In an abandoned warehouse a man or a demon stood over a computer, his fingers clacking away with speed at a keyboard. While a bleeding mutilated body of a man hung from a ceiling fan hook.
The state of the body was that of a dead person, but if one looked closely enough the body was still breathing. This was Kageoni standing over Scarface's computer, moving all the files from the laptop into a thin SD card.
The download progress is at 97%, a little more and I can leave. Scarface began muttering something under his breath, his voice too faint to hear. I stood up from the computer to get a better listen.
As I walked up to him, I could hear him mutter under his breath, "kill me please, just kill me". I stared at his pitiful state, No. Suffer for what you were about to do to this child and what you've done before.
I walked away, looking at his body. I had skinned his face making his name better suited for him. Leaving his muscles exposed to the elements, his mouth in a permanent smile. He had no hands as I removed it, starting from the distal interphalangeal joints.
I continued with his Proximal Interphalangeal Joints before ending at Metacarpophalangeal Joints. Each individually, one at a time for maximum pain. Slicing from the top of his palm, between where his fingers should have been.
Deeper. Past skin. Through the nerves. Down to the tendons till his wrist. Carving through, till the palm looked like a flower of flesh blooming. Then removing cleanly from his wrist. Doing the exact same to his feet.
For his wonderful urge to rape children I removed his testicles in a very clean art of castration. I followed up by shoving a barbed bat I found in his office up his behind.
Finishing it off by taking his eyes. I had gotten my answers the moment I dealt with his hands, but I continued.
This was punishment, for all the evil he had committed with joy. Most would've bled out five minutes into this. Some even two. But not the way I carved him. Not with my blades.
Shitō and Chikatō are hollow-core titanium blades, lightweight but strong enough to slice through bone. Inside, a sealed chamber — two reactive compounds separated until I needed them. All it took was a press from the hidden trigger in their hilts and the second chemical rushed in, mixing with the first.
Magnesium and iron mixed with salt water, but stabilized. Instantly, the reaction kicked in. The blades flared hot, enough to cauterize every wound as it made them. Skin split, nerves cut, blood vessels sealed shut in the same moment.
That's why Scarface was still alive, still hanging, gasping, twitching. Because I made sure of it. Every nerve ending flayed, every drop of blood kept — so he'd feel everything, and not get the escape of death.
Checking back on the laptop it was at 98%, a few more minutes before I left. Kneeling by the heavy steel safe, gloves already slick with blood. The lock clicked open after a few minutes, Scarface probably thought it was uncrackable —one of the new flashy models.
Seeing five hundred grand cash, along side it were multiple documents. Sifting through the documents in his safe, inside, the contents were files with pictures of the children and their medical reports.
Details going as far as blood types, weight, height, pleasure zones. I frowned in disgust, this must have been past shipments. Turning to Scarface hanging, I felt like I hadn't done enough.
Next was a ledger. A battered black notebook, pages dog-eared and stained, filled with names — dozens of them. Dates. Locations. Some with little checkmarks beside them, others crossed out.
A crumpled map, dotted with red Xs, places marked out, probably places they stalk to pick up children. There was an orphanages marked, St Mathews orphan boys. I'll pay them a visit.
And a folded note, scrawled in harsh handwriting: "Tell Marlowe to stay out of my business or next shipment's his last."
Probably Scarface planning to send a death threat to whoever this Marlowe is or he received it. The Grimms weren't just traffickers. They were organized. And Scarface was just one man.
The ledger had their customers they had done deals with. I reached into my tool belt and pulled out a custom camera rig, barely thicker than my thumb. Pitch black. No light, no sound.
I clipped it to the collar of his jacket, tapped the side twice and the lens snapped silently to life. With every turn of a page, it captured high-resolution images, transmitting them instantly via an encrypted signal to a laptop miles away, buried under layers of proxy IPs and failsafes. No need to carry the documents I found. No need to risk anything.
Finished off, I slid the camera off, double-tapping it again to power down. The laptop was at 99% when I felt it — people were outside the door. Quickly slamming the safe shut, I ran straight toward the computer, hearing three gunshots at the door. The lock was damaged, but I had bolted the door behind me.
The bolt wasn't going to hold. I started hearing kicks. The transfer was complete. Grabbing the SD card, I prepared to leave — until I remembered the kid. He was still oblivious to his surroundings, engrossed in Subway Surfers. Jumping across the table, I pulled off the earphones and stared him in the eyes.
"No matter what happens, hold onto me, okay? Don't ever let go.
His eyes widened, nodded and held me tight as I heard the door fly open and a woman shout, "Grimford City Police!"
Turning, I saw a full police team, armed to the teeth. Why would the police be here? When did Grimford cops ever care about crime enough to bring such firepower? I wasted too much time… but I can still leave — even with the kid.
Leading them were two officers. The male — big, dark-skinned, bald with a beard — looked like a character straight out of Disney, minus the Desert Eagle in his hand that looked like a weapon from the future.
The woman was tall, with toned legs and shaped hips. Her body held no fat — the body of a model.Her face was different altogether: beautiful, breathtaking. She looked like a princess that had seen war.
Her crystal blue eyes were sunk deep with dark circles showing lack of sleep.
That did nothing to hinder her beauty. Her hair was tied into a quick bun. She was a sight to behold. She looked around till she saw me and we locked eyes.
Snapping out of my reverie and remembering my situation l quickly reached for my belt when all hell broke loose.
----------------
Angel and her team had just breached the door to be met with a horrific sight. A man who ought to be Scarface was hanging from the ceiling by ropes under his armpits with his hands missing and bits of his fingers lying around in pieces.
Angel's stomach flipped. She'd seen bodies before. But this… this was something else.
There was no flesh on his head down to his neck. He was skinned, the red of his muscles showing. His eye sockets were empty, his teeth and nipples were gone.
Looking further down Angel saw the barbed bat shoved up his behind, blood dried on it. His genitals were gone. Horizontal cuts were seen behind his thighs, they were deep and ugly. His tendons were cut and his leg ended in stumps.
Angel didn't know wether he was was alive or dead. Despite all the wounds, there was a minimal amount of blood—all his wounds weren't dry.
His missing body parts were on the table directly under him, arranged in an almost eerie mechanical way. All lining up perfectly, with the eyes floating in a glass of scotch.
Angel tore her eyes away from the horrific sight to the creator of the bloodbath she'd seen so far. Looking around the room, she saw a dark figure crouched in a corner.
The figure was squatting over a child—Maya's brother. The boy was holding a tangle of wires and a device. What was on the screen she couldn't see from the door. He was crouched over the boy, one hand gripping the kid's shoulder. Watching all of us as we had a stare-down. His head turned slowly.
The mask on his face was a terror to see. Ancient. That was the first word that came to mind to describe it—like it had seen a thousand years. Demonic. It radiated malevolence and evil. Darkness and rage. The mask was black, so black it reflected no light—like a shadow. The details on the mask showed proper craftsmanship, it grotesquely resembled actual flesh.
Looking at it would beg the question if it was real. The eyes were red. Like blood. As they locked eyes, it felt like she was being judged, a predator gazing at prey, or both. The teeth were red like the eyes, with the canines protruding from the jaw. Looking menacingly, like it was about to bite you the next moment.
The mask had a red outline and finish. Characters were written on the sides of the mask in what Angel assumed to be Japanese. Angel's stomach dropped. This was the killer. The assassin that had murdered everyone in the warehouse and killed them like livestock.
He looked like death. From her few years in high-stakes situations, even with all the guns pointed at him, she felt her and everyone else were in danger.
Scarface—or what was left of him—was dangling like a butchered pig. The stench of blood mixed with urine from Scarface, and burnt skin. Angel felt weak to her knees as all her senses were overloaded with death and gore. She had seen Final Destination deaths cleaner than this.
But the kid…
The kid looked safe.
Stopping her from firing was that she noticed: he wasn't screaming. Wasn't crying. Just clinging to the man with fear in his eyes. Towards them? Like they were the danger.
"Don't fucking move, don't do anything stupid" Angel ordered, not even sure who she was talking to — him or her own team.
Then he reached for his belt.
"He's reaching!" someone screamed behind her. Her hand shot up. "Wait, don't shoot!" She was too late with the order.
Officer Daniel—who vomited in the hallway—opened fire. The first shot cracked—then the rest followed like dominoes. Angel barely had time to breathe before the air lit up. Gunfire echoed like thunder, rounds bouncing off metal, sparking against concrete.
The assassin didn't flinch. With what Angel could only describe as a blur, he grabbed the boy and dove behind the table.The bullets hit him as Angel watched, but they bounced off. His suit took the bullets like water on a duck's back.
Suddenly, he dropped a canister to the ground. Smoke filled the room and blocked all vision. Angel lost sight of the table and the assassin. "Hold your fire! HOLD YOUR FUCKING FIRE!" Angel screamed over the sound of gunfire.
Too late.
Smoke began crawling through the room like a living creature with a purpose. "Switch to thermal," Angel heard Barry shout to the team. Flipping the switch in her goggles, Angel was greeted by the sight of a red figure racing towards her with a huge abdomen.
Her legs gave way under as she ways tripped, crashing to the ground. She heard various grunts and shouts of pain as the rest of her team were sent flying. The smoke reaching them was inhaled by the officers as they began to cough violently.
"Fall back!" David yelled to the officers as they scrambled to their feet and fled from the smoke into the hallway. "He's getting away, David, I'm going after him."
"Angel, no—WAIT!" David began to run after her as they heard the hallway door fling open. Angel began panicking that he'd escape until she heard a voice she knew.
"Freeze! Don't fucking move. You do so much as flinch, you psycho, and I'm putting one right between your eyes." Barry and the SWAT team had intercepted the killer.
Running forward till she came out of the hallway, she was greeted with the sight of ten SWAT members aiming their rifles at the killer. All of them had their hands on their triggers, waiting for the wrong movement from the assassin.
Angel quickly aimed behind him too, and David joined her. The assassin, stopping in his tracks turned his head looking around, assessing his situation as the remaining officers caught up and pointed their rifles.
Everyone was tense, waiting to see the next move he'd make—until his hands dropped down to his side, as shock and confusion hit everyone by what they just saw.