Drake The Notorious Killer.

Fright.

I get up.
I shower.
I dress.
I munch on an apple.
I drive to work.
I sit at my desk.
I log into my designated PC that must be like 50 000 yrs old.
I bet there's hardly any crimes that need a computer so they didn't bother updating it. Or they're just lazy asses.

"Jerry, I want you to search through
cameras, any video footage that may have Drake in them. White, I want you to search through and find previous killings from him, see what his pattern is, get to know how he kills, who he kills. Everything. Kennedy, I want you to ask around the neighborhood from where he killed yesterday, see if you can find anyone that saw him or any odd activity. Konan, you should be at home, healing. Hayes," he narrows his eyes slightly. "You can take the day off." He finishes and waves me off like a fly. I fume.

"Excuse me? I thought we needed every person on deck"

"The men can manage." I snarl before grabbing my helmet and walking outta there. Bloody hell. What's everyone's problem!? Can't they just except the fact that I'm a girl who does know her stuff because she worked for it!?

I drive with speed, and in no time I'm at the shabby shoebox I call home. I unlock, step in, shrug off my jacket, then hang it. What the hell do I do.

I need to punch something, I decide. I dont bother with gloves, just stand on my balcony infront of the boxing bag in a stance before beating the hell outta it. One, two, one, two, one, two. I do a kick. I go back to punching non stop. Sweat grazes my skin while cold air pierces it. With every punch, my mind loosens, dropping the heavy things that make me weak, strengthening me both physically and mentally. Nothing else matters in those moments, just the rough thump of my fists against the stubborn heavy bag, swinging as if enjoying itself. My mind runs free, past trauma returning and fleeing in a sprint as I blink back the tears furiously, punching harder, willing for my brain to loosen further, begging it to forget even though it's impossible.

Panting with my brain slowly collecting itself, I finally stop. Fuck. When did my fists start to bleed?

I turn around, only to reveal yet another, pale yellow sticky note. Fuck.

I spin around in haste, looking at and through every place he could've been. My shitty apartment has a balcony so that's where I was. I look at the note.

You should go back inside. Don't
want you getting cold now, do we?
D. R

Fucking creep. I step through the stiff sliding door and shut it. I lock it too. No curtains or blinds, so darn. Now what? I stand for a bit, my hands on the kitchen table as I lean my weight onto it as I stare at nothing, just thinking.

I guess I could cook something...

But first, I need to change.

I grab a pair of fluffy pj pants, panties, and a button up shirt. I strip in my bedroom which is like my kitchen, lounge room and doorway, ditching my previous attire in the laundry basket before slipping on my fluffy slippers and walking to the kitchen. I fiddle with my phone for a bit. Ah, here we go. A song starts playing. Black Roses by MISSIO. Amazing taste, I know.

I first make some hot chocolate. Chocolate, milk, Cocoa powder, sugar, and some chilli, just for some kick.

I take a sip. Yummo.

Now, what can I make?

Steak? Let's make steak.

I de-freeze a thick slice of steak, smack it maybe a bit too violently in some spices for an hour or so and then put it in the slow cooker. Now what? Let's make... Pineapple cake. It was my dad's favourite.

Then, one of my favourite songs come on. I can't help sing at the top of my lungs.

"I DON'T WANNA HEAR YOU'VE GOT A BOYFRIEND
SOMETIMES YOU'RE BETTER OFF ALONE
BUT IF YOU CHANGE YOUR MIND, YOU KNOW WHERE I AM
YEAH IF YOU CHANGE YOUR MIND, YOU KNOW
WHERE TO FIND ME
'CAUSE I DON'T EVER WANNA BE YOUR BOYFRIEND