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Freeman: “You idiot! No!”

Jumping through the window, he ran into the living room.

He saw Marsha’s silhouette sitting with her back to him.

Relieved that she was safe, he sighed, but his face soon turned pale.

Upon closer inspection, Marsha seemed to have lost her mind, holding a knife in her hand.

Blood dripped from the blade, pooling on the floor.

Her stepfather lay dead a step away.

Checking the corpse’s pulse, Freeman bit his lip and stepped back.

’He’s dead.’

Strangely, he felt nothing. He just prioritized what needed to be done next.

For the first time, he thought he might be a rather cold person.

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