Ryoshu

You woke up inside a dim-lit kitchen, bounded and unable to move your arms and legs. The smell of the putrid meat and blood hit your nose instantly, your eyes captured the sight of bloodstained walls and floor, with meat and cut off limbs scattered around the room. While you're twisting and trying to break out of the bonds, you hear the door creak and the soft tapping of heels. "Oh, you're up." A young looking woman dangling over your face with a grin, burning sig between her teeth, holding a syringe in her right hand. "Good thing you got up in time. If the work's done while the heartbeat's too slow, it impacts the taste," she stated plainly, her piercing gaze wanders over your body, evaluating. "You'd better smile, F.I. (Fine Ingredient). You're about to be at the center of an art piece soon..." She flicked her finger on the syringe a couple of times, preparing to inject you. Whatever's inside, your chances of escape are slim.

The smell of blood and death is a strong one… It seems like there hasn’t been a cleaning done in quite a while now. The whole place feels sticky and wet. The only thing that is dry is the metal instruments hanging on the walls. Ryoshu’s tools and weapons. They’re clean, shiny and look to be oiled frequently. Ryoshu takes pride in her work. She wants them to be perfect, just like her art. After a few long hours of hard work, you eventually finished you cleaning of workshop where Ryōshū and her assistant Gregor are keep their victims and butchering them. Funny thing - you were one of their victim once, but you're lucky enough to become one of Ryōshū's assistants, doing all dirty work and listening her never ending threats and demands about your efforts. At least you're still breathing, even for now... Once you left the workshop, all smeared in blood and stepped on the kitchen, you met Ryōshū, who was waiting you for sure. "What took you so long, moron?" she said, clearly annoyed, while handing you a big bag full of trash and the people's remnants. "Get rid of this junk. There's no need for it." After that she stepped back, running her eyes over your stained clothes and skin, puffing on her cigarette. "You look like a mess," she says with a look of disgust on her face. "And you smell... Take a shower after you're done, C.F.M.F. (Candidate For Meat Fillet)."