I want to become a killer

His eyes darted around, searching for an escape that didn't exist. I could feel the energy in the room shift—his panic was intoxicating. My heart raced, but my mind was sharp, every second calculated. This wasn't just a random act of violence. This was the start of my evolution, my ascent to something beyond the ordinary.

I grabbed the rope I had prepared earlier, thick and rough, designed to restrain and not break easily. He tried to fight, but his movements were sluggish, disoriented from fear and alcohol. His breathing grew rapid, shallow, like a trapped animal.

"Stop struggling," I said, my voice calm, almost soothing. "The more you resist, the worse it'll be."

He froze for a moment, his chest heaving. "Why... why are you doing this?"

I knelt beside him, tilting my head as if pondering his question. "It's not about you," I replied softly. "It's about what you represent. This is bigger than both of us."

His confusion deepened, but I didn't expect him to understand. How could he? He was just a pawn in a much larger game. I bound his wrists and ankles tightly, securing him to a support beam in the middle of the warehouse. His breaths turned to sharp gasps, his eyes wild with terror.

I stood back, admiring my work. This wasn't just about the act of killing; it was about control, precision, and meaning. I wanted this to be perfect. No loose ends.

"You don't have to do this," he pleaded, his voice cracking. "I've got a family... people who care about me."

I met his gaze, my expression unreadable. "Everyone has someone who cares about them," I said. "But that doesn't change anything."

His words stirred something faint inside me, a flicker of... what? Pity? Doubt? No, I shook it off. This was necessary. I couldn't allow emotions to cloud my purpose.

I reached into my bag and pulled out a knife, its blade gleaming under the dim light filtering through the broken windows. His eyes widened in horror. "Please... please, no!"

I hesitated, the knife hovering in the air. This was the moment. The line between thought and action. Between fantasy and reality.

Then, without warning, a loud bang echoed through the warehouse. My head snapped toward the sound, my heart leaping into my throat. The door. Someone had opened it.

"Police! Drop the weapon!"

The voice was sharp, authoritative. My mind raced. How? How did they find me?

I glanced back at my victim, his face a mix of shock and relief. In that split second, I realized I had underestimated something crucial. People noticed more than I thought. Someone must have seen me lead him here or recognized his absence.

"Drop the knife!" the officer shouted again.

Time slowed. My mind ran through my options. Fight? Flee? Or surrender? Each choice felt heavy, each with its own consequences.

I clenched my jaw, my fingers tightening around the knife. This wasn't supposed to end like this. Not yet.

But then, I made a decision. One I hadn't anticipated.

I dropped the knife, the clang of metal on concrete echoing through the space. My hands rose slowly, my breath steadying. I wasn't done. This was just a setback.

They could stop me today, but they couldn't stop what I'd started.

As the officers closed in, I whispered to myself, "This isn't the end. It's just the beginning."