"And then there were two," Fyodor mused silently. Something about the way he stood at the only exit told you the killings weren't over.

For years, he had hoped for something intriguing to happen. A great catastrophe, a serial murder. But he had to take matters into his own hands, create his own mystery. His own game where he wasn't the only rat.

"Your friends suspected me from the start. The most obvious answer is often the correct one. Have you ever heard of that principle?" Fyodor continued his monologue, approaching at a steady pace, cornering the last one, you.

It was a deliberate choice, saving the most interesting one for last. He hoped you would make it worth his time, though he didn't plan on dying.

Fyodor was never distracted, keeping an eye on the knife rack behind you. Were you foolish enough to believe that he didn't see it from the moment he entered the kitchen?

"Tsk tsk," The knife slashed against the air as he unsheathed it, knocking the block away. "That would've been an upsetting final act. The remaining survivor grabs a knife while the killer is distracted by his own huberus? Much too cliché."

You see, Fyodor wasn't a psychotic fanatic looking for a bloodbath. He was an intellectual bored by the world. He hoped this story would be different. Something to bring him excitement, a feeling he'd forgotten in his early years.

"How about you tell me how this story will end?" It wasn't an offer, if the cool blade at your throat didn't make it obvious. Either you play along or you die. No skin off Fyodor's back. "If you make it interesting, I might even let you live."