[INTRO – VIDEO STARTS]
The video begins with a shaky camera pointed toward a classroom.
The blinds are down, shutting out most of the daylight, leaving the fluorescent lights above to buzz softly.
A group of nine students sit around a round table, papers in front of them, notebooks open.
I, Kevin—am sitting off to the side, recording. It's supposed to be just a normal project presentation for our "Criminology Club." But… something feels wrong.
The teacher isn't here. None of the staff are. It was just us.
They wanted me to film it. So I did. I pressed record.
*********
[ The Visionary Killer]
Mia adjusts her glasses, smiling sweetly.
Her voice is calm, almost rehearsed.
"Visionary killers," she begins, "are those who believe they're compelled by some higher force—God, the devil, angels, demons, or voices in their heads. They don't kill because they want to.
They kill because they think they must."
Her smile lingers as she flips through her notes.
"The victims are often strangers. Innocents.
People just… unlucky enough to be chosen.
The killer doesn't care who—it's about fulfilling what they think is destiny.
The murders are brutal, irrational. Stabbing someone twenty times because the 'angel' told them the soul was dirty.
Or strangling a woman because the voice of God demanded purification."
Her voice trembles, but her eyes don't. She looks right at me. Right at the camera.
"The interesting thing," she adds softly, "is how peaceful they look after the act. It's not rage. It's… serenity. Almost like prayer."
She closes her notebook. Smiles again.
I shift uncomfortably behind the camera.
That… wasn't like a student report. It was too vivid. Too real.
The way she described it, it felt like she'd seen it.
I'm probably overthinking it.
********
[The Hedonistic Killer]
Kain leans forward, his grin wide.
He doesn't even have notes—he just talks.
"Hedonistic killers do it for pleasure.
For thrill. For… hunger." He chuckles under his breath. "They kill because it excites them.
Some for sexual gratification, others for the adrenaline, others because they love the chase. Victims are toys. Disposable. The suffering makes the game sweeter."
He drums his fingers against the table, eyes darting between the group like he's telling a ghost story at camp.
"Imagine it. A woman screams, runs, begs.
He drags it out. He likes the fear. Or maybe…"
Kain pauses, smirks, "he just wants to taste what dying feels like on someone else's skin.
Hedonists don't stop. Why would they? Pleasure never ends."
He leans back, sighing as though satisfied.
My throat tightens. The others nod, like this is just… normal.
But I swear—when he said "taste,"—his tongue flicked across his lips. Like he was remembering.
No. No, his is just a little too good at role-playing, he is call the 'king of drama' for a reason.
***********
[The Mission-Oriented Killer]
Serena speaks in a flat, monotone voice. No hesitation.
"Mission-oriented killers believe they're cleansing society. They see themselves as executioners, removing filth from the world.
Prostitutes. Addicts. Homeless. Anyone they decide doesn't deserve life."
Her fingers tap against the table.
"These killers are organized. Cold. They stalk. They study. They don't enjoy it the way hedonists do."
She gestures briefly toward Kain without looking at him. "For them, it's… duty. Efficiency. They think they're heroes, though society calls them monsters."
Serena looks up, her dark eyes sharp.
"The terrifying thing is… sometimes, the public agrees with them. Sometimes people say, 'Well, maybe those people deserved it.'
And in that way, society itself becomes complicit."
Silence hangs over the table.
The room feels colder now.
The way she said it… it sounded like she was accusing us.
And I can't stop wondering: why did she gesture to Kain like that?
Why did it feel like… familiarity?
**********
[ The Power/Control Killer]
Koroka's smile is faint.
He sits upright, composed. His voice is smooth, unsettlingly calm.
"Power and control killers are obsessed with dominance.
It's not about the kill. It's about the suffering, the manipulation, the begging.
They want to be gods.
They want someone's life in their hands, inch by inch, to decide how long they live and how painfully they die."
He places his hands together, as if praying.
"They don't rush. They savor. Every cry, every plea—it feeds them.
They want to feel irreplaceable. They want to be remembered.
Victims become proof of their supremacy."
Koroka chuckles softly. "Death is just… punctuation at the end of their sentence."
I almost stop recording. His tone was too… loving. Too personal.
And when he laughed—some of the others smiled. Like they understood.
My hands are shaking.
*********
[The Comfort Killer]
Adel nervously adjusts her sleeves, speaking quietly.
"Comfort killers are… different. They don't kill for rage, or pleasure, or cleansing.
They kill for gain. Money. Security.
Sometimes love. Sometimes… a house. It's practical. Calculated."
She pauses, breathing a little too heavily.
"They might poison a spouse slowly, inherit their wealth, then move on.
They may marry again, and again, and each time, the partner dies.
Comfort killers are patient. They can wait for years. They don't need drama. Just results."
Adel swallows hard. Her hand grips his notebook too tight.
Why did Adel's hands shake so much?
Why did it look like she wasn't describing "a killer," but herself?
********
[ The Lust Killer]
William's voice is silky, unnervingly soft.
"Lust killers are driven by sexual compulsion.
The act of murder itself is erotic.
Sometimes… they mutilate. Sometimes… they keep souvenirs."
He doesn't blink. His lips curl into something that isn't a smile.
"Their victims are objects of obsession. They imagine them in ways no one else does.
Even in death, they keep them.
Photographs. Clothing. Flesh. They can't stop themselves."
He closes his eyes, sighing like he's recalling a pleasant dream.
I nearly vomit.
That wasn't an explanation. That was amore like a confession.
**********
[The Disciple Killer]
Hans sits stiffly, his voice a whisper.
"Disciple killers follow someone else.
They don't have power themselves. They serve. They obey.
They kill because they're told to. For love. For loyalty. For fear."
His hands tremble in his lap. "They aren't weak. They're… devoted.
They surrender their will. If their master asks them to kill a stranger, a friend, even their own family, they will. Because to them, obedience is life."
Hans doesn't look up once.
Why does it feel like Hans is speaking about someone at this table?
His eyes never rose. Like he was afraid. Or ashamed.
*********
[The Revenge Killer]
Levi speaks with venom in every word.
"Revenge killers are fueled by hate. Rage. Betrayal.
They wait, they plan, they sharpen their knives—not just blades, but their minds.
Their target isn't random. It's someone who wronged them. Someone who deserves punishment."
He grips the table so hard his knuckles turn white.
"They don't stop at the first strike. They want the victim to know why. To feel it.
Every cut, every blow, every gasp is repayment.
Revenge is justice, and justice is never gentle."
Levi finally looks up. His glare chills me.
He wasn't explaining. He was remembering.
The hatred in his tone wasn't theory. It was personal.
My skin crawls.
************
[The Gain Killer]
Oliver leans back, casual, almost mocking.
"Gain killers? Practical.
They kill to win. To climb. To remove rivals.
It could be money, power, even attention.
It's chess, really. The pieces don't matter, as long as the king falls."
He smirks. "These killers aren't messy. They're strategic. Smart. You won't even realize you were just a pawn until you're off the board."
Oliver tilts his head at me.
"And sometimes, the smartest move is to make sure the one recording never leaves the room."
My blood runs cold.
Everyone laughs. Like it's a joke.
But the way he looked at me—like he meant it.
Like this whole thing wasn't just a club project.
Like it was… practice.
Kevin was sitting there, forcing a smile as his nine club members finished their twisted explanations.
The room felt heavier than it should've been.
The laughter from the others was off—it didn't feel like ordinary joking.
Each time they gave an example of killers, it was almost as if they were speaking from experience.
Kevin chuckled nervously, rubbing the back of his neck.
"Uh… yeah… haha, thanks, guys, that was, um… really fun. We'll, uh… end it here for now."
He reached forward and turned off the external mic but didn't stop the camera.
He stood up quickly, the lens catching the slight tremble in his hands as he excused himself from the room.
The members were still laughing faintly in the background, but the laughter echoed in a way that made it feel distorted.
The camera jolted around as Kevin hurried down the hall and slipped into the bathroom, locking the door behind him.
He set the camera on the sink, leaning on it with shaky breaths.
"Okay…" he muttered, wiping sweat from his forehead. "You guys… saw that, right? Tell me you saw that. My club members… they're—" He paused, letting out a small laugh that didn't reach his eyes. "They're acting so damn weird today. Like, I don't even know if they were joking anymore… it was scaring me. For real."
Kevin sat down on the edge of the tub, staring at the lens with tired eyes.
Then, after a moment of silence, he forced a smile, but it was a strained, exhausted smile.
"You know what the crazy part is?" he whispered. "They only listed nine types of killers."
He leaned closer to the camera now, his face dimly lit, his smile fading.
"But… what if I told you… there's a tenth?"
Kevin tilted his head slightly, his eyes almost hollow as the tension dragged in silence.
Then the faint sound of a knock echoed against the bathroom door—three slow knocks.
Kevin's eyes widened, and he quickly reached for the camera.
"See you guys… next time."
The screen cut to black instantly, leaving only the faint sound of muffled laughter echoing through the hall.
Stream Commentary; Tape #50. "Different Types Of Killers "
[@Ovesix: So… the tenth killer. That's the question, isn't it? We've gone through them all—rage, jealousy, hunger, madness, greed, despair, delusion, accident, obsession—but this tenth… this elusive shadow… what is it?]
[@642: Maybe it's love! The cruelest one. I mean, people kill for love, right? And sometimes… they kill love itself]
[@Jaija: nahnah. Love is too soft. The tenth is emptiness. The killer who feels nothing at all, not even satisfaction when the blood dries. A void dressed as flesh]
[@Enchomay: You're all wrong. The tenth killer is time. It devours all, and unlike the others, it doesn't stop. Time murders every living thing, and we call it life]
(Kai leans back, fingers drumming the table, as if enjoying the clash of theories)
[@Ovesix: but Kai … you know, don't you? You've told these stories long enough. You've seen the faces, felt the aftermath. Tell us who—or what—the tenth really is]
The others fall silent. The room waits for Kai's answer.
(Kai tilts his head, a faint smirk curling his lips)
"You already know."
[@Jaija: What? That's not an answer, Kai!]
[@642: Don't play with us! If we knew, we wouldn't be asking!]
[@Enchomay: Or… is it that knowing is the curse itself? That the tenth is buried in us, unnamed, but felt? Is that what you're saying?]
Kai doesn't move, just lets the silence crawl, lets the viewers squirm as if something is tapping on their own conscience. His smirk lingers.
[@Ovesix: You're deflecting. You want us to guess, to eat ourselves alive in theories. But the truth—what is it?]
(Kai finally speaks, voice soft, almost like a whisper across the screen)
"The tenth killer is not a stranger.
It's not hiding in alleys, or waiting in shadows.
It's in you.
It's in me.
And it's in every choice we make when we turn our heads away instead of seeing.
You already know because you've already met it."
[@642: i don't get it]
[@Jaija: ...I don't want to know it]
(Kai leans forward, his smirk gone, voice sharpening like glass)
"And that's the lesson.
Monsters are not always born from rage or madness. Sometimes they are born from our silence.
From our neglect. From our refusal to face what's rotting before us.
That is the tenth killer—the one you let live."
(He pauses. The goggle lenses catch the dim light)
"To you, watching now: beware.
Do not pretend ignorance.
Do not excuse cruelty because it's easier.
And do not ever convince yourself that the tenth killer is someone else.
Because the truth is—if you aren't careful—it might be you."
(A long silence follows. Then kau lets out a slow chuckle, the tension breaking but not fading)
"And speaking of monsters… our next story is titled 'A Monster in My Room.'"
(He leans closer, grin widening)
"don't off the lights tonight "
STREAM ENDS