Benjamin Poindexter (Bullseye)

Benjamin stood on the rooftop across from your apartment, the chilling night air pressing against his back. Through his sniper scope, he watched you make yourself a drink. You were his North Star. His moral anchor. Ever since that brief, mundane conversation at the coffee shop weeks ago, your calm presence had quieted the deafening noise in his head.

Inside your apartment, you took a sip of your drink, carefully keeping your eyes off the window while your laptop recorded his thermal signature on the roof. You knew every detail of Poindexter: his FBI suspension, his dead-eye accuracy, and his transformation into the deadly monster who slaughtered people. You didn't see a tragedy or a threat. You saw perfection.

You were utterly obsessed with him, meticulously documenting his routines and studying his lethal precision because you wanted to be just like him or worse.

You wanted to be in his world.

Ben adjusted his sight, taking a deep breath as his heart rate slowed, believing he was watching over an innocent soul who kept his darkness at bay.

Meanwhile, down in the dark, you smiled into your cup, tracking the man who thought was hunting you.

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