Prologue: Blood Owl

I really hate the woman in front of me.

It isn't because of her personality.

Of course, I don't know what her personality's like either.

I just hate her face.

It's a beautiful face, with big eyes, a high nose bridge, no wrinkles, and very smooth skin. She's also wearing plenty of cosmetics that smell expensive. A movie star couldn't look any better.

But there's one problem.

Her expression.

This woman's expression is far too unnatural.

“Aaaah!!!!!”

She's screaming again. She's been at it all day, without the slightest sign of going hoarse. I'm actually a little impressed. Of the dozens of experimental subjects before her, men and women, young and old, not one could howl like a banshee every single time.

But the expression on her face still looks wrong.

My conclusion is that she's had plastic surgery, and plenty of it.

I confirmed it during the dissection. God knows how many cosmetic procedures she's had. If I could bring myself to be that ruthless with my own face, maybe I could have it made to look just like hers.

Experimenting on living subjects is exhausting work, but it's my hobby, my career, my life. An indispensable part of living.

When I was eight, I used a sandwich to lure the neighbor's old dog, the one that was always barking, into my dad's garage. Then I silenced it forever with a pipe wrench and a small hacksaw.

That was my first step. Like Mozart touching a piano at the age of three, I knew this was where my talent lay, what I wanted out of life.

Things didn't go quite so smoothly afterward, though. When I came home covered in blood, my parents' reaction made me very uneasy.

Fortunately, I resolved the matter a few weeks later, completing two experiments with human specimens in the process.

Disposing of the bodies didn't take much effort. I'd always been a very strong boy. Come to think of it, though, I only recently heard that chopping them up and feeding them to pigs works very well.

What the hell? That news really hurt. What does that make me, after decades of digging graves?

I remember digging a hole on a beach in Miami once. It was two in the morning, and I had two full suitcases to dispose of. Blood was already starting to seep out. Who'd have thought I'd hit something almost as soon as I started digging? Guess what it was?

That's right, a goddamn corpse. Yes, I'd gone there to dump a body, and on a fucking beach several miles long, at a spot I'd picked at random, I hit a corpse after just a few shovelfuls.

It's like getting a sudden stomachache out in the wilderness, finding a patch of grass to squat in, then discovering there's already a huge pile of shit buried there. A pile of runny shit in a truly bizarre shape, at that.

I have to tell you, those Miami mobsters in their ridiculous floral shirts all think they're cold-blooded tough guys from old movies. In reality, those bastards are semiprofessional thugs at best. They wrap the dead in a few stupid woven plastic sacks and bury them in the sand. What do you think you're doing, hawking porn at a railway station? If you've got the balls, why not just use a straw mat? See which one starts stinking first.

All I could do was fill in the hole and find another spot. Guess what happened? I'd dragged my suitcases less than two hundred meters when I saw two dumbfucks in floral shirts digging a hole under a coconut palm.

I buried two extra people that night. Yes, that's what I'm saying. People who piss and shit wherever they please—I shove them into the latrine pit and put the lid on.

Back to the point. All that story was meant to illustrate is that space on this planet is precious, and we should make good use of it. Throwing things all over the place is uncivilized.

Anyway, these days even I have to admit that feeding them to pigs is a pretty good method. At least it's much better than eating them yourself. There was a period when I tried that a few times too. Truly awful memories.

Wait, what's that sound? Someone's come into the house… Those footsteps… One, two, three… Five people altogether. Police?… Just as I thought, the soundproofing in this basement still isn't good enough. I wonder who found me out.

There's probably backup outside too. Once I've killed them all, I won't be able to stay in this city.

The climate in Seoul is actually pretty nice… Oh well, Europe it is. I haven't been there in ten years. The heat should have died down by now.