Tonight's the night…

It's going to happen again…

Has to happen…

A man with greyish brown short hair wearing a navy business suit, was driving in a red sedan vehicle on a cold night. He has passed many street lights, making him wince from the source of light that illuminated his face. The same middle aged face that had sweat smeared on his almost wrinkled skin. His brown eyes darted around the many streets he passed by. This continues for minutes before the man eases up seeing his residential home.

The middle aged man parked his vehicle on to the driveway, using his key fob to turn off the vehicle. He then made his way to his porch, with the light on as he grabbed his house keys. He inserted the keys into the door lock, unlocking it with a twist. From there, the man sighed seeing his now cozy home. He entered the house, closing the door behind him and locking it once again. He took off his brown business shoes, easing his feet from a busy afternoon, and placing them on the side of the door. He began to walk down from the short hallway, making his way to the living room.

As he made his way to his destined room, he then was confused to see his current state of the living room. The light was off, yet it looked strange. He flipped the switch to witness something out of the ordinary. It was bare lit from the ceiling light, for there was plastic wrapped covering the walls and ceiling. The window was also covered in the same plastic tied by black duct tape, even with thick grey blinds blocking the window view. But that wasn't what got most of his attention. From his front view there were red yard strings dangling by the ceilings. On those strings were photos of people. Those who the man was all too familiar with.

Suddenly, he felt a pinch. It was short, yet sharp enough to sting him. He grabbed his neck from the sharp pain, wincing and stumbling. He tried to see who did it, yet his vision became blurred. He could only see the shape of an individual, but couldn't see the detail of this individual. It was vague, and that was the only thing the middle aged man saw before he fell into deep unconsciousness.

He gasps from the sudden scent of salt. He couldn't speak, for his mouth was covered by a thick cloth. His eyes was blood shot red. He looked down to see himself naked on a table that was covered by rubber sheets, yet he was wrapped on top of it in plastic wrap like a cocoon. He then look up to see the same photos hanging, but what got his attention was a man. A man in his middle twenties, with green messy hair, green eyes, and freckles on his cheeks. He was wearing what looked like a black plastic apron, with a thick black rubber gloves. Under the apron was a dark brown long sleeves shirt with a dark green combat pants and black boot. The young man stood over the middle aged man. His green eyes looking at the individual on the table. The middle aged man could only whimper.

"It's not easy to be trapped here. No way out, no way to call for help," said the man with no emotions. "It's terrible, isn't it? I can see you're scared. Makes you wonder if this is how your victims felt."

The middle aged man looks back at the photos hovering around the two. The photos of his victims. The older man then closes his eyes tightly, shaking his head. The younger man scoffed seeing his reaction.

"Look at them!" the young man demanded. The old man continues to whimper, ignoring the younger man. "Look or I'll cut your eyelids right off your face."

The old man open his eyes. Witness the victims' photos clearly. Many of the photos had male and females of the 18 to 30 demographic. The young man then decided to pull off the cloth from the man's mouth. He wanted to hear what the middle aged killer have to say for himself.

"I-I couldn't h-help it," said the middle aged man, his voice whimpering in fear. "I-It's my quirk! I had to do it to control my quirk."

"Your quirk has nothing to do with your urges!" The younger man responded bluntly, tapping the older man's forehead. "I saw your quirk. Headlights: your eye sockets are able to illuminate high beam lighting. You used your quirk to stop unexpected drivers in isolated roads, and that's when you killed them, dumped their cars, and drove off as if you had a tiring day from the office."

The middle aged man cries, yet no tears are forming. He cried louder, yet the young man only smirked.

"I also know you needed your eyes to be lubricant to use your quirk," the younger man informed his soon to be victim. "Reminds me of Eraserhead with his quirk. That's why I dried them out. So tell me why you did it?"

The middle aged man stopped his attempts to cry, and glared at the young man.

"I wanted to get the thrill!" said the older man. "These people had no idea I put my blood and sweat into working in the office for many years. All that for was a good job and a pat on the head! Meanwhile these freeloaders were enjoying their lives by themselves! I show them! I enjoy it, and I don't regret it!"

The younger man nods his head, before putting the thick cloth back into the older man's mouth. The older man tried to scream, but the cloth muffled it.

"Well, there's one thing I agree with you on. The thrill of killing. You see, I'm like you. The only difference is I do it to those who deserve to be killed. And you're it."

The younger man walked to the side, where the middle aged man tried screaming, but with no success. The older man was desperately shaking on the plastic wrap, while the younger man had a separate table. A table filled with knives, a drill gun, glass slides, a surgeon knife, a vacuum pressure syringe, a face shield, and boxes of hefty bags. The young man grabbed the face shield to wear on his head, grabbed the surgeon knife, the glass slides, and the vacuum pressure syringe. He walked back to the older man.

"In a few minutes, you're going to be packed in hefty bags," the younger man said as he used the surgeon's knife to make a small cut on the older man's cheek. The cut had blood slowly emerge. Then the young man put down the surgeon blade, and used the pressure syringe to suck up the blood. "And my own small corner of the world will be a neater, happier place." He placed the glass slide under the syringe to put a drop of blood. He put down the vacuum pressure syringe to place another glass slide on top, squeezing the drop of blood to form a perfect dot. He stared at it, memorizing the red dot. "A better place."

The green headed man walked back to the separate table, placing everything but the face shield down on it. He reached for the drill gun, with the drill bit attached to it. He walked back to the middle aged man, who saw the drill gun and attempted to escape. Only to be stuck in the plastic wrap cocoon. The young man put down the clear shield to cover his face, for he started the drill gun. The drill was spinning, letting a small humming. He lowered the drill, bringing it down to the older man's forehead. The middle aged man began to scream, yet it was still muffled by the cloth in his mouth, and squirming in pain. Blood started splattering on the young man and the plastic covered living room. This continued until the middle aged man was no longer moving.

From there, the younger man put the drill gun away as he grabbed the sharp knives. With the knives in hand, he begins to butcher the corpse of the murderer. Each limb, each body part getting cut open and sliced up. Blood continues to splatter around the room with gushing sounds filling in. After what felt like hours, the younger man grabbed the hefty bags, putting the dismembered body in it. He can sigh in satisfaction, seeing the room now marked with splattered blood. He can feel a smile creeping up on his face, knowing he made the world safer one step at a time.

After cleaning the living room of the now deceased murderer, the young man drove in his own car. He looked around to check around for any potential witnesses. Lucky there was none at this time of hour. It seems like many have gone to sleep. But not him, for tonight was an important task. He completed most of the steps for the night. Now it's the last step to take. To get rid of the body.

The young man continues to drive for a minute until he reaches his destination. The destination was a beach that many had littered. He drove into the beach, passing many years of junk and trash. If someone was a true hero, they could have cleaned up the same beach the man was currently cruising in. Lucky, there was none.

The man continued to cruise until he saw a dock nearby. He parked his car near it, as he prepared to complete the task on hand. He got out of the car, closing the door behind him, and he walked to the back of the trunk. He had taken off the apron and face shield, only keeping the gloves as he opened the trunk to retrieve the lefty bags. He began to walk to the dock, carrying the bags close to him. He started to walk on the deck, each step making the wood planks creek. He walked to a small motor boat that was waiting on the other side of the dock. He placed the hefty bags on the boat before he got on it as well. He turned on the motor engine that was on the back of the small boat. It roared itself to begin moving the boat to the sea.

The young man was steering the motor boat, looking back to see the beach shrinking from the distance. He continued to steer the boat until it was far enough from the land away from the public. He turned off the motor, making the boat slow down. Then, it stopped moving, and now the young man began to throw the hefty bags out the boat. He watched the hefties sinking into the dark water. He looked up to see a full moon. The moonlight shining down the sea, reflecting from the reflections of the water.

The young man looked at the moon, wondering how his life had come to this. A life that hides a terrible truth away from the people he knows and cares about. But he knows he can't control. He can manage it, but it'll always find a way to release at a given opportunity. An opportunity to kill. An opportunity to hurt. Which is why he was trained to target those who hurt the innocent ones. Those who are proven to be killers. He trained for this secret duty. Not as a hero, but a serial killer who hunts down other killers.

Now the task was completed. The man turned the motor back on, steering away from the drop off spot. The man's green hair flowing from the breeze. The man can see the beach from a closer view. As he got close, he parked his boat next to the dock. He tied a rope to it so the boat won't get away. He got off the boat, walking away from the crime he committed. He entered his car and exited the beach. He looked around the streets of Japan, as he drove back to his home. To be ready for the next day. Another day of living among society, so he can prepare his next kill.

It's going to happen again, and again.

Has to happen