"So, cards down?" I coldly asked whilist not breaking eye contact with his hands.

Rule #1

Serial killers hate predictability. They believe they have the upper hand. Their hands are their tools and their most vulnerable place. Stare at them to disarm them.

*Possible outcomes

They will either attack you or let you go.

"You have a style, I see?" he chuckled. His expression then turned serious, "Not to worry, I do the same," he offered with a side smile.

We sat down six feet from each other. None of us spoke a word because none of us wanted to break the silence.

Rule #2

They thrive on pain and vulnerability. Do not show emotion.

*Possible outcomes

They will force it out of you.

"So, the date last night was great," he started but seeing me not breaking my composure, he groaned, "Come on. We both do this. Why are we even here?"

"You called," I nearly spat out but caught myself at the last minute. God, I hated this man.

"Why do you do it?" he questioned.

"Why do you do it" I repeated back, refusing to break. He was up to something, I could feel it.

"Very well, I will start. I do it for the thrill, and you were supposed to be next, but seeing our situation, you won't be."

"How so?"

"Um, hello. We both do the same."

Rule #3

If they feel you slip away from them, they will try to lure you back in. Narcissism 101.

I got up from the chair and pointed my gun at him, "I am sorry, but date night is over, forever."

Rule #5

Some of them are tricksters. Act smart.

Before I could pull the trigger, I pointed it at my head, and bam - just as I suspected - empty.

"You are way smarter than I suspected," he said, "However, not smart enough."

Rule #6

Serial killers will try to convince you they are better than-

"Rule #6?" he questioned, a toothy grin appearing on his face, "You know, it took me a lot to find out your gimmick, sister," he continued while pointing his finger at me and slowly getting closer.

"This entire thing is a setup," he said while slowly circling me.

He stopped in front of me, took my hands in his, looked me deep into my eyes, and asked through gritted teeth, "Care to enlighten me on rule #9?"

I found myself speechless. For the first time in my life, I felt like one of my victims, helpless, cold, scared, and alone. Even the rage of being caught couldn't outshine the terrible feeling I'd had.

For the first time in my life, the voice inside me was wrong. And at the worst possible time.

If it was a victim, I could run away and hide. But when you lose your composure in front of a predator, you can only prey your end comes fast.

"Never leave traces behind," I finally muttered.

"That is right," he roared and kissed my temple, "But why is it rule #9? Why not number 1#?" he curiously questioned.

The way he looked at me, I knew he didn't care about the rules order. He asked this for a specific reason. But what?

I couldn't focus or concentrate. He was playing with me, slowly torturing my mind until I fall into madness. Until I break for him.

And he was succeeding.

"Predictability, my love," he whispered in my ear. "I am not predictable for you", he sang.

He backed to the shelf near the door, pulled out a sledgehammer, and slowly dragged it toward me.

"I guess you surrender, no?" he asked.

Now or never, I thought and threw a knife at him. It was a special knife that could successfully cut deep if you threw it the right way.

It ended right in his heart.

He fell, and as I came closer, he spoke, "I saw the knife shining as soon as you entered."

He was honest? Now I was really taken aback.

"Why didn't you-" I asked but he interrupted.

"Predictability", he said. "I really liked you Carrie, and I wanted to keep seeing you, but I knew you wouldn't find peace until you ended me."

He pushed the hammer and a small key toward me, "But I can give you my legacy."

With these last words, he died with the same toothy grin on his face and the same wide-open eyes staring lovingly? into mine.

I shed a lot of tears that night. For the first time, I felt love, and I lost it. For the first time, somebody cared for me.

Now, well now, I guess I have to do much more work to heal those wounds, or at least suppress them.

And the legacy Greg left me in his basement gave me new projects to work on.

"George Mikaelson," hissed Death while staring at the photograph of a middle-aged man on the table in front of him, "What the hell have you done this time?!" he yelled, his booming voice shaking and knocking down everything in his void.

Death sighed and rubbed his temple, hoping to gain inner peace before going to Earth. He knew he had to do it at some point, even though it would bring him great displeasure.

As he was contemplating his next move, something knocked him on the head. As he looked around, he noticed the void being chaotic due to his earlier outburst.

With another heavy sigh, Death waved a finger through the air calming the place down and putting everything in its place.

The distant sound of four tiny bones skipping across the floor made the creature smile. He looked to his right, where now was a small dog made of bones wearing a smaller version of Death's cloak. He had a collar with a golden tag that read "Bones".

The tiny creature held a ball in his mouth, but when Death tried to get it, he ran in the opposite direction.

"Once a dog, always a dog. Even in the afterlife," the creature chuckled, but his happiness didn't last long as the thoughts of the current events plagued him.

With a sour expression, he got up, adjusted his cloak, took his scythe, and headed down to Earth to see what his most hated person had done this time.

Death rarely had enemies, and George, well he wasn't his enemy. George was someone Death vowed to never take. He was something like a sour thumb with no self-control, infinite stupidity, and never-ending clumsiness.

...

Sixty years ago, George accidentally pushed a chicken into the toilet.

Don't ask how.

The poor animal died, of course, and George had the brilliant idea to escort it to the afterlife - to make him a funeral. Instead of doing it at home, he did it in the center of the town, embarrassing his entire family and becoming the town idiot.

Not that he already wasn't, but shush, don't tell him that.

He and his dad got into a fight, and an accident caused him to meet Death himself.

And there was where the trouble began.

George was cocky and pretentiously arrogant, but he was an imbecile. He tried arguing with Death and demanding his life back. He tried with threats, but they only made the creature laugh.

What can you do to Death? How can you harm a being that is not alive anyway?

George claimed his parents were sad about his demise and would fight Death for him, but the being was quick to show him otherwise.

Down on Earth, his parents were celebrating. They did not shed a single tear for him. The whole town had a three-week fest in honor of his departure.

And, believe me, there was a reason why.

George may have appeared as a moronic hot ballon air, but the actions he took and the lives he ruined were many. Not out of malice, not every time at least, but out of stupidity.

Not two weeks passed, and Death found George on his doorstep, bound and gagged with a note on his head, signed out by almost every spirit in the afterlife:

This being is insufferable. We have never seen such a creature in the history of our infinite universe. Take it as your apprentice, or destroy it.

Death decided to be generous and tried to teach him his work, but the man was impossible. He did everything wrong, some things on purpose. Death was a creature of endless patience, and George somehow managed to break his boundaries.

The last straw was when George broke Death's favorite vase and stole his dog to show it to mortals.

From that moment on, George was banned from the afterlife and Death's lair and sentenced to Earth for as long as it exists. But a few centuries later, the humans got tired and sent George to a lonely planet with no life and nothing to destroy.

Now, Death had to go and figure out what that imbecile has done in a place full of nothing.

....

The planet was deserted, and George was nowhere to be found. Death called for him, but nobody showed up.

Just as he was about to give up, somebody tackled him and tried to take his cloak.

"If I become you, nothing will stop me," yelled the attacker, who was no other but George himself.

Death quickly overpowered him and bound him to the ground. George yelled and trashed but to no avail. He could not escape such power.

"I have had enough of you. You give me no other choice," yelled Death, and with a hit of his scythe, he turned the man into dust.

He finally destroyed his soul, but a part of him died too. Death has always believed that George could have changed. He had so much time ahead of him, but he used it to cause chaos and stay the same.

And if you ever feel like George, not stupid, but rather stuck in the same patterns, try to find the problem and destroy it, change your ways.