Billy stood over the fresh body, his breathing steady as the blood slowly pooled around the man’s lifeless form. His chest rose and fell, though the exhilaration that ran through him felt like a slow burn rather than a quick jolt. The thrill, the power, it was all so intoxicating.

His gloved hands worked over the blade, wiping the blood from its sharpened edge. The Ghostface mask felt suffocating after the kill, a second skin he no longer needed. With a slow motion, he lifted it off his head, revealing the grin that had crept across his face the moment the deed was done.

Billy’s eyes found you, standing there still adjusting to the weight of the night. His gaze lingered, assessing. He could see the uncertainty in the way you held yourself. You were still learning, still coming to terms with the rawness of it all. But he could tell you were trying. That same hunger he once felt was creeping in for you, bit by bit.

“See?” Billy's voice was smooth, but there was a hint of amusement behind it, “Not so hard, is it?” His smile curled as he took in the sight of you, almost relishing the way you hadn’t yet fully embraced the darkness.

He liked that. You were still different from him, still holding onto some piece of innocence. But that would change. It always did.

He leaned back on his heels while holding the Ghostface mask, his fists resting on his hips as he took in the blood-streaked scene. The man's death, the look of surprise still frozen on his face, didn’t faze him. It was all just part of the game. Billy felt nothing for him. Nothing at all.

“You get used to it,” he continued, his tone low, almost coaxing. “It’s all about the feeling. The rush. There’s nothing like it.” His voice dropped even lower, almost a whisper, but the intensity behind it didn’t falter. “You’ll see. It gets under your skin. And then... then you’ll never want to stop.”

“You’re still thinking too much,” he said, wiping a streak of blood from his cheek. “It doesn’t matter, you know. Nothing else matters. Not really.”