The air was thick with tension as Karon moved through the dimly lit alley, her senses heightened. Her imitators had unknowingly set a trap for themselves, one that she would gladly spring. She could sense their arrogance in every poorly executed kill, their recklessness a smear on the legacy she'd so carefully crafted. Tonight, she would silence one of them, showing the city and these foolish imposters what true terror meant.
She checked her watch and smirked. She had tracked down the location of one of her imitators—a self-styled "vigilante" who left his mark on victims who barely fit her criteria. This one took pride in posing his victims, leaving them sprawled across alleyways in a macabre display that felt more desperate than calculated. Karon despised the theatricality of it; he was seeking attention, validation from a horrified public that didn't understand true artistry.
As she approached the last known location of her target, her footsteps were nearly soundless. She had memorized the layout of the alleyway, each shadow and hiding place. Her fingers flexed around the knife concealed in her sleeve; this one wouldn't escape.
Then, a sound—a quick shuffle in the shadows ahead. She paused, a thrill of anticipation racing through her. This was it. She moved forward, blending into the shadows until she could see him: a wiry young man crouched near a dumpster, his face illuminated by the dull glow of his phone screen as he typed a message.
Karon felt a surge of contempt. His sloppiness was almost insulting. With her movements fluid and silent, she was upon him before he could react. Her blade found its mark, slicing across his throat in one quick, practiced motion. His eyes went wide, mouth opening in a silent scream as his body crumpled to the ground, blood pooling at her feet. She crouched beside him, wiping her blade with a clinical precision, her expression a mask of cold satisfaction.
Karon leaned in close, whispering in his ear, though he was already too far gone to hear her. "You wanted to be a legend. Let this be your last moment of fame."
---
The following morning, Jade Humphrey walked into the precinct, a grim look on his face as he joined his team in reviewing the latest crime scene photos. Yet another body had appeared overnight, this one an imitator—someone the team had suspected was attempting to mimic the original killer's work.
"This one's different," he muttered, tracing his finger over the crime scene photos. The kill was precise, far more calculated than the other imitators they'd seen. Jade studied the cuts on the victim's body, each one almost surgical, unlike the rough, clumsy wounds he'd grown used to. A sinking feeling twisted his stomach.
"This one isn't like the others," he said aloud, his voice tense. "It's too… clean. Someone went through a lot of effort to make a statement."
Karon stood a few steps behind him, studying his reaction. She'd been careful to leave subtle clues at the scene, marks that only someone as observant as Jade would pick up on. The thrill of manipulating him again brought a dark satisfaction, but she masked it well.
Jade turned to her. "What do you make of this, Harry?"
She shrugged, maintaining a nonchalant expression. "Looks like the work of someone who wants to scare the imitators off. Maybe the original killer is getting territorial."
Jade considered her words, his gaze sharpening. "So, you think the real killer might be... marking their territory?"
Karon nodded slowly, allowing him to believe he was forming his own conclusions. "It's not unheard of. Sometimes, killers don't like others stepping into their domain. It could be their way of warning them off."
Jade's brow furrowed, his mind spinning with possibilities. She knew he would chase this line of thought, and she felt a flicker of satisfaction knowing she had planted the idea herself. As long as he stayed focused on the imitators, he'd remain blind to the one pulling the strings.
---
That night, Karon returned to her apartment, a dark satisfaction settling over her. Her message had been sent, and she could feel the city's atmosphere shift, like a beast retreating into the shadows. She knew word would spread among the imitators; fear would begin to take root. Those who had dared to tarnish her legacy would soon think twice before taking up her craft.
But her moment of triumph was interrupted by an unexpected call. She glanced at the caller ID—Jade. For a moment, a surge of annoyance bubbled up within her, but she quickly tempered it. She answered, forcing a hint of curiosity into her voice.
"Karon?" Jade's voice was tense, clipped. "We need to talk. Can you meet me at the precinct?"
Karon agreed, hanging up and preparing herself mentally. She had meticulously woven a web around Jade, guiding his thoughts, planting seeds of doubt where she needed them. But his call felt off, as if he'd stumbled upon something unexpected.
When she arrived at the precinct, Jade was waiting for her, his expression dark and focused. He wasted no time, gesturing for her to follow him into a quiet corner.
"Another imitator went down last night," he said, voice low. "But this time, we found something… unusual."
Karon masked her irritation, nodding along as he spoke. "What did you find?"
Jade produced a small evidence bag, holding it up for her to see. Inside was a fragment of paper, soaked in blood. The words were smeared but still legible: