My name is Jack Firenze. I am 25 years old, and I just want peace and quiet. I live in the suburbs of Los Angeles, where all the rich people live. I work at a law firm specializing in gang violence, DUI, divorce, and murder. The last point is quite ironic, since I am Los Angeles’ 21st Century serial killer. If you poor souls read my account further, you will find out how my curse caused me, a simple man who just desires peace and quiet, to be stripped of my quiet life and thrust into the spotlight of Los Angeles.
Years ago, in foggy old 19th Century London, a predator stalked the streets. His name was Jack the Ripper, and he was the first documented member of my kind. For whenever a succubus or incubus from the fires of hell loves a human woman, their sons will be born devoid of emotion, and become destined to be a killer. Nearly every deranged individual that has ever crossed the Earth is my relative. Ted Bundy? One of my uncles. Dylan Klebold and Eric Harris? Cousins of mine. My mother was a sick person. She used to be a socialite, with wealthy parents. One day, the incubus came, posing as a high-society suitor. Obviously, my mother was infatuated. She sacrificed her money, status, and her future to be with the incubus. They eloped off to the city, and found a grimy apartment to call home. My mother got pregnant, and had a happy nine months with the incubus. The day I was born, he left. My mother was stunned. She became a heavy drinker, and contributed to my meager childhood. Nevertheless, I persisted. And I honed my void, and made it my own. This cemented my transformation into the Sleepwalker Killer.
2 Years Earlier
It was just another night in my life. Another prey, another kill. I went into the apartment complex where my victim lived as silent as a starving tiger. After picking the crude lock on the door, I slinked into the modern, messy living room. Usually, my prey is fast asleep at this time, but this wasn’t the case tonight. A balding, middle-aged man with a beer belly was lounging on his couch, eating dusty chips that stained his rug. I drew my knife, ready to end his existence. He flipped a channel on his cheap TV set, and raised another chip to his horrid mouth. But at that moment, I made a rookie mistake that would cost me the hunt. I stepped on the chip, making a crunch that alerted the man to my position. He gasped in fright, and ran towards his window as fast as his stubby legs could manage.
“Who are you, and why are you here? W-what do you want with me?” he stammered in a frightened tone.
I snarled, “I’m here for your life, friend.”
He tried to get a weapon from his kitchen, but he wasn’t able to reach there in time. I rushed to him, but he narrowly escaped through his window, as I stood there in shock. I had never let prey escape, even on my worst days. But this lazy failure of a shut-in had managed to outwit this generation’s finest killer.
I creeped out through the front door as the man ran further and further from the grimy apartment. Disappointed in my failure, I headed to my house to reflect.

Ch. 2-Rory

“I’m telling you, I was nearly murdered!”
“Hmm, Okay. What did the person look like?”
“Well, he had a streak of blue hair, and he had a knife with some sort of horned skull thing for a hilt. He was pretty young too, though I didn’t get a good hard look at his face, since, you know, I almost was killed.”
“We’ll do what we can sir. You can go home know.”
Well…that went as well as I thought it would go. I knew that police officers wouldn’t trust a fat shut-in like me in a million years. Anyways, where to start? I was almost murdered, by a man who just barged in while I was binging Game of Thrones. As if anyone has the right to do that. Anyway, my name is Rory. Rory Campbell, and I was almost murdered. For as long as I live, I’ll make sure this creep is brought to justice, for me, and for all of the potential victims he might have killed.
I hopped in my old, rusty Prius and drove to a place where I might be taken with a grain of salt. The local news station. I got a few dirty looks from some of the workers there, but that’s never stopped me before. I reached the office of my good friend, Mr. Archibald Markov, Chief Reporter.
“Oh. Hey Rory, what’s up?” he said in a deadpan voice.
“Boy. Oh. Boy. Do I have the story to tell you. As in: get out your notepad right now.” I said in between gasps for air.
“Ok boss, I’m listening. Go on. Shoot.”
“Ok.” I composed myself, taking deep breaths. “I was almost murdered.”
“Woah there? Are you 100% sure? Spill more.”
“Yeah.” I whispered, “He came late at night. I was binging Game of Thrones, and he stepped on a chip I dropped. He came close to catching me and slitting my throat, but I managed to jump out of my window. Oh! He had a knife with a hilt kind of like a horned skull thingy.”
“This is a heck of a lot to process, Rory. But I’ll promise you one thing.” Archibald reset himself in his chair. “We’ll catch him, and bring him to justice. From now on, since he came so late at night, let’s call him Sleepwalker. I’ll print out an ad in the papers, and put out flyers, and…Oh.”
“What, Archie?”
“I can call someone.”
“To find him?”
“Yeah.”

Me and Archie traveled to the slums. After some time walking, we reached a pub lit up by a shabby neon sign.
“This is the place, Rory.” Archibald proudly whispered.
“We’ll find him here, right,” I muttered
“Yeah.”
Archie strode inside the pub, as I followed suit, He walked up to a beefy man that I assumed was the bouncer.
“Hey there buddy, you got a Ken McCabe here by any chance?” Archibald said smoothly.
“Yup, that’s him there on that there blue table.” Said the bouncer, pointing to the right side of the place.
An Asian millennial man with stringy, shoulder-length hair sat unamused next to a couple of people his age. Archie walked up to him and drove out the gaggle of friends from the table.
“Ken McCabe.” Archie boomed strongly, “Me and my friend here need your help. Trust me, it will be worth your while.”
“Oh really” smirked Ken sarcastically, “What do you need? And how much will I be paid?”
“At least five thousand bucks.”
“Oh ho ho! I’m in! What do you need from me?”
“We just need you to be a detective. Easy enough for you, right?”
“Absolutely right sir.”
Ch 3- Jack
I figured that in order to forget about my more recent failures, I would go to my go-to spot for a good drink. The pub in the slums. I drove there in a light rain, reflecting on that night. It wasn’t enough that he escaped, but he might have told the police, or any other miscellaneous threat to my quiet life. I reached the pub, and sprung out of my car, in fear of getting wet. As I ran towards the door, I bumped against a man.
“Oh shoot, I’m sorry man. Are you ok?” I stammered.
“Yeah, I’m good. Hey… you kind of look like this guy my friends described to me. My name’s Ken. Nice to meet you.”
Sweat lined my forehead, and a chill ran through my neck. “Oh… nice to meet you. My name’s Jack.”
Ken brightened up. “Jack? As in Jack Firenze? Sleepwalker Killer Jack Firenze? Dude, you’re a legend. Us up and coming killers dream of being you!”
I breathed a sigh of relief. I knew there were other killers in this wide, expansive city, but I never knew I would actually encounter one. There was something endearing about this Ken, that set him apart from other people I’ve met.
“Ken, by any chance, are you free this Saturday?” I said.
“Yeah, why?” he responded.
“Maybe we could meet up, and talk about our, you know, serial killer stuff.”
“Oh, sure! By the way, I have this newspaper, it mentions something about an attempted murder, do you wanna see it?”
I snatched the paper up. It read: “Help Find This Man: Young, Streak of Blue Hair, Knife With Horned Skull Hilt.”
I nearly fainted from the shock. So that NEET ratted me to the papers. Understandable. However, that is not good for me living here. I might have to move.
“Ken, do you mind going to my house. We have to talk about… some things related to this paper.” I barked.
“Ok, sure? What do you need to know?” Ken innocently replied.
“A whole lot.”

Ch. 4- Jack
1 Year Later

In this wretched city, I feel like the only person I can truly trust is Ken. In the year we’ve been friends, we’ve killed and killed and killed again, simply for the fun of killing together. We’ve even started to play music together. Ken is the perfect person to be my friend. Absolutely perfect.
“Hey, Jack.” Ken shouted from across the room.
“What?” I replied. “You got any hunt leads?”
“No, I just wanted to say something. You know how you’ve mentioned leaving the city right? Well, I just wanted to say: Please, please don’t leave. It’s fun to kill with you, and I don’t really have any other friends I can trust.”
“Ken.” I sighed exasperatedly.” You know that the first chance I get, I’m leaving.”
“Did you not just listen to my monologue? If you leave, I wouldn’t know what to do with myself.”
“But Ken, I’ve told you a million-”
“No… Just. Don’t. Please.”
“You know what, I can’t keep arguing about this. Because of that NEET a year ago, I might be found out and sent to jail. Jeez. I’m going.”
“Wait, Jack!”
I left with a few bags in my hands that carried my possessions. As Ken called out from the distance, I carried on to my car, in what felt like the longest walk of my life.

Ch 5-Rory

“Archie, Archie, Archie!” I joyfully exclaimed
“Dude, it’s late, what do you want.” Archie wearily muttered.
“I think I might have found my murderer.”
“Really?” Archie perked up. “And without that Ken guy’s help. Impressive, impressive. Tell me how you found him. I’ll sketch as you speak.”
I took a long, drawn-out breath. “Ok, so I went out to the corner store right, and there was a guy there buying gum, and he looked exactly like what I saw that night. Blue streak and everything.”
I spent the next five or so minutes describing the man’s facial features. When I was done describing him, I urged Archie to put this in the paper.
“Are you sure about this one Rory? I mean, readers might think you’re crazy. Then we’ll never find him.” Archie stammered.
“I’m sure. Put it in the paper.”
“All right.”
Ch 6-Jack
I woke up in the low-tier motel that I had rented. Almost immediately, I heard my TV blaring with the local news. After hearing: “Local Man Dies in Fire Caused By Pet Alligator” and: “Ten Dangerous Foods You Should Stop Hearing.” I heard the underpaid anchor say, “Police are looking for a young male connected with multiple murders and attempted murders. This deranged individual has a lock of blue hair, and, if seen, should be reported to the police immediately.”
I nearly fainted. I had only been this anxious when I had met Ken, and he gave me that paper a year ago. I rushed to my car, and sped over to Ken’s house. I didn’t care about how I stormed out yesterday, I just needed to talk to somebody I could trust. When I got there, I saw a distinct van in his lot, and it didn’t belong to him.
As I got closer to the house, I heard snippets of conversation coming from Ken’s voice and two other ones I didn’t recognize.
“Ken, Ken, Ken. We had a deal, a five thousand dollar deal. And you throw it all away. I mean it was a year ago, but one doesn’t forget about five thousand bucks.”
“I don’t care about the deal anymore.” Ken cried.
“Oh well. Archie. Kill him.”
Right after he said that, I rushed into the room with the speed of one hundred cheetahs. Without thinking, I drew my knife, and crudely slashed at the ones that were responsible for harming my friend. In mere moments, they were crumpled on the floor, dead.
“Jack, why would you do that. Now you’re just going to get us in more trouble.” Ken cried.
“We can move to another country, you know,” I remarked sarcastically.
“That’s not what this is about.”
“Just help me clean up.”
“Fine.”
After we cleaned up the house and disposed of the body, we had to move.
Ken and I got in the car, and we drove off to the airport. Even though we were fugitives, it had never felt so good.