Prologue
Another day, another crime to be done.
My eyes were heavy, from those steps I made towards this whole luxurious mansion. It was big and just enormous for my eyes to skim through every door it had. Oh, how lucky would it be to live the high life in pure luxury. With gleaming parquet floors and a high ceiling containing a big shiny window towards the moon. The soft steps moved forward slowly.
One by one, my eyes trailed off in fantasies. The essence—particularly dark filled the modern interior of this house—led to more mystery in my perception. Though it was quite normal to invade rich people's houses, taking over the grim reaper's job,, this felt like misery. My brain couldn't process well, but all the interiors and kinds of pieces this house gave me were familiar. Unfamiliar but familiar; I have never been in this house before though.
Swinging my knife around my hand, I let out a small whistle, on my way to find the client. It felt exciting; usually, as well I would have gotten this feeling but this time was quite different. The sound of the knife squealing over the walls that it touched, was pure fun to my thoughts. Who was the prey this time? Who was lucky enough to meet me?
"Standby, the client is dangerous" A message hits.
I laughed mockingly at the text. Getting the sarcasm out of my head I didn't bother if he was dangerous. Dangerous? Funny. Mockingly funny. Who was the client even? Who was the dangerous client? If he were a menacing idiot, it would be such a great hunt.
Checking in the kitchen, extra room, bathroom, all done. The only room left was the bedroom. I felt like an idiot afterward, thinking why I didn't check the bedroom even after a few minutes of wondering about his house. It's quite mentally appealing because the house was so neat, but quite a waste of seconds. The door swung open, however, the figure that I was searching for didn't appear in front of my sight. How is this possible? Instead, pieces of photographs were scattered all around the room. Worse, they were pictures of me.
"What the fucking heck?" I mumbled as I established my way towards a whiteboard. A whiteboard filled with my own fucking face. Thousands of pictures stuck through it with a red thread that linked them.
"A stalker? How did he-" A poppy caught my eye. Before I could even pilot my way to spot more things that were stuck on the board, a gun pressed on the back of my head.
"Poppy," the voice mouthed.