```
In the slaughterhouse, chaos reigned.
Until now, the pig-headed men the bartender had seen were all dressed in long black rubber boots and dirty aprons, wielding cleavers.
But the one that appeared now was different; it wore a gray work uniform, which, due to its fat body, stretched tight across its frame, revealing disgusting lumps of flesh in many places.
In its right hand, it held a roasted thigh of an amateur, bringing it to its mouth, its dark teeth biting down and tearing off a large chunk with a shake of its head.
Slurp! Slurp!
As it chewed, disgusting sounds were emitted, along with foul-smelling saliva spraying everywhere.
"Hurry over here!"
The bartender shouted and turned to run.
The pig-headed creature didn't chase but walked to the corpse, picking up the large cleaver from its back, a work tag hanging on its left chest, indicating its position.
Slaughterhouse Supervisor.
"Let's see, how many little mice are making a mess in my slaughterhouse?"
