Ivan squirmed on the bed as the leather straps dug into his wrists and ankles. They hurt, bit into his shivering skin and would not let go.

He bit back a whimper, wondering what he had done wrong as he stared into the mottled ceiling. Surely there was something he had done — something that deserved this kind of punishment? Ivan wasn't a good child, he knew that. He wasn't pleasant and smiling like Katyusha. He wasn't obedient nor a fast-worker when it came to scrubbing the floors. But he wasn't a bad child either. He did not cry when they pierced his skin with a rusty needle. He did not flinch away when the bucket of ice cold water crashed down upon him. He stayed quiet at night, when others wailed and howled. Ivan tried so, so very hard.

He hoped Katyusha was okay, wherever she was. She was a good child, after all. Someone would certainly love and care for her. Only good children were loved, Ivan thought. That was why Ivan was here, and Katyusha elsewhere.

The bolt of the door rattled, Ivan's breath drawn in sharply. He waited in the dark, cold light spilling into the room as the door opened, a silhouette of two men standing at the doorway. Ivan's heart pumped loudly, dreading what tonight had in store for him. He desperately wished that it was only another rusty needle, a painful prick and a trickle of blood.

'How's this one for you?' one of the men asked. Ivan recognized his voice. It was one of the nurses, the one that hit and bruised if you did so much as look him in the eye. The other shadow man nodded, handing something over to the nurse. The nurse roughly undid the leather straps on Ivan's wrists and ankles, yanking him up from the bed and shoving him toward the shadow man.

'Bring him back here when you're done with him.'

A hand grasped Ivan's arm painfully, nails digging into his skin as he was dragged out of the room and into the dimly lit hallway. Ivan trembled, the sound of shrieks and screams echoing against the cracked walls. This wasn't a new sound to Ivan, it had become part of the night bird's song by now. Tonight, however, Ivan would be the one screaming. He knew this, and it made his empty stomach twist in terror.

The man pulled him into the shower room, throwing him against the tiled corner of a shower stall, Ivan's shallow breath knocked out of him violently. The room was barely lit, only a tiny barred window offering the light of a full moon, illuminating a rusted silver drain by Ivan's feet. Ivan felt a whimper in his throat and backed up into the corner, his fragile frame curling into a tiny shivering ball.

The man grabbed Ivan's hand, handcuffing it to the shower pipe. Ivan's eyes widened as he caught the gun holster hanging from the man's belt, the police badge on his chest. He looked up to man's face, finding it expressionless and cold. Ivan opened his mouth to speak, a broken plea escape his trembling lips.

'Pozhaluysta, ne…' Ivan choked out between held back sobs. 'Ya budu khoroshim rebenkom. Obe-'

'Shut the fuck up.' The man's fist thrashed into Ivan's head. 'Don't make me cut your tongue out, you little shit.'

Ivan's throat closed up, whimpers buried in it as he shut his mouth. Tears streamed down his cheeks, but he would not make a sound. He would listen and be good, and perhaps then the man would be nicer to him.

The man pulled out a black stick, and lashed it across Ivan's legs. Ivan jolted, his skin burning and searing as if fire had struck across it. The man hit him again, pale skin turned deep red as flesh was torn, a sharp and screaming ache in Ivan's leg. Ivan wanted to shriek, to wail and cry but he bit his lip tightly so that he wouldn't. The man had told him to stay quiet, and this Ivan would do.

The stick came down on Ivan again, staining his arms, his back, and the rest of his battered leg with blemishes. Every muscle and bone ached and cried, broken and torn. Ivan was crumbling apart beneath the man's cruel gaze and the stick that mercilessly came down upon his frail body.

'Scream, you little shit!' the man growled, every ugly word punctuated by stabbing and brutal pain inflicted upon Ivan. 'It hurts, doesn't it? It hurts and I'll keep doing this until you scream like the little fuck that you are! Scream, you piece of shit!'

Blood was spattering onto the tiles, droplets sliding down the wall. Ivan caught his broken cries and sobs, holding them and letting them run as tears. He watched as his blood circled the drain, blackened by the moonlight. Not red. Not human. Black, like something rotten and poisoned to the core. It was his, this black fluid that filled the gaps between tiles, oozing out of his gashes and wounds. Blackened blood of a creature, a fractured monster.

Ivan really was a bad child. Only a bad child could bleed such ugly venom, such unnatural and tainted fluid, and it was with this thought that a choked cry finally broke through his quivering lips.

When the man gave up the stick, began to mar Ivan with his bare hands, defile the shivering pale skin beneath them, Ivan continued to cry. Tears flowed like rivers as he shrieked, his voice ringing in the empty shower room but reaching no one. His body was twisted, broken and toyed with, but noticed by no one. Under the cruel light of the moon, Ivan did not matter. Ivan was no more than a speck of dust beneath the cold and dark sky. Forgotten, forsaken by the warmth he dreamt of so desperately.

The pain was eventually overtaken by numbness, a vacant apathy settling into Ivan's heart as he sat in the pool of his own black, hideous blood. But it was too late by then. The man stood up, no longer entertained nor excited by the sight of Ivan's bruised skin. He buckled his belt and removed the stained handcuffs from Ivan, walking out and leaving Ivan's crumpled body on the ice cold tile. The man had his fun, now it was time for Ivan to pick up the pieces, clean himself up and get back to his room before the nurses saw him and beat him for it.

Ivan scrambled up to his feet, only for excruciating pain to rip through his body like lightning. He slipped and fell back to the floor, reopening clotted wounds and awakening dulled bruises. Biting his lip and holding back a cry of pain, Ivan hoisted himself up by grabbing onto the pipe behind him, bringing himself up to wobbly legs. The world flickered on and off like an old film reel, nausea making Ivan want to wretch. He swallowed back the bitterness in his throat and switched the shower on.

Ice cold water stung Ivan, inflamed the gashes and cuts on his body. Coppery water ran down the drain, wisps of blood swirling with it as Ivan scrubbed and scrubbed. Eventually the dark and blackened blood was washed off, but even so Ivan continued to douse himself in the icy water. Rubbing away at his skin, red and raw from his scratching nails. He was not clean enough. The blood was gone, the dirt washed away, but still he was tainted. His nightgown, stained pink by the remnants of his wounds. His skin, still being eaten away by the man's hands, crawling and stinging him.

Ivan shut the shower off, a dry sob forcing itself out of his throat. There were no tears left, no voice left to scream. He could only look at the moon beyond the bars, watching so cruelly from above, and feel his chest being hollowed out by the sight of it.

.

Yao took a step back to admire his handiwork, wiping away at his pocket knife with the dead woman's jacket. She was frail, sickly looking, having passed out before Yao's knife had even managed to flay the upper part of her arm. Nevertheless, Yao continued his work. Blood was still blood. Torn flesh was still a body unfolded in the most beautiful of ways to Yao.

'What do you think?' Yao glanced over at Ivan.

Ivan furrowed his brows as he studied the peeled back skin of the woman's arms and throat. 'Something's missing.'

He knelt down to trace the exposed muscle with his gloved hand. Yao offered the knife to him. Ivan gently took it from his hands, drawing the knife pensively around the woman's face, tracing it down to her chest and resting it on her hip. Pressing the knife in, deep crimson rose out, forming a trail as the knife drew a curve across the woman's stomach. Ivan handed the knife back to Yao, proceeding to pry the opening with his hands. Handfuls of bowels and intestines were lifted out, the air thickly coated in their musty stench. The woman had been emptied and hollowed out, like pumpkin cleaned out for Halloween.

How festive… Yao thought, reminded of how fast time had gone by. It was October now, hot summer nights replaced by cold and foggy ones. The end of every passing day was marked by a body torn, dissolved and never to be seen again. Yao's knife moved effortlessly and fluidly across skin, a movement well-rehearsed. He no longer gagged at the sight of a cut throat, or of gouged out eyes. Killing had become a fascinating dance of a gleaming knife and the ribbons of red that followed it, although in recent days it had lost its morbid charm. Yao had become so used to it — too used to it. He felt his senses dull at the sight of a corpse, the same nerve struck again and again until the feeling had become numb. Something needed to change, something exciting needed to happen.

The scent of honeysuckle lingered in the air, intermingling with the metallic smell of blood — a strangely pleasant amalgamation of senses. Yao's gaze caught the flame of a candle in the nearby kitchen, glimmering like a distant star. He approached it, the aroma intensifying. Entering the kitchen, his eyes were met with a multitude of candles on the counters, unlit and unused — save for the one flickering and fading. It was a shame that none of these candles would ever be used. A waste, really.

It was then that an idea formed, clicking in Yao's mind. Why should they go to waste? He might as well use them now, and not just in any ordinary way. No… he'd make them into something truly spectacular. Yao grabbed as many candles as he could carry, taking them over to the woman's corpse.

'Do you have a match on you?' Yao asked Ivan, sitting beside the woman as he carefully selected a candle, placing it snugly into the crevice of the woman's stomach. He could probably fit a few more…

The sound of a match striking against a matchbox ripped through the air. Ivan offered a lit match to Yao wordlessly. Yao took the match and lit each candle, before standing up to study the woman's illuminated body. Deciding that something more could be done, he hurried to the kitchen and picked out two small candles. He returned to the corpse, kneeling beside it and gouging out the eyes. He twisted the knife vigorously, making space for the flickering stars that would be put in their place.

When his work was done, the woman transformed into a honeysuckle-scented bed of dancing flames, he stood up and smiled to Ivan.

'Pretty, isn't it?'

An expression of surprise on Ivan's face quickly melted into a gentle smile. 'Yes, it is… but we'll have to clean it up soon, da?'

Yao shook his head. 'We can just leave it.'

Ivan's smile faltered. 'Leave it?'

'Yeah.' Yao picked up the woman's bloodied jacket and wiped his hands and knife. 'I mean, if we get rid of it… It'll be as if none of this ever happened.'

'Myshka,' Ivan chuckled. 'That's exactly why we get rid of the bodies. So we don't get caught.'

'All the police will have is a mangled body stuffed with candles.' Yao stepped over the candle-lit woman to approach Ivan, using the jacket to wipe away splotches of blood off Ivan's face. 'No witnesses. No relation to the woman. No fingerprints. We're practically ghosts.' Yao removed Ivan's red stained gloves, throwing them over into the black bag by their feet.

'You touched the candles...' Ivan took hold of Yao's wrists.

'They'll melt away by morning,' Yao said softly, feeling his pulse beat beneath Ivan's cold hands. 'It'll be fine.'

Yao felt his eyes being bored into, unfolded and examined by Ivan's amethyst gaze. It was too close, too intimate, the way Ivan held his hands. As if Yao were his alone. The invisible snake coiled around his chest and squeezed, squeezed until Yao could feel his breath lose its rhythm.

Ivan smiled weakly. 'Ochi chernye…' he murmured, turning Yao's wrists up so that their delicate skin was exposed to the moonlight, streaming in through the curtains faintly. He traced his thumb over the light pink scar across Yao's left wrist. 'Remember when you thought I was going to eat you?'

'Y-Yeah…' Yao spoke unevenly, his chest failing to heave in and out normally, the snake curling around his throat now. 'You still considering it?'

Ivan chuckled deeply, the sound sending an odd chill down the back of Yao's neck. 'Is that your question for tonight?'

Yao nodded. Over the past few months, many questions had been asked. Some serious, others more light-hearted. He had asked about Ivan's childhood in Bragin, the games he used to play with Katyusha in the snow, what names he gave to every snowman and angel built. He asked about Glen Hills, the colours of the pills and medications they forced down Ivan's throat, what the screams of others sounded like during the night. But there were questions Yao was afraid to ask. Questions about the scars that Yao was sure were hidden beneath the heavy coat and scarf. Questions about Ivan's first kill, about why Ivan never liked to look at the moon in the same why that Yao did. These were the questions that Yao avoided, because there wasn't anything more frightening than a darkened look clouding over Ivan's eyes.

Ivan, perhaps understanding this, played along and answered Yao's 'safe' questions with a gentle smile. It was this same smile that crept up on Ivan's pale face as he pressed his lips to Yao's wrist. 'I never intended to eat you, myshka. But I might reconsider it…'

Yao swallowed, the snake choking him. Closing in on his throat, its icy scales gliding across his skin and whispering. Luring him as it prepared to sink its fangs into him.

Nothing has to happen, Yao reassured himself. Nothing has to —

Ivan's lips parted against Yao's wrist, warm breath wrapping itself over Yao's skin as the snake gave one final squeeze, air sharply knocked out of his lungs. Yao flinched and yanked his hand away.

'S-Sorry,' Yao said, panic lacing his words as he tentatively looked to Ivan, although he wasn't quite sure why he was apologizing.

'No, myshka. Forgive me,' Ivan chuckled weakly. 'I got carried away...'

'Don't —' Yao struggled to regain the composure in his voice, passing nervousness off as irritation. This, was perhaps easier to deal with. 'Don't scare me like that.'

'I scared you?'

'Yeah, don't think too much of it,' Yao said curtly and busied himself with packing away their gloves, knifes and other bloodied belongings. Hearing an amused chuckle from Ivan, Yao felt a small breath of relief escape him. Nothing more than a passing moment. Full moon hysteria, perhaps. Surely that contributed in some way…?

As they left the house, candle lit corpse still arranged neatly in the living room, Yao couldn't help but feel doubt tug at him. Doubt about leaving a body behind — if it was after all, a bad idea. Doubt about flinching away from Ivan — if that too, was a bad idea. Uncertainty seemed to plague him, but Yao let it all evaporate into the cool night air.

He gazed at the moon, and could only wonder what Ivan found so hideous about it.

.

Alfred laid out the photos across his desk, illuminated by the warm light of his desk lamp. Staring at them, he released a breath slowly. There wasn't much to work with. Sure, they had been lucky to have a body this time, but that was it. Weapons, fingerprints, traces of the killer's DNA — none. The only indicator that this was the same killer was the sighting of a pale man and a shorter male leaving the house. The descriptions varied, but that was to be expected with children as witnesses. Both Kiku and Alfred had established it was unlikely the killer knew these victims personally, but this only widened their search of potential suspects.

If Alfred could somehow glean something from these photos — anything — he could go home and rest a little easier. Until then, he would stay right here at his desk.

A glance to the window beside him revealed that it was pitch black out, the lights of neighbouring buildings flickering off one by one. It was a little dark in here, too, his desk lamp remaining the only light source in the empty office, but Alfred found he often worked best like this.

His phone vibrated in his pocket, startling his slightly drowsy state of mind for a moment. He pulled his phone out and opened it to read a text message. It was from Kiku.

'Dear Alfred —'

Alfred chuckled, Kiku's formality never failing to amuse him.

'I apologize in advance. I forgot to inform you about a specialist that I called upon for assistance on the case. He is a criminologist from abroad —'

Alfred closed the phone, his smile wiped off by irritation. There was no need for 'specialists'. Kiku and Alfred were handling this case just fine. Sure, it was a tough one. They had no suspects, most of their witnesses were young children, and they only had one body out of the seventy victims that are by technicality, still missing.

But even so, Alfred and Kiku were making headway with this case… weren't they?

Who am I even kidding? Alfred dropped his head to the desk, yet another sigh escaping him. This time, followed by a yawn and an emerging headache. He rest his head like this for a moment, falling into the quietness of the office and willing his headache to fade away before it became unbearable. Drowsiness started to overtake him and lure him into taking a nap, until a clicking noise jolted him out of his resting position.

He snapped his head around the office, wondering if someone had left the main door open again. Alfred couldn't even begin to count the amount of times that had happened, startled by the breeze pulling the door closed in the middle of the night. The first couple of times it was almost embarrassing, pulling his gun out at a ghost of an imposter. By now, it was a persistent nuisance.

I should go and lock the door. Alfred got up from his seat. Perhaps on the way he would get some coffee too, to ward off his drowsiness. A break was much needed.

He left his comfortably illuminated office and walked past the cubicles outside, dark and sparingly lit from the faint streetlight glow pouring in from the windows. Finding his way to the coffee machine, he fumbled with the buttons in the dark. He placed a paper cup onto the tray and waited as the machine whirred. For a moment, Alfred thought he could hear footsteps over the buzz of the machine. He glanced around uneasily.

When the coffee was done, Alfred waited just a little longer. He stood still and listened closely for those footsteps, but heard none. He took his coffee and walked back through the cubicles, slowly and a little warily. The sound of papers spilling on the floor and a muttered curse echoed through the office, followed by a sudden and sharp silence.

Alfred stopped, carefully setting his coffee on a nearby desk and pulling out his gun. It sounded as if the intruder was in one of the conference rooms, perhaps even Alfred or Kiku's office. He walked past the main entrance, locking the door as quietly as possible before moving on. With his gun raised, he approached the hallway of smaller offices and conference rooms, his back to the wall as he moved. He checked each and every room in the dim moonlight, save for his own office at the very end of the hallway. The light was still on in there, and Alfred caught the shadow of someone inside.

He pressed his back to the wall beside the doorway, listening for footsteps, breathing, the click of a gun. Nothing. He spun around into the room with his gun raised.

'Freeze!'

And it was then that Alfred saw the intruder, calmly sat at his desk. Composed, as if Alfred were the imposter instead.

'Oh, dear,' was all the other man said, a British accent coating his words.

'Hands in the air!' Alfred took a step forward, gun unwavering in its aim at the blonde perched in his seat. His gaze flickered to black cane in the man's hands. 'And drop the cane!'

'Don't have to be so bloody rude about it…' The man set his cane down carefully so that it leant against Alfred's desk. He raised his gloved hands up and smiled weakly. 'Now shall we introduce ourselves?'

'Get up,' Alfred barked. 'Face the wall and put your hands behind your back.'

'But it's not what you think, really!'

'Get up,' Alfred seethed through his teeth.

The man huffed out in irritation and dropped his hands, sitting rather comfortably despite the gun that was pointed at his forehead. 'Look, I know it looks like I'm trespassing. But is it really trespassing if I have the keys? Not that I even had to use them in the first place…' His hands fumbled around the pocket of his black coat.

Alfred cocked the gun, the man freezing in place.

'Alright, I didn't want to introduce myself this way, but…'the man sighed. 'My name is Dr. Arthur Kirkland.' He smiled wryly. 'How do you do?'

'Doctor?'

'Yes. PhD in Criminology.' Arthur shrugged lightly, as if the title didn't mean much. His smile, however, betrayed a smugness that was starting to aggravate Alfred. Regardless, Alfred lowered his gun.

'You're not the specialist Kiku called in, are you?'

'Ah, now you've finally caught up.' Arthur crossed his legs and leant back in the chair.

Alfred put his gun back into its holster, eyeing the mess of papers on the floor and then gazing at Arthur curiously. 'Why'd you break in?'

'I didn't break in.' Arthur folded his arms. 'The door was open. And even if it wasn't, I had a key. Detective Honda was kind enough to lend it to me.' His green eyes trailed over the photos on the desk, going quiet for a moment. 'I came to have a look at the case files…'

'At 1 a.m.?' Alfred knelt down to collect the papers on the floor, cursing the man for making such a mess and not bothering to clean it up. 'Couldn't you wait until morning?'

'Couldn't you?'

Alfred looked up to find Arthur's emerald tinted eyes staring at him. Studying him, almost. There was an even and calm disposition about Arthur's expression that unsettled Alfred. It felt as if the man had everything under control, even when plans went haywire. A kind of clumsy aloofness in his eyes. A wolf wearing sheep's clothes, was perhaps the best way to describe it.

'I have a job to do.' Alfred stood up, slapping the pile of papers back onto the desk.

'Yes, don't we all…' Arthur got up from the chair, taking his cane with him as he paced around the desk. 'I can tell you the profile I've compiled of the killer right now, if you wish.'

'You barely read the case file.' Alfred sat at the desk, eyes following the strange man as he theatrically walked around the room.

'I saw enough of it.'

'Tell me, then.' Alfred rubbed his forehead tiredly, wishing he'd brought his coffee with him.

'For starters, there's two of them.'

Alfred gave an irritated glare in the Englishman's direction. Arthur smiled.

'Like I said, for starters.' He spun the cane in his hands, knocking it into the desk with a bang. His mask of smug composure faltered, face reddening slightly as he muttered an apology. He cleared his throat and continued. 'That woman with the candles — it must have been quite pretty when the killers first arranged it. But it's rather sloppy. Improvised. I don't think they intended to leave the body, at least at first.'

'What changed their minds?'

'It's been, what… three, four months now? And you've compiled a list of seventy victims? It's not too far-fetched to fancy yourself bored of killing someone the same way for such a long time.' Arthur's gaze wandered onto Alfred's desk, a small and smug smile tugging at his lips. He lifted the cane and prodded the miniature American flag on the desk.

'Hm,' Arthur hummed, perhaps mockingly. 'That's cute.'

Arthur pulled the flag away. 'What kind of people are we looking for? Ex-convicts? Psychopaths?'

'Oh no, no.' Arthur shook his head, setting the cane back onto the ground. 'You won't find this special breed in your database. They're off the grid, invisible. At least, one of them is.'

Alfred gave a questioning look. 'Meaning?'

'Meaning something's changed in the last few months. One of your killers has been doing this for a while. I recall disappearances like this happening for at least three years now, correct? But it's only until recently that they've left crumbs for us to follow. I think our little beast has found himself a partner. It's this partner,' Arthur pointed to the photo of the mangled woman. '— this enthusiastic young pup who's trying so hard to impress us — that's going to be the duo's biggest liability.'

'Are you saying we're supposed to wait it out until he gives himself away?' Alfred said. 'Let the bodies pile up until we've got a DNA sample? That's not good enough.'

'Perhaps not,' Arthur said softly, eyes flickering between the photos on the desk. Snapping his head up to Alfred, he sighed. 'Well, I should be going now. I'll just… show myself out.' With this the Englishman strode out, straightening his jacket as he did so.

'Wh-Wait!' Alfred followed. 'That's it? That's your psychological profile?'

Arthur chuckled. 'Don't be silly. I've only just started. There's plenty more of that case file to read, and plenty more of those witnesses to talk to.' He stopped at the main entrance and glanced at Alfred. 'Mind you, I'm looking forward to the next body that turns up. I wonder if our boy will have improved…'

Alfred frowned and opened his mouth to say something, anything to protest such a cold and apathetic statement, only for the Englishman to disappear into the shadows beyond the door. He heard the gentle click of the cane against the stairs, footsteps descending softly in the darkness. Alfred could only stand there and rub his forehead, both in weariness and in frustration. He realised that the strange man had not even asked for his name.

(So much for being a British gentleman…)

But even so, the man seemed to catch on to something Alfred hadn't. His clear, green eyes caught onto everything in their line of sight, and Alfred couldn't help but feel that Arthur was going to be of use to this case, after all.