[Warning: This chapter contains graphic and sensitive details. Proceed with caution.]
They said no one was born a monster.
But somehow, that was a saying Lucian didn't believe.
Why?
Because the very beginning of his memory started with… blood.
BANG!
The young Lucian stood in a quiet, dark room. The only light came from a yellow desk lamp and the open door behind him, where a strip of light stretched across the floor to where the boy stood.
Before him was a heavyset man, slumped against the wall. Blood and matter fresh on the wall above him, his head hanging, blood dripping from the hole in his cheek.
"…" The young Lucian gazed down at the pistol in his hand.
A pistol he had stolen from the man, only for it to go off when the man tried to take it back.
Yet despite the deafening sound that left his ears ringing, his hands and body were as calm as still water. He didn't bother with the speck of blood on his cheek, nor the blood soaking into the back of his thin shorts.
