William Clark frowned slightly. This ride-hailing app actually automatically displayed his full registered name to the driver, which made him feel a bit repulsed. Now, after releasing his pent-up emotions, he was much more clear-headed. He knew that tonight, the farther his name was from this place, the better.

“Yes, I’m here.”

William Clark replied, glancing at the time, pulling up the collar of his tracksuit, and putting on the hood at the back, hiding his entire face except for his eyes.

“Alright, I’ll be right there.”

The driver hung up, but William Clark’s eyes narrowed slightly.

During the call just now, the driver’s tone was very rushed. It wasn’t the kind of breathlessness from recent exercise, but rather the natural loss of control that comes after experiencing something terrifying.

After killing someone, the mind has already cooled down;

William Clark was now extremely sensitive.

Three minutes later, a black Audi pulled up.

The driver looked about thirty, his hair a bit messy, with bread crumbs on his clothes—a typical image of a private car owner driving late at night to make money. But William Clark saw through the window that there were several cigarette butts under the driver’s seat, still glowing faintly.

A private car owner, out working late at night, yet not caring for his car at all. Most people wouldn’t even smoke in their beloved car, let alone toss still-burning cigarette butts under the seat.

“Get in, young man.” The driver waved at William Clark with a smile.

William Clark nodded. Instead of getting in the back, he walked around the front and sat in the passenger seat.

“You have arrived at the designated location. The passenger is on board. Navigation will now begin.”

The driver started the car skillfully and handed over a pack of cigarettes.

“Want a smoke, buddy?”

William Clark shook his head and took out his own cigarettes.

“I have my own.”

“Mine’s just as good.” The driver was very enthusiastic.

“No need.”

“Come on, don’t be shy, have one, have one, have one, have one, have one!”

The driver’s tone started to get rushed, but he didn’t seem to realize his own loss of composure.

William Clark nodded, took a cigarette from the driver’s pack.

Only then did the driver happily turn his attention back to the road and continue driving.

The car radio was playing a late-night golden oldies program, with Teresa Teng’s “Sweet Honey.” But halfway through the song, static suddenly broke in.

[“Welcome to the horror radio show. I am your host. I have no name, because here, names have no meaning.”]

The driver slapped the display, “What kind of brainless crap is this, trying to fool kids.”

He tried to change the channel, but no matter how many times he tapped, the touchscreen didn’t respond at all, staying stuck on that station.

“Broken? Frozen?”

The driver muttered as he kept slapping the screen, even starting to punch it with his fist.

William Clark slowly pinched out his cigarette, while his other hand quietly gripped the knife in his pocket—the same one he’d just used to kill someone. This driver was clearly in a strange emotional state, which reminded him of himself the first time he killed someone—just like this.

“This is today’s ghost story. I hope the listeners will calm down and listen closely;

In a private car, there are two people, brought together by a ride-hailing app. The owner is a thirty-one-year-old man working in insurance, and the passenger in the front seat is a twenty-two-year-old college student.

There’s nothing unusual about this, right?

There are lots of people in insurance these days, and it’s a pretty easy job. Even if you don’t go out looking for clients, just checking in every day gets you a paycheck each month. Of course, if you don’t make any sales, it won’t be much, so this driver has to drive at night to supplement his income.

A college student—impressive, but not that special.

But here’s where the story takes a turn.

This driver just committed a hit-and-run. He just ran over a girl crossing the street and then drove off. Still shaken, he picked up this ride.”

The driver froze, staring at the touchscreen in disbelief, then slowly turned his head with difficulty to look at William Clark in the passenger seat.

From his pupils, William Clark saw shock, fear, and a deep, hidden hysteria.

The radio voice continued:

“And the college student in the passenger seat is a serial killer. He has to kill someone every so often to relieve the pressure building up inside him. Just now, in the restroom of a nightclub called ‘Passion Nightclub,’ he killed a female white-collar dancer.”

The driver immediately shrank against the car door, looking at William Clark as if he were a murderous demon.