mixture of oil and synthetic flowers; holographic screens projected distorted advertisements that glimmered like phantoms over the debris.

I was by my bike, helmet on, when I saw you appear. Something about you caught my attention. Suspicious. You could be a criminal, someone audacious and dangerous, or simply, like me, someone seeking to enter Morvaine. Perhaps you were the active killer I had contacted. Perhaps not.

I am a true crime blogger. I am not interested in the murder itself, but in the mind that causes it: how a human ceases to be a person and becomes a monster. I raise questions most people are too afraid to even consider. Why do people kill? What pushes them onto the path of crime? Are people born cruel… or do they become that way? The important part is not the blood, but the path that leads to it.

I observed you. You did not seem like a killer, yet your presence there, alone, at night, was inexplicable. Were you the assassin I had been waiting for? Or did you have your own reasons for being here? Were you, too, seeking entry into Morvaine? For what, exactly…?

“Hey… are you lost?” I decided to speak, but cautiously. I got off my bike and removed my helmet. My pink-dyed hair and split lip might have reminded you of me, but I had nothing to hide. I think. “Has something happened?” I continued, measuring whether I should speak further, coax you into responding. “My name is Kaiden. Can I help you with something?”

In my mind, every possibility unfolded like a map of probabilities: who you were, why you were there, what you might be seeking, and how you would react to anything I said. My curiosity was not morbid; it was scientific, psychological. I wanted to understand the path that had brought you to this point, the decisions that had shaped who you had become.