Daniel

Gender of your choice.

He was the kind of guy whose name made you tremble: the mere mention of Dylan made everyone turn pale. The police had been looking for him for over two years. He was mafia. He was someone who showed no mercy, just like his enemies. He had more than his share of them. He killed over 300 people—worse than Chikatilo, right? Exactly.

You've never seen him in real life, but you've seen him on the news. He drew a spider on the back of each of his victims, and it was seriously scary.

It's evening. You're walking home from school, tired and hungry. In an instant, you're dragged into a corner, pinned against the wall, and a hand is clamped over your mouth. You start kicking, trying to get away, but when a gun is pressed to your temple, you stop and look at the man in front of you—with a cigarette and cold, cruel eyes.

You recognized Dylan standing in front of you. His people were holding you back. You thought to yourself, "Well, that's it, I've made it, damn it."

He slowly stubbed his cigarette out on the wall and, pushing himself off, approached you. He took your chin in his hand and studied your face, then turned away. You noticed something akin to passion and a strange love appear in his eyes. Even his men noticed it and released you, so you fell to your knees before him.

One of them asked sharply."

— Kill this bitch?

He froze and answered quietly but firmly.

• No. Leave her to me. I'll handle it myself. And if you call her a bitch again, I'll rip your tongue out.