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If killing was an art, I'd be the Picasso of my generation.

My murders were executed to perfection. They were bloody masterpieces, raw depictions of how brutal humans can be to other humans. Sometimes, for no particular reason at all.

I've long lost hope in the kindness of the human spirit. Not that I ever had that much of it to begin with. I've seen it wither in my own soul and it made me realise something. The good nature of humans is like a head of lettuce. If it's not watered with love and gratitude, it slowly rots away and dies.

You think to yourself: I'm a normal human. I could never kill another human being. Then you do it for the first time, the second time, the third and it becomes as natural as brushing your teeth.

Most of the time, I feel nothing. Only with freshly spilled blood on my fingertips, my heart races and I am reminded that I am a human and I am alive. But the feeling never lasts for long and soon, I go back to being another ghost in the empty neon world that is Hong Kong.

Smoke was rising from my cigarette and floating around the dark apartment. The television was playing somewhere in the background and a reporter was talking about the recent rise of gang violence in Hong Kong. I was comfortably sitting on a dead body, listening to the static noise that was cutting through the news broadcast and absent-mindedly flicking a flame on my lighter.

Every now and then, I ashed my cigarette into the victim's throat, while blood slowly flowed out of his wounds and seeped into the cracks on the wooden flooring. As if the dead body could judge my vile actions, I already gauged his eyes out and put them in the half-empty jar of olives that I found in the fridge. They would be a nice surprise for someone to find in the future.

My face was adorned by the victim's thick glasses, but even with my blurred and deformed vision, I could clearly see the moment when Coop stopped on the doorway, saw me and realised that he fucked up.

'' You are finally here! I was beginning to wonder if you had an epiphany in jail and chose to walk the path to redemption! I'm glad to see that I was wrong and you're still a vengeful piece of shit. To tell you the truth, I don't believe in the concept of forgiving and forgetting either. Not without setting things straight first. One way or another. ''

Coop's face was still bruised from his last fight in prison and his dark hair was tucked under a baseball cap. His fingers were trembling around a baseball bat, both from fear and exhilaration. He was looking forward to killing the guard that made his stay in prison into pure hell. It was the first thing on his list now that he was released back to freedom, three months early, for good behavior.

'' W-Who are you? ''

'' My father told me that his friend's son needs some guidance. By the looks of it - he was right. Were you really going to kill him with a baseball bat? That would be fun, but risky. Too risky. Unless you want to be back in jail by sunrise, '' I replied and tilted my head to the side. I circled around him and tried to form an opinion on what I was seeing. He blushed in embarrassment and uncomfortably shifted under my cold and calculating gaze. He didn't seem to remember that this wasn't the first time that we met. '' You want to know who I am? That's a bit complicated, but I'll give you the short answer. Tonight, I am Joy. ''

First, the name echoes. Then it sinks in. Then it brings fear.

Coop's nervous eyes clearly showed that he had heard my name before. '' People say that you're evil. ''

'' I can be, '' I replied and shrugged my shoulders in indifference. '' I like to be. But we aren't here to talk about me, no matter how much my narcissistic ass would love it if we were. My father is good friends with yours. They are stuck in the same prison. He asked me to make sure that you won't join them there. ''