CHAPTER 6: Searched Serial Killer

Lukas approached, his footsteps quiet on the gravel path. The man didn't notice him until Lukas was standing directly in front of him. "Can I help you, young man?" he asked, his voice ragged and full of life experience.

Lukas smiled, a smile that lacked warmth. "Actually, I wanted to help you."

The old man looked confused, but before he could reply, Lukas pulled a thin knife from his pocket and held it to his throat. The man's eyes widened, and a strangled sound escaped his lips. "Please... no..."

"Quiet," Lukas whispered, his voice icy. "It'll go quickly if you keep quiet."

But the man wasn't quiet. He began to fidget, trying to free Lukas's grip as the knife sank deeper into his skin. Lukas's expression remained unchanged, almost bored, as the man's life slowly drained away. When the body went limp, Lukas gently laid it on the bench, like a puppeteer laying his marionette to rest. He picked up the blanket, wiped his knife, and briefly examined the scene. It almost looked as if the man were asleep.

"Sweet dreams," he murmured and moved on.

A few streets away, he saw a young couple walking hand in hand. They were laughing, their voices echoing in the cold night air. Lukas watched them from the darkness, his hand tightening on the knife.

The evening was far from over.

The young couple walked oblivious down the street, in a bubble of affection and ease. Their laughter clashed with the cool silence of the night, a contrast that almost amused Lukas.

He watched them from a shadow, his movements precise and silent. The woman turned briefly, as if she had sensed something, but her companion playfully pulled her on. "You've watched too many horror movies," he said, laughing.

Lukas stepped slowly out of the darkness, deliberately letting the shadow of his figure slide across the sidewalk. The couple stopped abruptly.

"Did you see that?" the woman asked, gripping her companion's hand more tightly.

"Probably just an animal," the man said, his voice less confident.

"An animal?" Lukas' voice cut through the silence like a knife through flesh. He stepped into the moonlight, his hood pulled low over his face. "That sounds almost insulting."

The woman gasped, and the man instinctively took a step forward. "What do you want?" he asked, his voice now with a hint of panic.

Lukas slowly drew the knife out, letting the blade flash in the light. "I was just going for a walk. But you guys... inspired me."

"Leave us alone!" the woman screamed, pulling the man back. But Lukas was faster.

With a lightning-fast step, he was upon them, the knife hissing through the air and cutting a deep wound into the man's arm. He screamed in pain, staggered backward, and let go of the woman's hand.

"Run!" he yelled. But she was frozen, her eyes fixed on Lukas, who now turned to face her.

"What a hero," Lukas mocked before plunging the knife into the man's chest in one fluid motion. The body sank heavily to the ground, a final gurgle before everything fell silent.

The woman screamed now, her terror finally causing her to move. She turned and ran, but Lukas remained calm. He wiped the knife on the man's jacket before leisurely following her.

Her footsteps echoed through the empty street as she desperately searched for help. But it was too late—Lukas knew this area, and it led directly to a dead end.

"Why do they always run?" he murmured to himself as he reached the fork and saw her panting against the wall, tears in her eyes.

"Please... I'll do anything you want," she begged, her voice a hoarse whisper.

Lukas tilted his head, regarding her like a hunter assessing his prey. "What I want? Well, you shouldn't have asked."

He stepped closer, and the night swallowed her screams.

After the murder, he had retreated into the darkness of the city, parking his car in an inconspicuous alley and strolling the streets. Now Lukas sat in a small, run-down bar that smelled of stale beer and cigarettes.

The hood of his sweatshirt was pulled low over his face, the shadow concealing any emotion. He barely moved as the bartender looked at him. "A beer," Lukas murmured, placing a crumpled banknote on the counter.

The cold glass landed in front of him, and he took a long, deliberate sip.

The familiar intro to the news flickered across the television in the corner. The monotonous voices of the presenters were almost soothing. But when he heard the next words, his fingers twitched slightly for a moment.

"Police are still searching for the notorious serial killer who, in recent weeks,

He left a trail of terror behind him. He was last seen in connection with a gruesome murder downtown. Experts describe him as extremely dangerous and unpredictable."

Lukas leaned back, a slight, almost imperceptible smile on his lips. No one in the bar paid him any attention, no one recognized him. He was just another stranger, drinking his beer and ignoring the news.

He took another sip. "Crazy world," he muttered quietly to himself before putting his glass down and turning his back on the television.

The dull clack of the billiard balls echoed through the bar as Lukas twirled the cue in his hands with casual movements. He had arranged a game with an inconspicuous man at the next table, who apparently thought he could win some easy money. But Lukas was only interested in killing time.

"Your move," said the stranger, a skinny guy with greasy hair, and pointed at the table. Lukas nodded curtly, positioned himself, and aimed.

With a precise shot, the white ball shot forward, bounced, and two of the colored balls landed in the pockets with a dull thud.

"Not bad," the guy muttered, pushing his beer bottle aside.

Lukas just shrugged, taking his time with his next move. The game was slow, relaxed, almost meditative. The smoke and muted conversations in the bar seemed to hang over everything like a veil, as if there were no world outside, no reality.

"You play often?" the man asked as Lukas hit again.

"Occasionally."

Lukas didn't say anything else. His focus was on the table, the game. He enjoyed how quiet everything was. No rush, no danger—just the clack of the balls and the quiet hum of the neon lights above them.

Lukas leaned back, took a deep drag on the cigarette that was casually clamped between his fingers, and let the smoke escape slowly through his nose. The bar was filled with the heavy scent of tobacco and spilled beer as he twirled the cue in his other hand.

"Your move," muttered the skinny guy across from him, nervously dragging on his own cigarette. Lukas gave him a quick, bored glance before stubbing out the cigarette on the rim of the ashtray and turning back to the table.

With a calm, almost superior movement, he aimed, rolled the cue, and sent a red ball perfectly into the corner of the table.

"You're good," the stranger said, grinning uncertainly.

Lukas took a sip of his beer and shrugged. "You learn to stay calm."

The news played in the background, but he barely paid attention until a familiar cue caught his attention. "...still on the run. The perpetrator is considered extremely dangerous..."

He turned his head slightly to the side, his face hidden in the shadows of the dim lighting. A photo of him flashed briefly on the screen, but so unrecognizable that no one in the bar had the slightest idea that the wanted man was standing right in front of them.

Lukas took another drag on his cigarette, deeper this time, let the smoke escape through his teeth, and watched it disappear into the dim light of the bar. His gaze wandered back to the game.

"Still my move?"

"Yeah, right," stammered the man, now noticeably more agitated.

Lukas grinned weakly, put down the cigarette, and focused back on the table. Everything was so relaxed—and yet there was an unspoken tension in the air that only he seemed to sense.

Lukas noticed the nervous look on his opponent's face, who barely had the courage to look him directly at him. The man held the cue in his hand, his fingers trembling slightly, as if the tension was slowly consuming him.

"Everything okay?" Lukas asked, taking another drag on his cigarette, the fire in his eyes barely flickering.

"Y-yeah, sure," the man stammered, forcing a smile that betrayed nothing but panic.

Lukas nodded slowly, as if accepting the words, and calmly drained the rest of his beer. "Your move," he said, leaning casually against the wall.

The man tried to play, but his shot was way off. Lukas let his gaze rest on him, unhurried, before addressing him. "Follow me for a minute. I need your help."

"Uh... sure." The man swallowed hard, hastily placed the cue on the table, and followed Lukas, who led him toward the restrooms without another word.

Once they were alone, Lukas's relaxed demeanor turned dark. He grabbed the man with a speed that left no room for escape, pressed him against the wall, and spoke softly: "I know you recognized me."

"Please... I won't say anything, I swear!"

"I know." Lukas smiled coldly before snapping the man's neck with a swift movement.

A dull thud sounded, and the body crumpled.

But Lukas wasn't finished. With almost clinical precision, he pulled the dead body apart, the sound of tearing flesh echoing through the room until two grotesque halves lay before him.

Without haste, he left the restroom and walked out into the night. A black SUV was parked next to the bar, and Lukas opened the door. In the glove compartment, he found what he was looking for: a bomb. "You made this really easy," he murmured, taking one last look at the car before walking back into the bar with the bomb.

He carefully placed it in the restroom, right next to his victim's remains, activated the timer, and walked back to his car.

As he started the engine, he glanced in the rearview mirror, watching the bar rise peacefully into the night sky. Then he pressed the button on the small remote control in his hand.

A deafening bang shattered the silence, flames and smoke shooting out of the bar as the building collapsed. Lukas lit another cigarette, leaned back, and drove away as if nothing had happened.

The explosion had transformed the bar into an inferno of flames and debris. Lukas was already sitting in his car, which he had parked some distance away. The smoke rose into the darkness, and the lights of the burning bar danced in the rearview mirrors. In the silence of the vehicle, he took a slow drag on his cigarette, his eyes cold and calm.

The radio was still playing, but the news of the explosion had almost faded. The reporters' voices mingled with the roar of the engine as Lukas started the car. The streets were empty, the world seemed to stand still for a moment. Not a glance, not a scream, nothing to disturb him.

"Another body..." he murmured softly as he drove past an abandoned building. "Another body no one will miss."

He stubbed out his cigarette, and the streetlight flickered as the car continued through the night.

Lukas sat motionless in his car, the steering wheel firmly in his hands. The night was deep and heavy, the streets empty. He looked at the dark building ahead, a nondescript apartment building. His gaze remained calm, but beneath the surface, joy bubbled—the thrill of the chase, the game that would soon begin.

He pulled his cell phone from his pocket, dialed a number, and waited. A short beep, then he heard the voice on the other end.

"Hello?" The voice was tense, uncertain.

"Do you know who I am?" Lukas asked, his voice calm and threatening, like a whisper in the wind.

"What? Who's it?" A quick, frantic reply. He could hear the slight tremor in the voice.

"How long do you think you'll be out there before I find you?" Lukas replied, grinning as he held the phone to his ear. The words penetrated the conversation like cold metal.

"Who are you? What do you want?" he heard the panicked tone of the other person, who was suddenly becoming visibly more nervous. The sweat was practically palpable.

Lukas waited only a moment before answering: "You know, I could come get you now... but I want you to have a little fun. What if you go outside now? Maybe I'll see you there... or I've already prepared something for you."

He hung up without another word and watched the building ahead through the dark windows of the car. He slowly got out. In his pockets, he felt the cold metal of the gun he had kept ready for this moment. He didn't need any more words. The thrill was what he was looking for.

While the person nervously ventured outside, Lukas crept into the shadows, his movements fluid and silent. He could almost hear the victim's heart beating faster. A brief noise in the darkness, a hiss—the wind carried the sounds to him.

"I hope you enjoyed the walk..." he whispered, suddenly hearing the victim behind him.

Then it was over.

Lukas turned around, the bloody victim at his feet. A quick, precise cut that ended everything. But he wasn't satisfied. He wanted more. He wanted to play.

And he knew this was just the beginning.

Lukas had long since entered the family home, his footsteps barely audible as he crossed the threshold. This wasn't his family, but the family he was about to destroy was just as oblivious and quiet as his own. Their laughter and conversation drifted from the living room, a seemingly joyful atmosphere that would test Lukas. He walked quietly through the corridor, the smell of freshly cooked food in the air, mingling with the smell of cigarettes and the damp noise from outside. No one noticed him until he opened the door.

to the living room. The family sat together—parents, children, grandparents. They laughed, talked, and drank, unaware of what kind of nightmare was about to unfold.

Lukas's eyes glowed in the dim light of the room. A calm smile, one that didn't really suit him, played on his lips. He slowly drew the gun, letting it gleam in the light. No one moved.

"What kind of atmosphere is this?" Lukas asked in a calm voice as he pointed the gun in the air.

A moment of silence, then the mother turned around, her eyes wide as she recognized him. But before she could say anything, he pulled the trigger. The shot echoed in the small room, followed by a distorted scream. Another shot. The father fell to the floor, and chaos erupted. The children screamed, trying to escape, but Lukas was already faster.

"No one leaves this room," Lukas whispered, his voice calm and almost kind. One more shot, and the next one had been fired.

It wasn't long before the rest of the family had fallen. Lukas watched them as they tried to escape, to hide—their desperate glances out of the corner of his eye were like a cynical reminder of their futile flight from the inevitable.

He took his time, as he always did when he killed. The thrill, the control, the knowledge that he was in control. Slowly, he moved on, through the rooms, across the hallway, leaving no trace of life behind. What they had uttered, their screams, their attempts to beg his forgiveness, had long since faded from his ears. Too late.

Finally, after the house sank into a deep, terrible silence, Lukas withdrew, stepped out into the garden, and let the door close behind him. But that wasn't enough for him. There were many more houses to cross, many more families to destroy. The night was still young.

He continued, visiting another house, finding another unsuspecting family. The clash of weapons and screams filled the air as he took another step in his game. But this time he went about it differently.

With an ease only someone like him could understand, he climbed the stairs to the children's bedrooms. It was a repetition, yet each repetition was still a rush in itself. A moment of calm, then the precise cut that took the life, and the darkness filled again.

But it wasn't over. On and on, more and more.

Lukas's game took increasingly darker turns as he moved through the homes of the unfortunate families. The murders became more planned, more precise, more sinister. It wasn't just the killing itself that drove him, but also the games he played with his victims, like a shadowy puppeteer controlling their every move.

On one of the next nights, he chose a new target: an unassuming house on a quiet street. A babysitter was busy with two small children. The wind outside was blowing hard as Lukas dialed the number. He knew what he had to do. It was the perfect time to play with fear a little.

He called.

"Hello?" the babysitter answered, her voice still uncertain as she answered.

"I saw you," Lukas said quietly, and an icy chill ran down the babysitter's spine. "I know you're in the house right now. I see everything."

A moment of silence, then a nervous reply: "Who is it? What do you want?"

Lukas grinned into his phone, his voice almost playful. "I just want to see how long you can hold out. How long you can survive before you make the mistake of opening the door."

The babysitter began to breathe frantically. Her eyes scanned the room, as if trying to find some indication of his presence. The children continued to play obliviously in the corner of the living room while the pressure on them grew.

"I... I'll secure the house," she stammered. "Just stay away!"

She hurriedly pressed the button to activate the security system. The doors locked, and a soft, assured click filled the air. A sense of relief came over the babysitter—for a moment, she thought she was safe.

But just then, she heard a faint noise behind her.

She turned quickly, her eyes wide with shock. The room was empty—or was it? She could almost hear the silence. A slinking sound emerged from the darkness, then a soft voice, almost a whisper:

"You didn't do it fast enough."

Lukas stepped out of the shadows. His presence filled the room, cold, unstoppable. The babysitter screamed, but it was too late. In one swift, brutal step, Lukas grabbed her and pulled her into the darkness.

The children in the corner heard her screams, but they could

Do nothing, expect no help. Lukas was already with them, and in another, almost casual movement, the babysitter's life shattered as he silently murdered her.

But that wasn't enough. He turned to the children. A greater challenge. But no problem for Lukas. They didn't know what lay ahead. Their innocence was nothing more than a toy in his hands.

He let them believe they were safe for a moment, watching from a distance as they tried to comprehend what had happened. Then he grabbed one of the children and pulled them into the shadows. The rest of the night consumed the family in horrific, silent chaos.

Lukas left the house, which now seemed like a dark cave of fear and death, and headed for his next target. But this was only the beginning. The next call would come soon.

And yet another target.