The city was alive with the hum of everyday life, but amidst the bustling streets walked a slim, trim boy, blending seamlessly into the crowd. His steps were calm, calculated, almost as if he moved with a purpose no one could decipher.
As he turned a corner, he collided with someone—a towering, muscular man surrounded by his group of friends. The impact startled the boy slightly, but he maintained his balance, looking up at the man with an emotionless gaze.
The muscular man glared down at him, his ego bruised. "Watch where you're going, stupid creature!" he spat. His friends laughed, egging him on.
"You think you can just walk around blind like that?" the man continued, stepping closer, his voice full of malice. "Let me warn you, little one. This is my area. I don't ever want to see your pathetic "ass" on this street again. Got it?"
The boy said nothing. He simply turned and walked away, his expression unchanged. His calmness only seemed to anger the group more, but they didn't follow.
The scene shifted to a dimly lit hotel, where the slim boy entered and made his way to a quiet corner table. His demeanor remained unbothered as he sat down, his bag resting by his side.
A waiter approached, his demeanor cheerful. "Good evening, sir. What can I get for you?"
The boy glanced up and replied, "I brought my own meal. I just need you to cook it for me."
The waiter chuckled, slightly amused. "We don't usually allow that, sir, but you seem like an interesting guy. Alright, let's make an exception. Is it veg or non-veg?"
"Non-veg," the boy replied, his voice steady.
"Okay, chicken, fish, or goat?"
The boy's lips curved into a faint smile as he unzipped his bag. "It's the flesh of a human."
The waiter's expression froze, the color draining from his face. The boy reached into the bag and pulled out a slab of raw, bloodied flesh. The waiter stumbled backward, his eyes wide with horror.
As he looked closer, the waiter recognized the flesh—it was unmistakably from a human body. Pieces of muscle tissue, still fresh, dripped blood onto the table.
The boy tilted his head slightly, his calm voice breaking the silence. "What's the matter? Don't tell me you've never cooked this before."
The waiter stammered something incoherent before bolting from the room. Other staff members followed, their fear palpable.
Watching them flee, the boy sighed. "How silly. It seems I'll have to eat it raw." He reached into the bag again, pulling out another piece. As he lifted it, the camera focused on a disturbing detail: a fragment of the muscular arm bore a tattoo—the same tattoo the man he had collided just before .
The boy smirked faintly, his cold, emotionless gaze fixed on the flesh before taking a bite.