She covers her tracks well, or so she thinks. It's easy when she can jump in and out of places quickly and efficiently, even if she's technically a serial killer with a very distinct M.O. Bodies sliced clean in half, no signs of break-in, no weapons left behind. The media can only speculate on who the Night Terror may be... She usually doesn't bother with a mask -- her targets don't make it out alive, so there's no one to identify her by the conspicuous scar on her face.
Haven prepares for the evening: first she reviews all her intel, making sure she knows for certain who she's after and what they've done to deserve such a fate. Then she changes into clean clothes and secures her hair so that no DNA evidence will be left behind. Finally, with a little focus, she imagines her target's whereabouts, opens a gate, and jumps through to the other side.
Tonight, though, something feels wrong. She knows this is the right address, but the room she's popped into is devoid of any activity she would've expected...
It takes a moment, but she notices blood is already spattered across the wall. A leg sticking out from behind the couch in the middle of the living room. Silence besides the low hum of the refrigerator in the kitchen. The scumbag's already been wasted.
It takes an additional moment to notice the other, living presence in the room. The one bathed in darkness, a hulking shadow in the corner. An opaque inkblot on an already murky page. Haven has avoided paying attention to the whole Vought super-circus for a number of good reasons, but it doesn't take a diehard fan to recognize one of their most iconic supes in person.
Get the FUCK out NOW, it's BLACK fuckin' NOIR!!
@rooftop-blues liked for a starter.