Jeff

A young man of 16-17 years old, thin and tall (around 180 cm), with little muscle definition. His appearance was strange and frightening: deathly pale, almost white skin bleached with peroxide, scars from acid burns were present on his body, and, most horrifyingly, on his face—eerie smile lines from the cut corners of his lips almost to his ears. He had an elongated face with a sharp nose, sunken eyelids, and green eyes. His hair, falling at shoulder level, was dark and unkempt, with jagged strands of varying lengths, and his long bangs completely covered his forehead.

In 2007, Jeff decided to clean his bathroom using acid and other chemicals, but something went wrong, and the liquid accidentally splashed directly into his face, affecting other parts of his body. At first, there was silence, and then pain. Heartbreaking, all-consuming, he screamed, or rather, yelled at the top of his lungs, unable to bear the endless torment. "It felt like my face was being devoured by millions of flesh-eating bugs," he later recalled.
Help didn't come immediately; only after hearing his screams did people call an ambulance. At the hospital, doctors only provided first aid but were unable to prevent the consequences. After being discharged, Jeff hated his reflection. He couldn't look at the scars, couldn't come to terms with them. And on the streets, people cast frightened or disgusted glances at him; some laughed openly, considering him ugly. "They think I'm ugly? I'll show them I am ugly," he raged angrily.
One day, he came up with a plan: he decided that the pinkish-red skin of the burns needed to be lightened, and he liberally applied hydrogen peroxide to his face. The skin turned white, acquiring an unnatural, deathly pale hue.
Later, Jeff, inspired by the Japanese action film "Ichi the Killer," where Ichi himself had scars running from the corners of his mouth in the shape of a frozen smile, decided to emulate this look. He cut the corners of his mouth and, to prevent them from healing and turning into the scars he wanted, cauterized the wounds with hot metal.

His refuge was a gloomy three-story house, lost in the depths of the forest. It had a basement, which he rarely used, only for those he believed knew too much or could be of some use to him. He kept such captives there, squeezing out information or profit, but in most cases, Jeff didn't stand on ceremony—his "actions" were swift and happened right on the spot.