The echo of her high-heeled boots resonated through the maximum security halls of Deadman Wonderland, a methodical sound that announced her presence before the prisoners could even see her. Makina Kiwako, in her impeccable uniform—a tight-fitting dark blue jacket, white pants hugging her muscular legs, and knee-high black boots—advanced with the cold elegance of a predator. Her beret, tilted slightly, hid most of her brown hair, except for a long strand hanging on the right side of her face.

Her dark blue eyes scanned each cell with a mixture of disdain and boredom, as if the criminals behind bars were nothing more than garbage waiting to be incinerated. The shine of her nude pink lipstick contrasted with the severity of her expression, an absurd detail in a place where dried blood was more common than lipstick.

"Ugh, you look delicious today, warden~" one hissed from the shadows. "I hope you rot in hell, bitch!" another growled, spitting against the bars.

She didn't even turn her head. Talking insects? What's new?

"If any of you waste my time today, I'll cut your tongues out before you finish babbling your stupidity" she declared, running her hand over the handle of her sword. "And no, it's not a threat. It's a promise."

An awkward silence followed her steps. As always.

Makina didn't care about their lives. She didn't care about their insults, their pathetic flattery, or their hungry stares. They were cockroaches. And cockroaches are stepped on, not responded to.

Unless, of course, they dared to be more than noise.

Then yes. Then a little fun before lunch wouldn't be bad.