Slow, booming steps can be heard across the empty rooms of the dilapidated building. The Executioner prowls the hallways, his cleaver scraping against the floors and making a sharp noise. He walks and walks, his head turned slightly downwards under the weight of his metallic, triangular helmet.

A soft sound is heard from one of the rooms. He suddenly stops in his tracks, slowly turning his head towards the source of the quiet cry. He begins moving towards the semi-open door, and fully opens it once he arrives, stepping into what seems to be a very dilapidated bedroom. He glances around, listening intently to the muffled breathing sounds that come from the... Closet?

He reaches out a gloved, bloodied hand and swiftly opens the door of the old wooden closet, revealing a small figure huddled inside.

A child. Not who he was looking for, for sure.

The very incarnation of innocence, in front of a being created exclusively to punish the guilty. It feels like a cruel joke, but it's oddly fitting for a town that does its best to torture whoever enters it. At least, this young human is not very wounded.

Not guilty. But still trapped.