[ WP ] You can erase a memory if you get a tattoo of the memory on your body . A man discovered deep in the woods is found murdered and covered in tattoos . Tell his tale until death through his tattoos .

`` You ever seen anything like this before Agent Emerson?'' the young Sheriff asked. 
 
 `` No. Nothing this,'' Emerson paused, `` savage.'' 
 
 The face of the corpse had been smashed open like a rotten watermelon. They had found the gore covered claw hammer a few feet away from the corpse in the brush. 
 
 `` This was personal. Help me cut the rest of his shirt away.'' 
 
 They cut the blood stained shirt that used to be white, off of the body, then placed it into a large plastic evidence bag and sealed it. 
 
 The Sheriff gasped when he saw the man's bare chest. 
 
 Faces of women were tattooed across the man's torso. Each portrait perfectly capturing their likeness. Beneath each tattoo was a name. Beth, Amber, Tiffany, Candy, Emily, Karla, Jeanne, Jess. 
 
 Emerson took photos of the tattoos as he worked his way around the corpse. As he got to the shoulder he realized the arms told a story of their own. 
 
 A length of chain was tattooed around the bicep, a cheap one use camera, a stained mattress, a ball gag, knives of various sizes, a meat hook. 
 
 With each photo Emerson took, the pieces began to fall into place. 
 
 `` How many women are there Sheriff?'' 
 
 `` Thirty three.'' 
 
 *Damn. More than we had estimated. * 
 
 `` But there's space cleared for at least one more,'' the Sheriff said pointing at a freshly shaven patch of skin. 
 
 `` Someone fought back. Search the woods there's a survivor!'' Agent Emerson said stepping away from the corpse. 
 
 Emerson found the trail quickly. Broken twigs and branches led him deeper into the woods. He would have walked past the small brown log cabin tucked into a thick growth of trees if he had n't heard a low buzzing sound. 
 
 The old wooden door was slightly ajar, Emerson drew his pistol and pushed inside. The cabin smelled like wet rot and butchered meat. Bile rose in his throat, not because of the smell, but because he knew what it belonged to. Floor boards creaked underneath his feet as he walked toward a closed door on the back wall. With each step the buzzing grew louder. He pressed his shoulder against the door and took a deep breath. Gently he pushed the door open holding his pistol at the ready. 
 
 A young woman sat in a folding metal chair, tattoo gun held in her hand. 
 
 `` Miss, I'm Special Agent Emerson. I'm here to help you,'' Emerson said calmly lowering his pistol. 
 
 She lifted her head, her wide blue eyes met Emerson's, they were a mixture of fear, confusion, and anger. 
 
 `` Why do I need help?'' she asked genuinely perplexed. 
 
 Emerson took a cautious step forward and held his hand out for her to take. 
 
 `` Just come with me please, it's not safe here.'' 
 
 She nodded, dirty strands of blonde hair fell into her face. 
 
 `` Where did this come from?'' she asked Emerson turning her arm so he could see it. 
 
 The large portrait of a man stared at Emerson from the woman's forearm. Although Emerson had never seen the man before he knew exactly who he was. 
 
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