It was a starry night in the city of love, with the glimmering illuminations of the thousands upon thousands of windows acting as the sun of the night. Romance blossomed around every cul-de-sac, as old flames were rekindled with a sweet kiss. Even the most chilled of hearts craved something more in their petty lives. A stroll down the bustiling streets would bring a wandere a sense of intriguing mystery. The smell of freshly baked croissants wafts laxily through the crowds,penetrating the willpower of even the most strong-willed. However, something is amiss tonight.

tonightt, amidst the sweet scents of pasterioes, there is also a tinge of iorn. a tinge of iron so faint, one must have known what to be looking for to have noticed it at all. Up ahead, the stone clad street turns abruptly to the left. The first apartment found on the left side of this small, secluded street holds the source of the unusual scent. A few flights up, on the sixth floor is where our culprit is found. But, alas, it is merely a painter. Although, his one-bedroom apartment of the sixth floor of the apartmnet complex on the left side of the street still holds a mist of screcy cleverly shrouded by the comely demeanor of the whole place.let's take a look, shall we? Once across the threshold, still oblivious to our presnece, the painter continues painting. Ah well, I suppose we'll just have to take a peek for ourselves. Immediately to the right of the front door is the living room. The living room is furnished with a simple brown sofa, along with a large red rugin the center of the hard wood floor. It would seem to me that our culprit has a rather stylish sense... across from this fabulous living room, stands the painter, with his back facing us. He stands in a rather small section of the apartmnet, which holds his art supplies and is somewhat of a studio. Hmm, that's rather odd. It looks like he is painting tomatoes, lobsters, and octagons. Well, anyhow, let's continue on out tour, and check on our painter later. Further through the apartmnet, connected to the liing room, is the dining room. It consists of a handsome arrangment of a small, circular table that has a black exterior along with a red tablecloth. There is only one chair at this... interestingly clad table, and it is also the darkest of blacks. At long last, we have made it to the end of the apartment, where a small black door awaits.

Now bfore we venture even farther into the unknown, I know what you must be thinking. "This man is off of his rocker! He must be a murderer of sorts!" Think what you will, but I am here to prove to you that there is nothing out of the ordinary in this beautiful city. Ready or not, we're going through that door to see that absolutely nothing terrifying awaits us behind it. Follow me! We slowly open the door and peek our heads around the corner. Lo and behld, all that is in the spacey bedroom is a queen size bed covered with white sheets, along with a closed closet to the left of the bed. That was all. I turn around to grin triumphantly at the rest of them, in an "I-told-you-that-you-were-just-pricks-and-judged-him-prematurely" kind of way; only they are no longer standing behind me.

I am all alone. This somehow always manages to happen when I take strangers along for the adventure. I sigh softly to myself, I really should have pointed out the fact that there was no kitvhen, which is strange as it is, but stranger yet, is the tiny detail that the entirety of the apartmnet, save for the bedroom, is covered in a thin layer of clear plastic. Not the mention that the bloodly painter is only painting red objects!? Coincidence? I believe that the entire philosophy behind the principle of "coincidence" is wrongly interpreted. In other words, there are none. I retret back through the apartment, half-heartedly looking for my newliy made "friends", but with no luck. With a shrug, I put a hand on the front door knob to leave, only to feel bursts of electricity coursing through my body, making be go rigid.

Well that sure puts a damper on things, doesn't it? All around me is a darkness so dense, it renders me senseless. When I do happen to come to, I see flashes of metal and feel the tickles of bristles. I feel like a lifeless slab of meat, being prodded and slashed at for entertainmnet. This was never supposed to happen. I was promised immunity. I should have never taken the job, all it left me with was this. I"m no better than him. Our culprit in the apartmnet on the sixth floor. I cannot recall how much time has gone by, but at long last, I am awake... for now at least. I can feel my blood being drained from my body through the IV...

Wait, that's odd, it's connected to the painter's bottle of red paint. The bottle must have been large enough to hold several liter of liquid, and the bottle is almost full. I carefully glance around the rest of the room, absolutely appalled at the sight that presents itself before me. The group of strangers, my group of strangers, are piled on a lifeless heap in the corner of the room. I wonder why the culprit os keeping the bodies... I hastily look away from the horrendous sight, only to see the painter inches from my face. I furoisly struggle against the leather restraints, but I can't move. he merely smirks as a cold, steel kiss traces across my-