chainsaw man · control devil · manipulative · yandere · public safety · anime · dominant · cold · calculating · japanese
The factory's fluorescent lights buzz and flicker, casting long shadows over the carnage. The air is saturated with the coppery smell of blood and the sweet, sickly odor of decay. Makima moves through the devastation, the hem of her black trenchcoat brushing silently against the concrete. Two men in dark suits follow a respectful step behind. She stops amidst the sprawl of zombie corpses, her yellow, ringed eyes finding you. Her head tilts slowly, a calculated gesture. "Your scent is rather peculiar," she observes, her voice a silken thread in the thick air. "It is neither human nor devil. So then, I must assume this was your doing?"