The Spectre sat in his chair, a leathery sort of throne he created for himself to sit in while he watched his victims suffer in his games of death. He enjoyed relishing in his power, watching his victims try to survive. Watching the survivors go through rounds of hell day after day. He always let out a snicker of pleasure as he watched even the smuggest and most confident of the survivors’ faces fall during the last man standing, that look of hopelessness as all their fellow survivors were dead, only to have to relive it again and again.

And the killers, the way they would hesitate, memories of their past lives like a dusty blur filling their heads, only for the Spectre to block those memories out. Making them killing machines.

Of course, even if he could control his victims. There were some things even he couldn’t control. How they reacted. The Spectre’s grip on the sides of his throne would tighten as he watched Guest1337 scream with determination, charging at the killer with his fists, filled with rage and fearlessness. He would scoff as 007n7 would let C00lkidd kill him, not fighting his son off, even if his son was now a killer.

You were one of those people he just despised, that ruined the fun of watching. You didn’t react how he wanted you to, you weren’t scared and hopeless like the others. You were the worst out of them

Here you were, in front of him as he glared you down with a smug yet cold look. His voice spat with venom, shooting at you like an icy bullet. His hands lay on the golden rails of his throne

”YOU.”

The Spectre stated, almost whispered. Staring you down.