Chapter 2

My heart dropped into my stomach, and for a moment, I forgot how to breathe.

As I watched drop after drop of blood splatter onto the dust-covered stairs, a crushing sense of dread tightened around me.

I knew I was screwed.

I'd actually stumbled across a real serial killer.

I'd filmed scenes involving blood before, so I knew exactly what fake blood looked like.

The color, thickness, and way it caught the light, especially the smell, there was no mistaking it.

The blood on that knife was real.

What kind of cursed luck did I have?

I picked this location at random, so how had I somehow ended up in an actual serial killer's hideout?

Almost on instinct, I aimed the camera at him.

The viewers immediately lost their minds.

The chat exploded with comments claiming I'd hired an actor.

They kept saying the killer looked too realistic, that I'd thought of every detail, even giving the guy a mask to hide his identity.

Unable to make a sound, I frantically shook my head and waved my hands, trying to signal that there was no actor.

Using my cap to shield the glow of my phone screen, I quietly followed the sound of the killer's footsteps.

Then, to my horror, he stopped.

He entered the room right next to mine.

The worst part was that the wall separating our rooms had partially collapsed.

What should have been a solid wall was now little more than a waist-high section of brick.

Maybe someone had torn the rest down to steal the materials.

I quickly crouched beneath the remaining wall, following the direction of the footsteps and hiding as low as possible.

There was no way I could leave.

The metal door was damaged, and opening it would make far too much noise.

I didn't dare risk it.

Through the gaps in the broken wall, I had a clear view of everything happening next door.

I covered my mouth the entire time, terrified that even the slightest sound might give me away.

The killer hung the rechargeable lamp from a hook.

A woman lay on a wooden table.

A blindfold covered her eyes, and thick tape sealed her mouth shut.

Her wrists and ankles were bound with ropes, each limb pulled in a different direction until she looked stretched out on a torture rack.

Then came a series of muffled groans.

A moment later, I heard the steady drip of blood hitting the floor.

The killer drove the knife into her chest three times in rapid succession.

Then, without hesitation, he began carving into the tender flesh of her inner thigh, slicing again and again.

A cold sweat instantly broke out across my back.

According to the stories surrounding the killer, he would stab his victims in the heart before cutting into their inner thighs.

He was supposedly obsessed with finding out whether intense pain from a fatal chest wound would dull a person's ability to feel pain elsewhere.

The inner thigh, after all, was one of the most sensitive areas of the human body.

I had to call the police.

The viewers in the livestream were flooding the chat with the same demand.

“Call the police.”

Then the killer did something even more horrifying.

He began molesting the dead woman.

With one hand, he yanked up her skirt.

With the other, he reached for his belt.

The monster who killed without hesitation was about to violate her corpse.

The sight left me frozen.

At that exact moment, my phone rang.

Because of my livestreams, I always carried two phones.

The better one handled the broadcast, while the second served as a backup in case the battery died.

The backup phone wasn't nearly as advanced.

It didn't have a one-tap mute function.

The ringtone was off, but it wasn't completely silent.

A low vibrating buzz filled the room.

The sound immediately interrupted the killer's depraved act.

He quickly adjusted his clothes, then turned toward my room.

And started walking, one step at a time.

Even though I killed the vibration as fast as I could, the killer was already getting closer.

My heart felt like it was about to burst out of my throat.

What was I supposed to do?

There was no way I could take on a serial killer.

Sure, I was a man too, but I barely worked out.

More importantly, the killer had no humanity left in him.

There was no chance I could beat him in a fight.

Then suddenly, a ringtone echoed through the building.

Not mine; his.

The killer stopped in his tracks.

He turned around, glanced at his phone, and headed back the way he'd come.

Relief hit me so hard my legs nearly gave out.

My God.

I'd just brushed against death.

I remained in a crouch and shuffled forward inch by inch.

I needed to get closer to the door.

The moment an opportunity appeared, I was running.

I couldn't stay here any longer.

If I remained in this place, the only thing waiting for me was death.