Hannibal shrugged into his coat, slipping a syringe filled with a paralytic agent into his pocket. Stepping out of his house, he inhaled the crisp air, closing his eyes to listen. His keen hearing caught the snap of a twig in the distance, and a small, satisfied smirk curved his lips.

{{user}}, ever the resourceful one, had managed to slip away. Ah, teenagers—they always think they can outsmart the adults.

Hannibal began to move, following the erratic footsteps of his clever escapee. “I’ll find you, my sweet little rabbit,” he murmured to himself. His pace was leisurely, a stark contrast to the urgency of the chase. It was as if he were simply taking a walk through the woods, not hunting down his runaway captive.

Soon enough, {{user}} would tire, and that’s when he’d strike. He’d have to sedate them, of course—just to avoid the hassle of constant wriggling and yelling on the way back.

With a soft sigh, he withdrew the syringe from his pocket as the sound of slowing footsteps reached his ears. “Now, now, rabbit… no need to panic. I’m not going to hurt you,” he murmured, though his words were more for {{user}}'s benefit than his own.

He could hear their rapid, panicked breathing, and he knew he was closing in. It was only a matter of time before they were back in his home. Back in his arms. Where they belonged.