The air was dense and cold, as if the darkness itself were alive. As she opened her eyes, a young woman found herself in what appeared to be a cavern. The walls were covered in restless shadows, and the only sound she could hear was a distant echo, like a lament lost in time. She tried to remember how she had ended up there, but her mind was blank, trapped in a labyrinth of confusion and fear.

  As she pushed herself up, a piercing scream shattered the silence, cutting through the gloom like a sharp knife. It was a scream of pain—raw, filled with desperation. Her heart stopped for a moment, and terror seized her. Following the sound, she moved forward hesitantly, her pulse quickening with each step.

  What she saw made her tremble. In the center of the dark chamber, a man dressed in bloodstained clothes was hunched over a figure tied to the ground. It was her father. The madman held a gleaming knife in his hand, slowly slicing into her father’s flesh, savoring every moment. His victim screamed, pleading for mercy, but each word was ignored by the monster, who laughed maniacally.

  "No, no, please, stop!"

  The young woman screamed, tears streaming down her cheeks as she tried to rush forward—only to realize she was caged, bound hand and foot, unable to do anything, unable to look away from the horror unfolding before her.

  The madman paused for a moment, turning his head toward her, his deranged eyes gleaming with amusement.

  "Amateurs," he muttered, chuckling as if commenting on a game. His grin was twisted, his teeth sharp as knives. Then, with chilling indifference, he turned back to her father and continued his gruesome task.

  The young woman’s heart shattered. She screamed with all her might, calling out to the man who had loved her, who had protected her.

  “Dad, don’t go! Don’t leave me, please!”

  But her words were nothing more than echoes in a place where reason had been stripped away, leaving only madness to reign supreme.

  “You’re all amateurs!” she shouted at the man carving into her father, mocking him.

  How could something so macabre happen?

  Let’s start from the beginning.

  Vitor had always been different. He had known it for as long as he could remember. To him, humanity was nothing more than a parade of mediocrity. Emotions, social norms, human relationships—all seemed absurdly trivial. His cold, calculating mind couldn’t help but see others as mere pieces on a board, moving without reason, without significance.

  And yet, in Erick, he had found something strange, something different. Despite the condescension with which he treated everyone else, Erick had been the only one who looked at him without disgust or fear. He had decided to be his friend, and though Vitor didn’t experience friendship in the traditional sense, he valued the companionship.

  They were sitting in the park. Erick spoke enthusiastically about a movie he had just seen. Vitor barely paid attention, nodding at the right moments. Suddenly, Erick nudged his arm, laughing.

  “You’re not listening to me, Vitor!”

  “Of course I am,” Vitor replied, his smile forced but convincing.

  Erick knew him well enough to tell he wasn’t really listening, but he didn’t mind. He knew Vitor had no interest in such things, but the fact that he even tried to pretend made him happy. He patted Vitor’s shoulder and grinned.

  “You’re a case, my friend.”

  Deep down, Vitor thought: I tolerate your presence, you play my game... but you’ll never truly understand how different I am. And yet, here we are, pretending to care about human trivialities.

  One day, Erick shared big news: he had a girlfriend. Her name was Rita, and he spoke about her with a genuine happiness that Vitor could neither comprehend nor replicate, though he feigned enthusiasm.

  "Rita is amazing, Vitor. You have to meet her."

  "I'm happy for you," Vitor lied, forcing a smile.

  Erick laughed, clapping him on the back.

  "I know you don’t actually care, but thanks for pretending. It means a lot."

  Vitor looked at his friend with a mix of indifference and something akin to respect. Erick understood his nature, knew that his "happiness" didn’t matter to him, yet they both continued the charade. And that, in itself, was fascinating.

  Rita was charming, kind—but Vitor never bought into her act. From the very beginning, he noticed the details: the subtle tension in her smile, the way she avoided certain questions. As a natural predator, Vitor had an uncanny ability to spot others like him. He said nothing but began watching her more closely.

  He had always been an astute observer. Though he found emotions and relationships absurd, his sharp perception allowed him to detect cracks in people’s fa?ades. From the moment Erick introduced him to Rita, something about her didn’t sit right. Her smile was too perfect, her gestures too calculated. Vitor didn’t believe in hunches, but his psychopathic instincts urged him to pay attention to the details others overlooked. And Rita… had too many inconsistencies.

  Erick, however, was blinded by love. Vitor watched him talk about his relationship with genuine joy, and though he pretended to listen, he was really analyzing every word Erick said about her, searching for any sign of danger.

  The fa?ade lasted six months—six months that Vitor never believed in. But Erick? He was just a fool who needed a real lesson. Or at least, that’s how Vitor saw it.

  When the illusion finally crumbled, Vitor wasn’t surprised. He had been watching, studying, waiting. And when he started following Rita, it didn’t take long for him to uncover her true nature.

  Rita belonged to a criminal syndicate that kidnapped young people, demanded outrageous ransoms, and killed their victims without hesitation. Vitor had overheard a conversation between Rita and her brother—after all, he had planted cameras and microphones in her house the very first day they met. The first thing he did was find out where she lived.

  They were planning to use Erick as their next pawn.

  What they didn’t know was that they were playing with the wrong prey.

  The kidnapping was set for a week later, at two in the morning, on Vanegas Street.

  And when that day arrived, Vitor was ready.

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  That afternoon, hours before Erick’s highly anticipated date with Rita, Vitor paid him a visit. Erick was excited, practically glowing with joy, an idiotic grin on his face.

  "Today’s the day, Vitor! I’m having dinner with Rita, and I think this is serious, man." Erick’s voice was full of eager anticipation as he got ready to leave. "I’m sure she’s the one."

  Vitor, forcing a smile, simply nodded. To his eyes, Erick was almost pathetic, completely oblivious to the darkness lurking just beneath the surface. He knew his friend had no idea what was really happening.

  And then, Erick made a mistake—a small detail that confirmed what Vitor already knew.

  “We’re meeting somewhere new, near Vanegas Avenue,” Erick said casually, not realizing the significance of his words.

  Yes. That street. The one infamous for its lack of lighting, its dangerous reputation. A place where even the bravest wouldn’t walk alone at night.

  Erick, unaware of Vitor's growing tension, pulled a couple of beers from the fridge.

  "This will calm our nerves before the date, don’t you think?" he said, handing a bottle to his friend.

  Vitor accepted it but didn’t drink. He pretended to take a sip and watched as Erick drank his without a second thought. Minutes later, Erick began to sway, his words slurring until, finally, he collapsed unconscious onto the couch.

  Vitor observed his friend's motionless body for a moment. He knew Erick wouldn’t survive what Rita and her family had planned. But to him, this situation was perfect—an opportunity he had no intention of wasting.

  With absolute calm, he dragged Erick’s body to the bed, making sure he was properly settled. Then, he walked to the closet, searching for clothes identical to those his friend would have worn for the date. He knew exactly what to choose, down to the smallest detail—proof of how much time he had spent observing Erick. Not out of affection, but out of pure calculation.

  Dressed as Erick, Vitor made his way to the meeting point on Vanegas Avenue. It hadn’t been long before he felt a sharp blow to the back of his head, and everything went black.

  He woke up tied to a chair in a dark, cold place. He could hear voices around him—his captors whispering among themselves, celebrating their success in capturing “Erick.” But what they didn’t know was that Vitor wasn’t the victim they expected. As his eyes adjusted to the dim light, he felt an unusual exhilaration. He was in the heart of the trap, but he was not the prey—he was the predator.

  “Wake him up,” ordered a voice Vitor recognized. It was Rita’s father.

  One of the kidnappers threw a bucket of cold water over his face, jolting him fully awake. As they pulled the hood from his head, the lights flickered on, revealing the figures of Rita’s family—her father, her mother, and four of her brothers. They were all there, surrounding him, confident that they had caught their target.

  But when they looked at him closely, something was off. He wasn’t Erick.

  Vitor smiled—a wide, macabre grin that made them all take a step back.

  “What’s wrong?” Rita’s father asked, his brow furrowed.

  “Did you really think it would be that easy?” Vitor let out a laugh, his voice echoing through the cold, dark space. “I’ve been waiting for this.”

  The kidnappers exchanged uneasy glances, confusion creeping in. One of Rita’s brothers stepped forward, ready to silence Vitor with a punch. But by then, Vitor had already begun freeing himself. He knew how to handle extreme situations, and his skill in untying knots and slipping out of restraints was just one of the many talents he had honed over the years.

  Vitor lunged forward, regurgitating a small glass vial wrapped in plastic. He smashed it against the floor, releasing an overpowering scent that caused everyone to collapse unconscious—everyone except Vitor.

  “Now,” he muttered, surveying the fallen bodies around him, “how shall I deal with you, you pathetic amateurs?”

  The air was thick and cold, as if the darkness itself were alive. When Rita opened her eyes, she found herself in a place that resembled a cavern. The walls were covered in restless shadows, and the only sound was a distant echo, like a lost lament drifting through time.

  She tried to remember how she had gotten there, but her mind was blank, trapped in a maze of confusion and fear.

  As she slowly sat up, a bloodcurdling scream tore through the air, cutting through the darkness like a sharpened blade. It was a cry of agony—raw, filled with desperation. Her heart stopped for a moment, and terror gripped her.

  Following the sound, she moved hesitantly, her pulse quickening with every step.

  What she saw made her tremble.

  In the center of the dark chamber, a man dressed in bloodstained clothes loomed over a bound figure. It was her father. The madman held a gleaming knife in his hand, slicing into her father’s flesh with slow, deliberate precision, savoring every moment. His victim screamed, begging for mercy, but every plea was ignored.

  “No, no, please stop!”

  Rita’s scream of anguish broke through the suffocating silence. Tears streamed down her face as she struggled to move closer—only to realize she was inside a cage, her hands and feet bound. She was powerless, unable to do anything, unable to look away from the horror unfolding before her.

  The madman paused for a moment, turning his head toward her. His eyes were wild, alight with manic glee.

  “Amateurs,” he scoffed, laughing as if he were commenting on a trivial game. His smile twisted into a grotesque grin, his teeth glinting like sharpened knives. Then, with chilling indifference, he turned back to her father and resumed his grisly work.

  Rita’s heart shattered. She screamed with everything she had, calling out to the man who had loved her, who had protected her.

  “Dad, don’t go! Please, don’t leave me!”

  But her words were nothing more than echoes in a place where reason had been stripped away, and madness reigned supreme.

  “You’re all nothing but amateurs!” she shrieked at the monster who was cutting into her father, her voice dripping with hatred and despair.

  Within minutes, Vitor’s laughter mixed with the agonized screams of Rita’s family. One by one, he slaughtered them without mercy, savoring every moment, every drop of blood, every cry of agony. There was no fear in him—only a twisted pleasure that consumed him as he tore them apart using anything he could get his hands on: knives, ropes, his own bare hands.

  For five days, he tortured them. He took his time, ensuring that each of them suffered enough before they finally died. The screams filled the house, but they were far enough from the city that no one could hear them.

  And through it all, he never stopped laughing. His laughter was the only constant—a sinister echo that reverberated through the dark halls of the house. He never seemed to tire, sleeping soundly like a child whenever they begged for mercy or hurled curses at him.

  Rita, the only one left alive, was forced to watch as Vitor destroyed her family—one by one.

  He never touched her, never laid a hand on her.

  Her punishment was to witness it all, powerless to stop it.

  When he had finished his fun, he placed the heads of her family on the table and began to play with them, even putting makeup on them with whatever he could find at hand.

  Then he approached Rita. She was mentally shattered, filthy but neither malnourished nor dehydrated—he had made sure to feed her during the five beautiful days they had spent together. And finally, he placed the severed heads at the doors of her cage.

  "I'm going to be honest with you. That was fun. We should do it again."

  He pulled out the key to the cage and shoved it deep into the gaping wound of her late mother’s head, burying his hand almost entirely inside.

  "I called the police. They'll be here in a few hours. So, you can stay here and face all the atrocities you've committed—because they are yours, you didn’t invite me, after all. Or, you can take the key and spend your days as a fugitive."

  Then, without another word, he turned around and left, whistling cheerfully.

  For five days, Erick had been desperate, having had no news of Vitor. The morning after waking up in Vitor's bed, he learned from the news that the one responsible for the fifteen disappearances was his own girlfriend. In the following days, he had been trying to find Vitor, even reaching out to Vitor’s older sister, Lisa Herrero. However, she simply told him that Vitor knew how to take care of himself and that he would return.

  Fearing the worst, Erick went to Vitor’s apartment once again—only to find him sitting calmly on his couch, freshly showered, playing with a Rubik’s cube.

  "Vitor!" Erick shouted, running toward him and wrapping him in a tight hug.

  Vitor let out an exasperated sigh, though a small smile tugged at the corner of his lips.

  "You won’t believe it. My girlfriend..."

  "She tried to kill you."

  "Yeah."

  Erick hugged him again.

  "God, I thought she had kidnapped you."

  "Right, hahaha."

  That night, Vitor was grilling in his backyard while Erick prepared the salad. When Erick glanced at the TV, he saw his girlfriend being arrested. Her eyes looked empty, her expression utterly broken.

  "Vitor! Look who's on TV!"

  "I can’t! I’m cooking!"

  "It’s Rita. She’s on the news."

  Vitor put down his utensils and walked over to the television.

  "Look at her. Looks like her luck finally ran out. Almost seems like she’s that way because they caught her. But what really catches my attention is that they’re saying her accomplices were brutally murdered."

  "Yeah, there are some real savages out there." Erick sighed. "Black pudding or chorizo?"

  "The question offends me, Vitor Herrera."

  "Then, black pudding."

  "Two, please."

  "The things I do for you, idiot," Vitor muttered as he made his way to the kitchen.