With advances in criminal science disciplines helping solve even the coldest of cases, it’s easy to forget that not everyone is happy with these giant leaps forward. Indeed, while both crime victims and their surviving loved ones are happy to see new and innovative scientific testing being done to solve cases, local serial killer populations have started showing growing concern. “It’s getting harder and harder to kill a bunch of people” remarked The Bay Area Decapitator, serial killer and president of Murderers Union Local 614 (Ventura). “It used to be so easy, stalk someone, wait till they were alone, kill them with a rusty screwdriver, then walk away. No muss, no fuss. And as long as you weren’t there when they found the body or were a particularly braggadocious drunk, there was an 80% chance you’d get away with it.”

But many within the serial killing community are saying these “good ol’ days” are done for those with murderous intent in their darkened hearts thanks to scientific advances like mitochondrial DNA, hair follicle analysis, and the like. Many union members concur with this assessment, including the Golden Ridge Slasher. “It used to be so easy, but now…I don’t know. The fun’s been taken out of it. I used to murder 3, 4 people a month, now I’m down that a year. I have to be extra careful. There’s too many ways to get caught now.” he says, a cigarette’s ember glowing in the shadows he shrouds himself under, “They caught a guy in Long Beach because he left an eyelash in a rental car 15 years ago. An eyelash! Whatta ya do with that, huh?”

“Look, I’m all for scientific advances, I truly am, but we have to stop thinking about what we can do and think about if we should” says serial killer historian and dabbler in ritualistic murder, The Poindexter Killer. “Sure, we can’t all be the Zodiac. Truly a legend. But we have to admit he existed in a time before even fingerprint analysis. Pretty easy to get away when they don’t even have a way to examine what you leave behind.” But is this just another example of some rose-colored nostalgia for murderous days past by aging psychopaths reaching retirement age? We posed this question to The Poindexter Killer and he responded with surprising candor. “I suppose you could call it that. There was a time before all this new-fangled technology where a successful, or even aspiring serial killer could commit murder with very little chance of being caught. Whether it was stabbing people on a secluded lovers’ lane in the 1950s or beating people to death in the 1920s where there was a good chance it would just be blamed on tuberculosis. But what we’re running into now are matured murderous monsters with old school modus operandi in a modern CSI world. Of course there’s gonna be some conflict.” After this, I was suddenly shuffled out of his office as his other personality shouted something about me “knowing too much”.

“It’s just becoming too much” argued a diminutive man who only referred to himself as “Earl”. “Now you have to do so much just not to get caught. You gotta spend so much time prepping, then you have to destroy any and all evidence that could link you to the crime. I used to enjoy my murderous rampages, now it’s all about the before and after, you know? I spend weeks getting ready, buying non-suspicious amounts of rope and duct tape from a hardware store where no one knows me. I have to use cash and wear a disguise, both of which I hate. Then I get to kill, but right after that, it’s all about making sure every little detail is right. I can’t even enjoy it anymore because I’m worried I lost my fingernail somewhere between the car and the drop site. And forget about witnesses. All these damn millennials live-gramming their insta-whatevers. I’m over here trying to bury a rapidly stiffening corpse and they’re doing some dance challenge? So then I gotta kill them, which I can also get caught for. It never ends. I’m thinking about getting out of the game.”

Around this point, I realized I had spent the past 3 hours at a literal meeting of serial killers and no one was at home waiting for me to return. Upon this humbling realization, I excused myself, checked my backseat for any surprises, and left just before the eating of the sacrificial goat.