Lowkey Purge

two

Maybe I should've thought this through before I had written his name down...

I had no idea how the hell I was supposed to find him.

All the information that the police had from the first kill that he had ever committed was that he was about six foot, had brown, curly hair, and his name was Zane Fowler.

That's it.

And the dude has been slayin' bitches for four years.

One night, I went down to the police station to get any more information that I could. If there was any. A nice lady, contradictory to Peter Griffen from when I officially wrote down Zane as my kill, handed me a folder containing all the information the police had ever gotten of him. I eagerly opened the folder to take a good look. To find anything that would help me find the mischievous bastard.

My mouth opened in shock when I saw how thin the folder was. There was only three pages!? That's it?! I internally groaned. His date of birth was unknown. Parents were unknown. State of origin was unknown. It seemed like the dude popped on the earth out of no where, assassinated people, then disappeared.

His last known appearance was three days ago. He murdered a woman named "Kelly Woods." She looked young, around my age, and was gorgeous. Stunning blonde hair, beautifully tanned skin, and a sparkling smile. Her rack was twice the size of mine. She must've been a real dude magnet. Turned out she attracted the wrong dude.

No one knew what he looked like. Whenever he committed a murder, he wore a a black mask, only his eyes peeking through small slits in the cloth. There was an instance where a blogger named him the "Death Ninja." The next day, she was pronounced dead in his apartment from poisoning in her iced tea. Covering the nutrition label of the bottle, Zane had left a note,

"I could've Jujit'sued' you, but this was more my style ;)"

I would've laughed if it hadn't been such a horrible situation.

I didn't even know where to start. There were no clues or evidence that I could use to help me find him. The only way the police even knew that his name was Zane Fowler, was because he sent the station a god damn letter. Taunting and teasing the police. Ridiculing them for not knowing anything about him. So, he just lent them a little help.

Suddenly, bunches and groups of police, armed with guns and other materials, hurdled out of the front doors of the station. I heard a masculine voice yell, "Not fucking Fowler again!" My eyes widened. He was back at it again.

With the white Vans.

Ahahaha.

This was my chance at getting any new information. Or maybe I could even shoot him down or something if I was lucky enough to get the chance. I quickly got out of my chair and closed the folder, grasping it in my hand and running through the double doors and outside the building. I found and got into my car, turning it on as fast as a could. The police were already in pursuit. I had to catch up to them.

I stepped onto the gas, cursing when my forehead crashed into the steering wheel. I had it on reverse. Thank god there wasn't a car too close parked behind me. I changed gears and accelerated forwards, swerving through cars to catch up to the police. I felt jittery in my seat.

"This is so exciting!" I squealed to myself and bounced in my seat. My focus was put on the road ahead of me. Then, I realized I was missing something.

"Yo, Carlita," I said aloud. Yes, I was talking to my car that I named Carlita.

"Yes, Badass Hoe?"

I snickered at the name I had given myself. "Play your girl some suspenseful car chasing music."

"Got it. Now playing: remorseful heartbreaking music."