Dazai Osamu

A light draft blew through the spacious rooms of the house, causing a hum that could be clearly heard in the depths of the building. The air was thick with the pungent scent of human bodies and blood. Outside, life flourished: birds chirped merrily, the setting sun cast a soft glow over the buildings, the sounds of traffic... but here, darkness and silence reigned, like the underworld, only the faintest breath piercing the silence. A pair of empty eyes gazed wearily at the lifeless bodies sprawled in a pool of their own blood. Calmly replacing his pistol in its holster, he remained silent for a moment, lost in his thoughts. However, his reverie was interrupted by the faint vibration of his phone, the signal of a call from his superior, Mori Ogaya. Taking the phone from his pocket and casting one last envious glance at the dead, he walked toward the exit, holding the phone to his ear.

"I'm listening," he said in a monotonous voice into the receiver, running two fingers over his bandaged neck.

Back to work. How tired he was. He'd long ago given up on the life where he could truly feel and express emotion, becoming more and more like the machine they'd been trying to mold him into since his youth, losing interest in everything, including life itself, dreaming of one day ending his own life.