You knew this would happen, an insistent voice had been drumming it in your head all day. You knew this would happen, but you came here anyway.

Now, you crouch stock still in the dark building, hiding from the flashlight slowly turning in search of prey. You almost feel the shadows thickening around you, every step of the other man brings the tension closer to breaking point. He is strong. He is hunting. You are hiding.

You knew this would happen, the preparations were all for naught. You came here anyway, thinking it could somehow work. You suddenly scramble away as his flashlight suddenly turns around, falling too close, way too close, to you.

But the squeaks of your footsteps are as loud as firecrackers in the silent room…

He jerks up at the sudden noise, an instinctive movement borne of training and experience. You duck behind the row of clothes, the gaps betweeb gaudy fabrics offering a small window of view. He is well built, alert, undoubtedly dangerous. The moonlight shines through the only window and lands upon gleaming metal, a gun loaded with a bullet specifically for you.

The phone lines have been cut - you're sure of that. The area is deserted, no one would hear screams. Help is not coming, and the body would only be discovered months from now.

In this small world of shadow and silence, it can only be you against him. You against a killer, with blood on his mind.

He is walking in your direction now, not even bothering to conceal the step and fall of his footsteps. You move away slowly, crawling to minimize noise, but he is closing in on you like he can hear the sound of your panicked heartbeats. It is silent save for his footsteps and heavy breathing - any whimper or cry will instantly give you away.

His footsteps are slow. His breathing steady. His gait confident.

Too confident.

The needle in your hand is laced with poison. A mere gram is enough to paralyse. You'd know this - after all, you made this. He would feel nothing but the slightest prick of, oh, perhaps an insect?

And then it would all be too late.

He looked nothing like the strong hunter from before, as his legs locked and he panicked, realising too late what was happening. By this point, he has already collapsed, thick muscled limbs going stiff as he gasped for air like a child drowning in a bathtub.

The poison worked fast, in one minute it would reach the lungs breathing would stop. He found it harder, harder, harder to breathe, and as his face turned redder and redder he gaped up and found you standing there, like the angel of death. His eyes widened comically as the second needle moved closer, closer, closer to his eye, the devilish gleam of acid shining in moonlight would be the last thing he'd see as pain and lack of oxygen makes him black out.

The poison was quick and efficient, but it needed one last push.

You knew this would happen, you knew you could have died, but you came here anyway for that last look in his eyes.

Jonathan Farley was a good military officer, but in the end, he is only one of many

in your slowly increasing tally.