1999

7. Murder

Five's heart pounded steadily as he ascended the stairs to Y/n's apartment. The hallway was quiet, the soft hum of distant traffic outside the only sound accompanying him as he reached her door. The number was slightly crooked, as if it had been hastily nailed back on after falling off. He didn't need to check twice to know this was the right place. He crouched down, pulling out his lock-picking kit from his coat pocket. He inserted the tools into the lock, his ears straining for any sound that might indicate someone approaching.

The lock gave way with a soft click, and Five pushed the door open just enough to slip inside. The apartment was dimly lit, a few lamps casting warm pools of light in the small living room. The air smelled faintly of burnt toast, and he could hear the muffled thump of music coming from further inside the apartment. He shut the door behind him, the lock clicking softly back into place as he took a moment to assess his surroundings.

He moved silently through the apartment, his footsteps muffled by the worn carpet. His hand instinctively went to the blade tucked inside his coat, the cold metal reassuring against his palm. He didn't need to search for long to find Y/n's roommate's room—the loud, bass-heavy music was a dead giveaway. Five stood outside the door for a moment, listening to the beat thumping through the wood, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. The music was loud enough to drown out any sounds from the outside world. Perfect.

He wrapped his fingers around the door handle and turned it slowly, opening the door just enough to slip inside without making a sound. The room was bathed in the soft glow of a vanity mirror, the lights framing the mirror casting a harsh light on the woman sitting in front of it. Jackie, Y/n's roommate, was completely oblivious to his presence as she meticulously wiped away the day's makeup. She was humming along to the music, her head bobbing slightly as she dipped a cotton pad into a bottle of makeup remover.

Five took a step closer, his grip tightening around the handle of his blade. Jackie was still focused on her reflection, unaware of the danger looming behind her. Her phone buzzed on the vanity, and she picked it up with a distracted smile, her fingers flying across the keypad as she responded to a text. She giggled softly, clearly amused by whatever conversation she was having.

Five inched closer, his eyes locked on her as he moved with the stealth of a predator. When Jackie finally glanced up at the mirror, her blood ran cold at the sight of Five standing right behind her. Her eyes widened in shock, her smile vanishing as her brain struggled to process what she was seeing.

A scream tore from her throat, raw and filled with terror, as she scrambled to get away from him. She knocked over several bottles and brushes in her panic, sending them clattering to the floor. But Five was faster. He lunged forward, his blade flashing in the dim light as he slashed it across her arm. The sharp steel bit into her flesh, and blood spurted from the wound, painting the vanity in a dark red.

Jackie screamed again, clutching her bleeding arm as she stumbled back, her eyes wild with fear. Her legs buckled as she tripped over the edge of the rug, falling hard to the floor. The music continued to blare in the background, the heavy beat masking the sounds of her cries. She tried to crawl away, desperate to escape, but the pain was too much. Her hands slipped on the blood-slicked floor as she struggled to get to her feet.

Five loomed over her, his expression cold and unyielding as he watched her futile attempts to flee. He took a step closer, his shadow falling over her as she looked up at him, her eyes filled with terror. He crouched down beside her, grabbing her by the hair and yanking her head back, forcing her to look up at him.

"You should have been nicer to Y/n," he murmured, his voice low and menacing. Jackie whimpered, tears streaming down her face as she begged for her life. But her pleas fell on deaf ears. Five's blade glinted in the light as he raised it high, ready to strike again.