Prologue

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I traveled a lot.
I enjoyed seeing the change of culture. Especially the art and the people with tattoos.

When I went to a new place, I would create a masterpiece there, leaving my mark. And I would leave my finished piece there. All I use is a paint brush, canvas, and paint.

My paint brush is a knife.
My canvas is human skin.
My paint is blood.

Whenever I went to a different country, I chose one person.
Just one special person. I had no preferences: no matter the skin color, ethnicity, age, or gender.
It didn't matter if I couldn't understand their language.
It didn't matter if I couldn't understand their pleas for mercy.
It didn't matter if I couldn't understand their cries for help.

However, it does mean something that everywhere I go,
the screams
are all
the
same.

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