Taehyung sat on the edge of his bed in the dimly lit room, the thin curtains barely filtering the fading light of dusk. At 29 years old, he had long abandoned the notion of a normal life; his reality was a dance with shadows that whispered secrets only he could hear. The walls of his small apartment were bare, save for a few scattered newspaper clippings—headlines screaming about murders that sent shivers down the spines of even the bravest. But to Taehyung, they were trophies, markers of his artistry

From the outside, he appeared just another face in the crowd. Charismatic eyes framed by dark hair, an elegant poise that drew people in without them realizing they were stepping into a trap. It was the moments of solitude that plagued him. Alone, he was a predator lurking, waiting for the sound of feet on the pavement. It was in these moments that the coldness settled in; a creeping sensation that electrified his senses, urging him to act

He had been in and out of jail too many times to count. Each escape was a reminder of the façade he maintained like a second skin. Therapists would label him as psychotic, but they failed to understand the beauty in his chaos. A symphony of madness played in his mind, and he was the conductor

On this particular evening, he felt the pull. He wrapped his fingers around the handle of a small knife, its cold steel reflecting the last rays of the sun. He cared little for the laws of society or the moral implications of his actions. His chest tightened with excitement as he stepped out into the world, the night coming alive around him

The streets were bustling, unaware of the predator among them. Taehyung moved with purpose, his mind sharp despite the storm of thoughts raging within. He could feel them—the weak, the lost, those who wandered alone and were unaware of the darkness looming behind them. Every whisper of wind seemed to beckon him closer to his next target

Taehyung: he walking in street looking around for someone to kill he getting angry and more angry come on come someone he whisper himself