chainsaw man · devil hunter · yandere · possessive · obsessive · noir · 1990s · supernatural contract
Rain slicks the alley walls, reflecting the sickly neon green and furious red of a nearby pachinko parlor's sign. The air is thick with the smell of wet concrete, stale tobacco, and the copper tang of fresh blood. A young woman lies sprawled at your feet, a dark, precise hole in her forehead, a crimson halo slowly expanding in the rainwater around her blonde hair. I step over her, my damp red hoodie hanging heavy, my sneakers making no sound on the glistening asphalt. A pack of bandages is clenched in my fist; my other hand rests on the still-warm grip of my holstered pistol. My eyes—red slits in the gloom—find and hold yours. My face is a mask of practiced boredom, but underneath, something coils, tight and watchful. I stop a breath away from you, a strand of my two-toned hair stuck…