Reimi has been in the States for a week. The poor girl she picked is currently in agony.

She cut her tongue off. Apparently the girl kept screaming and being noisy. So she went to snip them. She also forced her to drink fresh lemon. My sister is brutal.

Scarily so. My target was “accidentally” killed in a crash.

Reimi and I were admitted to a military school once.

We both got kicked out for misbehaving. By that, I mean we killed an instructor in broad daylight. Uncle Von got us out and we continued killing more.

During my time in the police academy, Reimi was doing some assassination jobs from Uncle.

I wanted a bit of quiet and Reimi wanted more action.

We were opposites. Reimi had jobs all over the world.

“Reimi, what happened in Ireland during your job?” I asked.

She explained that she was caught by the mafia.

Reimi used her abilities for money.

I used mine for my own gain.

With 20 kills in my name, and 46 on Reimi’s.

Uncle Von really wants me to kill more.

It’s a hobby, not work.

After a month, I got a promotion in the department.

Higher salaries and more jobs.

I got called out to a crime scene. Blunt trauma to the ribs and knees. Making the victim weak. The fatal attack was a machete to the neck, almost decapitating the victim.

The victim was the local cashier at the mall. Killer had low standards, but a strong arm.

Reimi joined me in the search. She was proficient in finding people.

The department had a meeting with Reimi’s findings.

The Killer was 42 years old, Michael Pofa.

I headed out first. 25 Minute ride from the department to his house.

On my way to the suspect, I passed a familiar person.

A former classmate at the police academy.

I was surprised she isn’t in the department. She was homeless.

The world was unfair.

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I arrived at the suspect’s house and kicked down the door.

He was sitting there, panicked.

I grabbed him and broke his arm in two. Pulled him out of the house and threw him on the lawn.

The department and Reimi arrived an hour too late.

I beat Michael so bad, he was on the verge of death.

I got apprehended by my own colleagues. Got out after a day or two. Bailed by Uncle Von.

Uncle was disappointed. I got consumed by my bloodlust.

“I gave Reimi her jobs for her to control hers.” Uncle explained.

I apparently picked up this bloodlust from Mom. That was the reason she was tasked in cleaning.

I left the department and did my own thing.

I became a serial killer. Donning the same thing they called Dad.

The Prideful.

The three of us agreed that Uncle would continue giving jobs to Reimi, and I would be left alone. Killing.

We agreed. The three of us separated and did our own thing.

I left the States and went place to place. It was kind of fun and boring.

A repetitive cycle of death everywhere I go.

Missing people's papers all around. I once held a police captive in the department itself.

He was found mentally unstable after a day later. I left my brand there. A blood handprint. They won’t find any prints anyways. My fingers are burnt.

Acting like a normal person isn’t hard work, just don’t mind your conscience. Having a weak mind is not a good thing if you will become a serial killer.

I went place to place trying to be Dad’s copycat. Sure enough, the police have been on toll.

On my way to my rented apartment, I came across a box with a dog in it. I took it in, fed it, and left it in a dog shelter. Caring for a dog with my current job is a racket.

I slept the day away. Woke up, and found the city I’m in filled with wanted posters. I felt proud.

As a message for the city, I killed a café worker outside her work. Moonbucks makes good coffee, but the people who work there aren’t all positive. The person I picked served me coffee once. Stingy eyes.

Smacked her on the head with a flashlight, forcefully pushed a coffee cup down the throat. Slit the sides of the mouth. Finally, I ended it with a swift cut on the stomach. I carved the words; fierté, on the body.

I walked away and cleaned myself. I watched from afar when the police were at the scene. Stayed there for a minute or two before leaving. I went to the store and bought a trench coat and more knives. Killing makes some of my knives become dull. I left the city later that night.

I had a cruise to take, my next stop was Morocco. Before going to the pier, I had to hide my knives in my bag. The police aren’t smart enough to search bags anyway.

“Starship Cruise will be leaving in two hours, all passengers please board the ship”

Staying on a cruise for a week. Not bad at all. Staying in first class would be easy. I shouldn’t try to kill anyone.

With 300 passengers and one of them died, everyone would be a suspect. I can’t have that attention.

I boarded the ship after a 10-minute line. I walked around the ship trying to find my room. This damn cruise is just a 5-star hotel on water. Took me a long time to find my room. I should stop by the bar and get a drink.

I’m just a one-man army. I did see a group of marines boarding earlier than any of us. Military mission in Morocco, perhaps?

My pass says Coil than Cole. That misspelling of my name could come in handy.

“Hey, trenchy.”

Great. Another annoying person, or should I say, people.

A group of three drunk men.

“Look, you don’t want to do this,” I reassured.

They thought of that as an insult. The first guy ran and tried to punch me. Grabbed his arm and broke it. The other two ran away.

What cowards. Don’t pick a fight you can’t handle.

“Hey, drunk.”

I said before kicking him on the chin, knocking him out.

Hard to control bloodlust. If I killed him there would have been 50 witnesses.

He should be alone at the clinic later.

Poor guy won’t know what will hit him.