AN: I'm giving this a blood and gore warning, not too bad but it still deserves it.

Katarina Zimmerman.

A 19-year-old mother of two-year-old twins. A large active part of her small-town community, not only as an individual but as a "hero".

She had fought valiantly against the crime in her town, including the two villains that called it home. He scoffed just thinking of the words, villains were too high of a title for those worms. Nothing more than the petty thieves and sumprats of Zaun, but now they were beautiful.

The twins started crying, chanting mama over and over. "Do not worry little ones," He didn't sound right, his voice paradoxically a psychotic monotone, "Jellybeam will soon enter stage left and the show will begin!"

They would not stop crying, oh how he hated crying, it filled his head with bitter-sweet memories of the most beautiful work of art he had ever made. "Quiet!" He calmly shouted, "I need silence for when my canvas expands."

He looked over his previous works of art. An old woman, a red and violet sunflower for a head, pointed towards the sun, red vines growing down her body and surrounding her feet. She was definitely his favorite of the group, she was just perfect! Sadly none of these pieces had meaning behind them, nothing that would make his audience feel aside from the norm.

What was taking her so long? He looked at her twins, sighing. "It seems your mother does not wish you to live." The twin's crying stopped as they were formed into pieces of art, now a pair of withered rose bushes.

He scoffed, not his best work and without the centerpiece, it just didn't work. It hurt to look at, it was some of the worst art he had ever made. A great way to restart his reputation as an artist. Just great.

Giving one more look over his art he left, following the patrol route that she should have been following to find his art exhibition.

As he walked he was faced with an abomination, "A void beast? How drab," It had a leg in its mouth, standing over a panicking looking man in a costume.

"Help!" The man called out, the beast's attention going from the man to the artist.

"Hah! Fight me!" The void beast roared, he scoffed, such bestial behavior. It charged at me, swallowing the leg as it did, the man's eyes losing hope as he turned.

He simply ran, he wasn't a fighter, merely a performer. He could hear the beast gaining, so the artist jumped on the hood of a car and leaped up to grab onto the second-floor window of a store with his mechanical arm firing a shot from Whisper as he pulled himself up to slow the beast. He climbed to the roof of the building, seeing the beast trying to climb up after him, its immense weight slowing it down.

The artist ran over the rooftops, searching for the canvas, she was supposed to be his masterpiece! If that raging beast dared kill his masterpiece!

He sighed, he knew he would be unable to do anything, but few were able to face the horrors of the void and return sane. He followed his canvas' normal patrol route again. He did find her, only broken on the ground. A large man hefting an ax over her head, getting ready for the killing blow.

"One." He fired Whisper, the bullet hitting its mark and ripping the ax out of the man's hands.

"The fuck?!" The man roared, snapping his head around to see the artist landing from the rooftops in a roll.

"You ruined my masterpiece. Two." He fired again, hitting the man fight below the left knee. Blood sprayed only to turn into roots growing over the concrete ground and flowing from the wound.

The man cursed again as the artist approached, falling to his knees only to scream in agony. The artist scoffed, "Do you know how long it took me to set up this exhibition? Three!" He shot again, this time right below the waist of the man's right leg, the leg falling off altogether, more roots coming from the wound.

The artist spun Whisper around his finger by the trigger guard before with a flourish. "FOUR!" With the recoil of the gun, he brought Whisper up to exaggerate the action. With the force of the bullet the man exploded, blood and gore turning into a beautiful rose bush, with blood-red flowers.

From behind the artist could hear clapping, "Bravo! Bravo! Beautiful!" The artist couldn't help but turn and bow to his audience, "That was truly breathtaking!" The clapping man said, "Literally in Hatchet Face's case."

The man laughed, he was wearing a loose-fitting shirt and a pair of bloodied slacks, multiple types of knives hanging from his waist. "It's nice to meet a fellow artist," He said in a smooth voice, similar to the artist's own, "Do you have a pseudonym?"

"You can call me Jhin. Khada Jhin."