#slasher!iii

He was already there. Had been before you’d even ordered your first drink. Sitting near the back, beneath a hanging light that flickered every time someone jostled the breaker with a shoulder or a knee. His hood was up – weathered black, not theatrical – his hands still and gloved, one resting on the scratched table, the other curled around a drink that stayed full. His presence was a ghost’s: unannounced, unnoticed, not out of shyness but intention. Because III never came without a reason. He’d known you’d be here. He always did. Watching you wasn’t indulgence, not to him. It was a necessity. Like breath. His gaze tracked you through the clamor, through the crush of shoulders and laughter, through the man who leaned in too close when you bent to retrieve your card from the bar. That man – tall, overconfident, with a voice too loud for the space – grinned like he already owned you. His hand settled on your hip as if by right, his body angled like he was already whispering filth into your ear. And you, too polite, too soft, gave a laugh that didn’t reach your eyes and turned slightly, trying not to recoil. III saw it. Every twitch. Every betrayal of comfort. And still, he didn’t move. His head tilted instead, slow and sharp, like an animal identifying a new sound. Then one tap – just one – of gloved fingers against the wood. A promise.

The night outside was softer than it had any right to be. Mist rolled off the slick pavement in coils, catching the lamplight and turning the street into something unreal – like a memory you weren’t supposed to be inside. Your boots splashed through shallow puddles, your coat clinging damply to your back. The buzz of the bar still hummed in your chest, but the warmth was already fading, stolen by the wind that funneled down the alleyways and curled between the buildings. You moved quickly, not out of fear – not yet – but from instinct. The kind women are taught young and never quite forget. The feeling of eyes on the nape of your neck. Of footsteps beginning to echo yours, too evenly spaced to be a coincidence. Your phone was in your pocket. Your keys were laced through your fingers. You didn’t look back. But your shoulders tightened just the same.

He was there, of course. Somewhere just beyond your sight, pacing you like a shadow given flesh. III didn’t stumble. He didn’t hurry. He didn’t need to. This was a slow kind of hunt – his kind. The kind where the prey didn’t even know it was being followed until the ground shifted beneath its feet. He watched the way your pace changed, the tiny flick of your head toward a sound you tried to pretend you hadn’t heard. He already knew who you were walking away from. The man from the bar had waited until you were alone to follow, thinking himself clever. Confident. Typical. III had seen him step out just a minute after you had. Had watched the way he paused under the awning to pretend he wasn’t waiting. Then the slow, purposeful walk in your direction. He’d seen it a thousand times. Hunger dressed up as civility. A predator convincing itself it was charming. But this one made a mistake no other had made before:

He touched you.

You didn’t even realize how quiet it had gotten until you were halfway down the street, past the reach of the last open bar sign and into that half-dark stretch where the city seemed to hold its breath. The drizzle softened everything – edges, colors, footsteps – but it couldn’t hide the sound of someone trailing a few paces behind. You told yourself not to look back. Not to panic. You could handle it. You had keys between your fingers like you’d been told, your phone half out of your pocket, screen lighting your hand blue. You’d be fine. That’s what everyone says before something happens. You pulled your coat tighter, your pace steady, pretending you didn’t hear the shuffle of boots matching yours. You didn’t see the shape that detached itself from the mouth of the alley, or the faint reflection of metal where there shouldn’t have been any light. You only heard the whisper of rain on asphalt, and the sound of someone breathing too close behind you.

He almost laughed. Not from joy, but disbelief. How easily you’d stepped into this, how oblivious you were to the fact that the world wasn’t built for softness like yours. Stupid, he thought – not cruelly, but the way you’d think about a lamb wandering into a wolf’s den because it didn’t know any better. He could already see how it would go wrong for you if he wasn’t there: your trembling hand lifting those little brass keys like they were a weapon, your voice small but trying for brave, the man from the bar grinning as he closed the distance. It would almost be delicious to see you try it – to see that flicker of courage meet the brick wall of what men like that really are. He would never allow it, though. Not yet. That wasn’t the kind of lesson he wanted for you, not unless it was him testing those limits, testing that bravery of yours. You were supposed to stay soft, unbroken, untouched by what he cleaned up in the dark. His jaw tightened, breath steady behind the mask as he watched the other man lengthen his stride. He touched you, he thought again, the words tasting heavier this time. Like iron. Like something that would soon have to be washed away.

The man thought he was clever. That he could trail behind just long enough to not be noticed. That his steps didn’t echo, didn’t count. That he was just another stranger on a city sidewalk at night. III watched him peel off from the edge of the sidewalk like a parasite slipping under skin – cutting across the narrow mouth of an alley, pacing you just two car lengths behind. His hands were already twitching, adjusting his sleeves, testing the air. Thinking about how close he could get before you noticed. How much pressure to use when he reached for your arm. That pathetic fantasy glittered behind his eyes, and III could see all of it. He always could. Because men like that were so easy. Predictable. Sloppy. Their arrogance was a script III had read since he was old enough to see how the world handled people like you. People who didn’t know any better than to trust it. You never even turned around.

He waited until the man’s hand twitched forward, as if to tap you on the shoulder. That exact moment – that trespass – was the line. III moved without sound, steps perfectly paced to time the curve of the alley. His boots didn’t splash. The man never saw him coming. A hand caught the back of his neck just as he began to speak, and III drove him into the brick with the ease of someone who had studied anatomy more intimately than a surgeon. No flourish. No warning. The sound was dull and sickening, a thud followed by wet breath that didn’t quite know where to go. A choked noise rose in the man’s throat, fingers flailing backward blindly – grabbing at the mask, the coat, anything. III leaned in, close enough to smell the sweat, the beer, the last breath rattling in the bastard’s lungs. His voice didn’t rise above a whisper.

“He touched you.”

Not a threat. A verdict.

The alley smelled of rain-soaked garbage and rusted pipes, a rank sweetness that turned metallic the moment blood hit the air. The man made a wet, shocked sound, half-breath, half-gargle, before his knees went slack. III’s grip stayed steady, palm pressed to the base of the skull, thumb finding the notch just beneath the ear. One push – precise, economical – and the head struck brick again. The body sagged, the sound of it lost under the hiss of rain. He held him there for a heartbeat longer, watching the twitch fade from the man’s fingers, feeling the pulse weaken under the glove. When it was over, he stepped back neatly, letting the body fold to the pavement like it had simply forgotten how to be alive.

He didn’t look at it with anger. There was no rage to burn out, only that cold, faint exhale of satisfaction that came from seeing a correction made. His gaze drifted to the street where you had disappeared around the corner, coat flashing once beneath the lamplight before the mist swallowed you again. You would never know how close the rot had come. You would go home and think the night had been strange but harmless, that the footsteps behind you had stopped because you turned too quickly, that the city was kind enough to leave you alone. He almost smiled at the thought – how easily you could convince yourself of safety. How adorable, how idiotic. You thought the keys in your fist meant control. You thought walking faster meant power. It was endearing in the way a child holding a paper sword is endearing: brave and stupid and utterly defenseless.

The body was still warm. Slumped half-on its side, mouth parted against the blacktop, one eye open to the grime-clotted gutter as if stunned by what had happened. III crouched beside it, gloved fingers at the collar, pulling with the same care one might use folding linens. No panic. No rush. The alley offered perfect cover – no windows, no cameras, only the soft burble of rain in the downspout and the distant throb of a city that never looked this far into its own guts. He moved the corpse behind a dumpster slick with rot and piss, leaving the man’s head tilted at an angle that would slow discovery. Just enough to matter. Just enough to buy him another hour.

He wiped the wall once, then the ground – his hands practiced, surgical. No wasted movements. The gloves would be burned. The mask, already bagged. His eyes flicked once to the street corner where your silhouette had disappeared, and his chest rose – slow, steady. Watching you walk away never felt like losing you. It was trust. It was faith. Because you never made it far without him. He followed at a distance, pace matching yours without effort. You didn’t look back. Didn’t hear him. Of course you didn’t. You never do. You moved like you believed the world left you alone out of mercy. But it didn’t. It left you alone because he made it so.

Your building wasn’t much – cracked tile entryway, flickering overhead bulb, the buzzer broken for as long as you’d lived there. But it was home in the way that old shoes are: worn in, predictable. You keyed in the side door, shoulder nudging it open as the lock stuck, and made your way up the stairs two at a time, the rubber soles of your boots thudding lightly against the wood. You didn’t realize you were holding your breath until you made it to your door and let it out in a soft huff, like a weight you hadn’t yet acknowledged until it lifted. That unease was still there, thin and rattling just under your ribs, but you shook it off. Told yourself it was nothing. That the footsteps had been your imagination. That the city always felt different in the rain. You double-locked the door behind you, as always, and kicked your boots into the corner.

He watched it all. From across the street, his shape was barely distinguishable from the shadow of the stairwell that ran alongside your building. Hood still up, mask tucked away now – unnecessary, irrelevant. No one looked out their windows in this neighborhood. No one questioned a man standing still if he looked like he belonged there. III’s hands were in his coat pockets, relaxed, unhurried. He watched the light go on behind your blinds, saw your shadow move through the familiar rituals – coat hung, bag dropped, phone tossed to the bed. Your windows were always unlocked. He’d noticed that long ago. Not that he needed it. He had copies of your keys. Not out of malice. Not even curiosity. It was a necessity. He had them because he had to. You wouldn’t understand. You couldn’t. How could someone like you ever really grasp what it meant to be a lamb walking alone in a world built for wolves?

He let himself savor the small domesticities—the light angled just-so across your rug, the way your apartment smelled faintly of lemon cleaner and something softer, like the inside of a sweater. From where he stood—on the concrete stairwell landing just across the narrow alley, half-shielded by a flaking steel railing—he had a perfect line of sight into your kitchen window. The pane was old and unremarkable, like every window on this side of the building. A forgotten thing. But your blinds were always left tilted open at night, and that made all the difference. Through that thin slit of unguarded light, he could see you move through your little rituals with the casual choreography of someone who believed her walls meant safety.

You pulled off your coat, each motion ordinary and therefore unbearable to him, a litany of trust: the shrug of shoulders, the unzipping of boots, the toss of your bag toward the chair by the fridge. You hummed to yourself—an off-key little thing you did when you were tired—and it made something clench behind his ribs like a hand finding a pulse. How foolish you looked, your hair still damp, your face washed clean of the bar’s paint, the last of the night’s laughter dying on your lips. He could have been inside already; he had keys, more keys than the locksmith two streets over. Not a boast—an inevitability. He had them because people like you required protection from a world you refused to see clearly. But he stayed where he always stayed: just out of reach. Just beyond the line you believed no one would cross. Watching you undress from that angle felt obscene in the best way—holy, almost. Not erotic, but possessive. He found himself thinking, flatly and without malice, how stupid it had been of you to trust those friends who let you walk home alone, how stupid it was to believe that brass and tooth and metal could do anything against what prowled the city at night.

He didn’t blink as you peeled off your layers one by one—sweater over your head, shirt wrinkled from where it had clung to you under the coat, bare arms goose-pimpled in the cold air of the apartment. The light in your kitchen overhead was too dim to fully illuminate you, but that was part of what he loved most: the way half-shadow curved over your spine, the flickering gold on your collarbones, the trust you placed in shadows not to betray you. You passed into view, out of view, and back again like a slow metronome of silhouette and skin. Did you think you weren’t worth watching? Or worse—did you think men like that one from the bar could watch you without consequence? He stared as your fingers hovered at the waistband of your jeans, your body pausing mid-motion like something ancient inside you had stirred. That was his favorite part. Not the striptease of fabric, but the flicker of instinct you didn’t understand. The nervous gesture of someone who felt the eyes but told herself it was nothing. Someone saw me. Someone followed.

And yet—you undressed anyway. Trusted the quiet. Trusted your locked door. And still, you left the blinds tilted just open. He stayed motionless, not to spare you, but because this moment was too exquisite to interrupt. You thought you were alone. That illusion was everything. Your life was a play you didn’t know he watched every night, and this was the scene he never skipped. You turned away to flick off the lamp in the kitchen. That was when he exhaled for the first time in minutes.

You flicked off the kitchen light, and for a moment, the apartment sank into near-total darkness—just a few slivers of streetlamp glow slicing through the blinds, catching on glass and metal, throwing soft white lines across your floor. III didn’t move. Not yet. He watched your silhouette cross the threshold into the bedroom, the gentle sway of your hips in your sleep clothes, the loose pull of your shirt’s hem as you lifted your arms in a stretch. It felt obscene to witness it. Not because it was sexual, but because it was private—so deeply, achingly yours. The way you tucked your hair behind one ear, cracked your neck, reached for the bedside lamp. These were the parts of a person no one else was ever supposed to see. You weren’t playing at softness here. You were soft. And all it would take was one creak of wood or flicker of shadow to ruin it forever. He wouldn’t do that. Not until it was right.

He slipped from the stairwell once the light went out completely, moving like water down the metal steps, slow and silent, his boots avoiding the one that groaned when your upstairs neighbor came home too late. The back alley behind your building was nothing but cracked pavement and chain-link shadow, but he navigated it without looking. He’d been here enough times that he knew it by touch. There, the drainpipe. There, the loose brick he used to mount the window ledge. The sill outside your bedroom was just wide enough to crouch on, the brick scored faintly from the tread of his boots. You never noticed. Or maybe you noticed once and chalked it up to the wind, or rust. That was the thing about you – you were so good at rationalizing what didn’t fit. So good at not knowing.

He stayed there for a long time, crouched on the narrow ledge, one gloved hand resting on the outer pane. The rain had come back, faint and fine, whispering down the wall, tracing cold streaks across the glass. Inside, you had drawn the curtains but left them gapped just enough for the light from your bedside lamp to pour through in a thin golden line. Through that slit, he could see your reflection doubled – the soft blur of your form as you moved about the room and the clearer image of himself, ghostlike, superimposed over it. The twin shapes swayed together every time you shifted. It fascinated him, that accident of light, how the barrier between you and him could become something almost tender. You brushed your hair, each stroke slow and drowsy, eyes half-lidded as though already sliding toward sleep. He thought about how unaware you were of the wet chill seeping through the glass, not a foot from where you stood. The pane trembled once under his touch, and you glanced up for the briefest second before shaking your head and setting the brush down. You told yourself it was nothing. It always was.

He let you fade into your bedtime routine, tracking every small movement with the precision of a metronome. You checked your phone, plugged it in, and smoothed the blanket. When you reached to turn off the lamp, the light dimmed to a single amber pulse before darkness took over the room. That was the moment he moved, not hurriedly but with that same measured patience that always defined him. The window latch was the same one he’d tested before – old, unsealed, too loose to hold. It gave way beneath the slightest pressure, sighing open just enough to let in the night. The air inside was warmer, scented faintly of you: shampoo, linen, a trace of gin. He slid through the gap and stood by the sill, letting his eyes adjust, his breathing timed to yours. You lay on your side, already folding into sleep, the kind of sleep that belonged only to people who still believed in safety.

He closed the distance the way he always did – silent, unhurried, like somebody stepping across a room to sweep dust off a beloved object. Your breathing was steady and shallow, the slow in-and-out of someone who had decided, finally and fully, that the night was over and nothing would come to claim it. III counted the pauses between each breath the way other people count prayers: one, two, three – small measures of safety that, to him, had always been provisional. He could see the faint ridges where your lashes pressed against your cheeks, the soft hollow under your collarbone, the stray hairs clinging damp to your temple. There was a ridiculous tenderness in cataloguing those details, a tenderness that made him almost laugh at your naivete – how you trusted a door, a lock, a deadbolt more than the man who had sworn himself to watch over you. You deserved better, he thought, and in that thought was no patronage so much as a cold promise: he would be the better you never knew you needed.

He leaned in until the mattress muffled the small sound his knees made in the floor and reached out with the gloved hand he kept careful for reasons that didn’t yet require explanation. His fingers hovered for a breath over your forehead, mapping the plane of you as if memorizing a face he would someday have to describe to himself. Then, with the gentlest motion he could manage – an act so tender it belonged more to worship than to possession – he brushed the damp fall of hair back from your brow. It was a touch that could have been mistaken for sleep’s own movement, feather-light and precise. He didn’t linger where skin met skin; he kept the distance that honored, in his mind, both the sanctity of what you were and the rules he set for himself. It was the only way he could get through this. He hadn’t always been this patient, this controlled.

….

The chime above the door to Jerry's Butchershop reached his ears in the back kitchen, slabs of meat, gristle and gore lined the metal tables where he worked. Hacking a cleaver into the shoulder of what was once swine. The colder room reeked of innards and iron, a could of soft candy flavored vape hung to his shirt. iii tuned his ears into ii yapping up front to a customer, the shorter man had a kinder tone of voice, not bassy but he'd worked at Jerry's and knew ii even longer to know what that man up front was saying.

iii brought his cleaver down once more, moving the meat to their respected spots. Picnic roast over there on the full sheet pan, next to the shanks and hock on another tray. Shallower hotel pans held the intestines' and different cuts of rib racks.

Funny thing is, iii liked that the innards looked the same, made him humble in the fact that he too and everyone around him on two legs, every human was just as dispatchable. We were a sacks of meat and bones, just depended on who was doing the harvesting was the big take away.

"Oi, lanky boy!" ii popped his head into the room, moving aside the lighter plastic than the walk-in. " 'ave ya' got any Ox tails back there? new girl has a recipe to try." He said with a shrug.

Ah yes, the new girl.

You were easy on the eyes, just new to town, coming in for a job from the city out to the ends of the town of Arcadia. iii and ii had noticed you right away, pretty thing in an even prettier outfit, you stood out. Out here in Arcadia, people wore overalls, Carhart jackets and big boots. A lot of beige and plaid, a workers town if you will. Decent folks, friendly and easy going.

Cornfed as some would refer.

The smell of sweet grass hung in the air pleasantly, hovering above the town like a halo.

You had stopped them from their walk after lunch one afternoon, asking if they could point you in the direction of Espera Spice & Tea Shoppe. Bright and bubbly, clean and fresh, you smelled like a dream and iii couldn't help but follow your scent before ii had told the directions.

Every time he saw you, walking around, chatting with who he had assumed were your coworkers on park benches, on patios of the small town restaurants. Filling up at the pump, enjoying ice cream sunday's. Sometimes after a kill he'd wonder what you would think. Which only lead him down a more sinister path of thinking. Or lack thereof and over the course of this last year, his emotions had gotten him in some pretty hot water. He's never been caught, never even questioned but a certain Detective in Arcadia was keeping a close eye on the man.

Or six in this case.

Said man was now sitting on the trunk of his car in an alley way, swaying his feet, checking his watch and smoking.

iYou should have been home by now… this was out of your normal routine and since iii had taken it upon himself to watch you like a hawk, to protect you, to prevent any foul play; he'd gotten a hold of your address and for the last six weeks, unbeknownst to you, has waited each and every night for your apartment light to signal your safety.

Always within ten minutes but this was getting excessive of fifteen, edging closer to twenty as he looked at his watch again. He was thisclose to getting a tracker to follow your location, popping the locater under your tire well where you'd be the none the wiser, you were already a hundred miles overdue for an oil change. If iii could do it for you while you slept upstairs he would, but your cars' alarm system was touchy. He found that out the hard way.

A half hour late and now he was back there pacing, slinking quietly in all black between buildings and residential homes. Your car nowhere in sight. His heart thump thumped in his throat, mouth getting dry as he flexed his fingers as if gearing up for a fight.

That is until he heard your laugh, distinct and affectionate. iii hid between the buildings once more, hiding and pressing his back into the harsh brick of the building.

"…you again, Sam. I'm still getting used to the layout here." Your voice slurred a bit, the sound of keys echoed and pitched his at his ears.

"No worries, like I told you at the bar; I'm a pretty good lookout, if you ever need anything, you know where I am."

iii frowned at that; as long as he was living and breathing, there is no reason for you to need Sam for anything. Well, except maybe making sure you were safe and made it home one in piece, of course. But he couldn't just kill Sam, he was too well liked and respected to dispatch like those hogs that were coming into the shop the next day.

iii peered around the corner once the door to your building opened and shut, seeing the back of Sam Hallet's curly head of hair walk away towards the main street. He looked back twice, almost as if he felt someone watching him.

Meanwhile he propped himself back on to the trunk of his car, relief radiating off him like heat as he helped himself to his vape pen. He leaned back, hands cupping the back of his head as he had the perfect view to your apartment floor, to the little hallway that lead to your bedroom and into the bedroom itself. Not all of it of course, just where your closet door was open, the mirror showing him just enough to keep the beast at bay and of course he'd never tell you that.

All iii needed to know was that you were safe.

….

You came in twice that next week; wanting de-boned chicken thighs, cured salami, rye crackers and honey dipped goat cheese, some pork shoulder for a work picnic you told your boss you would tackle. iii stayed in the back, standing beside ii at the register, watching you smile and chat his friend up. You looked right at him before you left with your fixings, in his mind you had eyed him up and down, sizing him up possibly which lead to him looking after you as left the store front.

"Hey Y/N! wait up!" iii shouted, running after you, fixing his face mask as you slowed and turned to see him in the daylight.

"Did I forget something?" you squeaked, patting your pockets and purse, shifting your bag of goodies.

"No no I just uh, if you're not, like it's totally fine, just thought I'd ask. Um, maybe you'd want to--"

"I'd love to go out with you!"

"You would?! I mean… you would?" iii was shocked, covering up his squeaking voice with his hand.

"Of course, you guys are so nice to me and I find you very interesting. I'd like to get to know more of you outside of you being covered in blood."

That's the thing though; he wants you to see him in blood. Will be less of a shock when the time comes and he slips up and oh no you found out his little hobby. In fact, as you're gleefully tap tapping your digits into his phone, he grins behind his mask, both, the one of his face and the one no one but his victims are privy too… he just may have to jerk off to the thought of you covered in gore.

….

It's been a few months now since iii has gotten the itch to kill again. The last one, a man named Ricky who always gave iii the willies and made him flinch since high school, was just too good. Too sweet. The ripping and tearing of clothing, the way he'd tasted blood, from his own mouth, not Ricky's! to how it made him feel vindicated and taller than his already towering 6'4 frame. He had followed him through the trail behind Espera Spice & Tea Shoppe one evening after locking up. Ricky was drunk and out of sorts; perfect. iii had had enough of seeing Ricky's face, watching him harass women, bully his way through a crowd, spit on someone at the Arcadia town fair last August.

His time had come.

iii pulled on his leather gloves, enjoying the stretch and sound they made whenever he put them on, he checked his surroundings like a bird before following behind. Taking his time, matching each crunching step through the leaves until he finally pounced. Grabbing Ricky from behind in a Full Nelson, shaking his body apart like a rag doll. Kicked out his legs before dropping him to the ground.

"What the fuck all is that about?" Ricky stammered and coughed, looking up slowly at the aggressor.

"Bully anyone else I know today, eh Ricky boy?"

"Oh fuck off, bean pole! I ought to right that look on your face, mate." Ricky spat and lumbered to his feet, wobbling right into iii's trap.

"I'd like to see you try it. Go on," iii leaned over and patted his cheek.

"Give it a go. One free punch then it's lights out; goodbye and good night."

"You think you can take me, big man?"

"Oh I hope you pray to God that you don't miss because you're about to meet the man upstairs!"

Ricky swung and did in fact miss, a few times as iii laughed at his school mate bully, taunting him, lunging forward, knocking him down to the ground. He sat on top of his wriggling form, kicking up dirt and debris with his shoes, clawing at iii's jacket, at his neck. iii head butted him, causing Ricky to yelp out in pain, struggling for balance.

He dug in his back pocket and pulled out his butterfly knife, flipping it around so the blade was exposed and held closely to Rickey's carotid artery.

"Just so you know Ricky boy, you won't be missed by many." iii huffed out.

"What are you even playing a--"

iii slit his throat.

The gurgle and noise as Ricky had finally been put in his place was unmatched, iii held down his flailing arms, watching the life drain out on the dirt below, staining the already turning leaves, the smell of iron, true and fresh. The light slowly dimmed out of Ricky's shocked brown eyes. iii dragged him under a tree, propped him up nice and gave him a pat on the head as he made his whistling way home.

He was excited for your day-date as you had called it; you wanted a coffee, a thing he knows a thing or two about since ii turned him on to making cold brews at home and saving some coin. He felt a sense of pride when you looped your arm around one of his, strolling through Arcadia as if he hadn't had a care in the world that he might get caught.

At least it was someone in town that no one truly fancied, no redemption arc in Ricky's future, that was set in stone even before iii had killed him.

The lanky odd ball pulled your chair out for you, he was desperate to smell your hair or perfume, maybe it was some sort of secret third fragrance like an essential oil you might dab on the inside of your thighs. Oh he shouldn't have done that. You sat down at the table outside a black and white checkerboarded awning, cute little spindly chairs with age and character to match. iii thought about your thighs more than he was paying attention to what you were talking about, something about wooly mice. Curly ones too. He was distracted by your excited chatter and playful demeanor, asking him questions about himself and where and how he grew up. You were genuinely interested in him, he thought, what a fresh start.

Refreshing and--

"Hey Y/N!"

Sam came strutting over, head held high with confidence while iii pulled up his mask to cover his mouth after taking a cold sip of coffee.

"Sam! how are you?" you actually stood up and hugged the man, not like you were rude or anything, far far from it. iii was just in a mood, said move being that Sam was touching his things without permission. You didn't belong with him, you belonged at iii's side.

"Great, I just got a promotion! gotta' pack up my stuff, I'll be moving, which I am not looking forward to?"

"Out of Arcadia or just closer?"

"Back to Eden actually! that's where I'm from anyway, it will be nice to see some friendly faces I suppose," Sam answered with a shrug, finally acknowledging iii after several minutes of light chatter. All Sam gave him was a head nod while Sam crossed his arms over his chest, nodding along to what you were saying. "Just the next city over, I'll be back and forth of course to hang out or whatever."

"Sure that's awesome! I'm so happy for you."

iii couldn't stand this much longer and thankfully Sam took the hint that you two were hanging out and voiced he didn't want to intrude on anything you had going on. Which was a god damn lie as Sam had taken up ten minutes of your time, ten minutes iii could have been getting some lore about just who you, Y/N Y/L/N, was.

"Sorry about that," you shrugged and swirled the ice in your slightly sweating cup. "He's been a real friend to me since I got here."

"Am I not a friend to you?"

"What? no no no, you misunderstand! you are a great friend to me, ii too! you guys are awesome," you rushed to assure him, skeptical at first was iii until he noticed you reaching out your hands over the lacquered table top, asking for his in kind. He hadn't held hands with anyone in so long, it felt foreign but at the same time he was glad his touch starvation was being lifted by your hands. "Sam is just a friend, you won't have to worry about him. Not like you are anyway. From what I know so far at least, is that you're a pretty confident guy, you carry yourself that way and you're just… you. You don't put on a show for others and I like that."

Now he felt bad because he was actually putting on a front, masking his inner demons and the like, unseen. It felt strange to be holding your hands, looking at you, those same hands that ended the lives of five people. The first body tossed over the Descending Falls at the edge of town, Creek at the edge of town, which would later turn into dumping them into the Falls, no doubt ate up by now, just bones and no proof. The second was split in half, head and torso dumped at Eden's door step, they still haven't found the body half and they never would. He was busy thinking about the blood on his hands until you squeezed them.

"Would you?"

"Huh? would I… would I what, sorry?"

"I asked if you would like to go on a proper date with me, not just a day-date. But like somewhere nice, good lighting, set the mood, maybe."

"The mood?"

"Yeah you know, like couples do."

iii felt his jaw unhinge, mouth open, the smell of coffee and vape juice lingering around him. He blinked at you.

"Are we-- are we dating?"

Your broad smile made him smile, mimicking the act as you began to nod. "If that's ok with you. I'd like to--"

iii snorted and jumped up from the table, startling you and the observing patrons also outside enjoying the early fall weather. He gathered you up in his arms, hugging you tightly for the first time, getting another whiff of your scent, laying his head down on the crown of your skull.

"That is more than okay with me!"

….

"Yo where ya' been, man? did ya' see the news?" ii excited asked the next morning, bright and early waiting on the days' shipment. ii grabbed iii's wrist and turned up the volume on the tv that was stationed above in the corner of the front entryway.

"What new--"

"… there are not any leads as to what lead to this man's death, a man called Ricky Burns, a local born and raised Arcadian, one of our very own, murdered and left to die alone. If anyone has any information you are meant to phone the local authorities…"

"Didn't we go to school with a Ricky Burns? ain't he that bloke that made fun of yer height and all 'hat? fuckin' wild." ii just shook his head at the grainy screen, setting the remote on the already wiped down counter and got back to work before opening hours. Meanwhile, iii just looked on, watching them re-hash the same reel, ii couldn't see his face but if he could, he would've been shocked to see iii smirking.

One date turned into another. And another. Another yet another. By the time iii knew it there was an anniversary dinner being planned, flowers were bought, trinkets and candies. He had just finished the last button on his shirt, had slipped on a matching vest and gazed at himself in the mirror. He liked it. Since having you around and proudly on his arm, he'd never felt better. Maybe that darkness was over now, he hadn't felt the urge to kill again in quite awhile. He thought about just killing Sam again, fantasies of holding his head underwater in the back of Jerry's, maybe slicing into one of his Achilles tendons and let him bleed out like a animal to slaughter. No one else on the news had piqued his interest into getting rid of them off this planet.

Not until two weeks ago that is and those fantasies shifted weight to someone new.

You'd mentioned while snuggling on the couch that there was a very persistent and pushy man at work, always trying to chat to you, standing too close, wanting to eat lunch with you or would go out of his way to get a drink you liked. He'd set his sights on other women in the office as well, making them stick together to the point of walking each other to their provided vehicles. Once he brought you left overs, a heart drawn on the post-it when you brought it over to iii's place.

"Fucks that?"

"I don't know, but I don't like it. I told him I have a boyfriend but he just ogled me and said 'why couldn't I have two?' " You shrugged it off but iii could never.

"He's always saying stuff to the women in the office; it's so annoying!" He ate you out and fucked you hard and fast on the couch, like his life depended on it, like he was dying and you were giving him life.

Holding on to his shoulders like that, biting into the soft muscle of his neck, panting his name. You tapped him then, catching your breath for him to slow down before you pushed him off you to roll over on to you knees, the look of desire and desperation in those eyes of yours when you looked over your shoulder.

"Go on baby; take it." You said with a wink, giggling into the corduroy material of the couch arm when pushed your head down further, fucking you even harder until you came twice in succession below him. Grunting out 'it's mine it's mine! mine mine mine' until he came all over the small of your back, smearing his numerals one, two three there.

iii took it upon himself to sit outside your workplace, taking notes of how this guy who couldn't help himself from ogling you, who could blame him either iii thought, what was the make and model of his car.

What was his lunch order? maybe iii could poison him. What time he got to work, when he left, tailing this Adam Rossi guy home.

He sat on a metal bench, leaned back, flexing and balling his fingers. He was so incensed and focused he wasn't aware another had down beside him.

"So whose next on the list?"

"What?" iii sneers, his stomach tightening knowing he's very particular in cleaning up his mess.

"Picking out your next victim aren't you?" Detective Vessel questioned, head faced towards your brick building as well. He reeked of coffee and some sort of fruit pie, typical tv-cop meal.

"I'm not doing anythin'."

"Oh sure. Just sitting here menacingly, staring at an office building for no good reason. You can't even see through the windows," Detective Vessel said in a hushed voice, right into his ear, "You're up to something. I know it."

"And what is it that you think I'm guilty of then?" iii turned his head, staring into the face that chased him like cigarette smoke hung on clothes. Even though you could only see the bottom portion of Vessel's face, you knew his eyes were sparkling the way his bright white teeth were. Devil man.

"Whatever it is, it's not kosher. I know you're guilty of something, iii. Men like you always have skeletons in their closets," the Detective stood and brushed of his suit and straightened his tie. "Just need to be patient and wait for you to leave that door unlocked. See ya' around."

iii watched him walk away towards the precinct, whistling a tune, fading away down the street.

He'd thought about taking the Detective out a handful of times over the years, lay in wait in the back of his standard issue sedan, garret him right then in there, lump his body in the trunk and be done with it all.

He jerked off to the thought of it that night, coming hard between his lengthy fingers, the sloppy sound of cum and too much spit. He also thought about you watching him do it. Fucking his fist, biting into the palm of his hand while he thrusted the last few ounces out of the tip.

iii recognized Vessel's car perched at the end of the block of your office building a few days later, he even stuck out his arm and gave him a little wave that he sees him too.

Fuck off, ya' bellend.

He shifted his weight in the elevator, holding onto the lunch he'd prepared for you at his own occupation, using his break to see you and to finally put a face to that bloke that was annoying you and the other women in the office.

He was nervous that might tear into the man right away and ruin the surprise of him coming to see you a Thursday afternoon. Also nervous because he'd never been in here before, the smell of decent coffee and fresh printer paper he'd just walked by. He stood out by height alone, so he hugged the walls, surveying the cubicle laden room.

iii saw a man about his age, maybe a few younger skulk around, wiggling a pen in the same manner ii did when he was taking inventory or thinking. What was this man thinking? iii thought. A startled blonde in a tweed skirt dropped her papers and iii apologized, she joked and scurried off like a mouse. He stayed crouched for just a second longer than anticipated and that's when he heard your voice, carrying over to him like waves. No one was on the side of the room, probably taking their lunch break as well as he moved around, following the lilt of your voice.

"I don't know, I think Paige recommended me the peppermint bark the last time I was at the Shoppe."

"You go there a lot do you? never been. Maybe you could show me around sometime?"

"I don't think so, I'm not from around here as you know. You would know more about the tea Shoppe than I would."

iii frowned.

"Oh come on, we could make a day of it, see? it'll be fun."

iii finally stood, rolling his shoulders he cracked his neck and with purpose strode to your desk. He could see the back of your head, he knew you well that you were gritting your teeth no doubt. You could play nice even when you wanted to spit venom.

"Maybe one of the other-- hey you!" You stopped talking quickly, averting your eyes instantly to him. The other guy jerked back.

"Jesus man! it ain't Halloween just yet!" the man touched his heart and looked between the pair of you. Eyes flickering when he noticed the light in your eyes beam.

"What are you doing here?"

"Wanted to surprise my girlfriend with a little lunch is all." iii ignored him but kept him nice and neat in the peripherals of his eyes.

"You are so sweet! how'd I get so lucky?" iii reacted to the way you widened your eyes and flicked them subtly to the guy standing next to your cubicle. They screamed do something do something!

"That's just it dollface, women love a man covered in blood."

"Beg pardon?" the man spat and swallowed hard.

"I'm the head butcher at Jerry's Butchershop just up the road. Got a fancy little name tag too, do you good sir, do have a name tag?" iii sneered and set down the container, leaning the frame of your desk as he rested his forearm on your shoulder, giving it a squeeze.

"Nah, we don't… um I'm Adam."

"Adam is it? I've 'eard about this one before." iii shook his hand, gripped it tight too.

Adam stammered. "All good things I hope."

"You should hope harder."

You snorted and covered your smile with a hand. "My man is a bit on the blunt side. You got time to eat with me, cutie?"

iii adjusted his cloth mask and held out his hand from your shoulder to help you up, Adam looked both freighted and like he was about to shit a brick as you two left holding hands.

"So that's him then?" iii asked as you two sat out in front of the building on a bench, iii doing his best to think strategy and not that the Detective's car was still there watching him.

"Yeah," you scoffed and stabbed at the perfectly cooked to your liking New York strip with peppercorn sauce. "Told you he was annoying. I'm his latest victim this week, he's been desperately asking all the women on our floor out to dinner or back to his place. What a creep."

"Yeah. A real one," iii answered in between bites of potato salad. "If only you could get rid of him."

"There's one way." You chuckled darkly, winking at him as you chewed your food.

"Oh yeah doll and what's that then?"

"You could kill him." You offered as if you were telling him the forecast.

….

Those four words circulated around his head like a halo for two whole weeks. He knew you were joking, surely you were joking. There's no way you would just casually during a lunch break toss out killing someone, a coworker who had been a menace and sex pest. Right? The thought of you watching him kill, both of you standing over Adam as the light and life left his eyes, the blood on his hands, at your feet, staining your shoes, ruining your outfit… no no no, you were pulling his leg.

"You were only jokin' the other night, right doll?" iii asked, laid up on your couch, both of you were exhausted from the hectic week you both seemed to have had and barely got to see one another, massaging each others tired feet. You wiggled your toes.

"About what?"

iii wondered briefly if he should ask, maybe it was a whimsy thing of you to say. Held no substance but… "What you said about that Adam guy. Your wish for me to kill him?"

You snorted. "Honey, you thought I was serious? I wouldn't ask you to do something like that," you paused, both thumbs pressed into the arch of his foot. "Unless you really wanted to."

His eyes went wide, his heart stopped before growing three sizes, his stomach flipped and his jaw unhinged at the look on your face.

Innocent yet dripping with sin.

"Oh my good iii! the look on your face!" you burst into hysterics, shaking the couch. "No oh my god, you're no killer. You wouldn't hurt a fly, babe."

You had mentioned you'd be out of town the following weekend which mad him already miss you even though you were there in one of his shirts cooking breakfast and also a little light in the loafers as with you out of town, he could dismantle Adam without you knowing. You might have an assumption or may even question your boyfriend, but you wouldn't be mad about not dealing with this sex pest any longer, any of you women in the office would cheer and throw an office party!

Nights when you two weren't together iii had made it a routine in following Adam and learning his routine, when he got home, where he liked to get gas, his Jersey Mike's order, what he preferred to drink, what he picked out this week at the liquor store. He was on him and that following Saturday when you were gone, he struck.

Wouldn't hurt a fly… sorry doll, iii thought to himself as he pounced on Adam in a headlock, dragging him through the parking lot of a bar, covering his mouth as well, pinching his nose shut. Adam kicked the side of the dumpster just as another drunk karaoke singer took to the stage behind them. He lifted him up over his shoulder once he was knocked out and carried him towards the park, his killing grounds of sorts. Not too far away from where he'd killed Ricky.

He dropped his off his shoulders in a heap, he heard a crunch, nothing serious, no more so than the damage he was about to deliver. iii slapped Adam in the face, dizzy eyes met his in the dark.

"Your days are soon to be over."

"Huh? where am I?" Adam choked, grabbing at his neck before iii hit him again. He was starting to look worried; perfect, iii thought.

"Doesn't matter. This is the last place you'll ever be," iii bent lower, grabbing Adam's face tightly with his gloved hands, squeezing, taunting, playing with his victims. " 'm not even close to sorry, Adam but I will inform you that this place," he extended his free hand out showcasing the trail and roll of leaves, the bare branches, the soft and wet earth. He even gave Adam's face a hard shake. "This place will become your tomb."

iii whipped out his butterfly knife, spun it until it opened cleanly, glowing in the moonlight. He didn't waste time. The way Adam's eyes widened slowed down, time set a slow pace when he was in his killing element. iii plunged the blade into the side of Adam's thick neck.

The surprise. The shock. The satisfaction on iii's face, smiling beneath his mask that had frightened the dying man weeks prior. The gentle twist on the blade to add an extra insult felt so good, he felt it in the base of his spine, the balls of his feet. Bliss.

He heard a gasp, terrified he looked over his shoulder; better not be that fucking Detective. iii had never killed twice in one night but there was always a first time for everything.

When he turned fully he was quite relieved to not see the Detective instead...

… he saw you.

"What are you doing here?" iii stammered out, too late to hide the crimson stained blade, Adam holding his neck as ore seeped out between his fingers, dying eyes looking at you.

"Honey what did you do?"

You looked nervous as if he might turn the knife on you, leave no witness and he would never do such a thing. iii would kill himself rather then even make you upset!

"You're supposed to be out of town."

"That's not what I asked." You said, rocking on the ball of your feet, staring at him, your voice watery. "What did you do?"

iii swallowed and wiped off the blood from the blade on palm of one of his gloves. "I took care of it. Adam was a threat, so I got rid of it."

On wavering legs you came closer down the the trail, looking down at Adam who lay lifeless, the smell of blood heavy in the night air. "You killed him."

"For you."

"For me?" you shook your head.

"I KILLED HIM TO PREOTECT YOU!" iii shouted at you for the first time since you'd been a couple, he pointed down Adam. "He was going to hound you for who knows how long, those other women you work with, they deserve safety too."

"But iii--"

"And I'm not sorry."

You stepped over Adams remains, putting your hands up onto his shoulders. "I don't want you to be sorry."

"You don't?"

"No. I left my trip early cause I felt something was wrong and I was right," you weren't scolding him, you weren't scared of him. "I also have a feeling now that this isn't your first kill… is it?"

"No." iii put away the blade back into his pocket, looking down at you with a question on his lips. "Do you hate me?"

"Hate you? honey I love you!"

Those three words he'd only heard from friends and family up until this point in his life sounded like heaven, voices of an angel. It shocked him as it had shocked Adam with a blade to the jugular. This had never happened before.

"You love me?"

"Of course I do. We should probably get him out of here before Detective Vessel finds out you've been busy."

"You're gonna' help me? who are you?"

….

With your unsuspecting help and aid, you grabbed Adam's legs, iii citing it was a bit 'iffy up top', hefting Adam's torso and dead weight, literally, underneath his arms. In the cover darkness, while the town of Arcadia either slept or were distracted with late night activities and none the wiser, you two, partners in love and now partners in literal crime managed to move Adam to Missing Limbs Falls.

The rushing sound of the Falls were familiar to iii, this was another spot around the town where he felt comfortable to dump his victims. You both agreed on three, accordingly of course and tossed his body into the coursing waters. You both watched as his body moved, wishy washy until you could no longer see the tops of his shoes poking out from the water.

"What do we do now?"

The drive back to his place was a blur of you pawing at him, nuzzling his neck and full on groping him it seemed like, he wasn't even sure he'd stopped at any of the lights. Something feral had taken ahold of you. It was so strange. He thought about your reaction to his side gig of keeping Arcadia safe hundreds of times and yet none of them held a candle to this. It was almost like… you were into it.

Fumbling his keys at the door, your growl of dissatisfaction, barely shutting the door, tearing off his mask that he would surely need a fast replacement. If Detective Vessel caught even a whiff of blood he might set up a whole investigation against him.

He let you manhandle him into the bathroom, fighting for space and not much else as you climbed into the shower, dragging him with you. Blood stained the tub, washing down the drain from his hold on your hips which you didn't seem to mind.

"I am so turned on right now." You said against his lips, as if trying to morph into his body, pressing your chest closer, stepping on tip toes, fingers in his hair.

"I just killed a guy."

"Not your first." you kissed him really hard, leaving an indent in his bottom lip no doubt, smacking your way across his face. "Might not even be your last!"

"Are you alright? you know this isn't normal, right?"

You pulled back, holding on to his arms. "Do you want me to turn you in or something?"

"No! I just… you're acting like this isn't out of the ordinary. I kill people."

"Do you kill people or bad people?" You asked watching his mouth for the answer.

"Bad people."

"Well then that's good!" you rushed to kiss him once more. "You're a good boy, iii."

He shuddered and you noticed, no one had praised him like you do, no one had acknowledged him like you do, he's putty in your hands and he promised himself he'd do anything for you. Whatever you asked. Including murder.

iii really liked that.

Even more when you rinsed off, barely towel dry and sat in his lap, joining your bodies together. Your foreheads together, rocking his cock further and further up into you, you smiled at him before kissing him, licking your way instantly into his mouth. He groaned and smoothed his hands, now clean up your damp back, before cupping your face as you fucked.

"I love you too ya' know." iii huffed out when you leaned back, hands perched tightly on his knees, exposing your swollen clit with the angle. His eyes instantly on it.

"I know." You huffed back, brushing the back of your knuckles along his sharp jawline.

"Y-you do?"

"Of course, you're kinda' predictable when it comes to me. I can see it in-- oh fuck yeah rub my clit just that fuck-- I can see it in your eyes. Circle it circle it." You gasped, clenching the gummy walls of your pussy around him. His left foot twitched and your eyes rolled back.

He did, earning another 'good boy' praise, he could get used to this. "I'm your good boy?"

"You sure are, baby. Killer or not."

This time iii smiled and brought you to the edge, swallowing your little mewls with needy kisses, holding your hips to roll you over so he could fold you up and fuck you nice and deep.

"You think you'll ever get caught?" You asked after he came with a shudder, dropping his body weight onto you, you held him and calmed him down. Running your fingers through his damp but drying hair.

iii lifted his head a little, drowsy eyes and dry throat. "Would you stop me if I wanted to kill again?"

"Not unless you wanted me to." You easily and gently said, bopping him on the nose.

"As long as you keep me accountable; I don't think we'll have to worry.

“You’ll have to sign this consent form,” the young woman handed him a clipboard with a thick packet. “It’s standard stuff. Allows the actors to put their hands on you, put their weapons on you, but not uh. Draw blood. Just sign it and you can go in,” 

“They’ll touch me?” 

“It’s so they can drag you from room to room if they want. You know. All that stupid, trendy BookTok masked man stuff,” he made a face, wanting to act like that didn’t intrigue him. He signed all the same. She took the clipboard back. She stamped his hand, but the ink did not show under the regular lights. He could feel the dampness on the back of his hand. “Go ahead,” 

The doorway was covered by thick, blood red, velvet curtains. He inhaled and stepped forward, through them. They were heavy, and he was immediately accosted by an old basement type smell. The corridor felt like concrete, with cold air spiraling past him to leave through the curtain gap. He allowed it to close behind him. There was only one light way at the end, making it seem as though this corridor would go on forever. 

The light went out. 

He felt doors swinging open all the way down the corridor. Some lit with electric LED lights, others seemed to be glowing with literal flames. One doorway was pulsing red and green and blue LEDs, and he went for it. As soon as his foot crossed the threshold, the pulsing stopped and everything was lit an ominous red alone. It was darker than the red had been. The door he’d chosen had a maze within, curtains and doors and hallways lined everything. Several curtains fluttered. It was either a manufactured breeze, or someone was behind them. Cautiously, he stepped forward. He was aware he could be grabbed and moved. So, he moved slow, kept his weight low. He passed a suspicious curtain, passed two open doorways, passed three closed doors. He began to pick up the pace as the dark red tone began to pulse. It pulsed faster and faster, increasing his urgency as he found himself running down the hallway. He could not hear anything over his feet slapping against the wooden floor, so he tried to slow down. Tried to ignore his racing heart, which seemed to pulse in time with the light. He came to a dead end, with two branching hallways on either side. He veered left, walking quickly and quietly. In between steps, he heard it. 

“You don't think it's wrong?” IV’s voice rang out pitchy and unsure. 

“Naw, I mean what are you really doing that's all bad? They don't even know you're looking, man. If they really wanted privacy, they'd close their curtains,” 

“I think it's called stalking, but, I want to look,” 

“Just look?” III inquired. His eyes lit with a very concerning look. His mouth twisted into a disturbing smirk. “What would you do, if you had them in your hands, IV?” 

“In my hands?” his face scrunched up, thinking of all the things he’d do if he actually had the object of his desire within his grasp. III handed him something. It’s a mask that would cover his whole face, black with a gold muzzle. III grinned, showing IV the mask’s equal opposite. IV was terribly confused. He was still thinking of all the things he’d do once he had them in his hands, shifting uncomfortably when he started to get hard. 

“It’s October. Let’s see if they’re going to a Halloween party tonight,” III’s eyes were lit up still, twisted in delight and turning white blue. 

“You mean? Together?” III was a demon, the butcher, that thing that the news cycle couldn’t get enough of. IV was a common stalker. “I don’t… I’m not-” 

“Shhh, IV. I’ll show you everything,” III was terribly excited now, and would likely be taking IV’s target out with or without him. IV began to nod, assenting to this strange twist of his Saturday night. “We can even bring them back here, if you want. String them up, cut the major arteries so that they’re coated in their own blood,” IV inhaled sharply at the image that III was painting. III was playing around on his phone while IV willed his dick to go down. “Yep, look. Party tonight. They even posted the address, what a moron,” III laughed. “Easy kill,” 

“You don't think it's wrong?” IV’s voice rang out pitchy and unsure. 

“Naw, I mean what are you really doing that's all bad? They don't even know you're looking, man. If they really wanted privacy, they'd close their curtains,” 

“I think it's called stalking, but, I want to look,” 

“Just look?” III inquired. His eyes lit with a very concerning look. His mouth twisted into a disturbing smirk. “What would you do, if you had them in your hands, IV?” 

“In my hands?” his face scrunched up, thinking of all the things he’d do if he actually had the object of his desire within his grasp. III handed him something. It’s a mask that would cover his whole face, black with a gold muzzle. III grinned, showing IV the mask’s equal opposite. IV was terribly confused. He was still thinking of all the things he’d do once he had them in his hands, shifting uncomfortably when he started to get hard. 

“It’s October. Let’s see if they’re going to a Halloween party tonight,” III’s eyes were lit up still, twisted in delight and turning white blue. 

“You mean? Together?” III was a demon, the Butcher, that thing that the news cycle couldn’t get enough of. IV was a common stalker. “I don’t… I’m not-” 

“Shhh, IV. I’ll show you everything,” III was terribly excited now, and would likely be taking IV’s target out with or without him. IV began to nod, assenting to this strange twist of his Saturday night. “We can even bring them back here, if you want. String them up, cut the major arteries so that they’re coated in their own blood,” IV inhaled sharply at the image that III was painting. III was playing around on his phone while IV willed his dick to go down. “Yep, look. Party tonight. They even posted the address, what a moron,” III laughed. “Easy kill,” 

III was wrong, but it was even more fun that way. 

The house was huge, filled with drunken mummies and high ghosts. They fit right in with their masks on. 

“Woah, dude, cool Butcher costume! He’s a freak. And who’s he?” some guy in a Ghostface mask asked, gesturing at IV. 

“My Shadow,” III replied before IV could say anything. 

“Ooo, right on, freaky dudes!” no one even paused to think that this was the actual Butcher in front of them. In fact, most people were heaping praise onto them both about the costumes and their creativity. 

“What if the real Butcher decides to get you? For stealing his look?” someone asked III. III had easily integrated them into a giant group of people, including IV’s target in a half assed ghost costume, with holes cut in a top sheet. III cackled. 

“I’d like to see him try,” was his snappy response to the..duckling, maybe? Mostly yellow fishnets and a feathered tail. IV wanted the ghost on their knees before him. He was sort of drilling holes in the side of their head. III slapped his thigh, snapping him out of it. “Dude, you could like. Chill the fuck out on the stalker staring,” III sort of whispered through gritted teeth. 

“Sorry,” IV mumbled. The party progressed. The ghost stood up and walked out onto the back porch. 

“Go. Now,” III commanded IV. They both got up, and followed the ghost, who was puking over the balcony. 

“Oh, shit man. You okay?” IV immediately asked, unthinking. The ghost was unable to answer, because they were in the middle of vomiting their guts up. Once they stopped, IV tried again. “Yo, ghostie, you good?” 

“I’m a,” hiccup, “fuckin’ poltergeist, you ass,” the ghost, well, poltergeist, retorted. 

“Okay, ghostboy, seems like you’ve had too much to drink. Can we call anyone for you, take you anywhere?” III interjected. 

“H-home,” III’s eyes widened in delight. He was very intentionally misinterpreting what they had requested. 

“Home. You got it,” and III hoisted them up over his shoulder. They all made their way through the party, and not one person even tried to stop them while they carried their mark out of the house. Getting the ghost into the car was easy, but once III started driving in what was the wrong direction from the ghost’s perspective, they started freaking out. IV was in the back with them. He quickly used a seat belt to restrain their hands. 

“Alright, alright. Calm down,” IV told them as he bound them. They just started kicking instead, so he wrenched their legs across his lap and he used another seat belt to restrain them. Thankfully, III had a huge vintage American car with a giant bench in the back. “If you’re good, I’ll untie you. But you’re not being good, so I’m not going to untie you,” 

“You’re a quick study, IV,” III laughed. This was going to be so fun, especially since IV seemed so well suited to the games III liked to play. III looked at him from the rearview for a moment, taking in that wide, stocky build of his shoulders. Oh, I wonder if he'd fuck me in front of our victim… 

The way III was looking at IV had him thinking he might do more than just kill someone tonight. 

III whipped the vehicle into his driveway. Lucky he'd cleaned out his basement the other day. Fresh tools, clean table, new rope. And now a new partner. And fresh meat. 

“Shall we string him up? Skin him? Make him scream?” IV had ideas about what to do with the writhing poltergeist in his hands. He gripped him firmly, likely bruising his biceps. “Let's get him into your basement, I want to dye his pretty blue hair with his blood,” IV was in it now, and he was battling a raging hardon thinking about killing his little victim with III.

III was ecstatic, helping IV wrangle the squirming man down into his basement. He got ropes on him as the poltergeist screamed. He thrashed and bit at IV, and III loved the teeth marks he left on him. “You look so cute with those teeth marks in your arms,” III purred. He tested the knots binding the poltergeist, and then strung him up.  III pulled his favorite knife out of his belt. The poltergeist screamed again on seeing it. IV snatched it out of his hand and lunged. He got right in the poltergeist’s face, pressing the knife hard against his throat. Blood bloomed on the knife’s edge. The screaming stopped. 

“Oh fuck, that's good,” IV groaned. III stalked up behind him and pressed against IV so that IV could feel III's entire body. Including his boner. 

“I can make it even better,” he whispered into IV’s ear. IV arched that spectacular ass back into III as he dragged the knife through the poltergeist's clothing. The knife was sharp enough that a thin red line bloomed on his skin as IV sliced through the clothing. His ghost sheet was long gone. III wrapped his hand around IV's and began to use it to torture the poltergeist. He sliced ribbons into the young man's arms and torso. 

“Are you going to kill me?” the poltergeist was nearly strangled by fear, but he had the balls to ask. 

“Yes, of course, love. That’s what makes it fun,” IV purred. III’s eyes lit at that, and his dick shot straight up so fast he thought he’d break his pants about it. III couldn’t help it, he stabbed right into the poltergeist’s abdomen. Blood came out of his mouth then. IV stuck his fingers in his mouth, painting his lips with his blood. 

“Aww, you gave him lipstick,” III grinned. IV returned the look, and III tugged the knife out of his gut. “I’m gonna slit his throat,” 

The guy would not fuck off. He kept trying to get me to go home with him. The bar was crowded, and I should have been able to lose him, but he would not go away. Guess I’ll just lose him on the street. The street was not as crowded as I had hoped it would be, but I thought that cutting through alleys would shake him. After three turns, he was still behind me. After five, I began to panic. He was genuinely chasing me, and what the hell would he do if he caught me? I was trying more evasive maneuvers but he stayed hot on my tail. Oh man, who was going to find my body? My feet were moving faster, I was running as much as I could. I took a wrong turn and hit a dead end. He was right up behind me. I turned to face him. I would not die with my face smashed into the bricks of the building behind me. 

“My friends will find you!” I yelled. He was grimy, sleazy, and oily looking. “Go away!” I tried to puff up into a menacing stance. He laughed and kept walking toward me. It was almost ridiculous, like a drama film about a bad guy. “You look dumb!” I swung my fist at him but he caught it. He was like…sniffing my hair when he suddenly jerked away from me. A noise at the end of the alley. 

“Go away, buddy. Me ‘n my girlfriend are trying to enjoy ourselves,” his voice came out, loud against my eardrums. 

“That’s a lie please help me!!!” He cracked my head against the wall. My vision began to swim and everything was sort of dark. Nausea swarmed me. 

“I think you should move,” a voice came from the end of the alley. It was sinister, as though it were delivered with a Kubrick stare. 

“Fuck off,” my assailant yelled over his shoulder. Steps sounded behind him, coming closer. My assailant had the audacity to roll his eyes before he turned to confront the interrupter. Everything happened pretty fast after that. The assailant was whipped to the side. I caught the interrupter’s face, and it was masked. Black and gold and scary as hell. 

“It’s not nice to swear,” the masked man hissed at the assailant. Then, the masked man grabbed him by his ear. My vision was still messed up, because I had no clue where he’d gotten that knife now pressed against the ear he was holding. I kind of wanted the masked man to slice the ear clean off. “Are you going to apologize?” he asked the assailant. 

“Y-yeah man. Sorry! S-sorry for swearing,” the masked man looked up at me and cocked his head. His white eyes bored into mine. Though he was masked, I thought I could tell he was arching an eyebrow at me. 

“Slice it off,” I whispered. I don’t know why I said that, or what motivated me, but the masked man was more than happy to comply. The screaming began as the blade moved, and he slowly sawed through the guy’s ear. Blood was freely flowing, and in between his gasps and screams, I could hear the squelching of flesh and cartilage giving way under the masked man’s blade. My own blood was rushing south, watching this stranger mutilate this would-be assailant. 

“You’re enjoying this?” the masked man asked me. 

“That would be deranged,” I whispered. 

“What should I cut next?” he returned my whisper. It felt so sexually charged that my breathing nearly stalled out. I stepped forward, holding my hand out for his knife. 

“Pull his tongue out. I want to cut it out myself,” The masked man jabbed his fingers into the guy’s mouth and jaw until it opened, and grabbed his tongue. I jammed the knife through the center of it, sawing out so that it was only half attached. Blood went EVERYWHERE. I locked eyes with those delicious white eyes again. “You want the other half?” my voice had gone smokey and husky and so turned on it was embarrassing. He wrapped his huge hand around mine and together we cut the other half of the would-be assailant’s tongue out. Then, he guided my hand and together we cut his throat. A shallow cut, but it would kill him. Then, the masked man jammed the knife into his voice box. He shoved the assailant to the side. 

“You’re perfect,” he whispered, taking the bottom portion of his mask off. 

“You saved me,” I breathed back. He stood, and walked toward me slowly, giving me time to leave. I walked backwards, so that my spine was pressed against the wall. He came closer, and I could see his dick, could practically see it throbbing in his jeans. He stared at me for a moment. I could only imagine what I looked like, panting and my pupils blown completely open with my need for him. He bent down and hooked both of my legs over his shoulders, before standing straight up. His head was under my skirt, and my back was pressed to the brick. He inhaled through the center of my panties and moaned so loudly it made my legs feel weak. Both giant hands kneaded at my ass, and I felt the heat of his tongue run up the center of my panties. He was huffing and licking at me through the now thoroughly soaked fabric. I keened when he moved around so he could slide my panties to the side. 

“Say no right now, or I am never letting you go,” he groaned into me. I clamped my thighs around his head. I heard a muffled growl, and he buried his whole face right in my pussy. He was humming and moaning and inhaling, all of the noise and breath creating a friction that I did not often experience. Teeth closed around my clit and the pinch made me squeal. His fingernails dug into my inner thighs, creating little sparks of sensitivity and pain. My skin was splitting under his sharp nails, and thin trickles of blood tickled the inside of my thighs. He was licking the wounds he created, alternating between sucking and biting and licking all of me. It felt like seeing the face of God, but God was masked and angry and a killer. He had just killed a man right in front of me. That thought crossed my mind at the same moment he pushed one finger inside of my asshole. The stretching pain, along with the tongue rubbing hard against my clit, caused me to gush all over his mask and face. Everything whited out. “Oh, good girl,” he crooned from between my legs. “Such a good girl for me, making such a mess, marking your territory,” he kind of lowered me down, but was still holding me up. His mouth met mine. He smelled like me, and that made my knees weak all over again. My serial killer.  I sank down to my knees, trying to rip his pants open. 

“Let me, let me, let me,” I began to beg, working his belt off. He laughed, low and so seductive I snapped my thighs together again. 

“Needy thing,” he helped me anyway, pulling his cock out. Big. Wide. Reddish pink and fit to burst, the head turning purple-ish. “Open,” he whispered. I obeyed, sort of. I did not wait for him to feed me his cock, I pulled him into my mouth, sucking hard. He tasted like sweat and animalic musk, salty and meaty and hot against my lips and tongue. I moaned when he touched the back of my throat, hoping to send vibrations up the shaft and make him feel good. I pulled back to spit on him, so that I could fit him further into my throat better. My right hand came up to cup his balls, fingers dancing over his perineum and making him moan loudly. He was so vocal, it was beautiful to hear. I drooled over his balls too, sucking them into my mouth one after the other. I soaked my finger as well, so that I could slide it inside of him and find his prostate. He didn’t object when I started to prod at the ring of muscle, though I didn’t ask for his permission. He groaned, long and low, and I pushed my finger into his ass. I crooked it forward just as I enveloped the crown of his dick with my mouth and slid my palm against his perineum again. He jerked, cock bobbing hard against my tongue as it began to throb hard. He was cumming. It was vile, bitter and so salty it hurt. But I pulled back, leaving it all on my tongue so that I could show him. His eyes were rolled back so pretty in his head. But they rolled forward and he gasped when he saw me, mouth full of cum. He bent down immediately and kissed me, rubbing his tongue aggressively against my own. 

“You’re coming home with me,” it was meant to sound like a threat, but I could think of nothing I wanted more. 

"They bleed so well for you, III,"