Drip. Drip. Drip.
Rain washed the streets of New Green, turning them into rivers of reflected neon. Despite the downpour, people still crowded the sidewalks, hidden beneath colorful raincoats.
"Where can I find beer?" Andrew asked, his voice tired.
The cashier looked up from his terminal. "End of the corridor, sir." He pointed to the right.
Andrew entered the corridor, his eyes immediately drawn to the shelves lining both walls.
"Milkyroad, Energetic Flash, Duain prote—" He jerked his head away. "What am I doing? If I keep looking at these side shelves, I'll end up buying something I don't need."
He forced himself to focus on the path ahead, walking straight to the beer section.
Minutes later, he returned with a stack of beer bottles and a tiny puppy-shaped toy clutched in his other hand.
"Damn it. I bought one anyway." He shook his head, annoyed. "I hate these manipulative store designs."
"Your pathetic attempts to behave normally are so amusing. Ahahahahaha. Just release me, and you'll never feel pain again."
The voice echoed in his mind, cold and hungry.
"Shut up! It's not night yet. Just sit quietly until then," Andrew thought back.
"Hello?"
Andrew blinked. "Wh-what?"
The cashier raised an eyebrow. "I said I've already calculated your total."
"Ten bottles of beer and one puppy toy. That's $150."
"$150?! Why is it so expensive?!"
"Well, sir, ten bottles of premium beer and a collectible toy have always been expensive."
"O-okay, fine."
Andrew placed his phone on the terminal. The ding of payment validation sounded.
"Thanks for your purchase. Hope to see you again, sir."
"Yeah. Bye."
Andrew climbed the stairs to his apartment, the plastic bag cutting into his palm. Just as he reached for his keys, a woman's voice called out behind him.
"Mister Peterson! Good afternoon!"
He turned around. "Afternoon, Jane."
"You're home early today." Her eyes drifted to the bag in his hands, lingering on the beer bottles visible through the thin plastic. Something flickered across her face—concern, maybe disappointment.
She took a breath. "Mr. Peterson, this is a little awkward to say, but... I have two tickets to a concert. Would you like to go with me?"
Andrew's heart lurched. For a moment, he forgot about the voice in his head, forgot about everything except the nervous hope in her eyes.
"Yeah, sure," he said, though the words came out reluctant, almost defensive.
Jane's face brightened. "Okay! The concert's tomorrow evening. I'll text you the details."
"Sounds good."
"Bye, Mister Peterson."
"Bye, Jane."
Andrew closed his apartment door behind him and leaned against it.
"That was unexpected. I should thank her lat—"
Pain exploded in his skull. The bag slipped from his hands as he collapsed to the floor, bottles rolling across the hardwood.
"No! Not now!"
The monster clawed at the edges of his consciousness, desperate for control, desperate to hunt.
"RELEASE ME!"
"Wait. One minute. Just... give me one minute."
With trembling hands, Andrew dragged himself toward the door and turned the lock. He crawled to the closet, yanked open the shelf, and pulled out a black suitcase.
Inside lay a piece of dark material, folded carefully.
Andrew pulled it out and wrapped it around himself, his hands shaking.
"Now... do whatever you want."
Consciousness fled. His body pitched forward—
—and caught itself mid-fall.
It was no longer Andrew.
A wide smile stretched across his face. Chuckling started low in his chest, bubbling up like water about to boil.
He walked to the window, threw it open, and vanished into the night, leaving it swinging in the wind.
The fog rolled thick through New Green's streets.
The chuckle grew, transforming into unstoppable laughter that spread through the city like a virus. Everyone who heard it ran—toward home, toward shelter, toward anywhere that felt safe.
He wandered through dark corners, hunting. There were many options tonight, but one man stood out.
The man wore denim shorts and a white t-shirt despite the cold. His body looked too thin, almost skeletal, as if illness had hollowed him out. But what made him truly special were the marks.
Dark lines ran across his exposed skin like veins, but colored an unnatural black.
From this distance, the killer couldn't quite make out the details. He decided this would be his first target.
He began to follow openly, chuckling loud enough for the man to hear.
The man noticed immediately and ran.
But the killer appeared in his path like a ghost. The moment the man saw him, the killer vanished. The man spun and ran the opposite direction—only to see the silhouette again, blocking his escape.
Panicking, he bolted into an alley.
The man reached the end and realized his mistake. Dead end.
The killer materialized in front of him, chuckling.
But when the man looked up, the fear drained from his face. As if he'd been acting all along.
"So it's you. The Laughing Maniac."
"My name is Max. I—"
The killer lunged before he could finish.
An invisible force slammed him into the ground.
He recovered instantly—his body was built for this—and charged again. He pulled out his knife mid-stride, ready to separate head from shoulders.
But Max disappeared.
Before the killer could react, Max grabbed his arm and slammed him into the concrete.
The ground shattered into fragments.
The killer lay in a spreading pool of his own blood. His arm hung at a grotesque angle, nearly torn off. Bones jutted through skin.
"That's it?" Max stepped over the body, disappointed. "I thought the so-called monster would show me more than just speed."
He walked toward the alley's exit.
Then the laughter started again—loud, manic, impossible.
"He's still alive?"
Max turned back.
The killer was standing. Steam rose from his body as flesh knit itself back together, bones snapping into place.
Max looked into the killer's eyes—and froze.
They were empty. Unconscious. The laughter coming from him wasn't human at all.
The sound grew louder and louder, echoing off the alley walls.
Max's smile returned. He dropped into a fighting stance.
"All right then. Let's have some fun, Laughing Maniac."