The little bell chimed as the door opened, another pair of soaked boots finding its way out of the rainy city streets and into the balmy refuge of the "Strawberries & Cream" café. The new arrival was instantly greeted by the warm lights and the permeating aroma of coffee, accompanied by the soothing jazz music on the speakers. Usually, the ambience like this would put her at ease, but she wasn't here to rest.

The newcomer took her hood off and took a quick, but careful look around. At the far end of the café, a lone man was reading a newspaper. Although his back was turned to the door and she couldn't see his face, the woman instantly recognized him. Leaving her coat on, she made her way to his table and sat down without a word. A half-empty cup of coffee and a plate littered with crumbs rested on it.

"Terrible weather, isn't it?" The man said with utmost calm, his face hidden behind the newspaper. "They say the rain is going to get even heavier next week... Ah, but you're not here to talk weather with an old geezer now, are you?"

He put the newspaper aside, revealing his weary, wrinkled face, and took a sip of his coffee as he looked at the woman in front of him. His eyes were met with the stare of the void as a pair of dark-lens round sunglasses hid the eyes of the woman entirely. Her skin was of a fair tone, with freckles and wrinkles covering a good part of her face, and her long red hair fell freely on her shoulders.

He sighed. "And here I thought they've caught you. Well, if you are here, then I guess that you know who I am. Though I can't help but notice that in person you look way different than on your mugshot."

"People change."

"We both know they don't, especially people like us."

"I have nothing in common with you."

"Oh don't bullshit me. I am old but I am sure as hell not senile."

"You're a–"

"Can I get you anything, Miss, Mister?" A waitress stood by the table with a polite smile on her lips. The worried look in her eyes, though, betrayed the fact that she overheard some of their conversation.

"Oh, could I get another cup of coffee, please?" The man replied with the deceiving warmth in his voice.

"Glass of water. With ice." The woman said , not taking her eyes off the man in front of her.

The waitress nodded, scribbled something on her notepad, took the empty cup and plate and scurried away.

"Oh, you should've asked for their strawberry pie. It's the best thing they've got here."

"Some other time."

"Suit yourself. Anyways, what were we talking about? Ah, yes, our differences. You see, I think you're full of shit."

The man leaned in and continued in lowered voice, the warmth in his voice replaced by something cold and sinister.

"You and I are the same. No matter how hard you try to deny it or how many excuses you come up with, you're a cold-blooded killer, the same as I."

"You're a rapist and a murderer. I am nothing like you."

"Sure," he scoffed, "you think killing people like me makes you better? You think it doesn't count, doesn't change you? Let me give you some advice, lady."

"Your coffee, Mister..." The waitress returned and placed a new cup of coffee on the table. "...and your water, Miss." She placed a glass of water in front of the woman and winked at her. The man didn't seem to notice that.

"Thank you, my dear." The man replied, his voice full of warmth and care again.

"Thanks." The woman nodded.

"Enjoy!" The waitress said with a smile and left the two to their conversation. Once she was gone, the man continued.

"Every time you kill somebody," he took a careful sip of his still hot coffee, "their face gets ingrained in your memory. Every time you wake, eat, work, fuck, read the news, watch TV, stand in the commute, spend time with your loved ones, your kids, your friends, and so on and so on – their faces are right there, in front of you, looking at you with that dread in their eyes. They plead, cry, and scream right into your ears, no matter how hard you try to push them back."

"You're not listening to me, old man. I'm killing monsters, not people. Nothing you say will save you from what's coming to you."

The man chuckled and took another sip of the coffee, looking at the woman in front of him with an amused glint in his eyes. "The youth, always hasty with their assumptions. I'm not telling you this to save myself – I always knew that, sooner or later, someone's bound to cut me down. I'm telling you this to stop you from making the same mistake I did. I'm trying to save you from yourself.

"Hide your eyes all you want but I can still see into your soul, into who you really are, not who you pretend to be. So tell me, detective, do you really want to go down this path? Don't you remember how it turned out for her?"

For a moment, a frown appeared on the woman's face, but she shook it off almost immediately. Then, she got up, approached the man, put her hand on his shoulder and whispered into his ear.

"I'm already walking this path. Enjoy your coffee."

She patted the man on the shoulder and made her way to the café's front desk. She reached into her coat's inner pocket, took out a 100 dollar note from her wallet and put it in the tip jar. Behind the desk stood the same waitress who was serving their table, smiling politely. The woman returned the smile before turning to leave the café.

As the little bell chimed, the man at the far end of the café began coughing.

It was a dreary, cold day in February when the two men met for brunch at Sal’s Taste of Heaven on the outskirts of Mortis, Idaho. The diner was located just off the Interstate at the end of an exit. Written high in the sky for all to see and illuminated each night by bright lights was a large billboard. “Hungry? Make Sal’s your final destination. We promise heavenly delight with every bite or your money back”. Unbeknownst to the travelers who stopped for a quick, hot meal, there was a double meaning inscribed in those words. The bitter irony was not lost on the two men just taking their seats that day.

Slowly and methodically, each man removed his gloves and nonchalantly surveyed the room while making meticulous mental notes of the other patrons. Neither man’s face revealed the horrid history imbedded behind the facades. To the casual observer, these were merely two good friends, meeting to shoot the breeze while also enjoying a quick meal.

After long uninterrupted minutes, Derrick finally turned his attention to the man seated across the table from him. “How’s it been going, Frank? Been busy?”

Frank settled himself more comfortably, leaning back in his seat and draping his right arm over the back of the vacant seat next to him before looking up at Derrick.

“Can’t complain. You know how much I enjoy the graveyard shift,” Frank said, his brown eyes turning coal black at the thoughts evoked by his response. “How about you? Any luck on the hunt for a new job these days?”

Derrick leaned forward, clasped his rough hands together on the table in front of him, and gave Frank a wry smile. “You know me, Franko. I can find a job – or two – or three – even in the midst of a hiring freeze. Not to brag but just last month, I had two big ones.” He leaned back in his seat and raised a hand to smooth back his hair, as though well-impressed by his declaration. “And I can assure you I reaped the rewards, my friend,” he added with relish.

Frank gave a laugh that sounded more like a snort of disbelief.

“Ah well, that’s good. I’m glad business is booming.” As if completely unimpressed, he slowly examined the nails on his right hand as he spoke. Once satisfied the nails were free of dirt, he looked up to lock cold, blue eyes with Derrick. “Just be sure you aren’t shopping around for work on my side of town. I can’t have anyone confusing my art work with yours.”

“No worries,” Derrick said with a forced smile. “I know my place.” He longed to smack the shit out of Frank. Such a smug bastard.

The waitress, Eunice, approached the table and without making eye contact with either man, she asked, “What will it be today guys?” She pressed her pen against the small pad, ready to write down their orders.

“My usual, Eunice. A bacon, egg, and cheese sandwich with hashbrowns and a coffee,” Derrick said, his gaze never leaving Frank.

“I’ll have the fried chicken and waffle plate with your world famous funeral potatoes and a cup of black coffee, please, Miss Eunice,” Frank said with concentrated effort in an attempt to secure a glance from the woman standing by their table who never, ever gave them a second glance.

Eunice didn’t miss a beat this time either and continued to chomp her gum, the sound of her jaw popping repeatedly as she turned and headed back to the kitchen. Despite the obvious differences – and preferences - of the two men seated at the table, they both watched her departure with ever observant eyes.

“If I wasn’t so picky, I might be tempted to silence that gum chomping bitch for good,” Frank said with a derisive snarl. “Every damn time….”

“Well, Holy Moly, but aren’t you just the patron saint of our profession?” Derrick laughed and shook his head. “You’re always so bothered by the little things, aren’t you, Franko? Well, just you be sure you don’t forget we agreed not to mix business with pleasure. After all, it would be difficult to find another ideal location for our office meetings.”

“Yeah, I know. Got to let it go,” Frank acknowledged. "At least Eunice is clueless. Hell, I don’t think she knows what we look like even though we’ve been coming here every month for the last seven years,” Frank said.

“Yep,” Derrick agreed, his eyes finding Eunice two tables over. “Still, I’ve got to admit, it is rather tempting……”

Just as promised, the food was served hot and quick minutes later and the two men turned their attention from the waitress to their food.

Holding his sandwich in his right hand, Derrick wiped his mouth with his left, and paused to ask a question. “You wouldn’t happen to have any new pics I could see, would you Franko?”

Clearly irritated, Frank set his drumstick back on the plate and used his napkin to slowly wipe his mouth. He studied Derrick before responding, wondering how the man seated in front of him did what he did and managed to elude the authorities. “You know I don’t ever take pictures while on a job.” He lowered his voice a bit and then added, “No one would call you stupid if you followed my lead.”

Derrick covertly glanced around the diner and then leaned over the table, lowering his voice to a mere whisper. His eyes glowed with excitement and boastfulness, evidencing the thrill to be found in his forthcoming statement. “Well, Franko, the job turned out to be so sweet and damn good last time, I couldn’t resist. Would you like to see?” He tapped the cellphone with his index finger, eager to share his glory.

“Shit!” The word left Frank’s mouth in a soft hiss. Still, despite his irritation with Derrick, Frank couldn’t stem the excitement that coursed through his body at the man’s words. He pondered the possibility behind the offer for only a few seconds. It wouldn’t be like he was viewing photos on his own computer or leaving an evidence trail. Why not enjoy the beauty at someone else’s expense and risk? He just prayed Derrick’s stupidity would not lead back to him when the man was caught, because there was little doubt he would be caught - it was just a question of when. Derrick was a fucking idiot, after all.

“Okay, maybe not….,” Derrick said with a shrug and a sly smile as he reached for his cellphone.

Frank’s hand quickly landed atop the cellphone to halt him. He looked around the room. There was no one seated nearby, so he could definitely take advantage of the opportunity. He looked up and smiled at Derrick, managing a bit of an evil laugh, much like the Joker would. “Hold on there, good buddy. I never said ‘no’, did I? I’d be happy to critique your work.”

Derrick straightened in his seat, clearly self-impressed by his handy work. He slid the phone over to Frank. “Flip it over whenever you’re ready. I’m confidant you won’t be disappointed.”

Casually, Frank picked up his drumstick and began to eat again, attempting to appear as if everything was perfectly normal. He glanced around to ensure his privacy, moved the phone to the side of the table by the wall, and then turned it over. With the first picture, he nearly forgot to breathe. No, he was certainly not disappointed. Scrolling slowly through the gruesome pictures of Derrick’s last job, a raw hunger for something that did not resemble food began to eat away at him. Despite the bond that held the two men together, he couldn’t stand Derrick. Still, looking at these photos, he had to admit the man had a technique - an expertise that Frank had not expected. Transfixed by the sordid photos, he didn’t realize he had completely cleaned the drumstick and was still gnawing on the meatless bone.

“You like all your bones that clean, Franko?” Derrick taunted. Finished with his own meal, he leaned back in his seat and crossed his arms in front of him, a confidant swagger exhibited in every move he made. He knew exactly what Frank was thinking and what his body was feeling. Those things were all too familiar for him, too.

Frank looked up as Derrick’s irksome voice intruded into his slice of heaven. He quickly flipped the phone back over on the table. Irritated by more than what Derrick had said, he dropped the drumstick onto the empty plate and then wiped his mouth. Slowly, he took a swallow of steaming coffee before he nodded at Derrick. “I see you’re no novice.”

Derrick threw back his head and let out a big belly laugh. He picked up the phone and carefully pocketed it. “I guess that’s as close to a compliment as I’m going to get from you, Franko.”

Frank stared into his black coffee for a long minute before he looked back at Derrick. The look in his ice blue eyes would have sent a shudder down the spine of the devil himself. “I’ll admit your pics aren’t bad, Derrick, but maybe we should up the ante a bit. You know, challenge ourselves to strive for something even greater. I’m wondering which of us could be the most creative or have the highest number of jobs this month. It could be interesting, that's for sure. Loser would end up having to pay for brunch for the next year.”

Derrick’s face displayed a smile as old as time, first born in the Garden of Eden. He reached out to shake Frank’s hand, accepting the gauntlet, thoroughly convinced of his own freakish abilities. “This means you’ll have to bring proof of your work next time. I’ll look forward to it.”

Reluctant and yet overwhelmed with a desire to knock Derrick off his high horse, Frank accepted the outstretched hand, squeezing it hard to seal the deal. “Great. Feel free to leave first and don’t forget your phone. I’ll pay the bill today since I know you’ll be the one buying next month.”

“Time will tell because our finished work won’t be doing the talking, that’s for sure,” Derrick gave a snort, pushed his plate to the center of the table, rose, and left without looking back.

Frank watched Derrick leave, exhaling a pent up, deep-seated sigh, fueled by a mixture of irritation and frustration. What had he just done by initiating a war of death? Still, he knew he was up to the challenge. He glanced down at his hands, clasping them together tightly to keep them from shaking. Those damn alluring, beautiful pictures. His gut had been ablaze with a growing fire ever since he’d seen them. He looked out the window and watched Derrick’s car leave a dust trail as he drove off and mentally cursed both Derrick and his photos.

Nervously, Frank’s leg shook repeatedly beneath the table as he turned and surveyed the nearly empty room. Brunch was over and the diner would be deserted until later that afternoon. He leaned back in his seat, closed his eyes, and took a deep breath, attempting to calm the anxiety and eagerness of his self-induced situation. He must fight for control. He was usually so calm and strategic, not making a careless move or exhibiting any real emotion, but the pictures, along with the proposed challenge, were rattling him. He felt famished, ready to ravish. He was infinitely hungry for the thrill of the hunt and the final satisfaction found in the act.

Slowly, Frank opened his eyes. His gaze immediately drifted across the room and fell on Eunice. She was removing her apron, putting on her coat, and grabbing her purse from beneath the register. Was she leaving? Bingo. He watched her exit the diner and then quickly rose from his seat, carelessly throwing a $50 bill on the table. With a surety of evil driven purpose, he moved toward the door, his eyes never leaving Eunice’s retreating figure.

Fortune was on his side today. While it was only noon, the day was young and the opportunities were ripe for the picking. Despite their so-called agreement, he knew Derrick would never know what he was about to do – the moron was as clueless as poor Eunice. Yes, he had a challenge to win, and there was no time to start winning like the present. Carpe diem.

"you never cease to surprise me, do you know that? i never thought you'd actually meet me here."

"and turn down some free blueberry pancakes? you must not know me very well at all then, little brother."

"oh please, of course you'd get the most childish thing on the menu. besides, i never said i was footing the bill."

"oh? i mean, it's not really a problem, is it? we could just light this whole place up once we're done, y'know, end things with a bang like the good old days."

"because theft is so below you you'd automatically resort to murder? please. plus, you know i've left that life behind me."

[laughter]

"i'd resort to murder, little brother, because it is fun, which is something you need to be reminded of. honestly, i've never seen someone with such a large stick up their- hi, darling, we'll get two plates of blueberry pancakes and the sweetest coffee on the menu. yeah, that'll be it. big guy over there's paying today so i'm gonna eat good!"

[pause as the waitress leaves]

"i'm not paying."

"ha! you will if you know what's good for her. matter of fact, you will if you know what's good for everyone in this restaurant right now. it'd be such a shame if the whole thing went up in flames, now wouldn't it?"

"i came here to talk you out of all this, jeremiah. after all this time, you're still right where i left you, a pawn in dad's game. aren't you tired of all the killing? after everything that happened with susana, i thought you'd be-"

"big words! didn't know you could speak this much in one go, color me impressed!"

"i can get you out of it. i have the resources now, you can join me and have a fresh start. what-what you're doing is wrong, jeremiah. you know it, susana knew it-"

"i don't know what you're talking about. susana died because she defected, the same way you should've died three years ago. if our father knew where i was right now, there'd be a bullet in your head, and that would be a mercy compared to what he'd want to do to you. you're fucking lucky i didn't rat you out, do you realize that? there is no starting fresh for us. you think you can just ignore your past? ignore everything that the midnight reaper did? you were almost as vicious as i was, little brother. all throughout the city, people would whisper about you in awe and fear. you don't get a fresh start just because you grew a guilty fucking conscience. you still killed upwards of 600 people, and you can never outrun that. i know you still hear their screams and their sobs, and even more, i know that you enjoyed ripping them apart. you're a fucking killer through and through as much as i am, as much as dad is. this heroics act is not only bullshit, its fucking pathetic."

"jeremiah. i-"

"thanks for the pancakes, dear! big guy over there's gonna give you a nice big tip for the stellar service you've provided, i just know it."

[silence]

"anyways, you've gone and pissed me off now so i'm gonna need you to try to convince me not to blow this place up as soon as i'm gone, preferably while you're still inside."

"you know you wouldn't. if you wanted me dead, dad would've been here by now."

"...fine, but that's not saving that lovely waitress of ours or the dozens of others in this stupid fucking brunch place, now is it? if you know me at all, you should know i came stocked, so..."

"jeremiah. i know you're upset. and that's fine. i'm not saying i'm fucking perfect, i know i'm fucked up. i know i'll have to atone for centuries before i can wash all the blood out of the past. but i'm trying. if i got you away from dad, i really think you'd be able to see-"

"ha! you want to get me away from dad. that's fucking rich. you never witnessed dad at anywhere near his worst, do you realize that? i made sure of that. i made sure he didn't beat the shit out of you until i was sure you can take it. i made sure you were able to make it out by keeping his attention on me, you massive fucking moron. i can't leave because he's got eyes on me constantly. i can't leave because if i do he's coming for your ass first to hit me where it hurts. don't talk to me about our dad because you don't even know him. not the way i did when we were kids, and not the way i do now."

[silence]

"i have the resources now-"

"your resources won't do shit to him. maybe you think they will based on the version of dad you knew, but they won't. by the way, are you finishing those? because if not i'm taking them. you have two seconds to decide, and... yup, they're mine now. fucking delicious."

"if my resources won't help then explain it to me. tell me what i'm missing and i'll find it."

"can't hear you over how fucking good these are. we should've gotten three plates, but oh well water under the bridge i guess."

"jeremiah."

"the coffee's kinda shit, but i guess i asked for the sweetest thing on the menu so that's on me. do you still hate coffee by the way?"

"i- i do, but back to the subject-"

"black tea, right? shoulda known. oh well, give me your shitty coffee too then. looks like this brunch is ending up as a feast for me on your dime, isn't it."

"what do i need to change before i can get you to agree with me? you need to give me something, i'm risking everything to meet with you right now and you're throwing that all away-"

"i didn't ask you to do any of this shit. don't try to guilt me for something that's not my fault. but anyways, duty calls and i have a detonation sight to check up on in an hour, so..."

"i just want to get you out of all this."

[pause]

"we both know there's no getting out of this. you might think you're out, but you're not. anyways, i wish i could say it's been fun but its actually been atrocious, so. hopefully this is the last time i'll see you little brother, i'd suggest you get out of this building in the next fifteen minutes, you never know what might happen."

i walked into the Cafe and smelled all the sweets and coffee and smiled at the delightful feeling from smells and sights. i sat down at a table and ordered a Mocha Frappe. As i sat and waited someone came over and sat in front of me. i looked up at the man and smiled. "hello" i said and sat up. i was about to play a little game called, "trust" heres how you play. you make the victim trust you, get a number, search the number and get a location and wait for the moment to pounce. or if they are to cute to kill...take them home! i looked up at him and observed him. "your beautiful" he said and leaned forward. i blushed not expecting this, "oh thank you" i said and looked to the side as i put some hair behind my ear. he made the first move for me. he took my hand, "wow, how beautiful. your skin is so soft.." he looked like he was lost in thought. i blushed more. "yknow..if i could get your number?" i smiled. "sure" i said and realized what he just did. i looked up at him and then looked back down at the paper while instead of my number i wrote. "i know your game. im playing the same thing sweetie" and slid it his way. he read it and smirked while he crumpled the paper and slid it into his pocket. "so, you figured me out. proud of yourself" i smirked and leaned forward while putting my chin on my hands and smiled, making my cleavage show a bit. "oh yes. im very proud of myself." i said and we got our coffees and i leaned back and took mine into my hands. he leaned forward and smirked. "yknow...if i could really get your number it would be nice." i smiled. "you gonna kill me.." he shook his head, "no but i might take you home" i smiled and wrote my number on his wrist and left my lipstick print on his wrist over the number. i got up and left with a smile.

Norman Morris always hated crowds. To be honest Norman didn't like crowds, because Norman did not like other humans very much at all. The only thing Norman liked about them was witnessing the life leaving their eyes as he killed them. Only then did Norman's whole body feel as if it had come alive, finally.

But that feeling only lasted for those few, precious seconds and then... nothing. Back to living in boredom and annoyance at the inconvenience of living around people.

He had never met another being quite like him. His family had long since paid the price of trying to paint their handsome son as normal to the outside world. Norman supposed carving out the intestines of their precious pets growing up was outside the realm of "normal."

However, being incredibly handsome did help with much of his masking. Pretty people seem to have an easier time getting what they wanted and Norman almost always got what he wanted. Which could be tiresome from time to time as Norman did like a challenge.

Speaking of a challenge, Norman's thoughts moved to the only news that had kept his mind consistently occupied since his last kill.

She was coming.

Norman has met many lunatics in his day, after being stuffed into an asylum when he was young around 10 years of age. He hasn't spoken to his mother and father since his release, not that they mind.

But she... she found him in a chat forum for Serial Killer fanatics. She seemed to understand what it meant to live with many masks.

And here she was.

"Are you Norman?" The mousy brunette asked in a clipped tone with her wool skirt and button up white shirt. She looked straight out of a library from the 50s.

"Yes, and you are...?" He had to be sure she was the right person.

Her eyes seemed to narrow and a spark filled her hazel eyes. The ones that looked full of boredom just moments before.

Interesting...

"Now, Norman, don't play coy with me. You know who I am."

"Ah, well Cassandra, I suppose I didn't expect such a beautiful woman such as yourself to meet with me in this drab diner."

"Tsk tsk Norman darling, you're trying too hard. You know what this little costume is really for. An unassuming woman asks for help with her groceries. Or helps a young lady find the right bar late at night when all the other men leer at her...Surely you must know..." She trails off and as she does she seems to lean in closer finally falling into the booth across from him.

It was a test. She was playing the part and gauging all of his expressions. Her eyes seemed to miss nothing.

To be fair, Norman was testing her too.

"I suppose, your real face will come out to play soon enough. In the forum, you were pretty quiet until I made comments on the "theoretical" ways to kill a man. Then out comes a young woman, with full knowledge comparable to a surgeon who happens to work at an insurance company."

"Hmmm," she draws out the 'hmm' almost seductively as she trailed her slender fingers along the silver chain necklace skimming her lovely collar bones, "you know how to get a woman worked up with such talk. Come now, you must have got the inkling of WHY I knew so much about... well." She trails off.

This felt like foreplay. A kind of foreplay Norman had never experienced with an actual living, breathing woman. Usually they were all but dead when he finally felt excited. Always a shame really.

Norman leaned closer, coffee had seemed to magically appear in their mugs. They had missed the waitress completely during their exchange.

This was a first for Norman as he usually missed nothing, one of his great traits especially when grooming a subject he had decided would be his next target.

Cassandra sighed in mock irritation, "If we keep testing each other like this we will never get to talk about the 'good stuff'".

"The 'good stuff'? Cassandra, whatever do you mean?" Norman said drawing out each word like linen on a clothesline, while drumming his fingers on the table until her cheeks seemed to flush from excitement. "How do I know you actually know anything about the art of hunting? I mean, how do I know you aren't just all talk?"

This seemed to invigorate and infuriate Cassandra all at once.

"How about I tell you a little story hmm?"

The waitress came back and asked for their orders, both gave them in blank, bored tones having glanced at the menu once. It seemed they both had the gift of a photographic memory.

"By all means..."

"Well, all fiction of course." She winks and dabs her mouth with her napkin daintily.

"Of course."

Cassandra dove into a story about what must've been about her younger self. Drawing out the theatrics of the study up on what kind of "hunter" she wanted to be and the fascination with human anatomy growing up. How excited she always felt when she saw a pool of blood leaking out of a dead body, when studying cadavers in her med school classes. How she never had met any other human being like her and how even after completing Med school she didn't pursue medicine because, as she puts it, she really wasn't in the business of "saving lives" as she was in "taking them".

Norman had never seen anything as beautiful as Cassandra talk about her first kills. He had never experienced such a kindred romance with another living being. Ever.

If Norman was capable of loving, he was sure that this would be it. They seemed to stare at each other for a long moment after she finished her "story".

"So," she paused looking at Normal expectantly, "real enough for you?"

Norman shook his head, while she frowned, he answered, "That was the most truth anyone has ever spoken to me. How about you and me go for a hunt?"

Norman, although not normal, was still good at masking as a gentleman and in this case, with a kindred spirit like Cassandra, it wasn't really a mask anymore. He paid the check and took her hand. They walked out of the diner smiling real smiles for the first time, possibly ever in their lives.

And if you must know what became of them...

the rest,

sadly,

is history.

Two serial killers sit down for brunch. They both eye the cutlery. Both are very distrustful. Both have no scruples, morals, or conscience. Both are opportunistic bastards, so they both smile when the only other table of patrons leaves the diner. Both eye each other.

Both are cold-blooded killers. Both are very hungry, but the only one who is a cannibal is hangry.