I'm hunting in the jungle of Miami. Here live the many reapers of death, hidden among the innocent. Some are better than others at hiding. But that's what makes the hunt exciting.

Blood surges in my ears. My prey. A killer. Got off charges because of faulty evidence. Good for me, now I have someone to hunt, someone I know will greet my kill table beautifully.

Soon, I will make my move—I can feel it.

I watch him at the bar. He doesn't see me. People usually don't see me. I'm a very neat monster. He laughs. Downs a shot. Joking with the bartender. Flirting with that girl. He's hiding his monster very well. His prey are attracted to him.

I wait.

Finally, he gets up to leave. Walks through the crowd. I follow. Careful, no attention, I am a neat monster, clean and deadly, no one sees me. A cool silence descends through my ears, my focus on my prey. Closer and closer. I will greet him outside, ready with my twine and syringe. My heart pounds in anticipation.

Inconspicuous.

A body slams into mine, jarring my teeth, and I can hear the blare of music and voices again, as the dull surge of blood in my ears pounds out.

"So sorry, I'm so sorry," the man apologizes frantically, "didn't see you, I'm very sorry." He draws out his vowels, he's not from Miami.

My prey vanishes through the throng of people.

Must keep social pretenses.

"Very, very sorry," he repeats again. His hands are held in front of him in apology.

"Hey, no problem," I begin cheerfully, "It was totally my fault, wasn't looking—"

I look at the man and falter, the best fake smile I have suddenly frozen on my face.

It's his eyes, his eyes that make the Dark Passenger squirm. And makes my blood run hot and cold at the same time and I think is that a Katy Perry song?.

His eyes are dead, nearly empty but for a cold, furious fire that burns them from the inside out, the fire of insanity, emptiness, darkness. He too, has a beautiful smile plastered on his face, crows feet beautifully etched into his skin like madness, hair carefully styled to look like a human's, but I see.

He is like me.

A very neat monster, and people can't see him for who he is.

But I can see what he is.

And he sees what I am.

"I'd offer you my services, but it appears you don't need them." He drawls. His grin widens, a leer of insanity. His own dark passenger faces me—no, unlike I, who house the Dark Passenger in the passenger seat, he is the dark passenger, always, his is always the one driving.

"Sorry," I answer. I must keep social pretenses, pretend I haven't seen the monster he is. "I don't really know what kind of services you offer, but I really have to get going."

The monster leans forward, eyes scrutinizing my own. Does he see my dark passenger inside? "Yes. Yes you do." I know he does. He extends his hand. Social custom. We both know what we are supposed to do.

I grip his hand. My nerves send out shockwaves; my hand is clasped by a monster.

Monsters shaking hands.

"Carry on." He pulls me into what people commonly refer to as a bro-hug, clapping me on the back. "Though it looks like I've made you late. Sorry 'bout that." His "that" is harsh, the "a" sound long and drawn out.

And suddenly he is gone, his hand not clutching mine any more, his body swallowed by the crowd that is a bar in Miami, Florida.

I don't turn around, I don't bother to look for him. Monsters like him can hide in plain sight, and I won't be able to see him again.

I lost my kill tonight, but I've met a small restitution.

I've met another monster, worse than me.

A monster than burns.

Edit: Woops, wrong character filter. Fixed now.