"Thanks for joining me for dinner," said Mark as he put away the dishes, briefly rinsing them before drying his hands and turning towards Ethan.

"Of course," he said. "It was great as usual."

Mark led him towards the door, hand hovering behind Ethan's back. "You're sure you don't want to kill with me tomorrow?"

Ethan chuckled, turning towards Mark as they stood in front of the door. "Next time," he said. "I'll come over when your methods are a little less violent."

"Mm, poison's no fun, though," teased Mark, and Ethan only rolled his eyes, smiling at the other.

"No poison and I'm not joining," he said, opening the door. Once he was half-way out the door, he stopped, looking over his shoulder and staring evenly at Mark.

"Don't go for the Tear Stealer," he warned, eyes stern. "Going after him is nothing but trouble."

Mark rolled his eyes and shooed Ethan out the door. "Yeah, yeah," he said. "I'll call you when I'm ready for you."

Ethan huffed through his nose, and he sighed aloud. "See you next time, Mark."

"Buh-bye," he mumbled, watching him exit onto the calm, desolate sidewalk. Once Ethan faded from view, he closed the door and turned around, rubbing his hands together.

"Now, who should I kill next?" Mark muttered to himself, heading back into the kitchen. His eyes swept the room, landing on the wet, gleaming blade from dinner.

His eyes gleamed, and a toothy smile stretched across his lips.

"Perfect," he breathed.

———

Mark slipped past the bodyguards and into the bathroom, lingering behind the celebrity at the urinal. He stayed still, eyeing both him and the door, and waited for him to finish his business.

"Calvin Clyde," he said once he heard the sound of a zipper. Calvin whirled around with wide eyes, raising a hand to his chest.

"Jesus!" he cursed. "Uhm—why are you here?"

"Public restroom," said Mark. "I know this is a weird place to confront you about this—" He walked closer to Calvin, left hand sliding down to the knife in his pocket "—but I wanted to congratulate you for winning the reward. You deserve it—what with all your hard work and dedication."

Calvin fidgeted in his spot, distracted and confounded by Mark. "I—thank you—"

Mark forced his hand over Calvin's mouth and slammed him against the tiled wall. Blood smeared on the tile. Calvin's eyes widened. Nostrils flared. Panic scrabbled from his throat.

Adrenaline spiked through Mark. Exciting, delightful, invigorating. His focus zoned in on the flailing celebrity, and he held onto his mouth with vice-like grip.

Mark dragged him into the stall, using his body weight to force him onto his knees. Calvin gave a muffled cry. Tears slipped from his eyes and into Mark's hand.

Mark slipped out his knife and pressed it against his throat. Calvin flailed. He dug it into his skin. Sliding, thick, sharp.

He ripped the blade across his throat in a clean arch. Calvin gasped and gurgled. Choking on blood. Mark watched with fascination as blood sprayed all over the tile and floor.

Calvin slumped onto the toilet bowl, his jugular gushing blood into the water until it became a deep, dark red. Mark licked his lips and smiled, reaching over for some toilet paper to soak up the dribbling blood from his blade. He dropped it on the floor, stooping over Calvin's vaguely twitching body and plucking a few golden hairs from his scalp. To complete his task, he took one of Calvin's cufflinks, storing it into his pocket.

"You didn't deserve that award by the way," said Mark smugly. He reached into his pocket and dropped a few hairs that belonged to someone else to lead the FBI in the wrong direction.

Mark walked out of the stall, boots clean, and examined himself in the mirror. Hair mussed up and a splatter of blood on his cheek. He quickly fixed himself up, slicking back his hair and wiping away the blood, winking at his reflection.

"You okay in there, Calvin?" called one of the guards through the door.

Mark jumped, straightening his jacket. He cleared his throat and said a little quietly, "I'll be a while!"

He received no response and gave a sigh of relief. Now, to exit—harder than entering.

Mark walked up to the door and hovered his ear by it, careful not to press any DNA into the wood. With a gloved hand, he carefully opened the door a sliver, peering through it. The guards stood there like statues, attention undivided and stature poised.

Curse Calvin and his paranoia, thought Mark ironically. He kept peering through the door for a while more, smiling when a rather pretty woman walked past the bathroom. The bodyguards' posture shifted, and Mark took his chance, slipping behind them and into the crowd. The guards stirred and looked at each other, talking over the gust of wind they felt and choosing to ignore it.

Mark smirked, slipping off his glove and stowing it away as he quickly made his exit.

———

"You've done it again, Mark," said Amy, her smile bleeding through the phone. A ping came up on his laptop, showing Amy's message. "Check out the link I sent you."

Mark smirked in satisfaction, bringing his mouse over and clicking it.

"You think Ethan'll be pissed with me?"

Amy laughed through the line. "Pissed? No. Shocked? Maybe. He always worries when you go big like this, but once the media spike passes, he remembers how skilled you are."

Mark hummed, browsing over the article. He chuckled. "Breaking News: Celebrity Killer Strikes Again," he read aloud, his voice full of amusement. "The beloved actor, Calvin Clyde, has just been murdered yesterday evening."

Mark snickered, shaking his head. "They sound so sad and pathetic," he hummed, browsing the rest of the article. "All I'm bothered about is the name they gave me: Celebrity Killer?"

"Well, it's true."

"Not creative, though," said Mark with a smile. He scrolled down further, lazily skimming the article. His brows shot up when they landed on a word.

"Amy—how far did you read?"

"Only the title, really," she yawned. "No point in reading the rest."

Mark squinted his eyes at the article, blinking his eyes. He shook his head, turned away from his computer for a moment, and glanced back at it. The word was still there.

"Something wrong?"

Mark opened and closed his mouth, fingers shifting around the edges of his phone. "The middle of the article," he said slowly. "It... Here, I'll read it."

He shifted in his seat, leaning against his desk, and said into the speaker, "'Speculation suggests that the Celebrity Killer could be an Evolved. This mass serial killer has been able to hide under FBI radar and government controls for years. Though still unknown, data greatly supports the idea of another rabid Evolved. Could they be trying to uproot segments of our society at a time?'"

Mark scrolled down further. "And here, at the end: 'Stay tuned for more... blah-blah... yes, here—could the Celebrity Killer be working with the feared Antinstine?'"

A shocked silence came over the line. Mark tapped his foot on the ground, waiting for Amy's response.

After a while, he only received a feeble "wow."

"I don't know if I should take this as good news or bad news," said Mark, staring at the words 'Evolved' and 'Celebrity Killer' in the same paragraph.

"Well," said Amy, equally shocked, "you could use it to your advantage."

Mark hummed, scratching his head. "How?"

"Authorities are always hesitant around tracking down Evolved persons. Even if their powers are really small, they still run a risk when catching them."

Mark licked his lips, brows furrowed in thought. "It could also attract other Evolveds to me."

"That's a con," said Amy simply.

Or a pro, thought Mark, thinking about the Tear Stealer. A smirk caught his lips, and he leaned back in his chair.

"Thanks for sharing with me, Amy," he said. "I'll work something out."

"Leaving so sudden? Well, have fun," she said. They hung up, and Mark stared at the words on his computer screen, nervousness coiling in his chest but also excitement rising in his blood.

"Tear Stealer here I come," he said with a sick smirk.

I know it's a bit of a slow start, but I promise it'll get interesting soon! 👀💙

Thank you so much for reading, and have a great day!
-Kassian