It's nighttime in Atlanta. I have a car, a driver's license, but when it's full moon, I walk around the poor streets with a taser and pepper spray for self-defense, looking for substance to bring back to my pack. I would have a gun by now, but that's still in the works at this moment. 

One favorite choice of mine is the alleyway. It's cliche, everyone expects a robbery or something to take place in here. But in here, that's a major exaggeration. I'm currently almost home. I always take this alleyway to get to the apartment my parents live in due to me living in the big city. Do I enjoy it? Doesn't really matter, I'm too young to decide these things, don't you know?

"Sir, hey, sir?" I can hear a weak voice to my right. I try to ignore it at first, thinking that my head is once again playing tricks on me. After all, if someone was talking to me, it wouldn't come out as a whisper. They well yell at me, and then laugh, then fade away before I could question why they're in my mirror. "Sir?"

I eventually realize that the man is not, in fact, a figment of my imagination. Hands tucked in my pockets, I turn towards the hobo on the flat boxes, clearly looking like he didn't get much help in his begging tonight. "You got... you got anything? I don't care at this point, I'm just.... I haven't been able to afford a drop of water these past few days."

No water, huh? That explains his voice. It's raspy, it hurts for him to talk. Yet he has to, and he has to keep making sure he stays as loud as possible. A cruel joke fate has given to him this week, a joke that some people would definitely laugh at. Am I one of them? No, I tried beating homeless men up on camera, wasn't as entertaining as the kids made it up to be. 

"Sounds like you should be looking for a hose." I inform the man, noting that water from leaks should be what he's going for. That's what I heard anyway, I don't know if it's true, I'm just finding an excuse to shoo him away from these two places. "And you should probably not be asking around here, these occupants are always focused on work, not an old man sitting tired between the two hotels."

"Please...." The old man begs again, something he's really good at. I wonder if there will ever be a day where a book like this will not have begging and homeless man put in the same sentence. Sure, it'll happen eventually, and I'll give all my money to see it. "Don't you got any money?"

I chuckle at the poor man, seeing how desperate he really is. It's funny how tempting helping someone in need is as much as it is to do something really fucked up, like piss in his bowl. Intrusive thoughts and actions of the heart are very strong forces. It's just a shame that mine tend to work together on things. "Alright, alright, I do. I'm just trying to offer some advice." I say as I reach into my jacket. "Just, uh.... give me a second. 

"Oh, thanks kid, I really-"

I quickly shut him up by putting my hand that had a leather glove covering it this hole time onto his mouth, cutting off where his words come out. I then pull out my other gloved hand, which holds a box cutter inside. "And since you won't take it. I think it's best we just put an end to your suffering, don't we?" I quip, smiling like I'm helping this fellow.

Then, the best part, I slide the blade out and then pierce it into his gut. I can hear and feel the man's groans and screams blowing through my palm. But nobody can hear him now that he's muffled, and even if they did, who would come to check on him? Nobody. I carve the box cutter upwards and go all the way up until I reach his neck. Feeling blood, I then let go of him and kick him down to the ground. 

From my point of view.... the hobo's deader than shit. 

Cranking my neck, I wipe the blood off my tool with my glove before tucking both back in my pockets. I've always washed them up after without anyone knowing any better, and with one corner away to my hotel, they won't dry out before it happens. Yeah, I planned out an entire last-second decision to kill a stranger just because he wouldn't stop trying to get table scraps off of me. Do I have some kind of compulsion to plan? Maybe, it does make me feel good every time it succeeds. 

But I haven't learned my true self yet. 

Lastly, I take out my portable camera, I get the perfect angle, and take a picture of the face, putting a strong focus on the eyes. Right, as I hear the flash and click, however, I hear.... barking. I look over curiously, and see a tiny pup in custom-made- box house.

I then smirk.... reach into my pocket again....

And pour everything inside my water bottle onto him. I've moved on from his kind a year ago. The dog looks down yelps and backs away while I walk the scene, carelessly throwing the bottle next to him on the ground. "There you go." I tell him with a smirk before I'm gone.

Glad that's over with.

My manners? Oh, you're right, I haven't even introduced my current self yet, have I? Sorry, about that. My name is Y/N Blackwood.

Yes, I know stories in the first person have used that starting sentence before, but I think it's highly important that you remember that name, because I'm going to bring you a journey involving the darkest depths of my mind. To start with basics, my religious belief is Nihilism, my gender is male, my favorite food is F/F, and I have adapted the personality of an obnoxious, sarcastic, and apathetic, yet still charming jock to hide my scariest mask of all, the true self.

My favorite animal? The owl? It represents death, a species that has become the part of my daily life, whether I hear about it, witness it through my eyes or a screen, or, my favorite... when I'm the one dealing it. I have plenty of excuses for it. The population has already reached such a high amount, correct? What's the arm in killing one when two will replace them? Or that it was a rapist, and he deserved what happened to him. 

Don't you agree? I bet you do, why else are you here? Together, we are going to make plenty of excuses for doing the horrible things we're going to do. That's the way bad guys work. We don't take responsibility; we point the finger at the being who made us this way. It was the Jews who started World War 2, not Hitler, just like how it was my biological parents existing that made me the way I am, put me up for adoption, and haven't tried to reach out to me, since. I didn't kill any of these people, they did. I don't even know who they are, but I know they did something by leaving.

I step inside, greet any staff and guests I pass, go up the elevator, and eventually use the key to enter the huge apartment my family has gifted me. To my convenience, they were there in the dining room. "Ah, Y/N! Just in time." My dad calls out to me with a happy smile. "Your mom just finished cooking. Sit down, we have something we need to tell you."

Something they need to tell me, huh? A simple tatic to get my attention, but it's effective. "Yeah, sure, just let me change really quick?" I request as I point toward the hallway that leads to my bedroom and the bathroom. 

"Of course." Dad agrees with a nod, and I smile before stepping into the bathroom first. I take wash my gloves while they are still attached to my hands, the rest that is dry is invisible to the naked eye. I made sure they were always dark, so unless a really bright light is shining on them, which is never, because I almost always wear them at night, no one will really notice the tiny spots here and there. I do the same with the box cutter, a much easier thing to clean off since it's practically silverware. 

Next my room, I take off my jacket, putting it on a special pile in the closet that's a secret message to myself that I need to take it to the laundry asap since I've likely gotten at least the tiniest drop of blood on it. I add my gloves to that collection, both are good at hiding the sins they carry. Then, I look for a secret compartment I've personally made inside of it. Taking a small box out, I find various trophies, proof of my skills, inside. I take the photo of the man's dead face and puts it inside. He shouldn't deserve to be documented, but I was quick and swift with it, that's something to congratulate myself with. His last step, was literally him sitting on his ass for who knows how long, isn't that ironic?

With that finished, I then step into the living room with a new shirt and pants, not needing to put on an act since I always behave how I normally am on the inside with them. I just...... conveniently exclude any parts involving a 'hunt'. I grab a plate, grab the acquired amount of food my stomach desires, and then sit down right in front of mom and dad on the opposite ends of the table, a tiny subtle message that I'm purposefully making sure I face them so I'm listening directly. "What's up?" 

"Well, I'm not sure if you heard us or not, but a friend of mine over in Woodsboro needs help with a construction project in town." My dad, Richard Blackwood informs me, though it looks like it's an exciting business opportunity for him. "It's a pretty serious thing, and, well... I used to be a guy who operated a power drill back in the day, so I've been called in because some guys quit last second."

"We've already said yes." My mom then tells me, Vanessa Blackwood, causing me to blink, though I'm not all that surprised. "I know you might have a lot of friends over at Weaver High, but Woodsboro is a much wealthier town, and the job will allow us to afford more than we have the past few months. It's a blessing, honey, I hope you-"

"I get it, mom." I assure her with a raised hand, not wanting her to make another 100 excuses as to why we need to move asap. "I don't mind really. But..... you know how much I hate moving." I remind them with a haunted expression, to which my mother laughs while my dad smirks. 

"Yeah, we know." Vanessa responds. "Anyway, we're going to be moving out next week, but it's probably best you get packed up, starting today. Better sooner than later, right?" She advises, to which I obviously nod. 

Woodsboro.... I've heard of that town.

And barely any of it is good things.

___________________________________

(A/N) There's the prologue. A little short, but to the point. I just wanted to establish very quickly of Y/N's M.O, him being the new guy in town, and other minor stuff that will play throughout the entire story. (And 1st season, depending on how well this goes)

First actual chapter will be much longer, might even call it an episode, but I'm not sure if it'll be that kind of long. In fact, I'll probably chunk each episode in half, just so I can update while still writing on a solid pace.

Just so anyone knows, a lot of what happened in Scream 5 won't actually happen here. Heck, there'd probably not be that much Ghostface, even though there are plenty of slasher segments coming in this book. You'll see what I mean by the first hand of chapters. Hence, why I included 'From the book of Scream' in reference to the title of Spiral. 

Plz vote and comment, any counts as feedback, add this to your library to be notified of any updates, and I'll see you in the next one!