I want to become a killer

I couldn't sleep that night. My mind buzzed with possibilities. The letter had ignited something deep inside me, a spark I hadn't realized was there. Someone was reaching out to me—someone who saw the potential in me, someone who understood what I was capable of. It was like a door had just opened, and I could feel the rush of freedom on the other side.

I'd spent so long hiding, pretending, playing the part of a broken, disturbed individual. But now, for the first time, someone recognized that I wasn't just a monster. I was something more. I could feel the walls of the prison around me—both the physical ones and the mental ones I'd built—starting to crumble.

The next morning, I was summoned to the warden's office. I was led down the sterile, gray hallways, my mind still racing with the letter's contents. Was this the start of something bigger? Would they let me respond? I had to stay calm, keep my composure.

The warden's office smelled faintly of tobacco and old books. It was a place where power was held in every word spoken, every glance exchanged. I stepped inside, and the door clicked shut behind me. The warden, a tall, stern man with graying hair, sat at his desk, his steely eyes fixed on me.

"Psychobi," he said, his voice deep. "We've been monitoring your behavior. Your tests, your responses—everything. We've had a few discussions on your… case."

I nodded, though I knew I wasn't here because of my psychological evaluations. They weren't interested in my mind. They were interested in the letter.

He pushed a folder across the desk toward me. I glanced at it but didn't reach for it.

"I'm assuming you've seen the letter," he continued. "We've confirmed that someone, a… 'friend,' has been in contact with you."

My heart skipped a beat. This was it. The moment I'd been waiting for.

"I've read it," I said, keeping my voice steady. "Is there a problem with that?"

He stared at me for a long moment before responding. "We can't just ignore it. There are protocols for inmates receiving outside communication like this. We've contacted law enforcement. We're investigating who's behind it."

I felt a brief spike of irritation, but I pushed it down. They were trying to control this. To ruin it before it even began.

"What does this mean for me?" I asked, my voice as neutral as I could make it.

"It means that until we know who this person is, your communications are being restricted. We're putting you in isolation."

My stomach dropped. Isolation. The one thing that had always terrified me. The one thing I had spent years avoiding. But it didn't matter. I'd been in worse situations. I could handle it. I had to.

"You can't do that," I said, leaning forward slightly. "You don't understand. This letter—this person—means everything to me. You can't just take it away."

The warden's face hardened. "We don't have a choice. It's for your own safety and the safety of the facility. You'll be in isolation for as long as we see fit. That's the end of it."

I clenched my fists under the table. I knew he was just following orders, but it didn't matter. This was a setback. A temporary one. They could confine me physically, but they couldn't lock away my thoughts, my ambitions.

I stood up, my body tense but calm. "I'll take isolation," I said, my voice low but unwavering. "But mark my words, warden. This isn't the end. Not for me."

I walked out of the office with my head held high, ignoring the guards who followed behind me. Isolation wouldn't break me. It would only make me stronger. It would give me time to think, to plan. I could feel the weight of the letter still on my hands, the possibility of what it represented.

I was ready.

As they led me to the small, solitary cell, I couldn't help but smile. This was the moment I had waited for. And I would make sure it was the last obstacle between me and the next step of my transformation.

This was my fate, and I wasn't about to let anything or anyone stand in my way.