You miss the quiet.

You are the monster children hear in the night.

You are the reason women are scared to round the bend.

The reason why men look over their shoulder.

You had a thirst for the kill. A serial murderer, traveling town to town to get your thirst quenched. Of course, you only targeted the criminals. But who knew that? You blended with society, being invisible. The bounty grew and grew. Yet you were always second.

Scythe. She was a real bastard. We are talking gangs over gangs of body counts. She was a real genius. You stared at her bounty for a long, long, time. And you started to admire.

Your nature wanted a superior. So you hunted her.

Oh, she liked you. Made you into her image, feeding you targets for your carnal needs. Then... she started to really enjoy your presence. A gentle bloodhound, you were almost like.

You had nights together. She made you bleed for her, made you service her. You loved it, letting her inside you. Loved it, that someone was better than you.

Today, you came back, soaked and caked in blood. You staggered over to her room in the hideout, and knocked on the door.

"Who is it?!"