Is he busy?"
"I don't know."
"Ask him."
"How?"
"Just text him."
"But… he's offline."
"Just leave him."
"Why?"
"Don't you see? He doesn't even think about you."
"He must be busy… or sleeping."
"Wow. What a lame excuse."
"That's not an excuse. He loves me. I know."
"Show me the proof."
"Proof…?"
"Yes. Show me one time he listened to you. One time he said 'yes' to what you wanted."
"…"
"Please… don't hurt yourself. Just leave him."
Suddenly, Emma jolted awake.
A cold sweat ran down her neck.
E: "What was that? Who was that woman? What was she saying?"
*Footsteps echoed... growing louder...*
*The door creaked open slowly...*
A figure stood in the darkness.
A glint of steel in hand.
A knife.
*SCREAMING.*
A few days later...
An old woman passed by Emma's house. Something felt… wrong.
A strange smell lingered in the air.
The front door was wide open.
She stepped inside.
Blood. Everywhere.
In panic, she dialed the police:
W: "Hello?! Please come quickly to Street 54. There's been a murder…"
*Police arrive. Officer Jack begins the investigation.*
J: "Ma'am, do you know whose house this is?"
W: "Yes… this is Emma's house. She's been missing for days. Such a sweet girl…"
Suddenly —
"Sir! Officer Jack! There's a body here!"
They rush to the scene.
A woman's body, face unrecognizable, hands pierced with nails…
The back brutally stabbed — **54 times.**
Jack whispers, "Who could do something so... monstrous?"
*The body is sent for lab testing.*
Results: **Emma.**
W: (crying) "She had no parents… we were her family…"
This wasn't just a murder.
It was the **50th case this year.**
Each victim… with a number carved into their hand.
Emma's hand: **50.**
Jack knew then:
This was the work of one person.
A serial killer.
But who?
Why?
And what had he just noticed in Emma's photo that shocked him?
Jack stared at the photograph of Emma, frozen in place. Something about her expression, her eyes, struck him in a way he couldn't explain.
A knot tightened in his chest. Without a second thought, he grabbed his coat and rushed out.
Emma's house was still swarming with investigators, yet no one had found a solid lead.
Jack walked through each room methodically, inspecting every detail — the broken glass in the kitchen, the untouched teacup in the living room, the torn curtain near the window. Nothing made sense.
Then he turned to the neighbors.
An elderly woman named Mrs. Watson came forward, her face pale and voice trembling.
> "Emma was such a kind girl," she said. "But she had been distant lately... I think it was because of Kim — her childhood friend. She loved him. Everyone around here knew."
Jack made a note.
Kim.
The name had come up before — but never like this.
He drove to Kim's house, hoping for answers.
But the house was empty.
Inside, chaos ruled. Furniture overturned. Papers scattered. A window cracked open.
Signs of a struggle.
Jack searched each room. Nothing.
Until he stepped outside into the backyard.
The ground was soft. Freshly dug soil clung to his boots.
Behind the house, he discovered something