Alfred knelt down in front of the young girl, who was perched on the landing of the motel porch steps with a blanket wrapped around her frail shoulders. Inside the room, Kiku was wrapping up the investigation, gathering whatever little evidence was left behind. Alfred was surprised that Kiku had left the statement gathering to him — despite the opinion of many, Alfred was well aware of his 'harsh' questioning and lack of consideration for witnesses. So Alfred couldn't help but feel just a bit nervous when he found out that the witness was no older than five, trembling and wide eyed as if she had never seen the world beyond that motel door.

'Um… hey.' He smiled in a way he hoped was reassuring. 'What's your name?'

The girl looked up at him, sunken brown eyes gazing at him wearily. She seemed to consider him for a moment before replying.

'…Emily.' Her voice was tiny, as if she was afraid of its own volume.

'Emily, my name's Alfred. Now, I'm going to ask you some questions, and I need you to answer them as best as you can, okay?' Alfred looked for some sort of acknowledgement in the girl's eyes, but only found them staring back vacantly. He cleared his throat nervously and continued. 'Okay, so… How long have you been alone in that room?'

'I don't know…' the girl spoke quietly. 'A long time.'

'And before you were alone, it was just you and your father?'

Emily nodded, her grasp on the blanket tightening as she averted her eyes. Alfred noticed the bruises on her pale legs and bit back a muttered curse. He pushed himself to continue.

'Do you remember anyone else entering the house at any point? Other than your father?'

Emily nodded again, her voice slowly losing its shaky quality and becoming more confident. 'Before daddy was gone…'

'Did you see who it was?'

She looked back up at Alfred with the oddest expression on her face. He had expected to see fear in her eyes, but instead only saw a strange kind of glee in them. For the first time, her brown eyes glimmered.

'Angels,' she murmured softly, as if no one but Alfred should hear.

'Angels?' Alfred frowned. 'How many?'

'Two of them. They came and took daddy away.' Emily smiled as she kicked the dirt playfully with her bare feet. Her entire demeanor had transformed in this short moment, no longer a traumatized child, but instead one who was merely playing a game. 'I don't know when they'll bring him back though…'

Alfred wasn't sure how to respond — what to make of the angels nor of the girl's logic that her father would come back. He was tempted to reassure her that her father would never come back, but thought better of it and asked another question instead. Even abused children love their parents, Alfred thought glumly, and so he could not say for certain what Emily really wanted to hear.

'What did the angels look like?' he asked gently.

Emily smiled. 'One of them was really big and had white-ish hair. He told me to stay in my room until morning.'

'Why is that?'

The girl shrugged. 'He said everything was going to be different after.'

'And what about the other… angel? What did they look like?'

'The other one was a lady, she had a long ponytail… but she looked kind of scared.'

'Scared?'

'Yeah…' the girl trailed off with a faraway look in her eyes, perhaps reliving that night.

'Excuse me, officer,' a taut voice spoke behind Alfred.

He turned around to find a sharply dressed ash-blonde woman staring at him like he had cut in line or thrown a cigarette butt onto the floor.

'It's Detective, actually.' He got up. 'Detective Jones.'

He offered his hand. She didn't take it.

'Social Services. Linda Sterling,' she spoke dryly, her blue eyes staring into Alfred icily. There was an odd kind of ring to her voice, a hidden accent that Alfred couldn't quite put his finger on as she spoke. 'I'm here to ensure this child is taken in by her next of kin.'

'Ah, right.' Alfred smiled politely. 'I was just about done asking her my questions anyway—'

'May I remind you that this is just a child we're talking about?' The woman took on a dangerous sounding tone that Alfred really wished he hadn't provoked. 'Barraging her with questions just after spending days alone, with no care and barely enough food, is unacceptable. Now, if you don't mind,' the woman said as she walked past Alfred to reach Emily. 'I need to get this child checked at a hospital immediately.'

'Of course… Linda.' Alfred struggled to keep his expression somewhat pleasant. He watched the blonde woman take Emily by the hand, and hoped that wherever she was going would be a better home than the one Emily's father had failed to provide. He knew, however, that scars like that don't fade. It was with this sinking feeling that Alfred questioned himself as to whether her father's untimely death was such a bad thing after all.

.

Yao watched the limp hand fizzle in the clear liquid, bubbles rising up to the surface as it bobbed up and down in the bath. Entranced by it, he stood there motionless. A bloodstained hand clamped down onto his shoulder.

'It'll take a while, you know,' Ivan chuckled.

'I know,' Yao said, his eyes still glued to the bath as Ivan added the rest of the man's limbs and pieces — parts so mangled and shred apart that Yao couldn't even begin to identify them.

This ritual that he and Ivan performed nearly every morning — cutting up last night's victim and dissolving them in acid — had suddenly become very personal for Yao. He was watching his own handiwork melt away, whatever was left of this man's existence dissipating into nothingness. He was relieved that there was nothing left as evidence of his cruelty — the monster he had become that night. And yet, at the same time, Yao watched the floating pieces of meat with an odd sense of grief. Not for the man's life, but for the man's death, the spectacular way in which he had been broken. Surely cutting him up in such a way had gone to waste, now that it was no more than a soup of meaningless lumps. Yao wanted to find a way to tell Ivan this, find solace in the fact that he wasn't alone in thinking this. Surely Ivan felt the same…?

He turned to look at Ivan, hoping to see him staring into the bath the same way Yao was, only to find him staring right back at Yao. Startled, he looked away. Something about Ivan's gaze was all too intimate now, as if he knew things about Yao that he did not know himself. Perhaps there was something Yao did not know about himself — something that could only be seen when that bloody knife was in his hands, when his eyes could only see red.

The sound of someone knocking on the door made Yao jolt out of his thoughts. He looked to Ivan in question. Who would be visiting an old, crumbling place like this in the middle of nowhere?

'One moment, myshka,' Ivan smiled, removing his goggles and bloodied gloves before leaving to answer the door.

Yao frantically followed behind, only to remember that he still had his goggles and bloodied gloves on. He quickly removed them and threw them onto the empty table, listening to the sound of Ivan unlatching and opening the door.

'Ah, Katyusha! Zdravstvije!' Ivan spoke, a flow of rapidly spoken Russian echoing in the hallway. Yao waited in the workshop, listening closely for the voice of their visitor. His curiosity peaked, he took a glimpse out into the hallway, but could not see past Ivan's towering frame.

'Yao,' Ivan turned around, his expression bright. 'Come and meet my sister, Katyusha!'

'Hello!' A voluptuous, blonde woman leaned to the side to smile at Yao. 'How are you?' Her smile was as light and radiant as Ivan's, complemented by her soft blue eyes. She seemed sweet, Yao thought.

'Uh… I'm… fine,' Yao smiled weakly, conscious of the blood stain on his shoulder and trying to conceal it behind the door frame. 'How are you?' He asked back somewhat lamely, unsure and out of practice with regards to what used to be normal conversation.

'I'm good, thank you!' Katyusha stepped into the house and dropped a heavy bag onto the floor. She turned to Ivan. 'The rest is in the car. I also brought more of that… uh… hydro —'

'That's fine, I'll get it,' Ivan smiled. 'Why don't you sit in the kitchen with Yao? I'm sure the two of you will get along nicely!' he chuckled, although Yao couldn't help but feel it was more of an intimidating kind of pressure than polite reassurance.

Katyusha nodded and walked down the hallway, approaching the work room. Panicked, Yao jumped out the room and shut the door behind him — forgetting his own blood stained shirt. He inwardly cursed himself as he whipped around and headed for the kitchen, hoping she had not seen it. She would eventually, though, and he wasn't sure what the point of hiding it was anymore.

The two sat at the kitchen table, Katyusha's expression pleasant and calm, her eyes not even second guessing the state of Yao's clothes. Yao found it difficult to settle his gaze anywhere, awkwardly sitting in the silence that had settled in the kitchen.

'You know,' Katyusha started, her words softly spoken and gentle. 'I'm really glad Ivan's found a friend. He's been living on his own for so long… I was getting worried.' A sheepish smile spread across her lips. Yao could only nod in acknowledgement, finding himself oddly uncomfortable. She had such a kind and comforting presence, and yet Yao couldn't help but feel as if his newly found home had been invaded. It was strange that he felt like this, as if this place had suddenly become his little sanctuary when it had once been his prison.

Feeling the need to fill the silence, Yao looked up at Katyusha with a question in his mind. 'Ivan said you're his sister? As in…'

'Not biological, if that's what you're asking,' Katyusha chuckled softly, as if having plucked the thoughts from Yao's mind. 'We were at the same orphanage together, in Bragin.'

'Ah…' Yao mulled on his memory of the photo, trying to recall if he had seen a young girl by Ivan's side, but all he could remember were Ivan's weary eyes. Sensing an opportunity to get more questions answered, he continued. 'What happened there? At the orphanage?' The question spilled out of him, only for Yao to regret not wording it more tactfully.

'What happened…?' Katyusha echoed back, her bright smile faltering. Then, a nervous laughter broke out into the momentary silence. 'Not much. We played and laughed in the snow — our boots were always falling apart and our feet ached from the cold, but we still enjoyed ourselves when we could.' Her eyes fell to the table. 'We weren't always laughing, though. There was plenty of crying, too. And hurt. But that's part of childhood, isn't it?' She looked up with sadness glazed in her eyes. 'We make do with what we've got.' A weak smile etched across her lips.

Yao said nothing in return, unsure how to respond to an expression like that. Katyusha seemed to sense this and chuckled.

'Those days didn't last long anyway. I was only ten when the place fell apart. After that I didn't cry so much.'

'Fell apart?'

'Mm,' Katyusha hummed. 'Someone burnt it. The whole place was on fire — we were lucky to get out in time. And to think —' A giggle escaped her lips. 'That was the only time I had felt so warm in Bragin.' She sighed. 'After that I was taken in by this American couple. They were so kind to me…'

'And Ivan?' Yao asked.

'Ivan…' Katyusha glanced to the side, her expression pained. 'Ivan went somewhere else. They weren't so kind to him there.'

'You mean Glen Hills?' Yao leaned forward, his voice lowered, afraid that Ivan might hear.

Katyusha looked up at him with eyes widened. 'Did he tell you about it? About the things they —'

'It's so nice to see you two getting along!' Ivan crooned, his voice loudly breaking into Yao and Katyusha's quiet exchange of words. Yao leant back in his seat, wondering just how much Ivan had heard. Ivan placed his hands on Katyusha's shoulders and smiled warmly. 'Bolshoe spasibo, Katyusha. You've been of much help to me.'

Katyusha smiled bashfully and chuckled. 'Don't worry about it.' She turned around to Ivan in her seat. 'It was everything you needed, right? The amounts were fine too?'

Ivan nodded. 'Da.'

'That's good.' She smiled and got up from her seat. 'I should probably go now. It's a long drive back home. Ivan, I'll see you again in a couple weeks.' She turned to Yao. 'It was nice meeting you, Yao.' She walked over and hugged him perhaps too tightly for Yao's comfort. 'Take care.'

'Y-Yeah.'

Katyusha pulled back and walked to the front door with Ivan, leaving Yao alone with this thoughts and recollections of what Katyusha had only shared with him a few moments ago. He still had yet to uncover the happenings of Glen Hills Asylum — although whether or not he wanted to, was something he wasn't entirely certain of. Whatever it was, it was the making of the beast Yao lived with. That in itself, made Yao's stomach churn uneasily.

.

Yao pressed the knife down the old man's chest as it rose and fell frantically, his cries muffled as a trail of blood formed. Yao dragged the knife down slowly, contemplating on the various ways in which he could tear this man up, the man whose cheek was scratched as if nails had been dug into it. Yao had seen the photos on this man's fireplace, photos of his wife and children smiling brightly. But Yao had also seen the bloody paddle hanging menacingly by the door, its red stained wood telling Yao just what those children's wails sounded like, what their pained expressions looked like.

Now, it's your turn to scream, Yao thought as he dug in the knife a little deeper, wishing he could remove the gag so he could appreciate the agony resounding from the man's sunken mouth — so that Ivan could enjoy it, too.

It was then that the knife stopped midway, a sudden thought striking him as he looked up at Ivan, who had decided to make himself comfortable on an armchair nearby as he watched.

'Ivan?' he asked, brushing the hair out his eyes with his free hand.

'Yes, myshka?' Ivan's eyes lit up in curiosity, his head resting on his hand leisurely. He was, perhaps, enjoying the role of the spectator a little too much for Yao's liking.

'I've never seen you kill anyone,' Yao stated bluntly, pulling the knife out and letting it dangle loosely in his hand as he stood up.

'Ah, yes…' Ivan smiled wistfully. 'You haven't.'

Yao blinked. 'Well… can I?'

'Why would you want to do that?' Ivan tilted his head, his brows furrowed. 'Aren't you enjoying this?'

'I want to see you do it.' Yao hopped over the tied up man on the floor, extending the dripping knife to Ivan. Ivan looked at his hand with restrained interest, taking the knife gently from him.

'You won't get a question answered if I do it.' Ivan looked up at Yao. His words were reluctant, but his glistened eyes betrayed excitement.

'That's fine,' Yao responded curtly. He could put his curiosity on hold for a day. Until then, he wanted to see the beast that always lurked beneath the surface, the one that taunted Yao's nightmares but never quite revealed itself fully. He wanted to unleash that terror, to see if it truly was the monster he had always expected it to be. Perhaps then Yao could have some peace of mind, knowing that they were both the same horrid creature the world detested and abhorred.

Ivan stood up from his seat, taking hold of Yao's elbow. 'You'll want to sit down, myshka.' He smiled gently. 'And whatever happens… don't run away.'

This should have terrified Yao, sent chills down his spine, but instead he found himself feeling ticked off by the statement. Run away? How could Yao do that after having bludgeoned a man to death, shred a body up into little pieces, and watched a man's face dissolve away? He sat in the armchair with an unnerved expression on his face, although a tiny little feeling of dread started to build up in the pit of his stomach as he watched Ivan approach the man on the floor. Yao crossed his arms and sat back, taking a deep breath that he hoped Ivan would not hear.

Ivan circled around the man slowly, carefully as he seemed to study him. His eyes travelled up and down the old man's frail form, perhaps deciding what he would have to break first. He leaned down by the man's contorted face, pulling his chin to the side so that their eyes met.

'It's so very different now, isn't it?' Ivan murmured, his lips curved gently. The man's eyes widened, the whites of his eyes bloodshot and glazed with terror. Ivan's pale hand hovered the knife over the man's face, teasing him. Slowly, the knife was brought towards the man's left eye, drawing in closer and closer until a faint squelch echoed in the room. Screams of horror were buried beneath the cloth in his mouth, but it was enough to make Yao's cross his arms tighter, his hands becoming cold and clammy as he listened. He watched Ivan work the knife into the eye socket, his expression drawn as if he were concentrating. Ivan pulled the knife out and thrashed it into the man's other eye, this time twisting it in more violently. Yao's mouth went sour as he sat there motionless, the noises making him feel sick to the stomach. But despite this, he kept his gaze fixed on Ivan, on the path of the knife as it carved up the man's face.

Perhaps tired of the knife, Ivan threw it aside and rummaged through his bag. He was silent, almost as if unaware of Yao's presence as he pulled out an axe from the bag. Yao drew his legs to his chest in the armchair as he watched, afraid that whilst in this trance Ivan just might kill anyone. In this little corner of the room, Yao would have simply blended into the background for Ivan, nothing more than a fly on the wall.

Ivan raised the axe above his head, crashing it down into the man's leg. Bone was exposed, the axe coming down once more to sever it. Shrieks resounded and began to falter with every limb torn, and by the time Ivan had chopped off the man's last arm, his cries where nothing more than a whimper. Ivan knelt down to the man's face and shook him.

'You can't pass out just yet…' Ivan spoke sweetly, the childish lilt in his voice making Yao swallow nervously. 'There's no fun in this if you can't feel anything, da?' The old man groaned, barely audible as blood spilled out of him from every ripped up limb. He was slipping away with every second, and perhaps knowing this Ivan became frustrated, swinging the axe into his chest and belly monstrously, ferociously. There was no control anymore, the beast completely emerging from the depths of Ivan's tender expression as blood splattered everywhere. It painted everything red, coated Ivan's terrifying glare as he hacked away at the lump of flesh in front of him. His amused and gentle smile had been wiped away, replaced by a grave and solemn expression. Yao could not see the hate in Ivan's eyes. He could not see malice or anger. There was only a vacant, faraway look on Ivan's pale face, as if lost somewhere in the crimson ribbons he was creating with every swing. It was as if Ivan felt nothing, numbed by the sound of flesh being ripped apart. It was this expression that made Yao choke on a cry of terror as witnessed the monster inside Ivan reveal itself.

It was suddenly quiet, Ivan holding the axe loosely by his side as blood trickled down onto the floor. He looked up from the carnage he had created, dark eyes finding Yao curled up in the armchair.

The axe dropped with a loud clang, and Ivan's towering figure began to stagger towards Yao. Yao flinched, wanting to run, to leave right away, as Ivan's distant and ghoul-like expression approached him. But Ivan's strides were large, and before Yao could even set his foot down on the floor, he was trapped by Ivan's looming frame. Yao pressed himself as far back into the chair as he could, a sickening feeling of dread sweeping over him as he waited.

A quiet chuckle shattered the silence that had fallen, Ivan stumbling onto his knees in front of the armchair.

'Ochi chernye… I'm so glad you stayed.' Ivan's words were softly spoken, his eyes still not quite in the present moment as he smiled drowsily at Yao. 'It's nice, isn't it? Having friends…'

'Y-Yeah…' Yao croaked out, his mouth suddenly dry. He exhaled deeply and attempted to calm his thumping heart down, to make the painful churning of his stomach subside a little. He didn't want Ivan to know just how terrified he had been. He glanced at Ivan uneasily, waiting for that cloudy look in his eyes to fade away.

'Look at our hands…' Ivan took hold of Yao's hand with his own, intertwining their bloodied fingers together. 'We're the same.'

Ivan spoke the words wistfully, the gentleness returning into his eyes as he seemed to drink in the feel of Yao's trembling hand. There was a long stretch of silence, Yao staying motionless in Ivan's ice cold grip. Even coated in freshly spilt blood, his hands were cold. It was in this moment that Yao couldn't help but feel as if he as holding the hand of a long forgotten child that was still seeking recognition, still looking for that warmth it never had. The monster had retreated back into the murky depths of Ivan's mind, leaving behind a juvenile kind of wonder and amusement in his amethyst eyes.

Hesitantly, Yao reached up and wiped off a splotch of blood on Ivan's face, only for it to smear and cover a larger portion of Ivan's ghostly pale skin. Even when smothered in crimson, Ivan did not look like the killer that he was.

'Yeah…' Yao spoke weakly, the corners of his lips tugging upwards. 'We're the same.'

Ivan's eyes seemed to brighten at this, leaning into Yao's retreating hand like puppy desperately aching for affection.

'Da…' he murmured, perhaps comforted by this notion as much as Yao was.

The night fell into a quiet hum, drowning them in silence. But it was one that Yao was happy to let himself fall into, to absorb the calm before the storm. It was only after spilling so much blood that either of them could comfortably fall into this kind of silence, to feel at ease. Once the metallic smell of blood settled in the air, once a last breath escaped a torn man's lips, everything slowed down. The world stopped spinning so dizzyingly fast and every second became a blissful eternity, because it was only then that Yao found himself living in the moment. It was only after killing a man, after feeling his pulse ebb away, that Yao's own pulse became ever present.

Once again, Yao found himself wanting to speak these words to Ivan (surely the feeling is the same for him?), but he only had to look into Ivan's lilac eyes to know that he, too, clung on to this twisted euphoria. It was a bittersweet truth that Yao had learnt to accept — tranquillity like this simply could not be born without sacrifice. And it was these sacrifices, these acts of cruelty, that Yao and Ivan were more than willing to make.