Author's Note: Sorry for the wait everybody. This story was slow to start and slow to work on, but finally, your patience is rewarded. ShadowMajin has handed the reins of posting over to me once again so keep an eye on my account for updates, unless you choose to put an alert on it.

Alright, a lot going on in this story. There's a reason why it's called Ten Houses. If myself and my co-author have done our jobs right, it shouldn't be until the end when you figure out who or what the Ten Houses are and if there are even houses involved in the first place. Nonetheless, I hope it's a good story for you guys, regardless. Enjoy.

Disclaimer: We do not own Batman

Warning: language, violence, death

See, Hear, and Speak No Evil

It was with a groan that Harvey opened his eyes, the soft light of the room causing little discomfort to him. As he took in his surroundings, he groaned again though for another reason.

"It happened again?" he asked wearily.

"I'm afraid it did, Harvey," a deep voice confirmed.

In Harvey Dent's book, this was not a good thing. It was doubly so since he was the district attorney of one of the largest cities on the eastern seaboard and it was an election year. To open his eyes and find the room he was in in disarray, a coffee table flipped onto its side, reams of paper scattered about, and a lamp lying on the carpeted floor and under picture frames that were unevenly tilted on the wall they hung on was a very depressing sight for him.

The only thing that did not appear messed up with the man in the sweater vest across from him. He sat in a cushioned chair, a pair of reading glasses perched on his nose with a pair of nonjudgmental eyes peering through them. A legal pad lay on the man's lap, forgotten as the man's attention was focused solely on him.

At the very least, if there was one positive thing in all this, the bad toupee the man wore in a vain attempt to hide his balding head was the only awful thing in this room that Harvey knew he hadn't had a hand in ruining. He knew that for some men, they would do anything to keep a head full of hair, but the inevitable was always inevitable.

"This can't keep happening," the dark haired man bemoaned as he hunched over, his head held in his hands, elbows propped on his knees.

"Though my office may not appear like it, there has been some progress made today," the other man remarked. "It took much longer for any violent reactions to occur this time."

"That is not reassuring, Doc," Harvey grumbled. "I don't think we should be doing this hypnosis stuff anymore. You know I don't like it when I black out."

"We have gone over this before, Harvey. Blacking out and entering a hypnotic state are two completely different things, When you black out, we do not get any kind of information that would be useful here. With a hypnotic state, we are able to learn things that will-"

"Yeah, yeah, you've said it a million times." The district attorney looked up from his hands at the psychiatrist.

Based on a recommendation from his wife, Harvey had agreed to have a single session with the man across from him, one Dr. Victor Erie. They had that one session and the next thing Harvey had known he had a second session scheduled. Then a third. Then a fourth. The next thing he knew it had been over two years since he had first went to see this man for his...problem.

And for a while, it seemed like things were working out. He was feeling less stressed, even at work. His marriage was closer than ever. Even the fact that putting pressure on one of the last crime families in the city and barely making progress on that front was not giving him any ulcers.

Then the election cycle came around.

In Gotham, he was up for re-election about once every four years. In the last three or so, not that he was bragging or anything, he had been racking up quite a record, conviction after conviction, slowly but surely turning the tide against organized crime, and all and all making this city a better place. But people's memories were short. When things were getting better, less people wanted a man of action and more a man who didn't rock the boat.

He already had an opponent in the form of Mort Weinstein and word had it that Judge Harkness was planning to announce her candidacy any day now. Both could be proven to be the opposite of him, though for completely different reasons. So on top of his responsibilities as the district attorney, he was also in campaign mode. Stress was coming back massively.

Then he blacked out again.

Just when he thought maybe he could begin ending his therapy, he was here to continue it and plan for more sessions in the future. There were times he swore he would be torn in half from all this.

"Perhaps, Harvey. Perhaps. Setbacks are always to be expected. You have an extremely stressful vocation, one that has a term limit. You now have added stress with the everyday stress you already are experiencing. It is natural that you feel overwhelmed, and we both know what happens when you get overwhelmed," Dr. Erie summed up. "With that said, there are also the addition problems you had even before you became district attorney. Problems that did not simply go away, only were buried deep within you. Such problems have a habit of unearthing themselves at the most inconvenient times.

"To make longer lasting progress, we need to delve deeper and reach the true source of it. In your case, you have buried these problems so deep that conventional therapy will not be enough. Hypnosis, as I have explained before, is able to reach those problems and bring them forth. And it has been successful, in that regard. Maybe too successful."

Harvey snorted at that comment but said nothing else.

"Allow me to say this, Harvey," Dr. Erie continued. "I am worried for your mental stability. The stresses of political campaigning may be too much. I-"

"I will not drop out," Harvey growled, glaring up at the shrink. He remained hunched over, a surge of anger flowing through him.

"I understand. Yet, I must say that should you continue to proceed with your campaign, I cannot guarantee that you will remain stable. Another inopportune moment could arise where you 'black out' and the damage you face from it may be insurmountable."

A frown creased that handsome face the attorney was known for. Unfortunately he couldn't argue with Erie's logic. He could see what kind of disaster that would be. If the room was any indication…

"If you are to continue...then I would suggest we increase the number of sessions we have." Erie's suggestion interrupted Harvey's train of thought enough that he raised his head up fully from his hands.

"By how much?" he asked warily.

"I would say no more than two. If necessary, three a week," the shrink said. Seeing the look of disbelief that he was obviously showing, the psychiatrist added, "I know how much your career means to you. You have been a boon for this city and you would love nothing more than to carry on with it. To do that, you need to be mentally and psychologically healthy for it. Otherwise…"

There was no more that needed to be said. He knew where Erie was going with this, and God help him, Harvey couldn't find anything to disagree with it.

"Fine," he caved in. "Let's try twice a week. But no more. I still have to work."

"Of course, Harvey."

"And you won't tell anyone about this, right?"

"Every conversation we have in this room is confidential, Harvey. I would never dream of it. No one would see me if I did violate that agreement." Erie chuckled good-naturedly. It sounded like it came from the depths of the man.

"So what are the damages?" Harvey sighed as he sat up only to lean back in his seat, his eyes lifting up to look at the ceiling. At least he hadn't left a mark on that surface.

"Do not worry about it. I see no holes in the wall. It's the usual charge," Dr. Erie replied dismissively. "It will only take a few minutes to clean up. How about we end here for the day? It will give me some time for my next client."

Harvey grunted and pushed himself off the couch. He reached into his pocket for his checkbook, his other hand search for where he put his pen last. He walked around the mess he had made, all the while penning down all the relevant information into the slip of paper.

Tearing out a check, he placed it onto a large desk that had a stack of files placed on top of it, a desk lamp illuminating the work area . A computer hummed as a screensaver blocked off the digital desktop, the image of a multi-colored ball bouncing from side to side as it changed its shape being the picture presented. The only other items of note were a bust of some person Harvey was having trouble recalling and a book by...Lewis Carroll?

"I didn't know you were a fan of Alice in Wonderland," he commented.

"Sometimes we need to think outside of the box, Harvey," Erie chuckled in reply. "Sometimes doing an illogical behavior is answer to a logical problem."

Harvey hmmed as he placed his check on the desk. At the very least he hadn't made a mess of it either. The district attorney shuddered at the thought of having to pay for the damages to the computer alone.

"Have a good day, Harvey. It is times like these where we must focus on the things that give us joy," Erie called after him as he made his way to the door.

He glanced at his watch for nth time, shifting nervously in his seat. He had just arrived in the waiting room, running a bit late today. With the sun beginning to set, he knew he was the last one of the day, and sometimes he worried if the doctor would turn him away if he didn't arrive on time.

Maybe he was a bit jittery. Even admitting to himself that much would not ease it any. He wasn't anything special, just an average looking man with brown hair and eyes. When he had been growing up, people used to call him "mousy." He really didn't like being called that. Not when there were so many other, more interesting creatures he could be called.

As always, though, thinking thoughts like that invariably led to what made him more than a little anxious. Because he didn't stand out at all, whether it be with appearance or achievements, he knew that he was a disappointment to his father, the source of all his stress.

This was definitely something he needed to speak with the doctor about. Every time he had contact with that man, it always racked up the anxiety. As if being legally an adult had ever stopped his father from trying to impose his will on him, the man was still finding ways to interfere with his life.

Come on, stop thinking like that. He wasn't going to change any time soon so do what you always do. Distract yourself until it's your turn.

Yes, a distraction would be helpful. Fortunately he had one in his briefcase. Picking it up from off the floor, he placed the briefcase on his lap and opened it. It didn't take long to start sifting through some of the papers in there. He knew it was bad to take his work home with him, but really, his work was all he had.

Well, that and Francine. She understood him better than anyone else. Sometimes, he swore that if she hadn't married him, he wouldn't have been able to come as far as he had.

She also understood that his work was everything to him. How important it was. For others. For himself.

Just that thought had a hand stray towards his ear. Flesh met with plastic, an oblong curvature that hooked around his pinna and held an ear bud over the inner canal. A hearing aid, in short. It was a reminder that what he was doing, what was his life's work, held the power to change so many lives.

That Francine was not only accepting of it, but willing to lend her own scientific talents to helping progress his research...he was a lucky man.

His eyes never left the descriptions of chemical molecules and summaries of previous tests. He knew he had the key to unlocking a new realm of scientific study, the problem was puzzling out how to use it to open the lock. Something was eluding him, but what could it be? He couldn't tell if it was something complex or simple.

He continued his reading, trying to make sense of the data he held in-between the palms of his hands. Maybe this would work better on a tablet, but there was something about the feel of paper he preferred over the latest technological wonder.

The sound of a door opening made him jump in his seat. It seemed like his attempt to distract himself may have worked a bit too well. The squeal of the door hinges were quite loud, the high decibels caught and transmitted through his hearing aid. Due to his surprise, his opened briefcase fell off his lap, scattering papers all over the floor to his dismay.

Oh no…

And here was another argument to use tablets; you couldn't spill your work all over the place if you dropped it by accident. Pushing himself out of his chair, he tried to clean up his unintended mess, wincing as he accidentally crumpled the papers he still held in his hands. He was more out of it today than usual. Now the briefcase was getting in his way! And his knee was placing weight on paper over here. God...God damn it!

It came as surprise when a hand not his own entered his sight, collecting paperwork off the carpeted floor. Looking up, he found a very handsome man in suit and tie crouched in front of him, helping to clean up.

Glancing up at him, the man gave what could only be described as a charismatic smile and commented, "Looks like you can use a little help."

He stared at this helpful man, almost unable to compute that this man was genuinely being nice to him. Not that people went out of their way to belittle him or anything. He was only used to Francine and her oh so lovely smile being some of the highlights of his days. Not like today, though.

Oh course, that smile was familiar, like he had seen it before. He knew he had. Was it from television? Yes. Yes it was. In fact, this man taking the time to help him out here looked like…

"Harvey Dent?" he found himself asking aloud. He felt the blood rush out of his face for a moment before returning with a vengeance. He must look like a Christmas tree light now, if the heat in his face was telling him anything.

The man who looked like Harvey Dent, district attorney paused in what he was doing and gave him a very serious look. "I trust you won't be telling anyone I was here, uh..."

That was the confirmation he needed that this was indeed Harvey Dent and not a lookalike. But why did he trail off like that-oh, now he got it. He didn't know his name. Well, of course he didn't know his name.

Now, maybe this was a relic from his childhood and adolescent years, but he had been raised to always give his name out to those who asked, directly or otherwise.

"Kirk," he introduced himself. "Kirk Langstrom." Then he added, "And I won't tell anyone. I, uh, I voted for you last election."

That charismatic smile was back. "I hope I still have it for this election as well."

"Yes, of course," Kirk found himself assuring the district attorney. He had no idea why he was doing that, but he felt like it was something he needed to do for reasons that escaped him for the moment.

"I believe these are yours," Harvey Dent stated as he handed back the contents of his briefcase back, or at least those he had collected.

"Oh. Oh, thank you so much. I'm...this has not been a good day for me," Kirk found himself explaining.

"From the looks of things, I'd have to agree. I hope it gets better for you," Harvey Dent said.

"So do I," a deep voice interjected. Kirk looked up to see Dr. Erie in the doorway, looking down at the two of them. "You seem out of sorts today, Kirk. Shall we?"

"Yes. Yes, doctor." Was it just him or was his heart pounding in his chest now? Now that he was paying attention, he noticed he was slightly short of breath as well. Okay, Kirk, just calm down. Use those breathing techniques-don't close your eyes! Yes, that's better. Breath in deeply...and exhale. Like that.

Distantly, he overheard Dr. Erie reassuring the district attorney that yes, he was fine. No, he did not need to remain, it was all under control. Harvey Dent might have made some half-hearted comment, Kirk wasn't too sure what it was, but the closing of a door brought him back to the here and now, where he remained crouched on the floor and accompanied only by his psychiatrist.

"Better, Kirk?" Dr. Erie asked.

Somewhat. He could only nod in reply as he collected whatever else remained on the floor. He made sure to shut the briefcase first and lock it closed before attempting to stand up. He did not need to be making another mess.

"You see to be on edge today," the psychiatrist commented as he escorted him into his office. "Did something at work happen?"

"Nothing out of the ordinary," he found himself answering as he made his way to the couch. "Always so close to a breakthrough, but never quite making it. The usual."

"So, if it is not work, what could it be that is bothering you?" Maybe it was the angle, but the glare from the lighting of the room obscured Dr. Erie's eyes, his glasses a protective barrier.

"I heard from my father again," Kirk confessed, grasping his hands together between his knees. On the floor, his briefcase rested innocently, forgotten.

There was nothing really else he needed to say.

Two dark figures raced over the rooftop. Due to their dark uniforms, the shadows seemed to swallow them up and spit them out as they moved.

The one in the lead was small and lithe, gracefully dashing towards the edge of the roof. Without a moment's hesitation, she leaped off the roof, seeming to soar through the air before she descended out of sight from beyond the roof's edge.

The second figure gave chase, white eyes staring the entire time. Larger than the girl before him, he had speed that belied his large frame. She would not lose him easily.

Reaching the ledge, the man jumped forward, spreading his arms out to either side of him. Grabbing his cape, the electric current in his gauntlet caused the cloth to stiffen, forming a glider. Slowly descending, Batman caught sight of his protege landing on a nearby rooftop, having used the glider function in her own cape as well. She didn't even lose a step as she immediately took off running the moment she touched down on the gravel of the roof.

Closing it, Batman let go of his cape at the last second, also sprinting after Batgirl. If she could go into a run right out of a landing, he could do no less. Arms pumping, he continued his chase, eyeing the much taller building up ahead.

Let's see what she'll do this time.

Already Batman was pulling out his grapple, but he didn't use it as he focused on the girl. It wasn't long after that he noticed her pointing her own grapple gun up and fired it towards the top of the approaching building. Satisfied with her action, the vigilante took aim and fired his grapple, feeling the cable go taut seconds later. By then, Batgirl was already rising through the air as she made to scale the building.

A heartbeat later, so was Batman.

With his head craned up as the wind beat at his speeding body, the dark-clad man couldn't help but notice the night's sky. More specific, there was a light reflecting off the dark clouds, the symbol of the Bat calling out for him.

Reaching the top of the building, Batman had already disengaged the claw and had it retracting back into the gun even as he crossed over the rooftop. This time, however, he found Batgirl crouched at the opposite end of the roof, staring out into the city with the focus of a blood hound.

Slowing down, Batman closed the remaining distance between them until he stopped behind her and off to her left. At his full height, he stared over the ledge, finding what he expected to see. From this height, the roof of the GCPD building was completely visible, from the large A/C units to the stairwell entrance. More important though, was the spotlight beaming up the Bat Symbol into the sky, the figure of a trench coat-wearing Jim Gordon standing next to it.

It seemed the police commissioner was by himself this night. That was odd considering that there was usually a second man with him. This was becoming a more regular occurrence the last few weeks.

Shifting his attention down to Batgirl as he moved to the roof's edge, he roughly spoke, "Stay here." This caused the girl to tilt her head up to look up at him. To reinforce his words, he gestured for her to stay put, which caused the young vigilante to reply with a sharp nod.

Turning his eyes away from his protege, Batman then scanned the area for any unwelcome eyes. This he took several minutes to do, mainly so he could make sure he checked every obvious vantage spot, not to mention the many windows that stared right down on the GCPD precinct. He already had his hands full with one nosy person, he didn't need more fuel for the fire.

Satisfied, he then stepped off the roof, immediately activating his cape glider and glided towards the station. Arcing through the air, he flew towards the right before he angled for the stairwell access structure. Closing in, he swung his legs out in front of him and released his cape, all within an instant as he landed silently on the small structure.

Jim didn't seem any the wiser.

Dropping down onto the roof, he closed the distance between them until he stood several feet away. "Gordon," he greeted.

The only hint that the commissioner was surprised was the slight jerk of his head as he turned to face him. Gordon was getting better at not being surprised by the vigilante's sudden arrivals, though he did have plenty of practice over the years. "Batman," he coolly returned the greeting, fully turning to face the Dark Knight.

A moment later and Gordon plunged right into a briefing. "I got a case that I'm wondering if I can't get your expertise on. There's been some noise in the department, especially since the lab has been finding some similarities in some recent homicides. It's making some cops superstitious, and unfortunately, it might be only a matter of time until I have to confirm that Gotham might have a serial killer on the loose."

This caused Batman to steel his normally stoic features. As if Gotham didn't have enough with the criminal element in the city, now there was someone out there willfully killing other people for their own sick desire. His hands tightened into fists beneath his cape, the only sign of his growing anger.

"Whoever the killer is, the only thing I can really tell you is that he's prolific. At least eight murders in the last two weeks. The victims range from high school students, to wealthy businessmen, to Suzy-homemakers, and none of them have any connection to each other, save two who just happened to live in the same neighborhood. Any investigation we've done into those two victims came back inconclusive, which basically means they were acquaintances at best and never knew the other existed at worst. The same with location; this guy seems to pick his spots at random, or more likely convenience. The murders were done on site, but there's not a single place in Gotham he seems to prefer."

"How were the victims killed?" Batman questioned.

"Multiple stab wounds, you name it, they had it. Defensive wounds on the arms on many of the victims indicated they at least tried to fight back with little success. Multiple stab wounds to the chest and abdomen were placed in non-vital areas, so this sick bastard was either playing with them, or just didn't care where he stabbed. Cause of death for each victim was having their throats slashed opened."

"Any lead on the killer?"

Gordon let out a sigh. "That's where we're having trouble. The only piece of evidence we even have on this guy is a drop of blood-it's almost like a calling card. Each drop was found a short distance away from the bodies, nowhere near where the struggle happened. DNA testing confirms that the blood doesn't belong to the victims, so that's how we can tie this guy to each crime scene."

That was at least something, though Batman wished there was more to go on. Not only did they need to catch the perp in action, but they needed a murder weapon as well. Speaking of-

Suddenly, the door to the roof access swung open, causing both men to jerk their attention to it. Standing in the doorway was Harvey Dent, his tie loose and his button up shirt looking wrinkled and disheveled. "What did I miss?" he asked casually, his shoulders and chest moving from heavy breaths.

"Harvey, don't tell me you ran up the stairs again," Gordon reprimanded, earning a nonchalant shrug from the DA. "Damn it, Harv, I've told you you don't have to kill yourself running up those stairs."

"I have to get my cardio in sometime," Dent replied breezily, walking up to the two men. The door to the roof access slowly closed behind him, the hinges squealing loudly until the door finally closed. "I take it you've been discussing our serial knifer."

"We have," Gordon acknowledged.

"What do you have on the murder weapon?" Batman asked then, redirecting the conversation.

"Nothing so far, but we're still running our analysis on the stab wounds," the commissioner responded, shoving his hands into the pockets of his trench coat. "Though I can tell you the blade is serrated."

"As you can see, we don't have a lot, and the media is starting to get wise," Dent said, becoming the center of attention. "I know this doesn't need to be said, but we need to catch this guy as soon as possible. If the public hears anything about this, we'll be in some serious trouble."

Batman and Gordon glanced to each other. Though each of them wanted this serial killer apprehended before he killed anyone else, what was going unsaid was how much pressure was on Dent at the moment. Unlike himself and Gordon, Dent was up for re-election, and having a serial killer on the loose would only add fodder for his opponents to use against him. He would never admit it, but Dent was stressed about his job security.

And Batman was willing to admit that there would be issues if Dent lost his re-election bid. The current relationship between himself, the GCPD, and the DA's office had never been as close or cooperative. Having a new DA could undo that accomplishment.

Politics in action.

"Where was the last crime scene?"

"Chelsea and 7th," Dent answered, a hint of relief in his voice. "The scene was discovered last night, I believe."

"That's right," Gordon confirmed. "Forensics finished with the scene early this morning and a security detail is standing guard for the moment. I can call-"

Batman turned away at that, moving towards the railing at the edge of the roof. Gordon was probably going to call off the unit for him to do his own investigation, not to mention giving his men plausible deniability about his presence at a crime scene. Unfortunately, the scene would be contaminated from the forensics team, first responders, and detectives investigating, so the vigilante wasn't getting his hopes up for finding anything the GCPD hadn't already. Any other information on the murders he'd find in Gordon's office, undoubtedly stacked on a corner of his desk.

For now though, it was time to investigate.

Janet was so going to kill her for this.

That is, if she ever found out.

Her sister may live in Gotham, more like the suburbs, but she didn't. So what was a few hours of sightseeing before ending her long trip to this very big city at her sister's home? There was just so much here, so many stores, restaurants, and buildings! This was the first time she had gotten so close to Wayne Tower, a place she mostly saw in pictures and on TV.

That was another thing, she was keeping to downtown. Gotham may be known as the crime capital of the world, or something like that, but its downtown had to be safer than other parts of it, right? Right.

And since Janet and Jack would be expecting her later, as long as they didn't know that she had flown in on an earlier flight, she could get away with this. Her older sister, she knew, would throw such a fit if she found out about this.

So she wouldn't. Simple answer.

Now, a problem she hadn't counted on was that she was going to have lug her own luggage around this city. Now that was a buzz kill if anything. The only upside to this was that it was a weekend visit. Just enough to get her to Monday. And her little suitcase has wheels on it so she wasn't carrying it everywhere.

If only Janet wasn't such a stick in the mud and lived a little, maybe she wouldn't be sneaking around Gotham like this. How could you live so close to such a big city and not have any fun with it?

That was the thing about fun, or having too much fun. You lost track of time. Which she did. Before she knew it, the sun was setting, the stars were coming out, and oh shit, this was not good.

Okay, Jack was probably already at the airport waiting for her. That, or he got sick of waiting. So, simple solution, get a taxi. Just tell them her flight was late and she forgot to call them. Very simple.

Getting a taxi right now was not so simple. Where was one when you needed it, right?

The young woman gave a shiver. All around her, Gotham seemed to have...changed a bit. In daylight, it was so amazing. Right now, with the lamp poles and neon lights being the only things bright around here, the city was starting to get a creepy edge to it. Sent a shiver up her spine.

Wait, hold up. Was that…?

It was about a block down the street, down by a lit up club. At least she thought it was a club. There was a line in front of it and everything. None of that matter because there was a yellow-colored car pulling up by the sidewalk, the rear passenger door opening up a moment later.

At last, a taxi. Time to make a run for it and make it her ride out of here. You know, this was a random thought but maybe she should start looking into Uber or one of those other app services.

Maybe it was because of her excitement about spotting the taxi, or maybe it was because she was feeling a bit tired from all the exploring she had done, but only at the last instant did she become aware that someone was behind her. In the next second, a powerful arm wrapped around her and pulled, dragging her back and into an alley.

The next thing she knew, she felt as if she had been shoved. The handle to her wheeled-suitcase slipped from her fingers as she stumbled back, almost losing her footing but able to catch her balance at the last second.

Before her was a man in a dark hoodie, the hood pulled over his head. Unlike the street beyond, this alley was dark and made it hard to get any other details about him, like his pants or more importantly his face.

She began to open her mouth. Whether it was to scream or demand to know what the hell he thought he was doing (it was a he, right?), she did not know. Or would ever find out.

Because this person was fast. One moment, he was lurking in the entrance of the alley, the next he was charging at her, ramming into her, and…

She choked. She felt a weird sensation in her chest, like something was there that shouldn't have been there. She eyes lowered down and found that her attacker held a knife handle in his hand, something she hadn't seen when he ran at her. As for the knife's blade, that was...in her...chest...

Shock was beginning to take hold of her body as well as her mind, and when her fight or flight response began to kick in, her attacker had already pulling his knife out of her and was stabbing it into her stomach. Pain was kicking now, but she found she could not make any kind of noise.

She tried to push at him, but he was so strong! One of his hands was on her shoulder, his fingers biting into the cloth of her jacket. Soon, it released her, the attacker's arm maneuvering around her to keep her from falling onto the alley floor. All the while he kept stabbing her, stabbing and stabbing and stabbing her…

His eyes pierced into her, and for the first time she took them in, saw how...dead they were. Other than that, she couldn't even tell what color they...were…

Blood loss was beginning to take hold, her legs buckled beneath her, yet she tried to push herself away. It didn't work. However, the stabbing stopped. Almost relieving as it came with a dulling of the pain she was feeling. But she felt the kiss of metal against her throat, and after that began to choke once more as liquid filled her esophagus.

Everything began to fade at that point. She didn't know when she landed on the ground.

She didn't once think about Janet.

The killer gazed upon the corpse, not even an inkling of emotion entering him. For a moment in time, he had felt alive. It was a quick moment, at least with this one. Disappointing, really. He had been wanting a fight. For all the struggle it showed, he had posed the body in a way to reflect it. With one arm stretched to a side, the other bent upwards, a piece of cardboard was used as a blanket, all to complete the scene of a woman sleeping, about to wake up at any moment.

They were all different, these zombies. It was hard to figure which ones would put up the most fight and which ones would be easy kills. He liked the ones that fought back the most; it felt like he was earning the kill.

Still, a kill was a kill. Taking the time to wipe the blood off his knife with the former zombie's jacket, he rolled up the sleeve of his hoodie up to his elbow. He took a step back, turning away from the corpse.

He placed the blade of his knife against his skin, next to a healing cut that had been made in the last day. Cutting his skin, he made a mark identical to the one next to it, a trickle of blood running down and under his arm. He paid no attention to the drop of blood that dripped off his arm, only rolling his sleeve back up to his wrist.

Tucking his weapon away, the killer left the alley unnoticed, already on the lookout for his next victim. The night had only begun and there will be plenty of zombies for him to free.