Kuto’s life was filled with revulsion. He was in Montserrat, and had a crew haircut. His hair color was dark golden brown, and he had a mustache. He wore a white and red v-neck t-shirt. Kuto’s eyes were cold and lifeless, his mouth turned down in a permanent scowl.

He walked through the streets of Montserrat, looking for someone to kill. It didn’t matter who it was, as long as they suffered before they died. Kuto derived great pleasure from making others suffer – it made him feel powerful and alive.

He spotted a woman walking alone down an alleyway and decided to make her his next victim. He crept up behind her, silent as a cat, then grabbed her around the throat with one hand while holding a knife to her stomach with the other. The woman whimpered in terror as she realized what was about to happen to her.

“Please,” she begged, “don’t kill me.” But Kuto wasn’t interested in pleas or begging – he only cared about inflicting pain . . .