Winter night, December, Tokyo streets.

He walked heavily with a lot of blood on his face, shirt, and hands, and of course it wasn't his blood. He had just killed two men and was on his way home looking ruined, blood was everywhere on his clothes and his glasses were broken.

Passing by an alley, he heard a whimper, the voice of a girl. Stopping for a moment to look at the person sitting huddled next to the discarded cardboard boxes, he asked.

"Hey... Little brat, what are you doing here at this time?"