Chapter 0 of My Book | S.A.I.

Just a book I am working on. I hope you tell me how you like it and how you feel about it.

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The following is work of fiction, any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental. This story is intended for mature audiences and contains graphic descriptions of fictional violence and psychological horror that may be disturbing to some listeners. Viewer discretion is advised. Chapter Zero Golden Rule She went out like a light as soon as it connected with her skull. Not a gun. Surely anyone who was just hit in the back of the head with a five kilogram knife block would have done the same. An automatic wobble or stumble forward as the senses attempt to make sense of a world fading so fast, yet it feels like slow motion. Su Gin already knew this would happen to that woman. It wasn't his first time. In fact, the first time was when he made the mistake of going too far. He had cracked the skull on accident, and the poor individual didn't wake up even after the knives were in until much, much later. But by then both he and his first victim were long gone. But this time it was different. This time he knew exactly how hard to hit. Two minutes. That's all he needed for her to be unconscious for. He set down the trash bag he had brought with him, checked the recorder clipped inside his plastic suit, and glanced at his watch. Eighty five seconds left. From the knife block that had housed thirteen blades, he drew the cleaver. He always started with the cleaver. Sigin raised his arm, blade in hand, and brought it down with a swift emotion. The wide blades sank into her lower torso with practice precision. Blood soaked through her blouse, but her expression didn't change. Twitch ran through her body, reflexive and nothing more. Her brain was still offline. As I reached for another knife in the block, he glanced down at his watch and frowned slightly. He said to himself. The next blade went to her left thigh. A warm red substance dribbled down her leg. Another twitch. Stronger this time. As he reached for the paring knife, he heard it. A faint moan, pained, and breathed. She's starting to come too. He pulled back the sleeve of his plastic suit, checking his watch. He should have thirty one seconds left before she became conscious. And he had a grin spread across his face anyway. Nearly bird gets the worm. Becomes it, he noted. The paring knife slid into her side, and her body flinched. The moan came again, louder, this time, filled with something animalistic and confused, as if she was trying to make sense of her situation. His watch took on, but the countdown meant little now. A real fun was about to begin. Su Gin grabbed multiple knives at once, working quickly, stake knives to the palms to the feet, blades along the arms and legs. She was screaming now, or rather trying to. With punctured lungs it came out wet and deflated. And this was the sound he had been waiting for. The sound that would sell. His watch beeped, but he ignored it. The music he was conducting was all that mattered now. He could edit out the beep later, but when he heard something fall over with a loud clang, he thought he was being watched by someone else. Before he could conduct more of his symphony, he turned his head and looked around the alleyway to make sure he was alone. Someone, please screamed the woman in the direction that Su Gin was looking at. However, to say it was a scream for help would be wrong. Su Gin knew that if her words were written with pen, her voice would be that of a soggy piece of paper that fell apart at the slightest touch. In fact, her cries barely made it past Su Gin himself, so he paid them no mind. When he saw nothing but a pair of stray cats digging through the trash in the vicinity of the direction he examined, he felt somewhat satisfied and at the same time somewhat foolish that he let a couple of cats take him away from his music. Sorry about that, Miss Jane. You have my full attention once again. However, even when Zugin returned his focus to the arrangement of agony, he couldn't shake the sinking feeling that there was someone there. Even if it was just the cats, what if someone had heard? When the music finally stopped, he stood up and peeled off the plastic suit and gloves with the scissors from the knife block, careful not to touch anything himself. Everything went into the trash bag except the recorder. He'd dispose of it all properly later, somewhere far from here. After shedding his protective clothing and putting on a dull brown coat he found near a dumpster, he pulled out a pair of wired headphones and connected them to his recorder before taking a moment to think about his next move. Why was he out? One might ask him at this hour and he need to be prepared. If luck was not on his side like it had been the last two times, he would need to have an answer ready. But Tsugin already knew this. So he did what he always did after playing with a John or a Jane. He'd simply get a drink. Sugin walked to the bar still open late at night, the newest track already playing in his head through the cords. As he strolled over, he made sure to seem a tad bit more exhausted and disheveled than he actually was, just in case he ran into another person tonight. However, he always tried to choose roads that were empty at night. Before long he found himself at a late night tavern about thirteen blocks away from where his recording session took place. After paying for a cheap beer and some fries, Su Gin checked his watch for the time. It had been roughly eight minutes since his order, and still no food or drink. He didn't take his phone with him as he needed to keep it at the house in case police would look at the location and see it line up with the death of the Jane he had just finished off. But if I knew it would take this long, I would have maybe brought it so I could kill time like it was a Jane all waiting around for my beer and fries, he said to himself, as a type of cynical joke. Still unable to shake the paranoia of being watched, Sugin looked around and saw a homeless man outside of the bar, looking through the window. But before we could think too much about whether to make the man on the street his next star, his food was finally brought to him. The fries were warm, not hot, like someone made them five minutes ago but forgot to bring them out for the same amount of time and only remembered as an afterthought to give him the fries and not just make him a new batch. He sighed slightly and held his tongue. Making a scene about something so small is not the attention that he wants. Su Gin took a few fries into his mouth and nursed his beer at the counter, mentally cataloging his next steps. Burned the trash bag in the usual spot. The industrial incinerator operator near the docks never asked any questions, and if he mixed it with enough trash that he found lying on the street, he could just say that it was sticking up his house and he couldn't wait until the garbage man came in three days. The audio's gonna need some work, Su Gin thought to himself as he took another gulp of his drink before ordering another beer and running through the usual steps in his head. Trim the opening where he checked his watch, boost the frequencies on our final screams, compressing the dynamic range so the wet gasps don't clip the audio. Maybe layer in some ambient dread? He could already hear the bidding war for the wetness of the two minute and fourteen second mark in his mind. Authenticity was a valuable currency and Jane D was going to make him rich. The dark web forms paid premium for authenticity and punctured lung screams had a specific market. I think I'll title this one Jane D and the thirteen. I'll keep it simple and let the audio speak for itself and all that. He chuckled to himself at his simple but effective track titles and thought about his previous work. His last upload, John D's Nightmare, had earned him enough to cover rent for three months. He already knew that this one would do even better. People seem to really enjoy the sound of women screaming more than men for some reason. Voorhees, Myers, Kruger, Loomismacher, there's no such thing as a final boy trope in horror after all. Or at least, I haven't seen it as mainstream, I should say. Sukin thought to himself as he coated a fry and ranch dressing before popping it into his mouth, washing it down with a sip of the new bottle, and evaluating the raw version of material he got from his Jane Doe, as if looking back on a fond memory while consuming his fries with a semi-pleased look on his face. The early scream, the desperate quality, and she realized what was happening, the wet collapse at the end, and the sobbing realization that no help was ever coming her way. Now that I think about it, I should probably keep the cry for help on the trap. It's like the bridge to the chorus. No wonder these sickos would eat this up. More than again. Sugin took one final chug of his second beer and wiped his lips with the sleeve of the bland, dirty brown jacket he had gotten from the dumpster before slamming the bottle on the table in a satisfying thud. I guess I'm one of those sickos who loves it enough to make money off of it. Sugin left the bar and saw the homeless man once again, still outside on the corner. Oh what the hell? I've got enough money in my wallet to do this, he thought to himself. As Sugin gestured over to the homeless man and handed him twenty bucks. Here, he said with an outshirt's hand, you seem hungry, friend. How about you go get yourself something on me, yeah? Sugin said in a fake, drunken slur of a voice. He knew that if he played as if he had too much to drink, no one would really take his action seriously. An unkempt homeless man in the bar would definitely be more memorable than some man with an ugly, boring brown coat and a trash bag. Sugin saw the homeless man's eyes go from weary to lively and grateful in an instant, shaking his head and calling Sugin a very kind man. I hope you enjoy, Sugin said as he watched him go inside, because that meal will be your last. I'll be seeing you tomorrow now. A blunt, heavy object struck the back of his skull, with the same force he calculated so precisely two hours earlier. Su Gin went out like a light. Then again, surely anyone who was just hit in the back of the head with a five kilogram knife block would have done the same. Su Gin knew this. It wasn't his first time after all. At least it wasn't his first time where he was the one holding the tools. But this time something was different. This time, when he opened his eyes again, he could feel a sharp pain all over his body. Though not like a wave of pain, no. More like individual points. As if it was the most painful acupuncture imaginable. And as he was trying to understand what was happening, a new sensation made itself known in Su Gin's left side. It was a shallow stab compared to the others. Bearing knife, perhaps? Although Su Gin didn't care what kind of knife was entering his body, he just wanted to know why it was happening in the first place. He screamed out, partly in pain, partly in hopes that his own noise would help him make sense of the situation. As the sound of footsteps reached closer, Su Gin's vision began to correct itself, and he saw a man standing over him. Even from his position on the ground, Su Gin knew that this man was incredibly tall. He had to be no less than two hundred centimeters in height. He tried to see if there was anything that would identify this man to him. Sisaka? A hitman? A crazed fan of mine that wanted to make their own track and write me as a star this time around? No. That didn't make sense to Su Gin. He had always been careful about how he did things and orchestrated his tracks, along with covering them up too. So who was this man? Who are you? Su Gin asked, his voice weak. What he now realizes is a damaged lung. Revenge. Su Gin thought to himself as he felt the squilt of skin breaking and a knife in his lower torso. That's gotta be it. Perhaps I was careless and someone saw me kill a jane that they loved, and now they're taking it out on me. It was then that Sugin was able to get a good look at his retaliator's face, or rather the lack thereof. In the place of where the face of a man should be, there was only a white mask with a strange, gold colored pattern inside a rectangle in the middle of a pure white mask. A mask that matched his suit and color and felt almost sterile compared to what was taking place. The man squatted down in front of Su Gin, took out a notepad and a pencil. He didn't say anything, just wrote something down, looked at Su Gin, and continued his writings. Hey, what the hell is this? Are you some kind of sick fan? Or did I just hurt someone that you like? Sugin, hoping one of his provocations could land, attempted to bait the man for a response, for a reaction, for something that would give him something to work with and understand what was going on. A reaction he would never receive. As the man in the white mask simply tilted his head slightly to the right, to look at Sugin before continuing to write more in his notepad. How dare he ignore me? How dare he say nothing? Sugin thought to himself, as he reached painfully towards the man's face in an attempt to pull off the mask while he was writing. But the only thing his hand was met with was the cold steel of a stake knife being driven through the palm of his hand. Just like how he had stabbed the chain through the hand only a few hours earlier. And that's when it hit him. As the second stake knife went through his unharmed palm, he finally understood. I've heard of you. You're the murder mimic, aren't you? Su Gun asked, his throat feeling raw from the screaming. Some kind of vigilante that kills killers like they killed others. Yeah, that's right. I heard it on the news or something like that. He thought to himself as the man in the mask simply continued to write in his notepad. The sound of the pencil scratched against the paper with a steady, almost uninterested dullness with every word written. Su Gin's mind was racing for answers that the man before him simply refused to give, as if all this wasn't even personal to him. Like Su Gin was placed under a microscope and was just data to be collected and nothing more. In a strange way, the clinical detachment of the way the man continued to empty the knife block into Su Gin's flesh, one blade after another, almost perfectly mimicking what he himself had done with the Jane, made Su Gin angry at his lack of passion, going through the motions with no sense of style, no sense of tact or class, or enthusiasm whatsoever. When I make my tracks, I at least make it fun. I try to be engaging and show my passion, but this man, this thing, seems like he'd rather be anywhere else than doing this. Sugin thought to himself, not even wasting his breath to scream anymore once this realization set in. In fact, the man almost seemed bored of the stabbing. As Su Gin laid on the cold, dirty floor in a shallow pool of his own blood, he saw the man dip his fingers in Sugin's blood and begin to trace a symbol along the wall of the alleyway. The man walked back and forth from Sugin to the wall to use more of his blood for the symbol he was drawing. At first, Sugin didn't know what it was, but as his consciousness began to fade, that's when he realized that the symbol on the wall, the spiral in a box, was the same symbol as the one in the center of the mask. Would I have even made more than the Jane or would my death drag not even be one that broke my top ten hits? Sugin thought to himself as the light behind his eyes went out, and the last thing he saw was the man in the white mask walking away, leaving him to die in the alley, just like the Jane. Did I just become a John? Su Gin wondered to himself at the moment. That answer was no longer for Su Gin to decide. That would be determined by whoever finds his body.