Utica, New York

July 4th, 2019

Rain pelts the roof of a split-level house painted a faded off white color with blood red shutters. There are six small steps, flanked on either side by a black barred railing that lead up to a long horizontal porch. A single lamp post sits in the leaf-strewn, unkempt yard of the property. On top of the single floored home, sits a square structure with a series of three dark-shaded windows that look out at the yard and street before the place.

A lightning flash illuminates a classical Japanese styled interior. A fire burns brightly in a tall burgundy brick fireplace. Sitting before the fire, in a black leather chair is a curly dirty blond haired man. It looks like he hasn't brushed his hair or washed it in a few days, just rolled out of bed with the style and went with it.

He scratches a goatee on his chin, mumbling amusement at his thoughts that flood through his head.

The image of a young boy struggling to get free from his hand flashes through his mind. The kid, no older than twenty, pulls at his firm grip as he is hauled into a small space. He is quickly bound and gagged and then beaten unconscious.

The man grins as he recalls putting his hands around the boy's neck, slowly suffocating him. The muffled screams of the young adult tickle his eardrums. Then his mind flashes to a crowbar swinging and decapitating the head from his body.

Suddenly, his humorous mood changes at once as he slams a hand down on the arm of the chair he is sitting in. "Enough dwelling! Find me blood, Encrypto! If this partnership is to continue, you must stay on top of finding me victims to calm my anger!"

He then jumps up to his feet and spins around as another lightning strike lights up the living room. He spots the television still on the news channel he'd set it to. No one would ever catch him, not with his handy helper.

Another person storms into the room, holding a crowbar in their hand. A black hood covers their head and face from sight. They are wiping off the metal rod with a towel. "Oh, come over yourself. You're the most viscous and volatile scumbag to surface in Syracuse. Of course with my technological expertise..."

The messy haired man stalks forward and grabs the person by the wrist. "Don't get sassy with me. I'm not over killing females. Besides I can always find another technological genius to assist me."

The person yanks their arm free, the hood falling backward to reveal a dark black haired woman. "But can they hack the dark web like I can for you? After all, my skills generally turn on..." She loops the crowbar hook around his neck. "People like you."

"Or complete idiots...y'know..." the man chuckles wickedly. He unhooks the metal rod from his neck and then puts his hand on the woman's cheek. "You and I will never be a thing. No matter how much you put off or try. I only wish to go down as one of the most notorious serial killers ever. Never get caught, you know?" He moves his hand down and takes a strand of her shoulder-length hair into his hand.

The woman looks at him, maintaining her stern, unfaltering presence. "Then your next victim you shall have, Hannibal. Go look at the computer screen, tell me what you think about playing a little dark web-style game with him?"

The man snorts in response as she passes by him, continuing to clean off the crowbar.

A voice from the news station on the TV, filters into his ear:

"A third victim has been found. A male college student this time, barely beginning his life. Beaten, beheaded and left for dead in the woods here, just on the north edge of Syracuse. The police and homicide crew is on the case, but once again, it seems the killer has done a good job of cleaning up the crime scene and concealing his identity..."

The man smirks at the news. He is certainly well on his way to achieving his goal. Then he begins to walk into another room, where a set of spiral stairs lead up into a dark area. He grabs the railing and starts to ascend the staircase.

As soon as he reaches the top, he finds himself peering into the dark room, where a hacker's dream workspace resides. A million computer screens are flickering, except one central one. This one is toned bright red with two creepy black oil-like words dripping down the screen.

He climbs into the room and then carefully makes his way over to the computers. The woman had clearly been up to no good, busy trying to find him a new target. He yanks a black chain that he knows dangles over his head a few feet into the space.

A dim light flickers its way on and now, the curly man can see his surroundings. A tech-lover's dream and nightmare, cords racing everywhere and lots of computers and screens. He makes his way over to the desk with the main motherboard computer bunch sitting on it. On the desk, flipped open is a yearbook and there are a series of photographs of various people on the pages. One of the images is circled with a red marker. It is the picture of a blond man with a conservative mid fade and a textured side part in his brushed hair and a pair of piercing blue eyes.

The man glances at the central computer's screen, reading out loud to himself (and the room), "Radim Raddysh."

He glances back down at the yearbook and slowly stretches his arm out, placing his hand right over the image of the young man. Instantly, his mind is filled with dark, despicable thoughts over possible scenarios.

"Well," the woman's voice comes from behind him.

"His head would look rather beautiful in a jar with my other victims, wouldn't it?" A wicked smirk twists its way onto his face.

The woman folds her arms. "Not to kill. At least not yet. I'm challenging you to agree to a little fun game we play with this young man. You know, the more unique the kills you make, the better it is to run and hide, huh?"

"What are you playing at, woman?!" the man snarls, the smirk fading at once to fury.

"I'm not saying we won't kill along the way, but I know this young man here, he's not one to back down from a challenge." She pushes her way by him and takes a seat before the computer.

She types something quickly into the keypad and the screen now displays an email. She pauses and turns back to him. "I'm going to pose as Colton Thompson-Stephens, his foolish, playful little teammate for the Syracuse Storm. I'll send him an email challenge he won't be able to refuse. Easily, he'll come into our trap."

The man raises an eyebrow at the woman, who takes her turn to smirk evilly.

She gets up from the chair and walks to the side, where there is a small circular machine object that resembles a gypsy crystal ball. Through the clear glass, there is a small black rectangular box with a few red buttons on it.

"What is that?" the man asks her, curiously and cautiously.

"This," the woman states, gesturing to it. "Is the source of our fun we'll have...with Radim Raddysh."