You stop. You try to catch your breath, but to no avail. You feel him breathing down your neck, and your skin crawls. Is this fear? You bet it is and you know, if you know him, that he can smell it. To him it is like a drug. Like heroine to Kurt Cobain.

Unlike the grunge rocker, you know any attempt to kill him is futile. You watched him take a hundred shots to the torso before he began to pursue you, and the bullets seemingly pushed themselves from his body.

This is the Killer King. This is the Master of Pain. You know him as Cain, the murderer turned pro wrestler. You watched a few of his matches before the imposter appeared and you didn't want to meet him in a dark alley, yet here you are. Your boys? You watched them get ripped to shreds at his hands and you ran. You ran like a bitch.

You turn to look back. He's gone. You turn back around and run right into his chiseled frame. His scent smells like copper. The smell of dried blood, that which is now dried on his bare chest, his chest and torso covered with it.

You quiver with fear as he looks into your eyes. His eyes, they are windows into his black soul. He chuckles low.

"Thought you'd escape, eh boy?"

You figured maybe his tricks were all simply that. Tricks. But the misfortune of this situation is that which has befallen you and your "homes" is that it is all real. You feel it deep inside, frozen like a deer in the headlights of an eighteen Wheeler.

He stands before you and your eyes begin to burn. How is this possible? You're hard. You're thug. You don't cry.

Yes, you do and you drop to your knees, doing the only thing you can. You plead with the Demonic Superman.

"Please...(HIC)...please Cain! I didn't mean it! I didn't mean to disrespect you!"

You feel a shiver run up your spine as his eyes flash red like coals for a moment, whereas they were solid black.

"Pathetic. You actually think I feel sympathy for you? I've said so before, Jesus forgives. I offer salvation to those who deserve to be released from their sinful existence! I am the hand of a vengeful God!"

"But...but...I have a ten year old son at the hou-"

"Yes, and that's why you insist on playing the dangerous games you do, kid. You go out here every night, selling your drugs to these teenagers. You corrupt the innocent. And you disrespect God's Hand? You are truly a pathetic piece of trash!"

It's now or never, Tyrone. You have to do something, as futile as it seems. Come on, think. What happens in all the vampire movies. You think about this as you finger your crucifix and look up at him...the crucifix! Of course!

You thrust it out at the murderous warrior but...he just gives you "the look". You know. The one that says 'are you smoking your own product"? No? You understand it. He laughs at you, making you feel smaller.

"You're a fucking idiot. I'm not a vampire."

"But...you ate their hearts! You drank their blood! If not a vampire, what the hell are you?!"

"I just told you, stupid. Jesus is God's right hand. The loving, forgiving God who offers salvation. I am his left hand. Vengeance. I was sent here to destroy those who failed as humans! To make...people...disappear."

You sob harder and harder as you realize just how severe your situation is. You can't even beg forgiveness to get out of this one. You silently wish you had never came here. The east seemed enticing with the whole money aspect. But Beijing is dangerous. More so now with this monster roaming the streets.

You run your fingers upon the butt if your gun, stuck in your boxers. A cold wind blows, causing the signs to sway back and forth. Now or never, Tyrone.

In one swift motion you kick back away from the seven foot demon and fire off pot shots, praying you hit his vital organs. Praying he was wrong about what he said.

He flails and yells out in agony, then falls as a single shot hits his left eyes. You sigh with relief as stand. Gun still trained on him, you walk up and nudge him with your foot.

"....."

The hopelessness fades as he lays there, motionless. Like any good "thug" you stand over him and gloat.

"Yeah! Yes, I did it! I killed Cain! What then, mother fucker?! What now?! Westsi-"

A burning pain jets through every neck muscle as his hand grips your throat, an ominous red aura appearing around the Killer King. You struggle to get away, but no avail. Oh! Your glock!

Click click! Shit! Out of ammo!

His eye pulls itself back together before your very eyes, and you find it increasingly difficult to breathe as his powerful grasp becomes ever so much more powerful. Until finally...


Cain: Life is fleeting. Especially for those who have no value to their lives. Like young Tyrone here.

The camera zooms out to reveal the lifeless body of the aforementioned thug. His eyes are sunken in and sewed shut with black thread, and Cain seemingly just pops an eyeball into his mouth. His eyes, once solid black, become more human in appearance, with hazel pupils. He smirks.

Cain: You may be the same way, DMX-Factor. Maybe you think "you're gangsta". Maybe you think you're "hard". You're "thug", right? Any day now you're gonna step in front of the XWF Cameras and brag about how you're gonna pop a cap in my ass. You're gonna be "stupid brave" and "pussy strong".

"Stupid brave" because you're gonna throw your life away.

"Pussy strong" cuz you're gonna come out there, and thing you can take me down, only to moan like a virgin when you realize that you cannot and will not beat me.

So what will you do, X? You gonna give it to me?

He goes about his work silently now, pressing a scalpel into the soft skin of Tyrone's chest, and dragging it with precision. He then places a hand in either side of the young man's rib cage and smiles.

Cain: Mmmmm dark meat. Love it.

A lot of people love the white meat when they get fried chicken, but I prefer the dark meat. After all, it's supposedly better for you, not that I am worried about my health in the least. You should though, worry about your own. The reason I say this is because I've made men scream in agony and revelled in their agony. Their screams of agony are like music to my ears.

Your screams of agony will not make me have pity upon you. Nothing will, because I learned long ago that mercy is a weakness. You will be given none.

He goes about removing the organs with his bare hands, nasty, squishy sounds being made as he does. The Mad Monarch of Murder through the heart, lungs, and liver into a bucket. As does, he whistles a creepy little tune and snickers gleefully.

As he removed the intestines, he held them up victoriously.

Cain: Chitterlings, X. Hope your hungry, because I'm fucking starving.

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