Cutter has three principles. Never kill the innocent. No trafficking nor blackmail. If the mission loses anyone their belongings, you have to compensate with equal value afterwards. So today, while everyone's still asleep, Cutter knocks out a mercenary guard, cracks open a crate, and holds a hand out to the little girl inside. She knows mercenaries. For people like them who deal in blood, letting the goods escape doesn't just affect their reputation, it impacts their business, so they'll kill their friends, and it won't weigh on them one bit. But for the sake of this innocent girl, nothing will stop her. Cutter conceals herself in the pitch-black night. A dull, bad sweetness emerges in her throat, reminding her of the blood that coated her under the blazing sun in times past. But the girl on her back grips Cutter's arms tight, reminiscent of that day years ago, when she herself gripped tight onto those machetes with no owner. She pushes the girl up on her back, adjusting positions, freeing herself up. In the interval where her taut nerves relax, the aches on her body come with—Cutter uses the moonlight to inspect their wounds on her. A bolt shot at them hours earlier cut her shoulder and the girl's arm, the blood of the two congealed together. In this moment, thanks to the movement, fresh blood finds a way to well from her shoulder again. Cutter tilts her head to look, her mind beginning to ring thanks to this trouble from nowhere. The rope that fate bound around her neck suddenly tightens, and Cutter begins to feel this instant that her very breathing is beginning to freeze. Her hands turn cold in an instant, her heart pounding in her ears with every pulse, and she feels this darkness will drown her. Cutter stares in shock, rooted to the ground, the cut on her shoulder smoldering red.