Instead of letting it break me, I used that invisibility to my advantage. For years, I watched, and I listened. I sat in on classes, snuck into important meetings, and overheard secrets that even the highest-ranking Masks weren’t privy to. But most importantly, I learned—as much as I could from as many different people as possible.
That’s why, when the Sanctum fell, I wasn’t at all surprised. Hell, I wasn’t even in the city when it happened. I saw the writing on the wall and volunteered to travel to the West Coast to help with a drug shipment, just in case things went sideways.
And sideways, they went.
The Madam—our leader—was killed, her inner circle massacred. By the time I returned to Moriton, a new leader was installed, and the Sanctum had changed irreversibly.
What was once a ruthless underground criminal organization has become a cult of masked do-good vigilantes. They patrol the streets at night, helping innocent people and putting Moriton’s worst behind bars or under the ground. By day, the organization works with countless charities and outreach programs, helping those less fortunate and victimized by the cruel city and its inhabitants.
Our new leader, Seraphina Valez, made it all happen. She’s committed to righting the wrongs of the Sanctum. Many of the other members are thrilled by the concept, and the white-haired queen enamors all.
I have a different opinion about the way things are going.
Since she took over and the rules changed, I’ve been restless. There’s nothing to keep me busy, no jobs for me to take. A few times a month, I’ll get a text from one of my superiors requesting a cleanup, but aside from that, the Sanctum requires nothing of me. Volunteering at their programs is optional, never enforced, and I can’t bring myself to work so closely with the others. The same ones who spent years shunning me and mocking me.
I can’t forget the past. I won’t. The others are welcome to live in this fairy tale Seraphina has concocted for them, but I’m not falling for it. The city is just as rotten as the day she came to power, and nothing she does will ever fix it. Things in Moriton only change for the worse.
The water turns cold, and I jump back with a hiss. So lost in thought, I didn’t realize how long I’ve been in here—but I know it’s time to get out.
I get out of the shower, towel off, and head into my bedroom, slumping down on my bed with a heavy sigh. With little else to do, my gaze moves around the barren room, itemizing all my possessions. It’s easy enough—my apartment is small, with little furniture or decoration to adorn the bare walls, but it’s the way I prefer it.
I used to live at the Sanctum with many of the other Masks, but I moved out several months ago so people would stop watching over my every move. Nobody knows it, but I bought the entire building last year with the money I received from the Sanctum, under the alias of some poor soul I killed and disposed of.
While I could have my pick of any of the rooms, I chose the studio near the top of the building. I’m assuming it was supposed to serve as living quarters for staff working in the penthouse, and it’s in the perfect location to look out over the city.
The rest of the building is empty and silent—the way I like it—with a few rooms at the bottom used for storing job equipment and stolen Sanctum tech. The basement level has been converted into a kill room of sorts, and I’ve been frequenting it more and more as of late.
The Sanctum has no idea I spend my nights as the serial killer, cleaning up the filth roaming the streets of Moriton. If they knew, they would throw me into a cell beneath theSanctum, and I would never see the light of day again. No rehabilitation would work for someone as sick asRed 7.
I roll my eyes at the nickname. My signature—a heart and the number seven carved neatly into each of my victim’s flesh—is the reason for the stupid name. I used to abhor it, but over the past few months, I haven’t found it in me to care about much of anything.
Until Grace.
The reminder of my obsession has me moving to grab my laptop. Using the information I gained from her personal items, I logged in to her social media accounts and email, searching for anything that might be useful to me.
I find out she’s a financial analyst for an adult toy company, and from her correspondence with her bosses, it seems like she’s a damn good one. Hardworking, intelligent, and honest—the model employee.
Growing bored, I look through her social media accounts, stopping on a picture of Grace dated back three years ago. She appears to be at some kind of farmers’ market, balancing a basket of ripened strawberries on her hip. The camera has caught her mid-bite, pale-pink juice dripping down her chin, her bright eyes full of laughter.
I’ve never seen something so beautiful.
My hand reaches out, fingertips brushing the face projected on my screen. “Soon,” I whisper to her. “You’ll be mine soon.”
I take a screenshot of the image and send it to my phone, saving it as a screensaver so I can look at that beautiful smile whenever I please. Satisfied, I’m about to close my laptop when a new message pops into her email.
Welcome party for Mr. Archer Graves!
Intrigued, I click on the message, a plan forming in the depths of my mind as I read.
Our new COO, Mr. Archer Graves, is arriving at the end of the month. He’s coming all the way from the other side of the world, and we want to do our best to make him feel at home!
To welcome Mr. Graves, LoveBytten is hosting a formal get-together at LoveBytten HQ after work hours on the evening of November 30th. There will be food, music, and a good time to be had by all, so make sure to attend if you’re able!
Please RSVP to this email by the 20th so I can get a headcount and order the right number of pizzas.
—Cathy H.
I shrug, about to close out of her email, when an idea comes to me. Something far-fetched, but completely doable, considering all the skills and resources I possess.
