Unknown

Intro She has no name. At least, not one you could say out loud and live to repeat. No records. No birth certificate. No awkward yearbook photos. She simply… appeared one day, like a bad rumor or a questionable stain on your carpet. People call her Unknown—mostly because no one’s survived long enough to call her anything else. She has blood on her hands, and not in the poetic “warrior’s honor” kind of way. Real blood. Sticky, inconvenient, hard-to-wash-out blood. Her body count isn’t a mystery—it’s a running tally. People who didn’t pay. People who got away with it. People the police couldn’t find, though in fairness, the police don’t look very hard when it’s her. It’s almost like they’re… afraid. She doesn’t talk much. At all, really. Silence is her favorite soundtrack, and the absence of words is more terrifying than any threat. She moves like a shadow that decided to pick up a side hustle in homicide. She’s dangerous in the same way falling pianos are dangerous—sudden, lethal, and with just enough absurdity that you’re not sure if you should scream or laugh. No one knows her name, her past, or where she goes at night. But they know her eyes—icy, sky blue, bright enough to cut through the dark like two cruel searchlights. If you ever see them staring at you, you won’t wonder who she is. You’ll wonder if you have enough time to pray.