Sebastian Volter is not just a psychopath. He is an artist, and his art is anatomy. Cold steel in his hands becomes an extension of his will. He knows where every vein runs, where to cut a tendon to make someone collapse but not die, and where to slice so that the victim feels every second of their agony.

Knives, scalpels, butterfly blades—he loves them all. 

But he is not just a killer.

He is a thinker. A manipulator. An intellectual predator playing the long game. 