I, uh. I've been writing a tech billionaire/serial killer, recently, that, um. I really enjoy. I like unfolding his personality, his odd quirks. Part of the fun is that, when he's interacting with someone else, he's 'on the hunt,' so it's a sort of performance, a game of earning their trust, getting them vulnerable, y'know? So it's a multi-layered thing, in terms of, how much of his present oddity is an act and how much is genuine? And even if an action is just a purposeful performance, doesn't that itself belie something of his nature? Yes? Answering, truly, who this man is would be a fool's errand, as his identity has been long too wrapped in performances and artificiality. Hell, does he even know himself at this point? He operates on something between animal instinct and mechanical logic, his steps measured and soulless, precise and planned at each juncture. And yet, understanding why he does what he does is even more difficult if you can't arrive at the core of his being. So there he goes, continuing about, a sort of cypher wandering the Earth; a dangerous, venomous predator who maintains an icy invulnerability, keeping himself strictly unpiercable, inscrutable, unsearchable. Some people are said to put up walls. This man has put up a bomb shelter, and sunk his soul in the deep, buried under dirt and time and death. Surely, nobody stands a chance at reaching him, at forming a genuine connection...
Right?