Heeding the law enforcement’s warnings, you decide to stay in solitude to prevent running into the ruthless serial killer.

An urgent knock comes from your front door. A woman who grimaces in pain, blood coating her face as she clutches her arm. Ushering her inside, you order her to sit down.

Halting your movements, you look at your TV— the identity of the criminal has been disclosed, as well as an image of them.

It’s the woman that you’re aiding.

“I look prettier than that,” she scoffs.