"Run, run! As fast as you can — run! Hahahaha!"
His voice echoed in the cold, damp room . He let out a sick, twisted laugh as he chased his prey who was desperately trying to escape, despite her severed leg.
"That's too boring," he muttered, cocking his head like a child staring at a broken toy. "Let's make it more fun."
He raised the axe in his hand.
One swift, the other leg was gone.
"I told you..." he knelt beside her "entertain me. Entertain me!"
But she didn't answer. Can't she?
He didn't move.He left his prey crawling, trying to drag herself away in vain. Then...
" What a boring"
.
.
.
.
.
.
"David Cross —
"Hey, David Cross. Can you hear me, student—
He blinked. The lecture hall snapped back into focus— the white walls, the scattered papers, the rows of students.
"Hey, student!"
"Uh—here. What?" he muttered, dazed.
"Answer the question."
"Uh… any question?"
A few students laughed. The professor didn't.
"If you're not here to learn, and you'd rather nap through my lecture, I suggest you wait outside. We can have a more conversation at the end."
Silence.
David stared blankly at the professor, lips twitching as if caught between a smile and a snarl.
"Understood."
He leaned , began gathering his books slowly, then walked out of the lecture hall without another word.
.
.
.
.
.
"Man, she's so annoying."
Vincent's voice broke the silence of the room.
"Honestly, I'm still surprised you haven't killed her yet, Dave."
David let out a quiet breath, more like a hiss than a sigh.
"You know how badly I want to. I've imagined it — torturing her alive... skinning her, ripping out her fingernails one by one, tearing off her scalp. I'd chopping her body piece by piece, cook it, and feed it to her while she screams."
He smiled darkly at the image in his head.
"But unfortunately, as you know. If she suddenly disappears, it'll cause waves attention we don't need right now. So, for the time being… we leave her."
Vincent chuckled as he crouched beside a headless corpse.
"I'm starting to think you've gone soft since meeting that girl — Victoria Reeve. Are you telling me the mighty cross is catching feelings?"
"Shut up, Vincent." David snapped. "don't call me with that name again "
He stands up.
"Let's clean this place first. The cops have been snooping around too much lately."
"Yeah, fair point."
"It's your turn to process the meat and get rid of the bones."
"Ugh," Vincent groaned. "I hate this part."
But he got to work. The body had already been flayed — skin carefully peeled away during the game — so all that remained was to separate the meat from the bone. His fingers moved slicing through tendons and cartilage.
Once done, he gathered the bones into a steel tray and fed them into the grinder. The machine whined as it began reducing everything to a fine, pale powder. Vincent opened the back door and stepped into the cold morning air.
He scattered the bone meal across the garden in slow, deliberate arcs.
"It's good for the roses ," he muttered to himself.
Inside, David was finishing his task.
He knelt by the blood-soaked floor, scrubbing meticulously. Nearby, a black bag bulged with torn limbs and strips of excess flesh.
He sealed them in a heavy-duty plastic drum, then poured in a mixture of water, lye, and heat packs alkaline hydrolysis. The solution would break the skin down over hours, dissolving fat and tissue until nothing remained but sludge.
David stood. Wiped his gloves on his apron.
"oh remains the heads"
"Teeth first," he said simply.
Vincent tossed him a pair of pliers.
David dropped them into a small glass jar, then shattered the jawbone with a hammer.
They carried the heads to the shed, where a thick industrial barrel waited filled nearly to the brim with concentrated sulfuric acid. Vincent lowered the head slowly, the skin hissing as the acid ate through it instantly.
Vincent dropped onto the couch, blood still drying on his arms. "You know," he muttered, yawning, "you'd make a terrifying housewife."
David chuckled, wiping sweat from his brow.
"I don't mind the cleaning," he said, heading toward the kitchen. "It's the mess I enjoy "
"Seriously, though, we need to start thinking of better ways to do this without all this mess."
David's grin widened.
"Maybe next time, who knows , Have you stored the meat ?"
.
.
.
.
The freezer door creaked open, releasing a wave of cold air laced with the faint metallic scent of blood. Vincent knelt beside it, stacking vacuum-sealed packs of freshly carved flesh into neat rows. His hands moved with care, almost reverence, as if arranging delicate ingredients for a gourmet meal — not the remains of a human being.
"I've prepared the meat," he said, closing the freezer with a heavy thud. "This should last us a while."
David, standing by the kitchen counter with a blood-stained apron hanging loosely from his frame, glanced over his shoulder.
"Good," he replied, wiping a smear of red from his cheek. "Today's catch was generous. And you know... I prefer fresh meat."
He licked his thumb absentmindedly, then turned to the stove.
"So, what do you think? What should we cook tonight?" Vincent asked, stepping closer, his tone light — playful.
David paused,
"Carne asada and shepherd's pie?"
Vincent chuckled, low and satisfied. "Oh, you do know how to tempt me."
David smirked and walked past him, patting his head gently. "Of course, darling. I'll cook tonight you just relax."
The kitchen was oddly warm, lit only by the flickering fire in the nearby room. The shadows danced across the tiled floor as David set out ingredients: onions, garlic, thick slabs of marbled flesh, herbs stolen from a neighbor's garden.
He moved with grace,as if preparing a love offering rather than a meal.
Vincent leaned against the doorway, watching him.
"You know," he said slowly, "sometimes I think this the cooking, the cleaning, the rituals it's the part you love most."
David didn't answer right away.
"Killing is the spark," he finally replied, slicing into a thick,
red steak. "But this... this is the art."
A heavy silence settled over them, broken only by the sizzle of meat hitting hot oil.
dinner was almost ready.