Grey crouched on the fire escape, watching the street below. His skull-like face tilted as he studied the patterns of movement. Some walked fast, eyes down. Others paused to check over their shoulders. He could read fear in the way people moved, smell it when they got close enough—sharp and metallic, like old coins. This territory would be his hunting ground. He would learn every hiding spot, every dead end, every place his prey might run. Soon, everyone here would know his name. Soon, they would all be afraid. But words meant nothing without proof. Grey dropped from the fire escape and walked until he found what he needed—an empty building with wide windows facing the street. He dragged his kills inside: a massive bear, teeth bared, and a wolf frozen mid-lunge. The taxidermist had done good work. Grey positioned them where the light would catch them best. He mounted a metal plaque between the bodies. The engraving read simple and direct: "Hunted by Grey." He stepped outside and looked at his display through the glass. The bear's claws stretched toward anyone who passed. The wolf's eyes seemed to follow movement. Tomorrow, the mice would walk by and see what he could do. They would know a real hunter lived here now. Fear needed something to look at. Now they had it.

Grey stood in front of his display window as dawn broke. The bear and wolf caught the morning light just right. People would see them soon. But watching wasn't enough—he needed to know if fear took root. He pulled a small notebook from his jacket and wrote the date at the top. Today he would track the mice. He would count how many stopped to look, how many crossed the street to avoid his building, how many pretended not to notice but walked faster. Numbers would tell him if his reputation had begun. A hunter needed to measure his effect on prey. By mid-morning, Grey had his answer. Seventeen people walked past. Twelve crossed to the other side before they reached his window. Three stopped to stare, then hurried away. Two didn't look at all, but their steps got faster. The fear was there, but it wasn't enough yet. He needed something fresh. Something that showed he hunted now, not just before. Grey went to the alley behind his building and built a sturdy wooden table. The red stains on its surface spoke clearly—this was where prey became trophies. He positioned it where people cutting through could see it. A workspace meant the hunter was active. Tomorrow he would bring back something new to process here. The mice would see the table first, smell the blood, and know he was still hunting.