A Note from
the Publisher

Name: Karuma
Age: 21
Pronouns: She/Her/They
GMT: -4/-5.
Occupation: Nursing student
Activity: Low
**Literature: ** Heavy lit desc
Experience: 6 years

I am not affiliated nor have any relation with the faceclaim model, Lee Dong-wook. The actions and views of this account is of my own. It does not represent the faceclaim.The roleplay concept, backstory, and the muse is single-versed and single-ship.

This means that each character and plot exists in its own timeline and does not correlate unless agreed upon by both writers or is simply banter.The concept of this account may contain triggering themes such as gore and sex. This account may not suitable for a younger audience so do keep this in mind. Do not interact if uncomfortable. Any triggering themes is discussed between the writer and I.This is a work of fiction with inspirations derived from nerve. I do not claim ownership over the concept.All edits are made by RYUUGRAPHICS. Please do not attempt to steal or tweak the graphics as they are commissioned.

At the ripe age of 15 does the Choi family’s dog disappear. The blame is immediate to the trainer, to the caretakers, to the walkers. On the tenth hour that the white pomeranian is missing – a young, yet malevolent Choi Junseo walks the manor’s garden with strands of white clinging to fabrics. Upon closer inspection, blood is buried deep in the crevices of his nails. Uhe order is quick and urgent with a grip at his wrist that demands for the crime scene to be shown.Choi Junseo’s crime scenes are never pretty (and you, dear reader, will understand this later on).His cuts are sharp and precise for his young age.It’s clear that he had dragged his knife at the flew all the way to the eye; he offers the mutt a grin that his mother calls, a never-ending smile. There has never been any choice to the matter. For this behavior may have been quick to develop to habits, addictions (his father feared) and though, quick to deny – their son was not crazy … Dr. Young seemed to think otherwise.

Traits of ASPD DSM-5 is the statement that brings the family to utter silence. Junseo picks at his lips. Seemingly distracted by the ongoing dust that comes from the books. Even followed by an arch of his eyebrow because if the books have gone on untouched, surely, his mind has been as well. Untapped knowledge that has the wheels in his head grind against one another.Junseo thinks of him as a hamster for a moment, running on it’s plastic wheel whilst not noticing that there is a cage over him, a human who decides on feeding time. So, Junseo’s lip curves in amusement from the resound poisoned venom spat by his mother and father.It was an episode! He was just angry. Mysonisnotcrazy.In the terms of appeasement for his parents and the poor doctor does Junseo agree to journal down his thoughts. Pacifying the urge for violent acts. That perhaps, one day, when he is old enough he may get himself a proper diagnosis … that journal will be the explanation of all, the cranks of his head.

It comes to no surprise to Choi Junseo when he is diagnosed with ASPD. The evidence is stacked against him. Literally. With documentation after documentation.His journal is underneath the wreckage. He does not glare, finds that to be a loss of composure but rather stares Dr. Young dead in the eye.He doesn’t blink.At age eighteen, Junseo wonders if he would ever have the chance to dissect the human eye. He wonders if Dr. Young is willing to be his subject.Dr. Young digits tremble around the clipboard.

Probably not, Junseo’s mind supplies helpfully.Dropping the clipboard back on the desk does the doctor circle around his patient. As if he was the predator stalking its prey. Junseo grins at that. Cheeks round at the force of effort before flashing bared teeth, glancing down at his nails as if claws were to sprout out. It doesn’t. But the doctor seems to have the need to please him.“Junseo-ah, you’ve already did one of the steps to improve yourself. You are here to better yourself, no? This … this journal here told me a lot. Shall we go through some of them together?”

December 2002

When I explain this story, I want this to be clearly understood, yes – i know you will read this Dr. Young, that I do not think myself as a god. That would be vain. Though, I urge you to understand that this is exactly how god is. Just for clarification. Before you say I am a narcissist, understand that god was a narcissist first.I do not need to hear praise that I am morally good and there’s this flowing light from my heart, or whatever the bullshit the deaconess says. I do not spend time looking in the mirror more than once and if my tie were to be loose, I suppose it will remain that way.However, I suppose one could feel like god – even for a minute. I had held Hee-Sun’s hand today, or rather she forced it upon me. It isn’t an unwelcomed gesture, but I hadn’t asked for it.

Her hands are sweaty. and she is so grabby. Settling it onto her lap. I do not feel anything for her. Her pupils dilate and she smiles the way that a fox does.
When she twists the end of my tie in her hand, I do not feel anything. when she begs to be fucked, I feel nothing. But i comply. there is, However, a moment that I do feel something for her. And that’s at the moment she is breathless, when her head hits the pillow – I smother. I count each and every single digit at her hand as she struggles.I have long since researched the amount of minutes it takes to smother someone to death (it is important to know because what if I decide to be a doctor – I should know when a patient is dead, right?)
Well, if you are curious, Dr. young, it takes three minutes.I stopped at two.

JANUARY 2003.

The first time I am a witness to a murder not of my own (does the murder of a mutt count?), it is with a snake and a ram. The snake that I have now noted to be a garter, has its caudal wrapping around the ram’s neck. Squeezing the muscle tight enough for the beast to draw its very last breath. This is also the day I realize that even the smallest of creatures are capable of murder.The snake feasts and delights on its prey. With poisonous fangs venturing all throughout its body. I watch this with a haze of tobacco in my vision. Arms leaning on the terrace and when i narrow my eyes, I am able to see the snake hiss and flick their tongue. I do the same. Entranced by the motion before following in pursuit.I could tell you the lighter news here. I discovered my interest in biology – medicine at this moment. In the moment of beast looking down at its prey. When there was a hatchet in my hand and I saw the snake’s head clean off.

The snake hisses once more before the blood seeps onto grassy plains and soaking on my white button up.The deaconess, remember the Ajumma I had kept telling you about … rhymes with Hwa-Bong? Yong? Well, she had told me that all are the same under god, that even the tiniest of snake will face judgement. There has to be some judgement that I gave, no?“Only god can kill."The deaconess, Hwa-Yong, interjects, taking a seat down next to me.And yet, I did it too – will remain on the tip of my tongue.The deaconess had always followed her own words with a laugh and a pat on my cheek. It burned."So, when god kills – can he create. For the seeds are planted and sown at the deathbed. When god killed a sinner, he created a worshipper, you!”

In that moment I also thought of killing her. Only because her voice is annoying. Unlike my mother, she was shrill, a holier-than-thou attitude that surprisingly fit the motto of the church. But the words were at least memorable for the present.If god can kill without guilt, so can I. And I did.If god can create with hands, so can I. And I did.With the pliers kept in my mother’s shed do I rip the fangs from the snake and decide to a faux implant. I gather the snake’s head in my hand, with blood slithering down my hands and extract each fang out and replace it for the ram. The snake’s fangs are implanted in the mouth of the ram with some facial reconstruction from the hatchet.Good news, I ended the night quite well. when I arrive back to the house, I go back to the terrace and share a mouse with the ram I dragged back inside. It didn’t eat it.Get it? Because it’s dead. I’m sorry. You think I am insane.

His interest in psychology lands him in SNU (Seoul National University). To understand one’s self, one needs to educate … and he learns. Learns enough to know that he’s only ever been curious about himself and not anothers’ brain. Certification – when handed enough won, senior officials will bend over and kiss his boot when asked.

His first real friend comes in the form of chateau wine breath and age-old wrinkles, Doctor Martin. A professor at the prestige Yonsei University.There is never a discussion on why the Frenchman choose South Korea for his practice and research, but a knowing twinkle in his eye entail a secret only shared by them two.Junseo was left with little options to pick on the reason. Perhaps, for his intelligence – his cleverness was never unheard of.A prodigy and always so precise with his scalpel. Doctor Martin was of a similar case himself as far as research tells. A former surgeon now dedicating his time to the foolish youth. A neurosurgeon that dedicated the remainder of his years in wonderment of delineating neuroanatomic or rather neurophysiologic pathways.In his path of research, rats die. It would explain why there was a rotting scent underneath the coat that Junseo had spent too much sniffing at. The doctor claims it to be worth it. That three hundred rats and monkeys can die in order to one human.

Junseo can’t help but be curious if the ego comes from years of no one saying no to him or if this is an act of playing god. He decides it to be the latter.His research is acclaimed. Praised. Told that it’s a preclinical therapeutic intervention. The blood-barrier rupture proves to be no worry to him.Il ne sert à rien de pleurer sur le lait versé, the good doctor always says in a sultry tone. Not towards Junseo, but rather to his pet rats.“Mon petit monstre, office hours had ended quite some time ago. don’t you think it’s time to go home?” Doctor Martin says with a soft chuckle, the door abruptly opening – old worn out lock jiggling at the effort.“I suppose you need to drag me out, monsieur. Unfortunately for you, I am not easily swayed.” There’s a laugh at the back of Junseo’s words. Breathy. Almost threatening to sigh. It’s a promise. He won’t be leaving.“No … I guess not. But may I assist?” Doctor Martin says coolly, brushing digits – releasing germs at the pads on lanes, sawtells, scissors, and needle holder.

It takes everything for Junseo not to jump him right there. So much for friendship. The anger isn’t present on his expression but rather, his hands flexes.Junseo is tempted to reject almost immediate as the question is asked. There is such a thing where predators of another species do not share their dinner. This is but the same. instead, his teeth bare and there’s little humor in his eye.There is a needle pressed into one of the rat’s back, seeping in propofol that causes doctor martin to flinch. He has never been good with needles. Even though he was the one to perform him. Junseo’s reasons that it could be because he had never wanted to be rat.“Fine, fine, fineeee. I'll back down. you know, i’ve acted the same way as you when I was younger so I take no offense.” Doctor Martin continues; was the silence noted or was the ego so present that it was ignored as though nothing occurred?Junseo’s lip curved up right – finding some vague amusement at that.

“And what are you performing today?”Doctor Martin says, with the apparent ability of not shutting the fuck up when signaled to do so.“One might say unethical.” The doctor corrects benignly. Forehead wrinkle appearing.Junseo’s responds with a hum. Low and vibrating from his throat as the dimming lights flickered in the laboratory.At that, does Junseo laugh. Downright contorting his features into something the doctor might view to be vile, downright a horror. “Unethical would be a human strapped on this table instead. Would you like to make this experiment unethical?”The tension could be cut with a knife. Which may be why Junseo picks at the scalpel that hadn’t been touched by the doctor and sliding it into the rat’s eye. What would happen if this eye were to be placed on a squirrel? Would vision remain? He hypothesizes that both creatures will die at result.

“Leave. You haven’t slept. You’re not in your right mind.”The doctor said after a moment. The doctor sounds almost baffled.“I’m not finished.” Junseo says after a beat. Placing the scalpel back on the tray. Lips smack before his expression smoothens. “Okay."“Okay.” The doctor snaps out, holding the door out.Junseo cannot help but snort at the mere ludicrous situation. Could only cock his head to the side with a digit pressed against his lips; picking at the flesh as he followed the exit set out for him.“Bonne nuit.”

The poor have no place in the land of rich, in an Italian opera house no less, but Junseo thinks himself a bit of a marxist.All are equal under the scalpel – all humans have five fingers on each hand and five toes on each foot. Poor or rich, he has no preferences. Eyes flicker from their backs to the callettes.Thoughts cluttered from targeting the benestante donna and her child or the man who held the liquor bottle.Benestante donna ends up with an axe to her back – if she survives, Junseo just might be the one to do spinal surgery on her.He digs the axe deeper into her flesh. Her body is convulsing, foaming and drooling.The child’s head is crushed on the cement, but just to make sure – Junseo tucks generous fingers on thin curly locks and slams it once more.He’s not shaking as much as he expected.

His lips tremble and his throat is dry – but his hands crave to handle the axe. There’s this discreet crunching sound of bones and ligaments shattered as Junseo grabbed on the wooden handle.Put your back into it!

Thank goodness that it was a stormy night, the phantom of the evening wouldn’t be able to hide his laughter. It doesn’t hide it enough to where the victim couldn’t hear. The donna is gurgling.The axe doesn’t kill as fast. Tt would be good to jot that down.Horror movies have got the entire thing wrong, it seems.“Oh! You’re dying.”She gurgles and splatters blood from her mouth. It seems so endless – the stream that connects lips to pavement. Like the lamb, he parts the way – thumb cutting off the trail and allows for his tongue to do the magic.His gaze slithers on his donna, now noting that belladonna might be more fitting.Another gurgle.“Not feeling chatty, are you? Well, I am. You have the police department in cinque minuti and a hospital within … i would saysett minuti. i’ll also say you have less than half of that time before you take your last breath.”

Junseo talks over the continued sound of spitting and deep breathing, tucking the same bloody thumb over her chin.Jaw particularly clenching at the flutter of lashes does Junseo grip tighter on her chin. Squeezing with his whole hand now. The grip was assimilating, absorbing, aping, and almost devouring – the way her face laid in the clutch of his hand.“I’m not saying this to be cruel but maybe, just maybe … someone might see this and get me arrested. Hey, hey, hey. Pay attention. I’m talking.” The now-proclaimed surgeon had said with a snap of his digits.Junseo had guess it would be him talking for the night but she could at least offer the decency of not falling asleep and dying on him so fast. A brief dark gaze of his hand offers the insightful idea of slapping the woman awake. He had at least another 118 seconds with her.

“I had once dreamt that dissection could be theater. Your face has sunken – you are a part of the act. You’re vital. Beautiful. Necessary.” Junseo lavished, reaching into the back pocket of a small, yet sharpened knife and plunged into her chest.“They begin to cut and remove pieces of her; they took her legs – " A hand remained at her thigh. “They took her arms.” He swept a hand over her forearm.The blade is tearing through her chest cavity; an intricate design where her organs are laid out for him. He has no gloves. He mourns the loss as he pries the heart and presses on her lung with a throbbing digit.It stains and smells like death.“In their aprons – with the blood dripping from their hands – they clapped. But, if you looked – her organs remained alive. A bum-bum-bum from the heart! Her kidneys secreting fluid. But she was alive.” The heart in his hand still beats. “I’m curious if the same could happen to you.”

The liver cost 193,705,900.50 won– if Junseo wanted to be exact. The jangmadang has never set up price as the demand curve increases faster than prostitutes picked up on the street. Alcoholics tend to run rampant in the black market. Go figure.The cornea cost 39,735,812 won – but if Hunseo had to be honest, it comes from the corpses of the morgue.His favorite, however? The skin. It’s about 12,371.05 won. There are additional charges that come with each selection in which it’s Junseo operating. But that’s not the part he likes the most.

He loves the name IL DOTTORE, BALANZONE, and DOCTOR OF THE MORBID AND BEASTLY that come with it.The media has given him another nickname – a reformed Jack the Ripper …For those who wander the street should be wary of a man who rips off intestines without the precision of a scalpel but rather with axe and knife.The heart-stealer.Is noted affectionately.Yet, it is never for sale.