[ARCHIVE: 162604.7.5.553. Recorder: TAV-72098 (Model: 290).]

My name is Detective John Pearson, it is Fifth of Seventh, 553, and I am joined by –


Sarah [REDACTED], interrogation room 4 of the Tulson Police Department. It is currently 4:26 pm. [REDACTED] walked into our precinct at approximately 3:57 pm with ripped clothes, frazed hair, and a look of pure terror. She requested that she be handcuffed and brought to an interrogation room for confession. Could you explain to me what’s going on, Ms. [REDACTED]?

I’m here… I’m here because I want to confess to the several murders I committed for the past few years.

(silence) Excuse me?

Pl- please… please don’t make me repeat myself.

(silence) For the record, per regulation, we did not handcuff Ms. [REDACTED]. I am making the decision to handcuff her now. (clicks of a handcuff) Sarah [REDACTED], you have the right to remain silent, anything you say-

Please, Detective Pearson. I’m going to need you to take me to jail. Put me in solitary confinement where I can’t hurt anyone else. No more. Please, detective. Better yet, just give me the death sentence. I can’t fucking live like this anymore! (loud sobs)

(over the sound of crying) [REDACTED], please calm down. Please. Just tell us what happened. Is someone forcing you to make this confession?

No, detective. You don’t understand. Just you standing in this room is enough.

Enough? Enough what?

Enough for me to want to take a bite out of your neck.


(sigh) You know, that feels as weird for me to say as it is to hear. It’s hard to resist that pulsation I smell, even from this distance. Either you need to get out of this room, or stand as far away from me as possible.

(sound of steps being made closer to the mic) Okay, we are now effectively as far as possible. Will you please now tell me what’s going on?

I am not sure if it’s good enough, but… (unintelligible)


Fuck it. I’m going to try my damnedest to keep sane.

Ms. [REDACTED], please keep your profanity to a minimum. You’re on tape.

I don’t fucking care, detective. It’s better that I go to jail anyways.

(silence) You don’t seriously believe that? I mean, we don’t really have anything we can put you in jail for, besides your confession to crimes that we have no other evidence for. And even if that’s the case this kind of confession, I believe, don’t hold much power in court.

I see what you’re trying to do. And I won’t say it’s not clever, but it’s not going to work. I only want to go to jail because I want to stop hurting people; not because I’m poor or need food. I…

Look, you want to know so bad? Let’s start at the beginning. Trouble is, I don’t even remember where the beginning is. I mean, I don’t even know where to start. I think it all began when my dad died, when I was in my early twenties. I just had my 20th birthday, and a few months later, well, he was dead. That was when it started.

I started getting really hungry and thirsty after about two weeks. No matter how much I eat, or drink, the sensation never went away. It was as if I needed something else, but the feeling was the same. And I’m not talking about just hunger. I’m talking about fucking starvation. That feeling of your stomach acid starting to crawl up the food pipe to slowly spill over into your mouth, that feeling of your throat burning like you drank bad vodka, that feeling of your lips being so perched you feel like you could sand down woodwork with it, all of that was happening at once. It lasted for a day. Then the next day. Imagine how I felt, not being able to explain to my still grieving mom that I was hungry and thirsty as all hell even though I just ate a buffet of a dinner!

And you know, regular hunger – they come in waves, right? Intervals of pangs to the stomach, like a pulse. But this was different. It was constant. I was hungry and thirsty and terrified.

Ms. [REDACTED], I don’t see how this relates to –

I told you I’d confess everything, and I intend on it.

Anyways, while I was suffering from this intense hunger, I grew weaker and weaker. It must’ve been very noticeable, because I still remember that one of my friends asked if I was doing alright, because I looked like a fucking corpse. Then one day, as I was chopping some stuff up to cook, the knife slipped and it opened a gash on my finger. As an instant reaction, I stuck the finger in my mouth and started sucking, you know, to stop the bleeding and all that.

But fuck, did that blood taste good. It tasted like chocolate. Sweet, sweet chocolate. And it wasn’t just chocolate, it was something else too – something almost creamy. You know what? If you starved for two and a half weeks and suddenly you come across anything edible, that shit’s going to be heavenly.

And unconsciously, I started biting on my finger. I didn’t want that blood to stop. I needed it. I needed it so badly and… well…

(sounds of clutter) Ide-fucking-dammit!

Yeah. Never went to a hospital. Never did anything but just slap a bandage on top in case I needed more. I’m kind of used to the sight of it, now, but… but I can understand why you’re so upset.

So that’s it? You started craving blood? That’s why you want to go to jail? Why didn’t you just try drinking animal blood?

I’m not an idiot, detective. I tried everything – from blood of primates to artificial blood. Nothing was quite the same as actual human blood. You know, I asked my close friend, who’s a scientist with a Manipulation training, to help make something as close to human blood as possible. Still didn’t work. Something about a fresh human blood from a live human being…

And it became more and more frequent, like a drug…

So how many did you kill?

I don’t even know anymore.

Where are the bodies?

Ate them all. I think they were the best meal I’ve ever had.


But I need this to stop. It’s like… an addiction. And I’m reaching out for help.

Why didn’t you go to a therapist or something?

You think they would believe me? Ever since that law passed about no Reader being allowed to become a therapist, I…

And I was also afraid that if a Reader syncs with me, they would start feeling the craving too. I’m scared that it might be… it might be contagious.

Why would you ever think that?

Well, because… I was a Reader too. Before the funeral. Ever since the funeral, I think someone synced with me without my permission, and…

So you’re a victim?

Still a murderer. Detective, what more must I tell you before you can send me to jail? Because my stomach is starting to growl. And I don’t think I’ll be able to contain myself for any longer.

It’s like… now I can sense people just by the smell of blood in the air. I can smell it. I can almost taste it. Your blood circulating your body, the beating of your heart… I can hear it all. I can sense it all. You’re dangling a fucking piece of cake in front of me and you – you shouldn’t expect me to not go for it.

Please hurry.

You must’ve left some evidence. Who’d you kill? How? Where? Details, Ms. [REDACTED]. You’re the most cooperative serial killer we’ve ever had, but we still need some solid, non-testimonial evidence.

Clear the room.


Clear the fucking room! I can’t take it anymore! (loud bangs, unintelligible screams) Get the fuck out! I! I NEED! BLOOD! (loud thuds, sharp snaps of a metallic chain)

Ms. [REDACTED]! Please try to – oh my fucking ide – stop Ms. [REDACTED]! YOU’RE GOING TO RIP YOUR HAND OFF!

(unintelligible screams)


(a loud snap, loud noises)

(unintelligible screams, gunshot) FUCK! [over coms: PEARSON! ARE YOU OKAY?] I’m alright! I’m alright. Can’t say the same for her, though.

(the howls and barks of a wild dog)

For the record, I shot her in the abdomen… she’s gulping up her own blood. (gagging noises) This is fucking insane. [over coms: ARE WE -] Hold on, stop the recording.



“According to Detective Pearson, soon after the gunshot, Sarah fainted. Detective Pearson had served as the detective for more than two decades, but this was the first time he had to shoot someone inside of an interrogation room. However, due to there being a significant threat of bodily harm for both the interrogated and the interrogator, the gunshot was justified.

The recording was archived as a prime example of how to handle an interrogation when it goes wrong, highlighting the detective’s admirable behavior to resort to violence only as the very last course of action.

However, upon closer investigation, it was found that the murders Sarah admitted to were never discovered. While being treated at an undisclosed hospital, Sarah allegedly gave the details of her victims and the methods she used to murder. However, none of the details were connected back to her personally, but rather were connected to murders of previous serial killers, with the details of these murders already broadcasted.

The police believe that Sarah’s confessions derived from a delusion that took into account these broadcasted details of past serial killers. What caused the hysteria and this dangerous encounter may never be known.

Up next, a locked room mystery is confusing detectives…”



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