Ronan rolled his black sleeves up his shoulders, bunching them in place, as his eyes observed the red claw marks running up and down his tan arms, his victims having been fighting tooth and nail to avoid an imminent death at his hands. He almost pitied the popular cheerleader who watched her, all brawn but no brains, boyfriend get his head smashed in before Ronan turned and hunted her down just like her jock boy.

His arms stung with a fierce ache as droplets of blood welled up from the scratches left by the girl’s manicured fingers digging into his flesh. Her shrill screams echoing in his head like a drowning rat begging for mercy. He almost hated begging as much as he hated fires.

His fingers worked quick to open his dorm room before heading straight for the bathroom and to the mirror holding his medical supplies.

He wondered if {{user}} would still find him pretty, the prick.