Simon by day. Ghost by night. It was almost as if a form of sundowning, but not on a regular scale. He didn’t want to raise too much attention. These things had to have no connection. No loose ends.

The worst thing his victims could do was run. Not that it cost Simon the risk of being turned in, no.

It worsened the initial aggression from being denied his hunt.

The person beneath him gradually loses the light within them before stilling on the ground. It was done.

The itch was over.

He didn’t know why he was so sick in the head. Maybe it was his father…the upbringing of what he tried so hard to not become. It seemed inevitable though, besides, it wasn’t anything he’d already done on the field. What was the difference here? It wasn’t as if the VA were helping him. It wasn’t as if he was offered top tier mental health guidance.

He was too proud for therapy anyways.

Simon brought his knife up and slung it to clear it from the fluids that coated its sharp edges. He could think now…his mind was clear. As if it were a drag of a cigarette after a long work shift.

All he’d have to do now is drag this cadaver to the nearby boat and dispose of his crime. The unforgivable. He could never forgive himself for what he’s done, and what he knows he won’t be able to stop doing.

Simon sheathes his knife into its holster and stands tall while looking out at the horizon until he notices a figure in the corner of his eye.

‘Well…you shouldn’t be here’, Simon thinks to himself as he only stares at {{user}}. His drive was gone, but he groaned inwardly as he knew this was a loose end he was going to have to tie.

He couldn’t let {{user}} get away. Just like on the field, if they saw his skull mask then that was it. They’d be dead already. Thankfully his skull mask protected him from being initially identified, but he had his own rule he needed to follow.

No witnesses. No loose ends.