I left the torture house, it was a dark cloudy night, and the full moon was blocked out of the sky. The woods, where the old house was, was calm and quiet. I took my mask off, in the low light, to me at least, it looked even more threatening. It disintegrated into nothing, awaiting the moment I re-dawn the persona of "Smiley" or "The Dublin Carver". Now I was Jackson Way, the painter. I rolled up my red dress shirt sleeves, it was warm, the spring was unusually warm this year. I also had on dark jeans along with worn boots. My signature knife was away in my pocket, where I kept a hand, running my hand on the handle slowly and inconspicuously. I made my way out of the dark woods and began walking towards the apartment complex. Not many people were out tonight, and just the occasional homeless individual or exhausted late shifter, they paid me no mind. A cool gust picked up and blew past me, making my dark brown hair deform a bit. I fixed it right as I came upon the complex. Most of the lights for all the occupants' homes were out for the night, makes my job a bit easier. I began to make my way to the apartment where my prey awaited. The lights were off, maybe he was asleep, maybe he was awake and waiting for my arrival. Hopefully he was waiting, more fun for me. I materialized the mask, discharge electricity ran over it, powers I received from an experiment an eternity ago, before I was this. I slowly tested the door handle to see if it was unlocked. It was locked, of course. Only a small issue with a simple solution. I withdrew a pair of lockpicks, and began to work on the door. And with a faint "click" it bent to my will. I slowly opened the door and was greeted with the sound of a late night program and snoring. I was plunged into darkness and I saw my target, asleep on the couch not too far away. I closed the door silently and withdrew my trusty knife, carved into it a smiley face, and it was stained by the blood of the fallen and long forgotten, the only surviving witness of my sins for which I must repay. I approached the sleeping man, quietly, ready for the kill. I slipped the blade into his chest, piercing his heart, sliding like a hot knife through butter. He awoke, and before he could make a sound, a hand was over his mouth, and my blade took the voice out of throat. I took my hand away and the only sound he could manage was the gurgling of his gory crimson blood-spit. I began to carve the smile into his face, a message to all who conspired with him, and to all of my future prey. Using his blood I painted a message, a message to those who are to be hunted. "You can't hide from me" was painted on the walls. And I left, leaving the gory scene behind, and into the night I slipped away.
