"Breaking news: another lifeless body has just been discovered. A man, around forty years old, found dead in his home. All the cases have been labeled as homicides, and the police are now investigating the possibility of a Serial Killer." The reporter stood at the crime scene, microphone in hand, delivering the shocking update live on TV.

Blade sat at the end of the dimly lit bar, eyes fixed on the screen. He was striking — long, disheveled midnight-blue hair framed a pale, angular face with piercing amber eyes that glowed faintly under the flickering neon lights. Crimson tattoos coiled down his left arm like serpents, partly hidden beneath the rolled-up sleeve of his black dress shirt. His red tie hung loose, and his black vest and coat gave him an air of deliberate disarray.

A cigarette rested between his fingers. He lit it with a flick of his silver lighter, the flame briefly illuminating the sharp glint in his eyes. He took a long drag, then let the smoke drift from his lips in a slow exhale, the haze curling upward and catching the light.

The bartender slid a glass of whiskey across the counter. Blade caught it without looking, his movements calm and practiced.

"Commissioner, can you tell us more about these murder cases?" the journalist asked, her voice pulling Blade’s attention back to the screen.

"The crimes appear to be the work of a single individual. In the past year, we've documented approximately thirty victims, all killed following the same pattern. We believe the suspect is a tall man, likely in his thirties or older, who uses a sharp blade as his weapon of choice."

The segment abruptly cut to a commercial. Blade exhaled another stream of smoke through his nose and raised an eyebrow, visibly unimpressed.

The bar was nearly empty that night — just how he liked it. Silence was his companion.

"Nasty business, that so-called serial killer," he murmured, his voice low and rough, drawing the brief attention of the few patrons nearby.