The rabbit mask was finished.
Olivia stood before her mirror, the dim light of her apartment flickering across the glossy white surface of Vanny's face. The black mesh eyeholes concealed her gaze, but behind them her pupils dilated with thrill. The ears twitched slightly as she tilted her head, testing their balance. Her voice distorter hummed with a low static, ready to twist her words into something unnatural.
She wasn't Olivia anymore. Not tonight.
She was Vanny.
On the table beside her lay a knife—not some kitchen blade, but a hunting knife with a serrated edge she had sharpened herself until it could split skin like paper. Next to it, a taser. Duct tape. Zip ties. She organized everything with obsessive precision, each tool gleaming under the cold light like surgical instruments.
Tonight, she had chosen her prey.
A man named Carl Mendoza. His mugshot had been plastered across the evening news weeks ago, tied to the disappearance of two teenage girls. No conviction yet—"not enough evidence," the anchor said. He had slipped free, grinning like the system itself was his accomplice.
But Olivia wasn't bound by evidence. She had her own rules.
And predators didn't ask permission to hunt.
---
The warehouse on Alameda Street was abandoned, at least on paper. But Olivia knew Carl used it to stash stolen cars and whatever else he trafficked in. She had been watching him for three nights, patient, hidden in alleys and rooftops like a shadow. She knew his routine—when he smoked, when he laughed too loudly with his crew, when he left himself alone.
That was when she struck.
The sound of her boots echoed faintly as she crossed the warehouse floor, mask gleaming under the weak light of a broken lamp. Carl looked up from the trunk of a stripped car, cigarette dangling from his lips. He froze.
"The f***…?" he muttered.
The distorted static of her mask's voice filled the air, playful, childish—yet hollow.
"Knock, knock."
Carl frowned, throwing his cigarette aside. "Yo, whoever you are, Halloween ain't till October. Get the hell outta here before I—"
The taser cracked.
Carl convulsed, falling back against the car with a strangled yell. Olivia moved fast, zip ties snapping tight around his wrists before he could recover. The knife gleamed as she pressed it lightly against his throat.
"Bad boy," she cooed through the static. "You like taking girls, don't you? Let's see how it feels to be taken."
His eyes widened, fear surging into rage. "You crazy b****, you don't know who I am!"
She tilted her head, mask smiling. "I know exactly who you are. You're prey."
---
The warehouse echoed with his screams.
Olivia worked methodically, her knife carving through flesh with precision that was almost surgical. She didn't just stab; she played. Shallow cuts first, painting his arms red, tracing shapes across his skin like an artist sketching on canvas. She whispered in his ear through the mask, letting the distorted giggle warp into something inhuman.
Every time he begged, she cut deeper.
Every time he cursed her, she laughed.
Carl's blood pooled beneath the stripped car, dripping in slow, rhythmic beats onto the concrete. The metallic tang filled the air, mixing with the static hum of her mask. His body jerked weakly as she drove the serrated edge across his chest, splitting skin and muscle, letting him feel every moment of it.
When his voice finally broke into ragged sobs, Olivia leaned close, her mask inches from his face.
"This city saves people like you. But me? I'm the one who ends you."
And with one clean thrust, she slid the knife up under his ribs and twisted. His breath hitched, eyes rolling back, a wet gurgle escaping his lips. She held him there until the light drained from his gaze, until Carl Mendoza was no longer a predator, but just another corpse in the sprawl of Los Angeles.
---
By the time she left the warehouse, the mask was splattered crimson, streaks of blood glinting in the moonlight. She felt alive. Powerful.
The sirens in the distance were for someone else tonight.
She had hunted, and she had won.
And Vanny had only just begun.