The man raised the hook that protruded from his cylindrical wrist.
A final glimmer of hope for life danced in the victim's eyes, flowing away with the tears in the corners of her eyes.
As she trembled beneath the metal hook, the pain radiating from her groin to her abdomen made her gasp for breath, trying to catch a glimpse of her killer's face.
"You're trying to see my face, but it won't do any good. Because you won't be able to tell anyone."
"D-don't," the woman said, trembling as she tried to clasp her hands under her chin.
The weakness in her muscles, the shivering in her knees, and the hook blocking more than half of her field of vision were overwhelming. "Please don't, I have a child…"
"Shh," he said, moving his hook. "Whoever I ask, they will find an excuse to stay alive. So what will I do then? Do you ever think about it?"
Beneath the hood, his jawline appeared as hard as steel. The cold death hidden beneath the pale hue of his lips had been severed in the embrace of a brilliantly bright sky.
The woman shook her head from side to side, pleading, "Please. Let me go, please."
"Why do you cling to life when you're so sure you're going to die?" the killer asked, guiding the hook toward the woman's chest.
"You'll see my face, and when they find your body, they'll start investigating me. The president's daughter."
"Why me?" the woman asked. "Why me?"
The killer seemed pleased by the question, raising his hand to his hood.
In the dim yellow light that wandered over the dark warehouse, the satisfaction reflected on his cheekbones spread to his entire face. He had bright blue eyes, and his hair was blonde.
The woman, astonished, couldn't shake off the disappointment of expecting someone entirely different as she wished the hook would leave her chest.
Her legs were tightly bound to the chair with ropes, her bare feet touching the icy ground. The red polish on her toes shone brightly as it was still fresh. The golden strap of her luxurious green fur coat had torn away and was flapping against her chest.
The heart pounding beneath her skin was caught in the perfect form of that face.
How could a man like him be a killer?
She thought there was no reason for this at all.
"That question was wonderful," the man said, smiling; his eyes were filled with life.
The moist serenity rising from the corners of his lips was intertwined with the life sparkling between the golden strands of his hair. "I liked it."
The woman sniffled, a liquid burning her throat rose to her eyes. "Why did you choose me? What did I ever do to you?" she asked, her eyes filling with pain as she wept.
Her chest rose and fell quickly as she thought there must be a way to escape.
"I didn't choose you; they chose you."
The woman fell silent. "You're insane; who chose me?" she shouted through her tears. "Crazy!" she gritted her teeth.
The man answered directly, speaking from the center of the question. "It's surprising you don't know. The one who chose you is the society you live in…"
She felt as if she had given him more rights than an inmate on death row. This wealthy, eye-catching, happy, powerful woman.
He had shown her his face, and now it was time to kill her with his hook. As he took a step closer, the woman trembled. Her eyes widened in fear.
"Please," she said in a voice barely audible anymore. With a pain in her throat, she cried in a hushed tone.
The hook reentered her line of sight, aiming for the exact center between her two breasts. As she took a deep breath; the hook sank between her ribs.
As the breath she took escaped her lips for the last time, her head fell forward. Her hair covered her face, and blood began to drip from her chest onto her black tights.
Her lifeless arms remained tied to the ropes, her blood binding her to death.
The man peered at the victim from behind his blue eyes and removed the hook from his hand, leaving it in the woman's wounded chest.
He immediately hung a paper, tied at the edge, on the end of the hook.
"Can you find me? We will have so much fun."
The paper was stained with a blood-like liquid from the tip to the body. It swung like an executioner's tool at the end of the hook.