A/N: UPDATED PROLOUGE. As you can see, this one is vastly different, but I have given you the original version at the bottom. If you're confused, then see the chapter UPDATE.
In the basement, he was always thinking. Whenever at home, which was rarely, he would gallop down the stairs and light a few candles. Sinister as his thoughts may be, he never really thought of it that way. He was never one to question motives.
Right now, the clutter on his desk made him quite happy. It meant the end of the days where he would clutch at his hair in exasperation, asking himself if it was ever worth it.
Worth it: (expression.)
1.Another way of asking yourself if you might be unstable, and the consequences it would cause if the accusation was true.
Second doubting yourself.
Can you believe that it's both the former and the latter?
This is never going to end well, he thinks. He thinks this, but in the back of his mind he asks himself, Does he care?
He may be in love, he may be twisted, he may not even have a beating heart for much longer. No one can know why.
Except for one.
He ruffles the maps, the bios that he wrote, the stolen letters, the various plans on how and when (and more importantly, with what). The pain staking care he had taken with his plans. Oh, but maybe it will be worth it.
He sighs, dumping out the cards out of it's package, and begins writing on the back with his pen. He's careful not to leave any clues. Wearing black leather gloves, keeping all hair and crumbs away from the room, and changing his handwriting greatly. As he writes, the scenes he imagines flash through his mind. People are very predictable. He knows exactly how they can react.
Besides, he's picking the most helpless kids in the entire town, no, scratch that, in all of the state. Maybe even country. They aren't bloody detectives, they have no idea how to handle what's going to happen to them. Unlike every movie ever written, regular people can't have ideas or instinctive reactions to situations like this.
It's thoughts like this that calm him. He won't be caught.
The only one who will punish him is himself.
He sighs, and blows out the candles.
Soon.
ORIGINAL PROLOGUE
It was quite simple, really.
Take the kids who no one liked.
Make the others realize.
Thirteen of them.
Two of them didn't go to McKinley high.
But all of them had a tie between them.
All of them got one card in their mailbox.
Each card had one word scrawled on the back.
SUDDEN
SLOW
QUICKLY
UNKNOWN
BRUTAL
WILLING
MISSING
FIRST
EASY
SELF
PSYCHIC
LATE
GAME
The words were unrelated to each other. The cards would arrive at different times.
But they all meant the same thing.
Death.