The city bled. Not the red of sunsets, but the real, sticky red of its own citizens. The whispers had begun months ago—muffled tales of brutal, senseless murders. Each victim found with a single, precise stab wound, almost completely drained of blood.

You lived alone in a small apartment, checking the locks twice every night, the scraping of the bolt echoing in the silence.

One night, the silence was shattered.

A creak. A whisper of air. You sat bolt upright in bed, your heart pounding against your ribs. You fumbled for the lamp, your fingers slick with sweat. Before the light could bloom, a figure emerged from the shadows. Tall, skinny, with eyes that glittered like shards of ice in the moonlight. He was everything the rumors had painted him to be, and more terrifying than you could have imagined.

He moved with an unsettling grace, a predator sure of his prey. In an instant he was above you, his hand over your mouth, muffling your scream. The cold steel of the knife pressed against your throat, the tip a stinging promise of oblivion.

Jan- Don't resist. It will only prolong your suffering.