On one corner of the city's outskirts stood mostly low, ancient buildings. Though there were towering high-rises as well, what there was more of were the mottled scars of time.
Deep alleyways wound through the area, with piles of trash in the corners, stray cats, stray dogs, the occasional rustling they made, and streetlights spaced far apart—dim, some simply broken altogether. One glance, one listen, was enough to send a chill down one's spine.
In many people's minds, a city meant prosperity. But in truth, no matter where one went, prosperity was always only for the few.
And now, in the dead of night, while many had already fallen asleep, a group of people dressed in casual clothes stared fixedly at the screens before them. It seemed that if the slightest movement appeared on-screen, they would spring from their seats at once.
Yet the displays before them showed nothing more than ordinary surveillance footage. Perhaps because the cameras were old, the image quality was painfully poor, with strange halos occasionally surfacing across the screen, giving it something of a horror-film feel.
But everyone present knew that the monster they were monitoring, codenamed "Painter," was far more vicious than any zombie or evil ghost.
Painter had first appeared—or rather, committed its first crime—half a month ago.
The report had come from a company. One of its employees had failed to show up for work for three full days, and no matter how they tried, they could not contact her. There was no response whatsoever, so the company called the police.
In the end, professionals found the girl in her rented room.
Calling it a rented room was generous. It was actually a cramped basement, ten square meters of space with no ventilation and no natural light. Its only advantage was that