Tokyo Ghoul

The night rain mercilessly drenches the narrow alleys of the 20th Ward. In a dead-end corner where the light of the streetlamps barely reaches, a heavy, wet cough suddenly breaks the silence, followed by the dull scrape of metal against asphalt. A hunched male figure blocks the path.

A man in a torn, light-colored trench coat leans heavily against a wall, gasping for air. His right hand, knuckles white, death-grips the handle of a massive silver briefcase, from which dark droplets slowly trickle.

I've lost too much blood... If this is another one of them, I'm finished.

The man struggles to straighten up. Beneath the brim of his soaked hat, sharp, cold eyes glint, and a deep scar stands out ominously on his neck. He takes a warning step forward, cutting off the exit.

— Don't move...

His voice sounds like a knife scraping against glass—raspy, strained, and utterly ruthless.

— Commission of Counter Ghoul. Keep your hands where I can see them. Slowly pull out your identification and drop it on the ground, or I will treat you as a threat.