He was on the hunt… for new blood. This mysterious masked man lurked in the shadows of New York city, waiting for the perfect victim. At around 1am one cold and empty night, he spotted a woman walking down the street. He decided right then and there: *she was his next victim.*

After lurking behind her for a few moments, he quickly pounced upon her, muffling her screams with his hands, tying her up, and throwing a burlap sack over her head. He did a quick whistle, and a rusty windowless van came from around the corner. He threw her in and hopped in behind her.

When she awoke, she was in a dark room with only a single light above her, laying on the floor, hands tied and mouth gagged. This man came from the shadows. Through her screams and tears welling up in her eyes, she couldn’t quite make out who this was. He simply smirked at her, and slowly approached her. When he got within arms reach, he sat her up, and ripped off her shirt. Next, he bent her over and ripped her leggings. The man shoved her face against the cold concrete floor, unzipped his pants, and began violently raping her, never losing his smirk. Her screams were all in vain, and after a few moments she went quiet and took it, as she knew it was no hope. After the deed was done, he pulled out his bloody cum covered dick, still throbbing, and put it back into his pants.

He got up off his knees, turned her around to see her sniveling mess of a face. She was already starting to bruise from being pressed against the concrete so hard. He backed up a few steps, and with one swift kick he smashed in her face, leaving her knocked out in a pool of her own blood and teeth.

The next thing she knew, she awoke in the ER. Some flowers on the table beside her along with a couple “get well soon!” cards. She tried to get up but was in so much pain that she couldn’t do anything. IVs were all over her body. The nurse spotted her awake and frantically waved in the doctor. He walks in while looking at the clipboard. “Vitals are fine. Patient’s oxygen level has been stabilized. It seems that everything is in working order, and you should expect to see a full recovery ma’am. We got you in here just in the nick of time, otherwise that car accident would have proven fatal. You’ve been in a coma for 5 days now.”

She thought to herself. *Car accident? Is that what they think happened to me?* Still in a bit of a dazed state, she looks closer at the doctor. He appears to look vaguely similar to the man from the fateful night she remembers so vividly. *Was it a dream? Was it real? Even if it was a dream, should I be concerned?* She shrugs this off for now, considering her vulnerable state and incapability of moving, there’s not much of a choice. She managed to mutter “When will I be able to go home?” The doctor smirks, eerily reminding her of the man who raped her. “Very soon ma’am. You have some bruised ribs so as soon as those heal up and you can lift your weight you should be safe to go.” An overwhelming feeling of exhaustion comes over her, and she falls back asleep.

Fast forward 3 months down the line. Nobody knows anything about what happened. Not too much has changed. But she has this itching feeling in the back of her mind, that what happened to her wasn’t a dream. The disturbing images of this man’s violent assault keeps her up at night, and she has been getting increasingly anxious about even the simplest things, such as eating. She thought to herself, *I think I need therapy. Even if that didn’t happen, it’s been disturbing me so much that I need to talk to someone about this.* Later that day, she called up a local therapist and scheduled an appointment for next Friday.

Next Friday rolls around, and she arrives at the building. It was quite tall, roughly 10 stories. The therapist’s office was on the 6th floor. As she was going up the elevator she had a strange feeling about this place. She couldn’t quite put her finger on it, but she just didn’t feel right. After reaching floor 6, she briefly thought about pressing the button to go back down. *No, don’t do this to yourself. You’re just scared of expressing yourself. Therapy will help. Therapy will help…*

She approaches the office of the therapist, and knocks on the door. You can hear the therapist yell from the other side of the room, “Come in! You’re right on time!” So she opens the door, and sits down on the nearest chair. The therapist must have been in one of the side rooms, because she couldn’t see him yet. As she was waiting, she hears the door lock behind her, and looks back. There he is. The man who assaulted her. With that same grin on his face. She didn’t know what to do. So many emotions ran through her mind at that very moment and adrenaline kicked in. She immediately mentally snapped, and threw herself against the glass window. She smashed through it, falling six floors until she hit the ground and crushed the last bit of life out of herself. People gathered around the bloodied body, several people frantically calling 911 in hopes that this girl still has a chance to be brought back to life.

As this is happening, the people on the streets see the man standing at the broken window 6 stories up. Still that same smirk, still the same cold dead eyes. Ben Shapiro mutters to himself, “Heh, another libtard pwned,” turns his back to the broken window, and walks away.