The hatchback slowed as it approached an enormous wooden sign above a large, poorly made steel gate. Kuro leaned forward, eyes already pressed to the window.
"Welcome to Greyman," he read aloud from the sign as they passed through the gate.
"Neat sign your city has, Mr. Driver," Kuro said. "Though I'm not that excited to be living here."
The driver rolled his eyes. "Then why are ya here in the first place? I can do everyone a favor and take ya back, if you want. Heh."
Kuro kept his gaze outside, his eyes dulling at the offer. "If only that was an option."
He pulled a small piece of paper from his pocket and read it aloud. "G-M 3rd Street. House number 10A. You know where that is? Since we're finally here, might as well tell you my designated location."
The driver's eyes widened slightly. "Wow, kid, you hit the jackpot. Third Street's got some of the best houses in the whole city. Your folks must be big shots if they found you a home there."
Kuro didn't respond. His eyes had locked onto something outside—a massive bronze statue, easily fifteen meters tall. It depicted a man in overalls, grinning widely at the sky with a straw hat perched on his head. At his right side stood a small bronze sheep. To his left, a larger statue of a pig. A tag at the base read: Philemon Vasiliki.
But it was the detail on the man's right cheek that caught Kuro's attention: a number, etched into the metal. 222.
"Hey, Mr. Driver," Kuro asked, still staring, "what's with that statue? And that number on his cheek? That name sounds... familiar."
A smirk crept across the driver's face. "That, my friend, is the man himself. Philemon Vasiliki. Founder of the Greyfly and—well—the whole damn Greyman City."
Kuro slapped his forehead. "Oh! The guy I was reading about earlier. The magic bug fairy tal—"
He stopped.
His eyes caught something horrifying.
A small brick house along the road. One wall was missing. Inside—
A pile of naked, bloated corpses. Men, stacked like firewood.
Their genitals severed and placed beside them in another small, gruesome hill.
For four seconds, Kuro couldn't move. Couldn't breathe. Couldn't even blink. It felt like an eternity.
As the car passed the scene, air finally rushed back into his lungs. He whipped his head around to look back. Men in full-body leather suits stood around the house. Their helmets had no openings—only glass patches for the eyes, and long tubes connected to reservoirs strapped to their backs.
Something rose in Kuro's throat. He slapped a hand over his mouth, willing himself not to vomit.
What the hell was that? Was it real?
He looked to the driver, who seemed entirely unfazed.
"TELL ME YOU SAW THAT! I'm certain it was real! But... something like that can't... happen..."
The driver scoffed. "Ha! You people's reactions are always priceless. One of the reasons I love this job—watching folks like you freak out when they see the cleanup crew."
Kuro's eyes widened. "Cleanup? You mean that happens? Normally?"
"Yeah, but don't worry, kid. You'll get used to it after a month or two. Though, that cleanup was brutal. They're usually just one or two bodies. Guess those guys were pretty terrible people to get offed like that."
Kuro stared at him, stunned. "Usually? As in... this is normal to you people?! What are you—primitive beasts? What human would do that to another human? THIS is normalized?!"
He expected answers.
But he got something else.
The driver pulled up to a fairly large house and stopped the car.
"Hey, kid." He turned around, smiling for the first time. "We're here."
He nodded toward the building.
"Welcome to your new home, Mr. Paddington."