Name: Monika Gray(Left)
Age: 21
Description: See image. A hyperactive young woman, with child-like playfulness, although quite intelligent. She is also quite naive and trusting

Name: Jennifer Norton(Right)
Age: 22
Description: See image. More mature than Monika, but still hyperactive, especially when hanging around her. Jennifer is less trusting and very protective of her friend.

Type of Death: Murdered.
Scenario: Jennifer recently broke up with her boyfriend, and he decided to kill her. He stalked her as she walked to Monika's apartment to hangout. Though he holds no grudge against her friend, he grows impatient and decides to just kill them both.

>>5070

Early in the morning, closer to midnight than to dawn, on Christmas Eve, Steve Hanson waited in a snow-filled alleyway behind a strip joint called Bouncing Bunnies. He sat crouched behind a dumpster, shifting gaze from an old Honda to the backdoor of the strip joint. Waiting.

A metallic creak turned his gaze as a young woman with short blonde hair walked out into the could, towards the old Honda. Completely cloaked in darkness, obscured from the only source of light, a dim street lamp, he watched as she walked by with not even a hint that she might not be alone.

“Hey there!” Steve called out as he moved out from behind the dumpster.

The woman stopped in her tracks. She opened her mouth to speak then stopped when her eyes fell on Steve. Steve knew that she recognized him; as much as she could recognize a man who spent every evening for the last few months at the joint, and who sat quietly and alone at his table, scarfing down chicken tenders and downing it with beer, as he watched her and six other women dance around poles in skimpy bunny outfits. Though, judging by how she repeatedly opened her mouth and didn’t say anything, she probably never expected to meet him.

She finally spoke after staring at him for almost a whole minute. “Um… hey there, yourself,” she laughed weakly as she finished the last word. He continued to stare, not uttering a word. “So… uh, can I help you? My shift is over, but I can…,” Steve drew a gun from his coat jacket and her mouth just hung open.

“I just think it’d be kinda hot to see how your tits bounce when I shoot them.”

Her eyes widened and she stepped back. “Please, mister! I have a little girl at home who really needs her…,”

Multiple shots rang out. Six holes opened in the woman’s sweatshirt, ripping through her massive breasts and lodging in her lungs. She staggered back several feet before collapsing to the ground, clutching her breasts as blood gushed out, soaking into her sweatshirt and turning most of it from a light grey to a crimson red. Steve watched her tits rising and falling, contracting and expanding, as she thrashed about on the ground, and made raspy sounds as she attempted to draw breath. Thick clots of blood and screechy gurgling poured from her mouth as she tried to scream.

Steve aimed the gun, and fired continuously. Her breasts jiggled with each impact while her body jerked, as bullet after bullet ripped apart her lungs. The last one, fired straight between her tits, exploded her heart, and a fountain of blood shot up out of her mouth, and ran down her face like a waterfall.

His gun emptied, Steve placed it in his jacket and sat over the woman as her thrashing slowed and her body went limp, ready to bolt if he heard sirens. He stood over her until a dark spot appeared on the crotch of her sweatpants and a puddle of piss formed between her legs. Steve pulled a knife from his pocket and stuck it in her left thigh. He created a long cut, then two curved cuts connected to it, forming a scythe. Steve looked down at his handiwork as he scratched his chin, before pocketing the knife and pulling out his phone. He snapped a few photos of the corpse then ran off down the alleyway.

***

There was ten minutes left until Christmas. Steve Hanson sat on the bed in a fancy hotel room, watching the news. While other guests prepared to celebrate the holiday, Steve listened to a reporter interview a sobbing Cynthia Bell, on the brutal murder of her daughter, Sherry Bell, at the hands of what the media has dubbed the Northeast Reaper.

Steve shoveled extra salty chips into his mouth as some wannabe hard ass detective promised to bring him to justice. He chuckled and shut off the TV. He pulled out his phone and masturbated to Sherry’s corpse before going to sleep.

The next morning, using the Wi-Fi of a nearby McDonald’s, Steve found Sherry’s Facebook and sent the images to her friends and family, then dumped the phone into a trashcan along with a lit match.