Have you ever been to a political protest? A real one, I mean, not the Instagram ones. The kind where people are “vanished” by the “police”, and their loved ones have no idea what happened to them, until months or maybe years later their broken husk emerges somewhere?

I have- I have the good fortune to live in a country where such protests are not rare, a country so ravaged by the dark side that once in a while, whole cities seem to turn upside-down, shaking with anger and grief. You may have caught some footage on TV.

What you may not have realised is that such protests are also the perfect cover for serial killers.

Honestly, if you are a serial killer- and my impression from your media is that there are many of you in your peaceful lands, then I invite you to my country. You will not be disappointed. Apart from the amazing food, celebrated worldwide by globally-renown chefs, the magnificent landscape and architecture, the beautiful friendly people (oh those gorgeous girls and boys, strutting around with their flashing proud eyes and arched eyebrows), you will soon find you have the perfect opportunity to fulfill your darkest desires.

Picture this: hot city streets, filled with angry, tumultuous crowds. Police and not-Police in riot gear everywhere, pushing, beating, taking. You are there too. Are you a protestor? A plainclothes policeman or para-police? Who knows. You are one with the crowds.

I used to prefer abduction. I prowled among the crowd, once in a while a hoarse cry breaking from my lips which can be interpreted either way. I fix on my prey. Usually a woman- men are too much trouble although I have taken both. She might have a cloth tied around her mouth already, decorated with inspiring slogans- freedom, liberty, blah blah blah. Whatever, sister. All the better to strangle you with.

I keep my eyes on her. It is not easy, in this pulsing, shoving, crying brew of humanity, but it is enormous fun. Eventually, for a split second, she will be alone, fallen apart from her friends. And that is when I strike.

She is almost expecting to be taken, they never struggle much. And after I whisper threats into her ear, she keeps still enough. I hustle her into my car, parked nearby. I push her in, and render her unconscious. It will take hours to drive out of this gnarly traffic, and I don’t want her making any trouble.

By the time she comes to, she realises she would have been much better off with the police, or even the not-Police.

These days, I make the kill on site, at the protest. It is easier, and almost just as satisfying. Unfortunately it means I can’t play with them in my lair, but the last one gave me a lot of trouble- she was feistier than usual and threw herself out of my car. She died on impact, the whore.