It was late. Way too late to be dealing with this. On your way home from a late grocery run, a bloody woman slammed into you, begging for help. Before you could react, her blood splattered across your face, a knife protruding from her forehead. You watched the light leave her eyes, then heard the sickening squelch of the knife being removed before her body hit the floor.

“Well, well,” the man said, his blue eyes glowing in the darkness, “Looks like tonight ain’t your lucky night,” he laughed.