Ji-Woon Hak, most notoriously known as The Trickster, is the world famous kpop idol. After the tragedy of losing his bandmates in a fire, it was certain that he too would go down in flames in the music industry.
His manager, Yun-jin Lee fought hard...
Screams, wails, whimpers, choking, and then silence. A wide grin spread across his blood stained face. Sweat dripping down his neck, mixing with the blood covering his neck. He watched as the glow of life drained out of his victims eyes.
This never got old. Listening to their shrieks, watching them try to fight him to get away. But he always planned for everything. Every little detail he mastered to wring out every beautiful sound his victims gave him and he was rewarded with a melody.
He wiped his bloody hands on a towel and sat down in the plush armchair set before his victim. He had them suspended in the air by their hands, ropes tied to cement blocks, held their feet firmly to the ground. Any normal person would look at this and see horror.
But Ji-Woon, saw art.
He leaned back in his chair, gazing at the masterpiece in front of him, reached over and grabbed his flute glass of crimson red wine and took a long sip. He sat and relished in the smell of blood, the sweetness of the wine dancing on his tongue and the rush of ecstasy. This particular victim was a man. When Ji-Woon had met him, his voice sounded deep and almost monotone. But, Ji-Woon saw potential in him.
It didn't take him long to find where the man lived, learn his schedule and initiate a plan to obtain him. He stalked him one night after he left for work, caught him alone in an alley way, and all it took was one swing from his bat and the man was all his. He brought him to an abandoned warehouse he had found, tied him up and waited until his victim awoke and then...he began creating.
He hit record on his cell phone.
The man's deep monotone voice turned into an operatic masterpiece. He carved into the abdomen of the man which rewarded him a deep bellied scream. He then took his small throwing knife and plunged it into the man's triceps, twisting and turning the knife, eliciting a symphony of shrieks and cries. The man begging Ji-Woon for mercy, pleading with him. But Ji-Woon only laughed. He stepped back and reached behind the plus chair and pulled out his collection of throwing knives.
He stepped back and took aim.
On after another, he threw each one with great precision. Each knife finding its mark, burying themselves into the flesh. The man tilted his head back and let out a mixture of wails and screams. Ji-Woon grinned and forced himself to keep from bursting into hysterical laughter.
Hours later, gallons of blood, and Ji-Woon had created possibly his next big track for the album. Maybe it will make the charts this time.
After gazing a little longer at his artwork, he decided it was time to wrap up. Gathering up his throwing blades, in one move, he threw two of them in on fluid motion and cut down his lifeless victim. He then busied himself with rearranging his victim in the plush armchair. He cleaned the room of any trace of his DNA. Ji-Woon grew sad and grim as the lovely perfume of blood was replaced by the god-awful smell of bleach.
After he was sure he had rid the area of every hair and fingerprint that would notify the police, he cast one last longing gaze at his victim, propped so perfectly in the chair, the same plush chair that was used in one of his more recent music videos. He does this for every victim his killed. Left his mark in crime scene, but yet the police are blind and still failed to tie it to him.
He smiled to himself, they would never figure it out as him, Ji-Woon Hak, as the mastermind to these heinous crimes. After all, he was a God. And only a God could choose when to show himself.
He grabbed his bag, with his small recording equipment, his bloody clothing, cleaning supplies and then left the warehouse, leaving his masterpiece behind for the police to discover.
Ji-Woon readjusted the facemask, hiding his identity, tightened the strings of his black hoodie and walked down the empty streets of Seoul. The night was cool and damp. The rainstorm that day had blanketed the night with a sweet-smelling mist. The air rich with moisture and the scent of rain clung heavy to his nose. He breathed in the nightly perfume and felt a pang in his chest. The nightly air was lacking the sweet scent of blood.
Oh how he craved that scent. He yearned for it, craved it, even fantasized about it. The stillness of the night did little to quell the murderous urge within him. The silence irked him.
The silence was then broken by the ringing of his Mightee One Cellphone.
He pulled it out of his pocket and frowned. Yun-Jin. Sighing in exasperation he pressed the green button and held the phone up to his ear, ready to be bombarded with a lecture.
"Ji-Woon?! Where are you?" She yelled. "Relax noona, I just went to the connivence store. I was running low on eggs and soap," He said very calmly into the phone, making a mental note to stop by the nearest store to pick up eggs and soap to fit his alibi.
"You know very damn well you can't be out alone like this!" She yelled once more. "Are you aware of these murders that have been happening? It's too dangerous for you to be alone." She yelled again. She was always a micromanager. This got on his nerves. She was always watching him, everything he did or anywhere he went she was always watching. The only time he could get away from her was when she would be called away to meetings or whenever one of her personal projects kept her up late.
"I know Noona, and don't worry about me. I didn't go that far from my place." He tried to reason with her. He stepped into the first connivence store that would be open at this hour and proceeded to shop. "I don't want you going out period! Especially at night!"
He sighed heavily paying for the items with his personal card.
"Thank you come again," the clerk said. He paid them no mind and left. "Look, Noona, I'm on my way back home now. If anything happens, I'll notify the police and then you." He said again searching for his house keys in his bag.
She sighed and said, "Fine, but the next time I find out that you're out and about at 12am without a guard, I will lock you in the studio until we finish this album," She threatened and then hung up. He frowned at his phone. "Rude much Yun?" and then pocketed the phone.
He made his way home, unlocked the front door of his suite, and entered his expensive suite which overlooked the city of Seoul. He threw his bag on the leather couch, slipped out of his shoes, he went over to his mini bar and poured himself a glass of rum. He downed the drink and then poured himself another. He then walked over the floor to ceiling window and gazed at the city.
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He could see the warehouse from his window, the faint flashing red and blue lights could be seen from his window. Hmm, that was quick. Some sorry soul must have walked in on his masterpiece.
He chuckled lightly to himself, swallowed the rest of his drink then pressed a button on the wall. The curtains covered the window, blanketing the room in darkness. He retreated to his bedroom and prepared himself for bed.
He would wake up in four hours to synthesize and mix the screams into a wonderous melody.
He closed his eyes, his dreams filled with blood and the angelic screams of human suffering.
