On the fifth floor of an eight-storey complex, a frail girl stood before a closed door. Her shirt hung in rags, her skin a map of bruises.
From the other side came the broken sobs of a man—low, desperate, almost animal.
Her knees shook. She knew exactly why he was suffering.
She'd caused it. Again.
And though guilt clawed at her, she told herself the same thing she always did: Obey, or die.
"Erica!" The old man's rasp slashed through the silence.
Erica forced her trembling hands to still and brushed away the tears streaking her cheeks. "I'm here!" she called, voice shaking. "Coming in…"
She was six. Six—too young to understand why her life had turned into a nightmare.
The man calling her was the politician who had "adopted" her—not because he wanted a daughter, but to bolster his public image.
Now, she was trapped in his house—a gilded cage for a little girl he used to feed his twisted obsession.
After hearing her owner call, Erica stepped into the room.
A gasp escaped her mouth, spotting the blood dotted on the bed where a young boy was lying, weeping helplessly.
His sobs filled the room, but the naked politician sitting on the edge of the bed couldn't care less. He casually wiped the thick, white, sticky liquid soaking his erected rod, his expression bored and indifferent. He then glanced up at Erica, his eyes holding a cold, expectant glint.
"Bring in the next," he ordered.
Erica didn't flinch—she'd witnessed this abhorrent scene everyday like a routine.
Her job is to find kids, lure them in, get used, and disposed like a condom after serving its purpose—that's how it goes. All of that for a single plate of meal a day, which was no better than dog food or leftovers.
She knew she was sinking in her own sea of sins, but what choice did she have? She was only a child, following orders to stay alive.
Her body was a stone, her eyes fixed on the baseball bat inclined against the dresser. It was the same crude instrument of her owner's abuse, its tip smeared with a sickening grime of dried blood and feces. The sight alone was enough to make Erica feel like throwing up.
"Pig?"
Erica's jaw tightened, resentment burning behind her eyes.
"Did you hear a goddamn thing, you pig?!!!"
His voice thundered as he swung his leg, slamming it into Erica's ribs and sending her crashing to the floor.
Erica hauled herself back to her feet, ribs aching with every breath.
"I-I'm sorry, Boss," she stammered, keeping her eyes on the floor and arms covering her ribs. "I couldn't find any kids."
"What?!" he barked. "First, you brought me this useless brat, and now you tell me you didn't fetch any?"
"I'm sorry… I… I'm really sorry," her voice cracked, barely louder than a whisper.
"Goddamn useless!" he barked, his glare snapping toward the drained boy on the bed. "Hey, filthy brat. Get the fuck out of my room. And don't get comfortable—I'm not finished with you," he sneered.
Limping, the boy scurried out of the bedroom without uttering a word.
"And as for you…" His lips curled into a twisted grin as his eyes locked onto Erica. "Hands on the wall."
"But, Boss, I—I couldn't find any kids tonight,"
"Hands. On. The wall," he repeated word by word.
"Please, I—"
"I SAID HANDS ON THE GODDAMN WALL!"
He stormed toward Erica, fist tightening on her hair, and before she could react, pain seared through her scalp as he dragged her forward and shoved her face on the wall.
"Now," his voice hissed near her ear, "bend over."
Erica didn't move, refusing to cooperate. The steel bat scraped against the floor behind her, and the sound alone made her stomach twist.
Without any more retort, Erica bit her lip, trying to keep the sobs in as she reluctantly arched her body to puff out her butt.
His grip tightened around the bat handle, then, a powerful swing rend the air.
He hit Erica on the buttocks—a soft part of the human body where a bat swing would only bounce without inflicting much harm.
However, the case isn't the same for Erica.
Erica was a scrawny little kid since she's not fed plenty. Her backside is nothing but bone.
After spanking Erica once, the sadistic politician felt fulfilled, but not fulfilled enough to be satisfied. So, he raised his bat once more and struck again.
Then again.
And again.
Excruciating screams tore through the silence.
Erica could do nothing but cry, her body a convulsing knot of pain.
"I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry."
"I shelter you! Feed you! Love you! And this is how you repay me? You disappoint me!"
Tears rolled down Erica's cheeks, hot and salty.
"I despise you more than the demons," Erica thought to herself.
Still not contented, he raised his bat once again.
But this time, he doesn't aim for her buttocks.
The bat hurled to her back, smashing her spinal cord.
An agonizing groan echoes through the room. Erica's legs gave out beneath her, the pain absolute and paralyzing.
The politician stood over her, watching as her body writhed on the floor. A sadistic smirk tugged at his lips.
"Fucking pig," he jeered.
Erica squirmed in pain, every movement sending sharp stings through her fractured spine and shattered pelvis.
Desperate, Erica closes her eyes and murmurs…
"I don't care who. I don't care how… I don't care if it's a hero, or a criminal, or even a demon that rescues me—I just want to be saved."
*SLAM*
The door flew open. A man in a black sweater strolled in, hands tucked casually in his pockets.
The noise jolted them all. Though Erica couldn't move, her eyes caught the doorway—where a man stood, wearing the head of a wolf.
Its fur was a blend of gray, white, and black, each strand catching the light in a way that made it seem alive. The head fit him perfectly—so perfectly that, for a moment, he looked less like a man wearing a mask and more like a human with the head of a real wolf.
"Huh…? How did you get in?!" The politician—once so menacing—now spoke with a trembling edge in his voice.
"Wait… That mask…" His eyes widened. "You're a headhunter…" The words quivered as they left his lips.
The Headhunters. A secretive syndicate whispered to be Humanity's Second Greatest Threat.
Members of this organization wear masks that precisely resemble a certain animal—and those masks serve to conceal their identity.
Though the wolf-headed man said nothing, it was clear to the politician that he had come to end his campaign once and for all.
Just then, Wolf took his first step, approaching the trembling politician with slow, measured strides.
"Stay back! Don't you dare come closer—I'm a demon!" he threatened, though the quiver in his voice says it all.
Wolf didn't seem the least bit intimidated; the lie was obvious from his trembling tone. In fact, Wolf found it almost amusing.
"You? A demon? How ironic," Wolf deadpanned. "If you were a demon, I bet you'd be named Child Predator… No. Child Connoisseur suits you better."
Wolf pulled out a knife.
"And can you please put some clothes on?" Wolf said dryly. "Well, I've always wondered how embarrassing it must be to die naked. I guess you'll be my guinea pig for that."
Wolf lunged before the politician could react. The bat slipped from the politician's grasp as they hit the ground, Wolf's knees driving into his stomach and crushing the breath out of him.
The man pushed and clawed, but Wolf didn't budge—it felt like an elephant sitting on his chest.
The politician reached for the bat he dropped, but before his fingers could touch it, Wolf seized his hand and slammed a knife through it, nailing it to the floorboards.
The blade tore clean through flesh and lodged deep into the boards, blood spreading fast beneath it.
Wolf didn't speak. He punched, unhurried and bored, like he'd done this a hundred times before.
Wolf never stopped ramming his head until his nose was inverted, his jaw twisted out of place, and his face left completely unrecognizable.
After turning him into something that barely resembled a human—more like a smashed tomato—Wolf rose and walked toward the paralyzed Erica on the floor.
He knelt beside her and spoke in a calm, almost gentle voice.
"Why did you work for him?"
Erica burst out in tears, thinking it was over.
"Thank you… for saving me," she whispered, her voice trembling.
Weeping, Erica crawled forward, mustering the last of her strength to push her torso upright. She wrapped her arms around him in a warm embrace.
"I understand." Wolf gently pulled Erica away, meeting her eyes.
"I'm sorry you had to go through that." His voice was calm, almost sincere—until it hardened. "But because of that selfishness, a lot of parents lost their children."
Erica blinked, confused. "Hnn?"
Wolf gave a faint, weary smile. "We're not so different, you and I." He slowly placed a hand over her eyes. "Losing one life… is better than losing many."
"W–what do you mean?"
"Don't worry about it," he said softly. "Just rest."
Wolf points a gun right under Erica's chin.
*BANG*
"You seem kind, hence you at least deserve a painless death."