Chapter 1: Why Don't I Feel Anything?
The night was cold and quiet, covering the city in a heavy silence. The streets were empty, with only the faint light from the street lamps reflecting off the wet ground. The wind blew softly, carrying the distant sounds of cars and footsteps. But it all felt so far away, like the night itself was trying to forget what was happening in the dark alley.
A young couple walked hand in hand, laughing lightly, breaking the tense air. They had left the busy part of the city to find some peace.
"We should head home," the woman said softly, glancing around nervously, her stomach feeling tight.
"Just a little longer. It's quiet, it feels nice," the man replied, gently holding her hand, unaware of the danger waiting for them.
But as they turned the corner, a strange sound caught their attention. A faint voice, soft but clear, seemed to come from the darkness of an alley to their left.
"Do you hear that?" she asked, her smile fading, feeling more anxious.
He nodded, let go of her hand, and stepped toward the sound.
In the shadows of the alley, a figure stood still. His arms hung loosely, shoulders slumped. A man, wearing a white shirt—or what was left of it. It was torn, soaked in blood, and the red stains seemed to blend into the darkness around him.
At his feet, two bodies lay still. Two women. Their wide eyes stared blankly, frozen with fear. Their faces twisted in terror, like life had been taken from them too quickly.
The man, standing over the bodies, slowly looked up, and his yellow eyes, with hypnotic spirals, met the couple's gaze. His red hair, matted with blood, fell in messy strands over his forehead. The contrast between his bright eyes and his emotionless face was chilling, an empty stare, like he didn't care about the chaos around him.
"Why don't I feel anything..." he whispered, his voice low, almost robotic.
He raised his hands, covered in blood up to his elbows, and stared at them for a long time, his palms open, as if they didn't belong to him. He asked himself again why he felt nothing. This emptiness that gnawed at him. "Why... don't I feel... anything?" he repeated, as if he were a child, lost in a search that never ended.
The couple froze, unable to believe what they were seeing. Their eyes went from one dead body to the other, to the photos scattered on the ground, showing the frozen smiles of the murdered women. The pictures weren't just memories. They were proof. These women... they were all dead, and all connected to this man, who had no remorse in his gaze.
There were dozens of photos. Smiling women, shy women, all of them who had once loved him. And now, they were there, dead, frozen in terror, for believing his lies. They all had one thing in common: they died by his hands.
The woman, eyes wide with horror, took a deep breath, her heart racing. The realization hit her like a wave.
The man, standing in the middle of the horrific scene, kept muttering, lost in his thoughts, ignoring the couple as if they weren't even there. He kept repeating his question, a desperate string of words with no meaning, his eyes empty, lost in his own mind.
"Why... don't I feel anything..."
The couple, frozen with fear, finally turned and ran, their hearts pounding. Their footsteps echoed in the empty streets, but they didn't stop. Fear pushed them to run, to get away from the nightmare they had just seen. They finally reached a phone booth, calling the police, their voices shaking but determined.
A few hours later, Alex stood before the police, handcuffed. He looked at them without emotion, almost amused, as if he were watching someone else's story unfold.
When asked why he had killed those women, he replied flatly, as though it were just a fact he had accepted.
"I wanted... to feel something."
The evidence was all there. The photos, the testimonies, the journals of the victims... Everything pointed to him. A manipulator, a liar, a killer who felt nothing, not even the smallest hint of guilt. He had played with people's lives like they were toys, always getting some cold satisfaction from it.
He was quickly tried, sentenced to death, without hesitation. Society had judged him as a monster, but to him, it didn't matter. Life, death, suffering... none of it meant anything.
On the day of his execution, Alex stayed strangely calm. He showed no fear, no regret. Sitting in the electric chair, he looked at the crowd without flinching.
His last words were a whisper, almost a challenge.
"Maybe this time, I'll feel something."
When the switch was pulled, a jolt of electricity shot through his body, but instead of pain, everything went black. There was nothing left.
The void. A new emptiness in a world he still couldn't understand.