Her name is Diana Marshall. She is dead and this is her story. 

14B Oxford Street was not one of the best places to be, but neither was it the worst. diana had lived on the fifth floor on block seventeen on that street. It was fifteen december nineteen ninety eight and she had just returned from an exhausting 10Km trek. Entering the shower for a relaxing steam bath, she switched on the steam and sat in the tube, stretching her sore limbs. Her eyes slowly closed as she took in the cordiality of the steam. Warmth entered into the pores of her skin, awakening her tired body and rejuvenating her mind. Only a thin glass separated her from the hustle and bustle of the city, yet forgetting all her worries she locked herself away from the world. 

Thud...Thud...someone walked into her room. Diana quickly got up and wiped the fogged glass door. All she could see was a black hooded figure disappearing into the depths of her room. Clutching onto the door handle she tried to nudge open the door of the washroom, but it did not budge as a crowbar jammed it. Not even pushing against it with the full weight of her body work. She was locked by the intruder. Trapped! Suddenly panic set in as a desperate cry for help escaped her lips. "Help! Somebody open the door!" She banged and kicked the door and screamed for help, but to no avail. There was nothing she could do. She was locked away from any help, any hope, as surely as could be. Meanwhile, the temperature of the bath was increasing with an alarming speed. Walking over to the steam system, Diana tried to switch the steam off, but the system declined her. The system was hacked and the screen simply stared back at her, helplessly, with the image of the steam level rising- fast. Seconds plodded by, each separated from the next by an eternity. 

It was not long before she felt a throbbing sensation in her throat. Her chest tightening as she desperately tried to take in gulps of air. Slowly, Diana's nostrils were filled with the hot steam, making the excruciating pain in her chest even worse. The air grew heavy, damp, almost solid as though she was breathing in bricks. She started to feel weak as her legs began to shiver and then, her trembling body collapsed on the floor. A single drop of grief swelled up from the corner of her eyes and suddenly, the dam broke! Hot torrents of grief coursed down her face. Just as soon as she thought that that was it, that she was going to die, the door flung open.

The black hooded figure was standing at the door, smirking.

" I am sorry. But i didn't mean to suffocate you like this in a bath. That would hardly be a fair way to die."

Looking up into the pitch black eyes, familiarity swept upon Diana. Eyes that she had seen so many times and yet had failed to recognise the hatred that gleamed in them! Her past sins, which were buried away by the power of money, rushed back into her mind, like a bullet train of thoughts. Diana realised, fearfully, that she was at the mercy of this man who was one of the million suffers of her crime.

She felt her body being lifted into the air as his fingers curled around her neck, grasping at her throat, leaving her without aire. Her eyes widened with fear, as small ragged gasps escaped her throat. She desperately tried to pry the fingers away, but she was soon losing consciousness. Her face began turning into a sickening blue, as her eyes started to close, She could feel her life slipping away. Her heart, which was once quickly beating, was now slowing in rhythm. Hands that had tried to pry the mans finger off, weakened. They fell off to her side as the energy and life escaped her. Within seconds, she fell to the ground- unconscious, dead. 

Her name was Diana Marshal. This is her story and this is how she died.