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JackCain · (06-22-2017)

**It's a dark night at New York Harbor. The camera sweeps across the waterfront. dimly lit parts of the docks are ignored as the focus becomes a large corrugated metal warehouse at the end of a pier. Several cars are parked outside. A large truck with it's rear trailer open stands by one of the loading bays. The shot follows through the opening nearby. We enter the main part of the warehouse. A drug operation has been halted mid flow. Glass bottles, plastic bags and piles of white powder are dotted around the place. Many of the bottles are cracked or smashed, while packing crates are stacked from floor to ceiling.

But dotted around the place are dozens of people, some are face down, not moving, covered in blood. Others are bound and gagged, screaming and crying behind their shackles. The camera sweeps through the ground floor, and up a set of metal steps to an administrator's office on an elevated part of of the factory floor. Through the dirty windows are visible two figures. One is bound to a chair with heavy duty tape, with his mouth filled with a damp rag. His face is bruised and bleeding. One eye is nearly closed through the swelling after a series of sustained blows.

The other is a large figure dressed in black, reclining in the administrator's chair with his feet on the desk. Jack Cain wears a satisfied grin on his face. He opens a draw and pulls out an expensive looking pine box, around 8 inches long. Placing it on the desk, he opens it up to reveal a stash of expensive Cuban cigars. Selecting one, he draws in the aroma, then produces a knife from his pocket and slices the end off with a straight cut. Finally, he places it in his mouth and takes a book of matches from the table. Striking the first one, he lights the tobacco and takes in a long breath, regarding the receding flame on the match.**

Fire's beautiful ain't it? I mean, you gotta appreciate it, because it's freedom in it's purest form. It can be as big or as small as it wants to be. It can go wherever it likes, it can consume what it wants, it can dance as quietly or as loudly as it wants to.

It's pure. It's beauty. It represents everything about us if we just let ourselves go and embrace the elemental side of who we are.

It's somethin' these fuckers here can't understand. They are, as my new friend Mezian likes to put it, in need of bein' punished. George down here shifts enough blow through this place in a year his shit's turned white.

**The man looks uncomfortably at Cain with his one good eye. Cain smiles back and takes a big draw on the cigar**

But the thing is Mezian, I don't think what I do here tonight, or tomorrow, next week, next month or next year will change anythin'. In fact, I know it won't. I know they ain't gonna be righteous, they ain't gonna have any epiphany and suddenly start collectin' for the Red Cross. So if you think I'm doin' this for them - you're even more dumb than you fuckin' look.

I'm doin' it for me.

Not to heal my soul. Not to mend a broken heart.

I'm doin' it because I love hurtin' people like this.

I love seein' the fear in their eyes when they realise that their guts are gonna come spillin' out, that they're gonna be breathin' their last breath, that they're gonna feel their life slowly slip away and there's absolutely nothin' they can do about it other than sit back and scream.

That's the bigger picture Mezian, one that you've missed. Me tellin' you about Karen was just to show you that there ain't some soft hearted fool behind my fists. I was tryna show you that there was a time when I was a man, when I did have a degree of decency and humanity - but that's gone now.

I ain't the human you think I am Mezian. I'm not even that keen on humans at all. And you can sit there and spout all your Elder God shit all day long and tell, me how you have to clean up the messes that guys like me make, but you actually made my point for me.

Tryna stop me is like tryna bottle fire. I don't obey the rules that guys you've fought before obey. You think these guys here are a plague? They ain't a fuckin' plague - they're not worth that. They're insects. Vermin. And the best way to deal with vermin is to burn them out and set fire to their homes. So there's no trace of them left.

Destroy everythin'.

**Cain gets up out of the chair and lights another match. He walks around the desk and stands in front of the man in the chair. He leans in front of him and holds the flame in front of the man's eye**

But beauty is in the eye of the beholder Mezian. One man's beauty, is another man's beast. You say I don't really live in pain and anger - but you can't possibly know real pain and anger. You can't know rage like I know it - because you have no concept of what drives someone who's left their humanity behind. You've just seen the beautiful side of pain - the pseudo-sexual, romanticised version that assholes like you subscribe to because it make you look all dark and mysterious. But the beastly side of pain? That's real - you don't get that by wearing fancy clothes and shoutin' about prices to be paid and systematic purges like you're Arthur C fuckin' Clarke.

**Cain places the burning match against the man's eyeball, and he screams**

Hear that? That's beauty - fuckin' music to my ears, and you're gonna be dinging from the same tune come Saturday, Mezian. You'll scream, you'll shout, you'll beg me to stop, but I ain't gonna stop. I ain't gonna be finished till you ain't got no lungs left to scream from. That's the price you'll pay. You say all I am is an act? An act, my friend, has many meanings. Yeah, it can be false, it can be a guy puttin' on a show - which is closer to you than you think - but an act is also the work of someone with the conviction to do what's necessary. In the face of adversity, the will to act on what's required is far more potent than anythin' your brain can come up with.

**Cain then lights the rag in the man's mouth. It's only then apparent that it's been doused with kerosene, and quickly becomes aflame, engulfing the man in the chair as he continues to scream. Cain walks to the door and pick up a gas can, hold it behind him and letting contents splash against the metal of the staircase as he descends to the lower tier**

Brutish? Neanderthal? Pretty rich comin' from some guy who don't look like he can go to the bathroom without a permission slip and help from his mom. But if you wanna get into name callin', that's fine. I can live with that. I don;t really care what you call me, cos you keep missin' the point. You keep talkin' about a reckonin' for me, for mankind, for everyone.

Who's bringin' that pal? Superman? John McClane? Don't tell me it's you? That's like sayin' Judgement Day's bein' wrought by a fuckin' toaster instead of Schwarzenegger.

**Cain gets to the bottom of the stairs, still smoking the cigar. The gas can runs dry, and he picks up another one he left nearby. The floor is soaked in the flammable liquid, as are the stacked crates, and all the other paraphernalia in the warehouse. Cain walks around the room, drenching the men, both bound and unconscious, in the gasoline**

Smell that? That's the scent of somethin' beautiful about to happen Mezian. You can't ever understand me. You can't ever understand why I do what I do, because it's not do with being human, or bein' demon, or being a fuckin alien or whatever dimension you come from. I doubt you were there when Pandora's Box opened. I doubt you were there when "evil spewed out". You're just a man. A man with a pretty serious problem upstairs, but a man all the same. But that evil you talked about? It's real pal. It's very fuckin' real, and it lives inside all of us. You? You might be able to get a little spark of it, but you're afraid to feed the fire. You don't know what it's like to start the fuckin' inferno.

**Cain walks out the front door, puffing on the cigar as he does so. He lights another match and cradles it in the palm of his hand to protect it from the bitter wind that blows outside of the warehouse.**

You can try to light the fire, Mezian. You can try to build the flames. You can stick your hand in the flame as much as you like, but the point is, I'm gonna burn brighter, and longer.

And when it comes to you?

**Cain closes his other hand over the naked flame, holding it in place for a second, starving it of oxygen. He opens his hands to find the match spent and the fire extinguished**

Well, it's gonna be pretty easy to put you out. Just like that.

**Cain takes a last, long drag on the cigar**

Now I don't give a flyin' monkey's fuckin' left ball if I'm in the ring with Patrick Coldwell, Mezian, Mike Tyson or Godzilla on Saturday. Cos the thing is, you're all the same. You ain't no better or worse than anyone else I've taken on - and beaten - so far. What happened to them, is gonna happen to you, cos in the end, my friend...

**Cain looks behind him and smiles. He takes the cigar and lobs it inside the warehouse, where flames immediately erupt, engulfing crates, product, and men alike. Shouts, cries and screams echo from within as Cain walks away, revelling in the pain he's inflicted. The building warps and a fireball billows out upwards, lighting up the night sky**

Everything burns.

**Cain laughs and walks past the camera as the fire fills the screen**

Threaded Mode \| Linear Mode Everything burns...
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