Well. It looked like a perfect opportunity to leave.

Luca slipped out, moving quickly but carefully toward the adjacent house. This wasn’t like the other cases–there was no direct connection between the two buildings. The other two houses should be ones with the same alley. Well. It didn’t matter. He reached the end, and peered out at the direction where had seen the killer going.

So, breaking through another door, preoccupied with his own grim business–not here, thankfully. The way that Luca preferred it.

Slipping into the next house through the front door–still intact, its hinges groaning softly as he pushed it open and closed it behind him–he took a moment to scan the room. As his back pulsed, he took the moment to stretch, feeling the stiffness in his bones. Even in a younger body, the strain of constant tension and crunching was taking its toll. He wasn’t made to bend down.

The room was quiet. A newspaper lay sprawled on the table, its edges curled and yellowed. The wardrobe in the corner and the door across the room were untouched. No signs of forced entry, no bloodstains, no chaos. It didn’t seem like the killer had visited this house.

Luca moved toward the newspaper and picked it up, but before he could do more than take a look at the picture, the footsteps outside of the alley made him stall. The sound was too faint to be from the killer. Another applicant, then. When he looked back at the newspaper, he didn’t found anything important beyond the image.

He left the newspaper where it was and slid toward the window, crouching low. The low hum of an engine still rumbled from the house diagonal to this one, but the street itself was unnervingly quiet. No movement. No shadows. It made him wonder, if seven people were still alive, where were they?

Luca turned away from the window, considering hiding in the wardrobe for a while. But a sudden shout cut through the night, sharp and furious.

“Asshole!” a woman’s voice snarled, loud enough to carry across the street and into the houses.

Luca’s head snapped toward the sound. Through the window, he found the culprit–a woman sprawled on the ground, half on the sidewalk, half in the alley. The killer loomed over her, his silhouette frightening against the dim yellow glow of the streetlights.

The chainsaw roared to life, its guttural, ominous growl drowning out the frantic footsteps pounding against the asphalt. Someone was running, crossing through the alley next to this house.

The glint of the chainsaw as it rose coincided with the sound of the back door creaking open. As Luca turned his head, he saw him. A husky, familiar figure slipped inside and bolted straight for the wardrobe. The man barely had time to hide before a high–pitched scream tore through the air–only to be cut off abruptly, leaving a tense, suffocating silence in its wake.

[Six Applicants remain.]

How surprising. The boxer had used her as a distraction, sacrificing her to buy himself time.

Of course he did it. This man –Maned Wolf– was a parasite. He clung to others, using them as meat shields, sacrificial pawns to extend his own survival. The kind of person who would do anything to stay alive, no matter the cost. The sheer number of lives lost because of him had cemented Maned Wolf as one of Luca’s least favorite characters, and now, it was someone he didn’t want to deal with.

Luca’s eyes grew colder. Who would’ve thought this man would hand himself over on a silver platter?

No time to waste. He opened the back door and stepped outside, closing it softly behind him –and locking it.

As he slipped back into the house next door, tucked into the corner of the street, the low growl of the chainsaw reached his ears. Faint. Distant. Not close enough to worry about–yet. Instead, he took a moment to survey the room.

And then he saw it.

Under the table, half–hidden in the shadows, a familiar face stared back at him, framed by a mane of wild curls.

Ah. It was her.

There was no reason to exchange words.

Luca gave the heroine a curt nod and moved toward the table, picking up the newspaper. Tis one was different from the others, it had some clear fragments of the article. Investigators suggest a ‘blurred’ device could have been used... the hour should be past the 23 pm, reaching the 23.20 before the killer ‘blurred’… and nothing more.

Well. This has to be the core of all the ‘clues’, right?

[15 minutes left.]

Only a third of the time was left.

So, it should be already 11 P.M.

This story has been taken without authorization. Report any sightings.

Luca set the newspaper back on the table and slipped toward the back door, his ears tuned to the sounds coming from the house next door. Soon enough, the unmistakable crash of a door being broken echoed through the night, followed by a heavy impact. Then came the rougher sound of footsteps on the pavement–lighter than the killer’s–before the heavier, deliberate tread of the chainsaw–wielding maniac followed.

Luca cracked open the door just enough to peer outside. The boxer was sprinting toward the van, with Mr. Chainsaw trailing behind, though not as close as Luca would’ve expected. The killer’s pace was slower, almost methodical. It reminded him of his old cat. The boxer disappeared behind the van, and the killer followed suit, vanishing from view.

Frowning, Luca considered the scene for a moment before closing the door softly. His eyes flicked to the curly–haired woman, who was now slipping into the kitchen cabinet. A good choice –for now.

Rising to his feet, Luca stretched his back, feeling the tension in his muscles. He moved to the back door again, opened it silently, and stepped outside, closing it behind him with barely a sound. The cool air, dragging the smell of blood, brushed against his skin as he crouched low and made his way toward the red car parked nearby. Circling the hood, he positioned himself at the corner, his gaze fixed on the van and the house beyond.

The boxer burst out from the alley, his eyes wide and his mouth open as he bolted toward the van again. This time, the killer was still hot on his heels, chainsaw raised and gleaming under the faint light. Even though the killer was slower, the fact that he hadn’t thrown the chainsaw was curious. Was he enjoying the chase so much?

The boxer circled the van, his movements desperate, and then sprinted toward the house at the front–the one adjacent to where the heroine was hiding. If, by some absurd twist of fate, he managed to reach that house and the heroine tried to save him, Luca would probably break into a fit of laughter. And maybe lose half his hair from the sheer ridiculousness of it all.

The chainsaw’s roar split the air, its mechanical growl drowning out everything else. A scream followed–sharp, piercing, and abruptly cut short.

[Five Applicants remain.]

Wait. The back door had been locked from the outside.

What a fucked–up thing fear could be. And did.

Luca pursed his lips, carefully circling the car until he reached the side of the street. The moment he heard the tearing sound that signaled another “victory,” he slipped toward the house at the front. Someone seemed to have just left the building, closing the door behind them. They hadn’t noticed him as he crouched next to the kitchen cabinet, his movements silent and deliberate.

While the entrance had been torn to shreds, the wardrobe and the back door were untouched. More importantly, something glinted on the floor under the streaming faint light –a handler of the size of his palm. This was a good sign. It meant he wouldn’t have to go far in the final minutes.

Clang!

The sudden noise echoed through the air, closer than before. Someone had crashed into a trash can. Luca’s eyes darted in that direction just as a young man stumbled into the room from the black door. It was the same guy from earlier. This time, the baby–faced man noticed him, his expression shifting from recognition to caution as his eyes flicked behind Luca–toward the kitchen cabinet. He glanced at the wardrobe for a moment but seemed to avoid it.

So, this one was smarter.

Luca gave him a curt nod and stepped aside, pressing himself against the wall. There was no reason to fight him, not when he had a perfect spot to hide.

The young man hesitated, shooting him a wary glance before slipping into the kitchen cabinet. Meanwhile, Luca moved toward the back door, next to the trapdoor. The noise outside indicated that Mr. Chainsaw had returned to the street and was heading this way. Without wasting a second, Luca pulled open the trapdoor, feeling a flicker of regret when he found nothing inside. Still, he slipped in, closing it softly above him.

Was hoping for a second reward too greedy?

Thud, thud, thud.

The footsteps grew louder, drowning out the low rumble of the chainsaw. Luca held his breath as the wood above him creaked under the killer’s weight. The sound was suffocating, and the space felt too small, too constricted; his heartbeat spiked as the bear–like man walked directly above him, the wood trembling with every step.

You’ve grown too soft, he chided himself.

His fingers clenched the fabric of his jacket, knuckles turning white. He counted the seconds with the vibrations ringing in his ears. Then, the chainsaw’s engine roared to life, its mechanical buzz slicing through the air as the blade cut through something. It felt so close. So, so close like it was cutting through him.

A low, guttural noise escaped the killer–something that might have been disappointment if Luca’s Monsterish could be believed. The chainsaw hit the floor with a heavy thump as the killer let it fall, dragging it behind him as he made his way to the front door.

Crunch... snap–crackle... scrape…

The sound grew fainter as the killer moved away, his presence receding slowly.

Only when the noise was distant enough did Luca let out a faint sigh of relief. Gently, he pushed the trapdoor open and peered out. His eyes landed on the wardrobe. Well. Its remains. It hadn’t put up much of a fight, judging by its splintered state. Truly, Luca didn’t know how the chainsaw hadn’t cut through the wooden door–or the trapdoor, for that matter. But the gods he didn’t believe in knew he wasn’t about to complain.

Emerging from the hidden space, he closed the trapdoor softly behind him. His back ached, perhaps feeling the age of his soul. Slowly, he approached the wall, pressing himself against it as he rose to his full height. He stretched his arms over his head, letting his poor back rest for a moment. A fleeting, but welcome relief.

Just then, the kitchen cabinet opened.

The young man whose name he didn’t know stepped out, his expression one of surprise as he saw Luca there. His eyes darted around and then to the floor. It was obvious when he saw the trapdoor. They widened–like a child seeing Santa Claus for the first time. It was such a familiar look that it sent a pang of pain through Luca’s chest.

Not the time for melancholy and regret now, buddy.

Shoving the ache into the back of his mind with the easiness of practice, he made his way toward the window. Outside, the dim light of the streetlamps revealed nothing–no hulking figure, no glint of a chainsaw. The killer was nowhere to be seen.

Luca frowned, his ears straining to pick up the familiar growl of the chainsaw. But the night was eerily quiet, save for the faint sound of footsteps behind him. He turned just in time to see the young man opening the trapdoor, his movements quick and deliberate.

For a moment, Luca felt a flicker of surprise, though it didn’t last long.

There goes my plan A, thought him, and then glanced back at the street, squinting.

Where was Chainsaw Man?