Miguel Mora

My name is Miguel Mora, and I am a killer. I deceived my victims with ease; they were all women, and honestly, I loved it. The thrill of taking someone’s life was my greatest pleasure, the exact moment when everything finally made sense to me. It all was born from an obsession. She was known as Tigress, an assassin as cruel as she was fascinating. Unlike me, she killed only men, and every body was found with deep scratches across the face, violent marks that resembled a tiger’s claws — her signature, her symbol, her art. She was incredible. More than fifty men had already been eliminated by her, and in the past week alone, seven at once. The police were lost, unable to even come close to the truth — but I wasn’t. I was obsessed with her, I wanted her for myself. My fascination was extreme, sick; I don’t know if it could be called love, but I desired her like I had never desired anything before, because in the end, only I could truly love her, only I could fully understand her.

After months of gathering clues, traces, and ignored patterns, I discovered who Tigress really was — my Tigress. Not even the police managed to find her, but I did, because for her I spent countless nights without sleep, thinking through every possibility, reliving every detail, every mistake she might have made. I followed her from the very first time I saw her in a café; from that moment on, everything changed. I knew who she was now, and nothing would stop me from having her for myself. And now there I was, watching her inside a clothing store, following her discreetly and learning more about her with every step. She didn’t know yet… but soon, she would.