Chapter 6: The Invitation

He was a rapist.

That's what I tell myself, at least.

Convicted, released, and hunting again like nothing had changed.

I watched him for weeks.

The alley behind the club. The trembling girls. The pills in his coat pocket.

Society failed them. Failed him too, I suppose. They let the animal loose again.

So I played judge. Jury. But not executioner—no, not this time.

This time, I left him alive.

Barely.

He was still breathing when they found him. Not that you could tell. His face was pulp. His fingers were broken, one by one. His mouth sealed shut with his own belt.

He couldn't scream. Couldn't lie. Couldn't tell them what I looked like.

But I left my mark.

A single word, carved into his chest:

"Balance."

They found the cigarette I used. The fibers from my glove. A sliver of my boot print in the blood pooling by his jaw. I never make mistakes like that. Not unless I want them to find me.

Because this wasn't just a hunt. This was an invitation.

I wanted to see if the justice system had teeth. I wanted to test them.

The cops arrived in six minutes. I watched them from across the street, under the hood of a gray jacket. One officer vomited. Another whispered, "Who the hell could do this?"

That was the last time I stood among them freely.

Because I didn't run.

I waited.

---

Cut to the arrest

It wasn't flashy.

No helicopters. No drawn weapons. Just a knock at the door, three days later.

I opened it calmly, towel around my neck, hair damp from a cold shower. I smiled. Not the charming kind—the controlled kind.

They read me my rights. I said nothing.

The handcuffs clicked shut.

Tight. Heavy. Almost comforting.

As they walked me past the neighbors, someone gasped. Another whispered. But none of them looked at me.

They saw a monster in man's skin.

I saw chess pieces shuffling themselves across the board.

Good. That's exactly what I wanted.