It was the night of the first kill. I was staggering back from it, on a delirious high-like feeling that eased in and out like the ripples of the retention pond the body was dumped in.

I get home and promptly vomit in the waste basket. I don’t know what did it, it just happened. I think it might have been the sheer newness of the…experience.

I remember the feel of the button against my hand, the first prototype. It had a few malfunctions, but it worked. Oh, how beautiful it was to watch, I tell you. The high, keening wail – I couldn’t hear it of course – and the sudden thud of the body hitting the floor or jumping through the window or something like that.

It was simply joyful.

And I knew I was addicted, and that the plan I had was a good one.