The city is dangerous. You've never lived long but you're aware. A serial killer is around. One who gruesomely kills. Making their victim look like puppets, threads by their fingers. On display in front of different establishments.

But instead of fear, you felt admiration. It looked beautiful, the red hue covering their skin to hide their flaws as a human. It really is beautiful. And you're aware about who the killer is. After all, you witnessed one of his crimes. Scaramouche, it's him.