I’m Cole. I studied torture ever since I was 5. Kind of morbid, sure. Dad was a serial killer, and Mom was the cleaner. Well, was. They were both caught and executed via guillotine. I was sent to a mental institution.

They thought my parents were evil people. For me, they were heroes. Dad said that he would only kill the bad people and Mom would clean so he would not be the bad person. It’s been 2 decades since then. As thanks for teaching me, I continued Dad’s legacy. I killed for them. The only thing that changed is that, I killed whoever. More of a sport for me. It was a hobby. I went to school like any other person. I’m currently an intern in a police department.

“Hey, rookie.” That voice is so damn annoying. Every day I go to work Ian would always bother me.

“What is it?” I said with such an obvious shut-up look.

“Better fix your attitude before I fix it for you.”

He’s such an annoying person. The bad thing for him is that he annoyed the wrong person.

I waited till my work and his shift were over.

“You following me, rookie?” Ian asked with an annoyed glare.

I smiled.

The annoying person is now annoyed.

It was ironic. In my time of bliss, I stabbed him with my knife, 30 times. Heck, his guts even dropped out.

I didn’t even bother cleaning it up. Mom would not be proud that I did that. I did clean my knife and gloves. Actually, they’re more of bandages for my hands. I only wear gloves at work. My fingers were burned. That way there won’t be any evidence of fingerprints.

They found his body in the parking lot the next day. I should win an Oscar for my acting. No one even knew I killed him.

While they were busy with the case, I went out to eat at my cousin’s restaurant. They sell good food.

“Hey Cole, is Reimi going to visit?” They asked.

Reimi. My younger twin sister. After Mom and Dad’s execution, my aunt adopted Reimi. I was left behind because I resembled Dad too much. Funny, we were twins. We both look the same. Except she’s a girl and I’m a guy. Problem about Reimi, she’s far worse than me.

Only a matter of time before Auntie is killed.

No wonder Dad and Mom taught us a lot. We were both prodigies.

She should be visiting the States next month.

“Hey, cousin. If Reimi already arrived, tell her to visit us.” They said.

The rest of the family know about Dad and Mom’s execution, but not about our talent.

That’s how we stayed under the radar for 20 years.

I went back to work and finished another day. Crashed at my apartment and lied down. I looked at my family picture with a smile. That was the last time I ever saw the whole tree being happy. I saw a familiar face.

I called one of my cousins on my phone.

“Hey, tell Uncle Von to meet up at the restaurant tomorrow.”

Uncle Von, He’s Dad’s brother. They apparently made a prominent duo back in the day. They were called The Reapers of the States. He would aid Dad with getaways and clean up. Dad was a clean killer but messy when leaving.

There was a time where Dad was paid to kill people in a bar. It was a Friday. They called it The Cocktail Massacre. 24 killed and 40 wounded. No suspects, no evidence except the bullets. The Gun used was a Tommy gun. The Case folder is actually hanged in my department, it’s known as the solved unsolvable case.

There was a foreign case on my desk. It’s called “Puting Bulaklak.”

I asked around what it means, turns out it was Tagalog.

It meant White Flower. A murder of a young couple with a white flower surrounding them. They were both Filipino.

I scrounged up images about the Puting Bulaklak case.

It is what it was described. It happened a week ago.

I left early to visit the crime scene. In the evidence locker, it was said that the couple was strangled with a garrote.

I was curious about this. A garroting. A rare but efficient way of killing. Dad had 40 garrotes. He called it Replacements. They’d always get dirty and slippery with blood after use.

After use… 2 people killed with 1 garrote is plausible but it doesn’t add up.

I felt as if someone was watching me. I threw a knife at the feet of the people. I missed.

He stumbled and fell down.

“Why are you here?” I asked.

“Bitawan mo ako. Wala akong ginawa.” He said.

Sure enough, it was Tagalog. I brought him to the department for questioning. I, too was questioned by the Lieutenant.

He asked why I was in the crime scene. His voice was rugged and he had an eyepatch.

I explained the garrote and the person's hands.

“When he grabbed my hands, it was a tight grip,” I answered.

Choking someone with a garrote is tough if you have small hands. You need a tight and strong pull to choke them and cut through the skin. Only the guy had his throat cut. Signifying a crime of passion.

I worked through my day again. I went out to head home but the person I caught was released by bail. I was pissed.

The person went to a bar and celebrated being free. I waited for him to be drunk. Pulled him outside and stabbed him. Shattered a glass bottle and hit his head with it. Plucked out some glass and dripped it with citrus.

He’s shouts of agony was like music to me. I choked him by forcefully pushing a bottle down his throat.

I walked away and slept peacefully.

Someone knocked on my door and it was my sister, Reimi.

We hang out at our cousin’s restaurant. After that, we went out to do some business. We went to the department and randomly picked out suspects who are free by bail.

Reimi picked a girl who was here for plundering and trafficking.

I picked a man who was arrested for drunk driving and running over a person.

The person was one of my classmates in college.

It wasn’t personal. It was more of a sport.

These poor people won’t know what will hit them.

In the words of Tagalog.

“Darating ang kamatayan.”