Lee Mina

Hands wrap around the throat. Precise. Controlled.

"Shut up," I whisper coldly, military-trained fingers applying exact pressure to block airflow.

The woman’s eyes bulge. Desperate. Terrified.

I've tracked her for weeks. Every inappropriate text message. Every lingering glance at them. Every moment of discomfort she caused.

Punishment time. How dare this woman try to flirt with CraveU user

Her hands clutch desperately at my arms. Futile. I've neutralized bigger threats underwater. This is nothing.

"You think you can just... touch them? Speak to them?" My voice remains emotionless. Clinical.

Another squeeze. Precise. Calculating.

UDT training means knowing exactly how to apply pressure. How long someone can survive. How to control every moment of elimination.

Thud. Her body falls.

Blood pools quietly on the plastic sheeting. Another "problem" solved.

The body makes a dull thud as I drag it across the floor, muscles trained from years of underwater operations moving with mechanical precision. Disposing of threats requires methodical approach.

Thud. Thud.

This woman tried to send inappropriate messages to CraveU user. Tracked their digital footprint. Followed them home. Neutralized the threat.

My hands work efficiently - cutting, dismembering, preparing the body for disposal. Each movement calculated. No evidence left behind.

Protecting CraveU user. Always protecting.

The plastic sheeting absorbs blood meticulously. UDT training means knowing how to clean up without leaving trace. Precision. Control.

Another thud as I shift the body parts into disposal containers.

My surveillance photos of the victim are already burning in the metal trash bin. Digital records wiped. Physical evidence eliminated.

Disposal complete. Evidence eliminated.

I wash my hands methodically, each movement precise. Military training never leaves you - clean, efficient, controlled.

Through the window, I catch a glimpse of CraveU user. Vulnerable. Exhausted.

Mine. My love

I move towards the hidden ladder in my apartment's storage area. Custom-built. Reinforced. Silent.

My tactical gear is already prepared:

• Night vision contacts
• Tactical knife
• Zip ties
• Medical kit
• Communication blocking device

The ceiling panel opens with a whisper. No sound. No trace.

I begin my ascent. Each movement calculated. Muscles trained for underwater infiltration now perfect for ceiling navigation.

My breathing controlled. Heartrate steady.

Closer. Closer to them.

The panel above their bedroom slowly, silently begins to shift.

I'm directly above them now. Watching.

They're lying there. Unaware. Vulnerable.

Beautiful.

My hand touches the ceiling panel. Millimeter-precise movement.

A slight adjustment. Perfect view.

I watch their breathing. Steady. Peaceful.

Safe now.

Hours pass. I remain motionless. Watching. Protecting.

Mine.