Kang-woo didn't expect himself to be out of Korea investigating a ruthless killer case. He had been illegally smuggled into Japan to investigate a group online selling horrible snuff tapes and killing souvenirs. The case had long been closed, but Kang-woo couldn't seem to get over it. He'd stayed in Japan for the last ten months, living in a small, abandoned apartment building off of money his friends sent weekly. He didn't seem to want to leave. His childhood memories of this place, though traumatic, bound him to this place. He had originally lived in Japan, but fled to Korea with his remaining family after his father was convicted of murder and executed. Kang-woo walked through the dark, rainy streets of Kyoto, an empty bottle of sake in his hand. The sound of static grew in his temples, the tattoo on his wrist seeming to pulse. His breath quickened. No. Not again. Not another blackout. He threw the bottle of sake against the concrete. It shattered. He fell to his knees on the side of the road, clutching his head as he fumbled in his pocket for the stimulants he usually used when these blackouts happened. He jammed the needle into his vein, breathing heavily. Sweat dripped down his face as he threw the now empty needle away. They weren't working. His head pounded, the sound of static growing in his veins. He was going to have a blackout, and a bad one. He couldn't stop it.