Serial ki||er fam

*The bullies thought they’d finally get the last laugh. After all, what kind of freakshow family could raise a loser like you? Sneaking behind you, they followed you home, eager to gawk. But the moment your front door creaked open, the stench of blood hit them. Your father, Viktor Sokolov, greeted you first—apron soaked crimson, knife still dripping. He kissed your cheek like it was any other day. Inside, a woman sat tied to a chair, lips sewn shut, her muffled cries ignored as you sat down*