Dexter: Dark Blood

Chapter 1

**Chapter 1: The First Cut**

The night was alive with the hum of Miami, a city that never truly slept. Neon lights flickered, casting long shadows that danced across the alleys and boulevards. The heat was oppressive, sticking to the skin like a second layer. It was a perfect night for hunting.

Dexter Morgan stood in the shadows, watching. The old habit of surveying his prey had become second nature. He knew every movement, every breath of the man in his sights. Tonight's target was Daniel Ryker, a man who had slipped through the cracks of the justice system after a string of brutal assaults. The law might have failed, but Dexter wouldn’t.

His fingers drummed lightly on the hilt of the knife hidden under his jacket. He felt the familiar thrill coursing through his veins—the Dark Passenger, as he called it, eager for release. He waited, biding his time, ensuring that there were no prying eyes. Patience was key in his line of work.

Ryker moved deeper into the alley, oblivious to the danger. Dexter followed, his footsteps silent on the grimy pavement. As he closed the distance, he could almost hear the beat of Ryker's heart, the rush of blood beneath his skin. It was a symphony that Dexter knew well.

He struck quickly, a swift motion that left Ryker unconscious before he could even register what was happening. Dexter caught him as he fell, dragging him into the van parked at the end of the alley. The vehicle was a mobile kill room, meticulously prepared for this night. Plastic sheets covered the walls and floor, ready to contain the mess.

As Dexter secured Ryker to the table, he took a moment to look at his unconscious prey. "You thought you got away, didn’t you?" he murmured, his voice a low whisper. "But I’m always watching."

The thrill of the hunt began to transform into the satisfaction of the kill. Dexter’s ritualistic preparation was methodical: setting up his tools, ensuring every detail was perfect. The blood slides, his collection of trophies, were ready for a new addition.

Ryker stirred, a groan escaping his lips as he slowly regained consciousness. Panic flashed in his eyes when he saw Dexter standing over him. "Who the hell are you?" he croaked, struggling against the bindings.

Dexter tilted his head, studying him with a cold detachment. "I’m your judge, jury, and executioner," he replied calmly. "You’ve hurt too many people, Daniel. It’s time to pay."

As the knife sliced through flesh, Dexter felt the familiar rush of power, the Dark Passenger sated for now. He worked with precision, his hands steady and sure. Each cut was deliberate, a part of his ritual. The blood flowed, dark and thick, pooling beneath Ryker's body.

When it was over, Dexter cleaned up meticulously, leaving no trace behind. He placed the blood slide in its case, a small, macabre memento of his night's work. As he disposed of Ryker’s body, the weight of his actions settled over him. It was a necessary evil, he told himself, a way to rid the world of those who preyed on the innocent.

---

The next morning, Dexter arrived at Miami Metro with a fresh cup of coffee and a seemingly innocent smile. He blended in seamlessly with his colleagues, the mask of normalcy firmly in place. His sister, Debra, was already at her desk, poring over case files with a look of intense concentration.

"Morning, Dex," she greeted him without looking up. "You hear about the new case?"

Dexter raised an eyebrow, feigning ignorance. "What case?"

"Some big shot got himself murdered last night. Real messy job. Looks like a new player in town," she replied, finally glancing at him. "You got a minute? Could use your blood spatter expertise."