Few instances in life have rendered Dillinger speechless. There was that moment of absolute clarity as he stood above the butchered corpses belonging to his very first kills. Literally drenched in blood; none of which was his, while the smell of death began to rise and linger. Hanging heavy in the air, it surrounded him and closed in tight and he knew... he was never going to be able to do laundry the same way again. There was no way he'd get all of that blood out of his clothes with a "normal" wash cycle. No, his laundry days were going to be a lot more complex, from that moment onward and he would quickly develop a fondness for wearing black. Then there was his first day within the hallow grounds of Golden Vale Sanatorium, when the sight of REDACTED dancing in the snow, sent him into a standstill. The snow was later determined to be ash, blowing in the wind from a small fire she started. Regardless of all that though, when he initially saw her, it took his breath away and he felt the only pitter-patter his now cold black heart would ever feel. She more than likely would still be a source of his weakness to this very day, if he didn't get the fuck outta that place and leave her behind, with a jagged piece of glass shoved into her side. Love kills and he was proof. Or so he thought. Then of course there was that time he landed the plane in Top Gun while using the Power Glove, when he couldn't successfully complete the task with a regular controller. For a good two minutes, he just sat there and stared at the screen, in total awe, with his mouth agape. It was unbelievable. And now. There was... this.

Yep. Right now. At this precise second. Dillinger lost the ability to form words and express thoughts through those words, due to the horrific scene that he witnessed when he looked up from the book he was reading. You're probably wondering, what exactly did he see? Well, to put it simply, his butler was standing there with an ice cream cone. Sounds harmless, right? Sure, it does. Rest assured though, it is not. Cause the cone was one of those cheap wafer cones... y'know, the ones that usually taste like cardboard and the "ice cream".... well, it was really feces. That's correct. That tiny cone was loaded with crap. However, this wasn't ordinary dookie in a cone we were talking about here. Nah... this fecal matter was manipulated, most likely by a machine that would otherwise produce ice cream. The dung was modified and twisted 'round in a tapering spiral shape, to give it the false appearance of a delicious soft serve treat. But seriously, there's no masking the reality of what it was. Excrement in a cheap cone. To make the whole thing even more fucked, there were plastic pieces jammed into the feces, in order to give it a happy face. It was both hilarious and revolting. Still, it alone, did not stun Dillinger into silence. Nope. His quiet shock came from the fact that his butler was holding the frozen nightmare and Dillinger had murdered this man a little more than a week ago. He slit the butler's throat with a steak knife and watched while the man bled out on the hardwood, dining room floor. If Dillinger checked, he knew there would still be a stain on the floor. Yet, there the fellow stood, the picture of perfect health, with a wafer cup full of smiling night soil in hand. It was as if Dillinger found himself stuck inside an art student's bizarre film project and the whole wretched scenario dragooned him into being a mute. All he could do was stare as he gave futile attempts to speak. Opening and closing his mouth, like a goldfish outta water. On his fifth try, the butler decided to take over and talk instead.

"Sir, I found... this, by the front door. I would have disposed of it but it came with a note attached that was addressed to you and I felt bringing both items to your attention, kept the sender's point intact. This way you could rationalize, assess and deal with it and the sender, accordingly."

The butler then used his free hand to retrieve the note and hold it out for Dillinger to see.

You just got C.diff from Nico LaVey!!!

This made all that swirled brown from downtown, even more disturbing. It meant that Nico LaVey, either contracted C.Diff and played with his own shit in order to create that frosty, curled terror or he used someone else's C.Diff riddled crap to make it. Whichever way that went, it was tremendously disturbing. Even if Nico used a machine, he still had to load it up with the C.Diff infected shit and then transport the poo cone from wherever he made the thing to Dillinger's home. The entire concept was just grotesque. Dillinger pushed back in his swivel chair and put a tad more distance between himself and the butler wielding the happy face C.Diff laden shit cone.

"No need to worry, sir. You'll be perfectly fine, so long as I keep hold of the cone."

The C.Diff fright was only half of Dillinger's concern, he was seeing dead people again. Last time was a hallucination. This time... it's a... what? Ghost? Another hallucination? Was the Diff cone an apparition too? Dillinger didn't want to risk it, he scooted back further instead.

"You're dead. I killed you."

Dillinger finally choked out as he moved back even further still.

"A minor flesh wound."

"I saw you bleed out on the floor."

"Yes, well that was a pickle, wasn't it? I bet there's a stain now too. I'll have to hit that wood with some of my special floor cleaner. Should do the trick and remove the stain in a jiff. Why in no time at all, that floor will be back to looking brand new, you just wait and see."

Dillinger's mind wasn't eased by the concept of stain free floors. This was all too weird to be (even his) reality.

"This can't be real. I must have had some sort of mental break. I mean, I've seen and heard things before, but this... this hallucination is way too real. I can smell the shit in that cone, it's so fucking real. But it can't be real. People don't come back from what happened to you. What I did to you. I gave you a permanent fuckin' smile. I put your body in the incinerator and I watched it burn till there was nothing left. People don't come back from that. They don't come back period but definitely not from that. So unless you're a vengeful twin or relative that closely resembles the man that I killed... you've got to be a trick my mind is playing on me. There's no other way to explain it."

"How about if I show you my personal identification card? Will that help clear things up for you?"

The butler stated pleasantly as he laid the note from Nico LaVey onto Dillinger's desk, promptly reaching for his wallet soon after. Unfortunately, in this process the C.Diff infused shit cone, slipped from his hand somehow and landed Diff side down on the floor. Suddenly, a green mist slowly snaked up from the mound of shit and started to float towards Dillinger, while he covered both his nose and mouth with his hand and shoved back in the swivel chair as hard as he could. The chair shot back and slammed into the window, cracking it instantly and smashing clean through. Taking the still seated Dillinger with it, the chair sailed through the window and they both wound up in a heap on the lawn. With eyes instantly cast to the window, Dillinger gingerly rose to his feet and watched as the toxic green steam, swelled and whirled within his office. Like a vicious predator, taunting him from within. That's when Dillinger decided it was best to get as far away as possible and hobbled to his garage. Hopping into the closest car available, he drove off without looking back as the butler observed him through the broken office window. Now accompanied by the maid, known only as Elise, the butler turned to her with a smile. One that they shared before the maid put a metal dinner plate cover over the Diff. Neither seemed worried or concerned at all and eventually, the green fumes dispersed into nothing. Though, not before a single, small trail of green mist, managed to seep through the broken window...

TBC

---

"Peter Fuckin' Gilmour! You and I are finally meeting in the ring and I couldn't be more thrilled. Y'know, it's not everyday I get to encounter a self proclaimed 'King Of The X-Treme' in battle. I wonder if any truth will hold up to that epithet? Will you test my limits Peter, or will you bore me like the slew of others who fell before you did? Yes, TJ Adams counts too and if I wouldn't have been bored out of my skull, I would have pinned him all on my own, without any assistance. After dealing with Chris Chambers, of course. Times and places though. Inevitable things are bound to happen, even if they haven't occurred yet. Besides, there's no need to waste my words on the future, when my present has such incredible promise. Unless of course, you disappoint me, Petes. But I don't think you'll do that, will you? I hope not. I'm really looking forward to the chance of facing someone who will challenge me and so far, you're the closest thing to fit the bill for that description. So you had better not let me down."

"Also, I can keep this kosher until the moment we step into that ring but only if you don't provoke me to do otherwise. I can and will verbally eviscerate you in every way possible and leave you as nothing more than a pile of mush laying on the floor trying desperately and failing to regain shape, if you give me a reason to do so; however, if you maintain your composure, so will I, capisce? There's no need for things to become ugly before we try to physically destroy each other. We're both adults after all. There's no reason why we can't be civilized while we speak. I know I don't see a cause to do anything less, myself but give me motivation and I will not stop. Know that. Understand that. Because it is the truth. Trust me. You don't want to engage me in this fashion."

"The ball's in your court now, Petes. Shoot wisely."