"I'm not exactly sure what you want me to do with that?"
"You're Maury Povich, correct? Best known for hosting a tabloid television show called Maury?"
"Yes."
"Then I fail to see where the confusion lies."
Dillinger D'Marco stated this with absolute sincerity, for he honestly didn't know where the confusion lay. Standing in the office of Maurice Richard Povich, he thought that what he needed seemed rather apparent. Especially, since there was a very large rag, literally soaked in blood, sitting on Mr. Povich's desk. Seeping into his day planner and staining the light maple colored piece of office furniture, pink. It sat as a blatant piece of evidence as to why Dillinger was there. In fact, that was how Dillinger entered the room, he introduced himself and then splat the rag on the man's desk. Just a towel, sopping wet, saturated with blood. Smacked straight on the desk. Seriously, it should have been obvious, what needed to be done here. From how frequently, Maury kept pressing the hidden button under his desk, that was instantly supposed to summon security to his aid, Dillinger understood that this was going to require a bit more explaining. Evidently, Maury Povich was a moron.
"I need a DNA test. The DNA on that bloody rag, I want it tested against my own."
With a sheer look of disgust, Mr. Povich allowed his eyes to drop to the crimson covered cloth and feebly hit the button under his desk again. Where was his security when he needed them ever so much?
"The blood. It doesn't belong to some unfortunate child, does it? One that you murdered, perhaps?"
Taking a step back, Dillinger looked shocked. Almost insulted.
"What the fuck?!?!"
Reaching his hand out to the side, his trusty sword - The Heart of Darkness, manifested in his grasp. The solid black blade, adorned with a scarlet jewel near the hilt, was both impressive and frightening. Though few knew the true danger behind the weapon. Beyond being a sword with a razor sharp blade and a tool used to deliver death, it held the ability to steal a being's very life essence. Every time it was used to cast someone... or something, into the great abyss, it took a part of their soul's energy into itself. This is what gave it the power to rip through the fabric of reality and supply a means of traveling across dimensions. The sword was Dillinger's birthright, a gift from his father, the blood god, Ozarath. It not only suited Dillinger but it served him well. As a transportation device, murder weapon and object to strike fear into the minds and souls of dumb motherfuckers that like to assume the worst.
Boy oh boy, it was getting as though you couldn't bring a blood drenched cloth to anyone nowadays, without them thinking that you killed someone. When one savors decimating on a massive scale, they don't want to be accused willy nilly of the act. You can be a fan of butchering boat loads of people but that doesn't mean that's all you do. Be that as it may, Dillinger had no qualms about clarifying misconceptions but then, this jackass had to ask if the blood belonged to a kid. Un-fucking-believable. Yeah, he enjoyed murder, it was one of his favorite past times but he had standards. Pointing the sword squarely at Maury Povich, it took everything within him not to kill the asshole, where he sat. But then he would have to find another day time, tabloid talk show host to do the testing and it was almost a given that he'd run into a similar; if not the same, situation. Gah! This was turning into such a major hassle, he just wanted to get this shit done and over with, not have the whole damn day devoted to the task. So he took a breath and buried the urge to kill, after all... he could always stab Povich later.
"First off. No. It doesn't because I have standards. Second. I didn't have anything to do with the blood being soaked into that rag. Third. I'm pretty sure that the individuals that blood belongs to are all alive and well. Fourth. I ain't looking for my offspring, I'm trying to see if my DNA matches with another, fully grown, adult male's DNA. It should be right there soaked up on that cloth. See, I'm lookin' for my brother. Half brother. Figured this was the best way to do it. Now can you help me, or not?"
"Did you pull that sword out of thin air?"
Mr. Povich was having a difficult time paying attention to the matter at hand. What with Dillinger standing there, wielding a big ass sword that he pulled from... wherever it goes when he's not walking around with it.
"Holy shiza. Focus. Or I'll most assuredly be pulling it outta you. I need you to test this rag and see if my DNA comes up as a match, with any of the other DNA samples on it. Can you do that?"
"Where did you get it from."
"Some sick freak that was selling it on Craigslist. Apparently, he worked with part of the clean up crew, for the pay-per-view that the XWF held a little while back. He used a towel to mop up some of the blood and gore, after the main event ended. Tried to make a couple of bucks, off of someone that was interested in obtaining the blood of wrestlers. Cause he's clearly fucked in the head. Anyway, the guy that might be my brother, his DNA... his blood is a part of that sanguine collage, that's currently coating that cloth. In truth, I wasn't precisely looking for this rag, I just happened to stumble across the ad by accident and decided to pay the deranged, wacko a visit. Long story short, I left with the rag and now, here I am, asking for your help."
"And the guy that posted the ad on Craigslist?"
"Oh he's fucking dead. Yeah, I plunged my sword right into his chest. With enough force, that I accidentally stabbed it into his bedroom wall too. Had to do one of these things."
Dillinger kicked his boot up against the wall in Maury's office to demonstrate, the kind of leverage that he had to use when yanking his sword back out of the Craigslist ad poster's chest.
"Just to get it out of that fuckin' creep. I'm almost positive I pulled out one of his lungs too. Regardless, he won't be doing anymore posting. Ever again. Due to being extremely deceased. So if you're looking to purchase bodily fluids from wrestlers in the XWF, you'll have to find another source."
Once more, Maury Povich pressed the button under his desk and sighed. His security team wasn't coming. Not now, not ever. In that instant, with that realization looming over him like a black cloud of doom, he felt dreadfully ill.
"Can I ask what happened to my security team? Is there a specific reason why they aren't responding? I know you seen me press the button under my desk. Did you do something to them?"
"That depends."
Dillinger fired up a cigarette.
"Will my answer change yours?"
No one is ever prepared for this type of scenario. Least of all, day time, talk show host, Maury Povich. The sort of situation, that made you question your sanity and placed you on the brink of madness. He could run but where would he go? He could scream but would anybody hear him? Lord only knows what this lunatic did to his security team! The madman did walk into his office, without any issue. That meant there was something undoubtedly awry. Then again, Maury did watch on in awe as a sword was yanked out from nowhere, so maybe it was him, that was legitimately mental? Who's to say? Nothing made sense anymore. Maury slumped back in his chair, a defeated and tired man.
"I can't help. We don't actually do the testing. Not anymore. It's all made up. This way it's cheaper. Plus, it's more exciting and engrossing, when we can then orchestrate and design the outcome, to be whatever we see fit. Sometimes, we pay actors but the real entertainment, comes when guests who aren't in on the scripts, are present. A little staged reality, as it were. We find their reactions to be most genuine that way. Since they're clueless to what we're doing, while at the same time, we remain in complete control. It's a win, win."
"Wow. That's really shitty. How the fuck do you live with yourself?"
"How do you live with yourself?"
"Damn. Are you really comparing yourself to me? Yeah. I'm a murderer. I killed your entire security team and a good majority of your staff. Not to mention, the sicko that I found on Craigslist. Those are the folks that I just killed today. You're a liar. Who promises people false hope and peace of mind. You're way worse than I'll ever be."
"I don't believe you."
"What?"
"I don't believe that you murdered my entire security team and most of my staff. Show me."
"Fuck it. Okay."
Dillinger walked to the door and swung it open with the same grandiose gesture of someone revealing an amazing prize on a game show. Past the threshold of the doorway, the carnage and barbaric, butchery of an all out slaughter fest could be seen. Human remains were everywhere. Strewn about in lumps and pieces. Like gory confetti. Blood coated everything. Organs and entrails, were splattered against the walls and various pieces of office furniture. A head somehow managed to make its way up to the ceiling fan and the hair got all tangled and wrapped around the blades, so now it simply hung there, like a gruesome pinata. Oh and there was a hand gripping onto the handle of a coffee pot. Still resting on the burner of the machine. The rest of the body was decorated around the room, in various sized chunks and portions but the hand, stayed connected with the handle of the coffee pot. Locked in with a death grip. Ooooh... creepy. Dillinger took a drag from his cigarette and turned back to Maury.
"See? I don't lie. Well, not unless there's a purpose behind it. Like I need to detour the authorities or cover my tracks. Gain trust. Turn a situation toward my favor. Obtain information. Or if my girlfriend asks me a loaded question. Still, I'm not even close to being the monster that you are, you're a blight on humanity and I think your reign of terror needs to end. Since you can't help me, I might as well kill you and rid the world of your presence."
With wide eyes, Maury reached across his desk and grabbed his rolodex, tearing a card from inside its confines, he held it out in front of himself like a shield.
"What is that?"
"The address and phone number for the place where we used to get our DNA testing done. Before we decided to cut corners and fix stories."
Dillinger grabbed the card. Glancing it over quickly, he shoved the card into his pocket and then seized Maury Povich by the throat. Lifting him; with one hand, high into the air. Till Povich's shoes dangled over the desk.
"If this is a lie, you'll wish that I killed you."
"It's not a lie. I swear."
Dillinger said nothing further, he merely tossed Maury down on the floor and walked off. A single, swipe of his sword's blade, opened a brilliant, blazing red slice in the air in front of him, that widened as he passed through. Leaving Maury Povich alone. With only the massacre of his underlings to comfort him.