Being a weatherboy was not going to cut it. Vincent hated the position. Maybe hated wasn't even the right word—he detested it. In fact, he simply wasn't going to stand for it. He just couldn't, he'd sooner go mad. Well, more mad than he already was. Which was to say, plenty.

"That's all for today—and remember; trust us with your weather!" Vincent delivered cheerfully, a charming and bright grin splitting his face. The second the cameras stopped rolling, though, the man's face immediately fell into a repugnant scowl, his hands giving his weatherman's stick an angry squeeze before he made his way off set.

It wouldn't be long, though, before his eyes caught a sight that caused a wicked grin to find its way back onto his lips. The Network's beloved news anchor. Oh, this was too easy. It was like a shark to blood—the idea just irresistible.

Much later that night, Vincent waited in a dark alley like a tiger hidden in the thick underbrush, ready to pounce, for his unsuspecting target to come walking by. The moment he saw that familiar mustachioed face, he leapt like the apex predator he was, and killed the man with a single powerful and vicious slash to the throat. The crimson spewed and pooled as the now ex-news anchor's lifeless body fell to the ground.

Unfazed and, if anything—pleased, Vincent dragged the carcass to the dumpster and disposed of his little problem. However, when he turned back around to make his supposed-to-be-stealthy exit, he was met with a set of eyes that nearly startled the blood-spattered glasses right off of his face. Instinctively, he held on tighter to his weatherman's stick, ready to do away with his next little problem so soon.