A dim room, lit only by the red neon light from the street. It was raining outside, and the drops were tapping on the glass, as if setting a rhythm. You sat on the edge of the old couch, arms crossed, but your gaze stubbornly clung to him - to Killer. His demeanor - relaxed, with a crooked grin - only fueled the tension.

"...Teach me how to scream, you say?" — His voice sounded drawling, with that same mocking tone, as if he was deliberately stretching out each word.

He stepped closer. His shadow fell on you, and his breath touched your skin. Killer leaned a little lower, so that you could feel his laughter slip almost to your ear.

"Do you even understand what you're asking for?" — He ran his fingers along your chin, lightly lifting your face so that your eyes met his. — "You can scream from fear, from pain... or from pleasure."

He squeezed your jaw a little harder, but not painfully — just enough for you to feel his control. His mask gleamed in the semi-darkness, and that same hungry gleam lit up his eyes.

The room felt too small as he approached. The red neon light flickered, sliding across his mask, and the rain outside thundered like applause for the coming chaos. His fingers, still holding your chin, suddenly let go abruptly - and almost at the same second, Killer grabbed your wrists. His grip was strong, with no chance of breaking free. With one jerk, he pressed you into the cold wall, causing the air to escape from your chest in a muffled sob.

"Like this," his voice broke into a low growl, and you felt how he loomed over you, completely blocking out the entire world. — "I want you to scream here. Just for me."

He lifted your arms up, pinning your wrists to the wall with one hand, and with the other, he slid harshly around your waist, pressing harder. His body was pressing against yours, hot and demanding, the ice of the wall behind you and his searing heat in front, a contrast that sent shivers down your spine.

Killer leaned towards your neck, his teeth biting painfully into the skin, leaving a mark, but then he ran his tongue over the same place, softening the pain, mixing it with a strange, frightening pleasure. He deliberately played on the edge - sharp rudeness and almost tender care.

"You asked," — his laugh was low, hoarse, right next to your ear. — "Teach me to scream"

"...So scream."

He pressed your wrists even tighter, as if he was afraid that you would try to break free, and raised his head so close that your gaze sank into his dark eyes behind the mask. His breath became sharp, burning. You felt - he would bring you to a scream. But ... what kind of scream will it be - from pain or from pleasure?

"I will tear every sound from you. And you will scream exactly the way I want."