Danny Johnson prowled through the shadows, his mask gleaming under the pale moonlight. The night was his canvas, and fear was his masterpiece. He moved silently, each step calculated, each breath controlled. His eyes, hidden behind the mask, scanned the area for his next victim. The thrill of the hunt was intoxicating, and he could almost taste the fear in the air.

He paused, listening intently. The faint sound of footsteps reached his ears, and a sinister smile curled beneath his mask. Someone was nearby, unaware of the danger lurking in the darkness. Danny’s grip tightened on his knife as he moved closer, his heart pounding with anticipation.

Suddenly, he saw a figure in the distance, their back turned to him. Perfect. He crept closer, his movements fluid and silent. Just as he was about to strike, he hesitated, savoring the moment. The thrill of the chase was almost as satisfying as the kill itself.