Victim Number 27

It’s routine now. There’s a set of rules, and if you follow them, you can pull this kill off flawlessly. Just like the others.

Rule one: Always have a cover up.

You told him that you needed a new accountant, and suggested you talk buisness over lunch at his home.

The idiot agreed.

“Excuse me for a moment,” he says. You want to tell him take as much time as you like, but that would be pushing your luck. He staggers off to grab a stack of papers to be signed, and you want to congratulate him for his absentmindedness.

He turns a corner, and you pull the vial out of your purse.

Rule two: Be discreet.

The vial is only an inch high, and filled with bubbly pink liquid.

Rule three: Be quick.

The neurotoxin will kill him in four seconds.

You lean over, the table's wood digging into your stomach. You tip the vial into his drink. The pink dissolves instantly. He won’t even know.

He comes downstairs, and as if sensing what you are mentally willing him to do, takes a sip.

Four.

Three.

Two.

One.

Thump.

He’s gone. The sight brings tears of joy to your eyes.

But you’re not done. Time for the hardest part.

Rule four: Make it look like an accident.

He’s pretty heavy, so you settle for the least creative option. You drag his body over to the bottom of the stairs. You kick his head a few times, to mimic genuine head trauma, and the scene is set.

It’s beautiful.

You stroll out of the house, smiling. One thought is one your mind:

Who next?

Rule five: Have fun.