Epilogue
The island screamed.
It was a hoarse, wretched sound. It was also fitting—nature thrived, and nature died. The predator found the prey, and the screams joined the bird song.
Perfect, the man thought.
He stood at the window, looking out over the island’s rainforest. Whiskey, smoke, and death surrounded him. Good whiskey, he noted. The kind that belonged in an unhallowed place like this.
Behind him, the captive screamed again as another strip of flesh was removed from his body. The man’s surgeon was quiet, mechanical. A tray of instruments sat on the coffee table, some bloodied, some untouched. His gekai liked to take his time.
The phone buzzed in his pocket.
He answered the call, his reflection in the window darkening. “Yes?”
A nervous voice replied: “No bodies, sir.”
His eyes narrowed.
Silence made the caller nervous. “We’ve searched the beach—the blood was fresh. Multiple hits.”
But no bodies.
Nothing confirmed.
The sound of a drill filled the room. Another scream, bone splintering.
But the man lost patience with it. He hung up and spun on his heel, drawing a blade from his pocket. The broken man gasped wetly in fear. He was in pieces—arranged and reassembled like a work of art.
He sliced his blade across the man’s throat.
“Goodbye, Salvadore,” The Viper whispered.
He had bodies to find.
And a new hunt to begin.