They are agents of the organization, weapons in their hands, sharp blades stained with blood. They are killers, they have no sense of right and wrong, no extra emotions, no entanglement of love and hate, and no freedom. They are the evil spirits of the abyss. They decide the life and death of the lives under their control, but they cannot decide their own destiny and life and death. If one day, a killer asks why before killing, what will happen to him?
"That day, No. 7 Told me that she had a dream."
"What dream?"
"She woke up from her dream, and what she saw was a dark old-fashioned room. The firewood burning in the fireplace had turned to ashes, and the remaining flames were dancing and small clusters crackling. She saw that her long silver-white hair was draped on her shoulders and braided randomly, and it was reflected in the golden-orange fire. Light. Their kitten was snoring on her lap. She was wearing an old shawl and leaning on the man's shoulder. They were wrapped in thick blankets and curled up on the creaky sofa and fell asleep. She looked up at his wrinkled sleeping face, and she said that she felt so happy. "