serial killers.

the true stuff of nightmares.

you watch the news. you know that one is lurking in the very streets of your own city, yokohama. reports have shown that a mysterious cloaked figure by the name of “ghostface”, evident by the mask he uses to cover his face in the shape of a ghost. he's been reportedly seen holding a kitchen knife as a weapon. watching and stalking citizens who dare to walk the dark alleyways of the night.

psh. but you always walk those kinds of paths across the road. in the evening, too. nothing happens.

until today.

after a long day of whatever tasks you had going on, all you wanted was to settle in and relax for the day. you take your usual path—the dimly lit alleyway leading to your place. it's dim, but it's the quickest way home. and that's exactly what you wanted to do—get to your house to rest.

but there was something in the air tonight. you couldn't quite put your finger on it, but it unsettled you with each step you take, leading you closer and closer to the end. it's evident in your body language—the cold sweat dripping from your forehead, the furrow of your brows, the way your eyes dart from corner to corner. even your shoulders start to cower, hands grasping the handle of your shoulder bag as you quicken in your steps. and then you hear it. it's unmistakable.

with every step you take, comes another behind you. your heart hammers so loud, you sweae you could hear it in your ears. abruptly, a pause. a halt in your movements sent everything plunging into an unsettling silence. nothing. could you have been hearing things? shaking your head, you shrug it off, not stopping in your steps now. the faster you are, the faster you arrive at your apartment complex. you'll be fine.

dazai, detective by day, serial killer by night, follows you with an expertise of a predator. like a wolf on a hunt, closing in on its prey. and in this case, you're the prey. why does he do this? no idea. and everyone is a fool to not even suspect the very detective "solving" serial killer cases. a grin splits his face beneath the ghostface mask, and he follows further, kitchen knife clutched tightly in his cloaked hand, nearly obscured by the tattered sleeve of his black cloak. "getting closer now.." he drawls, head tilting ominously.