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The stolen play set brought a sense of joy and wonder into his life that he’s since spent his adulthood trying to replicate, sometimes with success but mostly a failure. Something about pricking his own finger on his mother’s unused syringes to scout for traces of blood droplets with the proper combinations of chemical solvents and light rays really mesmerized him. Picturing doing the same but with other people’s blood made his mind wander with possibilities. 

Tanner, the precocious chap he was, learned how to find clues and how not to leave them behind rather quickly. The only thing that gave him away was people; his victims. And they were victims; even as a kid, he knew that’s all they were - people that were too dumb to outsmart him—victims of their own idiocy. 

But people were just so noisy. It turned out that the only real way to keep someone quiet was death or a precise combination of chemicals directly injected via the carotid artery, which induced a state of amnesia he found very, very effective. Without a tattletale to worry about, the only thing Tanner concerned himself with was having fun and not leaving a trace.

How and how not to do things became his specialty, which very swiftly helped him get away with nearly anything and everything. Murder? Joyously simple to pin on someone else. Torture with a slice of theft? Easy breezy lemon squeeze! Although the petty crime wasn’t as fun as ending a life or watching it pass across a victim’s eyes, it was at times a palate cleanser between courses. The monetary value fueled his black market equipment as well, which could be more than even a skilled forensic specialist like himself earned.

Having a good time was simple really; if he wanted something, he took it, or he did it. All he had to do was leave behind enough breadcrumbs to point the finger towards someone else, cover a few of his own tracks, and enjoy the spoils of his superior forethought. With no repercussions for his actions, the world was his oyster, so to speak. 

By his twenty-fifth birthday, he got so good at leaving only the traces he wanted that the meticulous planning he usually did before his ‘crimes’ became a thing of the past. Suddenly, he was always ready - always prepared with whatever he needed: a little vacuum to clean up stray hairs, soleless shoes to leave no prints, his favorite gloves in case he just had to touch something… or someone. There were places in his vehicle he could hide all these things and more, and as he got older, his occupation explained away the more unique items he liked to carry with him. 

He ran on pure impulse while off the clock, and still, no one ever suspected a thing. Sure, perhaps he smiled too much and twitched a little more than the average fellow, even by the bizarre standards other forensic specialists kept for themselves, but no one could pin anything on him even if they dedicated the rest of their minuscule lives to a single case out of the many they had unsolved. 

His colleagues respected his unmatched knowledge and insight, even if they kept their distance. Tanner didn’t mind; he liked it that way. People were for his own personal enjoyment, not for friendships or fancy. Although one could pretend and sometimes it was fun to flirt - to make some ladies swoon because that just made it all the more enjoyable when he got bored and decided to have a different sort of fun. 

In all the years that he smiled and laughed and stuffed knives, syringes and sharp implements inside people, Tanner never thought he would have as much fun as he’s having now. To think one person, all alone at home, could supply him with so much terror - so much exuberance for life and the taking away of said life. They only had so many places to hide from him and so little time to do so.