1920x1080 HD - THIS WAS A CUSTOM REQUEST - NO NAMES WERE USED - FOR YOUR OWN CUSTOM PLEASE FILL OUT THE CUSTOMS FORM - I lounge on my bed, the room dark except for the flickering TV screen. I’m watching a recording of my latest work. I look so composed on camera, so dominant. I find myself tracing the lines of my own throat, mimicking that perfect grip, feeling a surge of pride. "I could do this forever," I murmur to the shadows, a slow smile spreading across my face. A news alert breaks the silence. They found her. The reporter is going on about a "male" suspect and the traces left at the scene. I can't help but laugh out loud. My helper did his job perfectly; the police are chasing a ghost. He gets his little rewards for bringing me my subjects, and in return, he provides the perfect forensic distraction. The doorbell rings. Time for the performance. I open the door to a female agent. I soften my eyes, appearing worried and vulnerable. "Please, come in," I say gently. "Do mind the floors, I’ve just finished cleaning them. If you could leave your shoes at the door?" She nods, stepping into my world without a second thought. She starts explaining the danger, trying to "protect" me from the very person standing in front of her. I move closer, watching the steady rhythm of her breathing. "Has it occurred to you," I ask, my voice smooth as silk, "that you might be looking for a woman? Someone who prefers the personal touch of her own bare hands?" The shock in her eyes is the best part. Before she can reach for her belt, I’ve already closed the distance. She is a professional, resisting with everything she has, but my grip is absolute. I’ve mastered this. "The more you resist, the more I enjoy this," I whisper into her ear. "You’re a prize, truly. But you’re just one in a long line of successes." I watch her features carefully as the struggle nears its end. I don’t want to miss a single second. "There," I say softly, watching her focus start to drift. "You look so much more interesting like this." When she finally goes still, I stand up and adjust my hair, looking down at the marks I’ve left—my signature. It’s a beautiful sight. I signal to my helper to come out. "She’s all yours," I tell him. "Ensure the evidence is placed exactly as we discussed. No mistakes. I want the trail to stay cold." I watch him work for a moment, savoring the quiet victory of another perfect evening.