The camera opens on a bakery with Ophelia sitting in the front. She has an empty plate in front of her and her smartphone in her hand.

"How long has that woman been here?" asks a waitress.

A waiter turns around and looks at her, realizing that his friend, the waitress, was asking out of lust.

"Sorry to tell you, but she's married. Nico LaVey's wife. She's been here for nearly two hours. I know, hot as hell, right?"

"Yes, but I don't think that'll be an issue with her. She's probably all about lust and carnality and all of that. What did she order?"

"She's had a few plates of tiramisu."

The waitress takes a napkin, writes her name and number on it, and puts that side under a plate, which she then puts a slice of tiramisu on. She walks past Ophelia's table, takes the empty plate, and puts down the new plate.

"On the house."

Ophelia, without missing a beat, picks up her fork and takes a piece off the cake without even looking at the plate.

"Enjoy that, you devilish vixen."

"I thought women weren't supposed to be as lustful as men."

The ginger waitress looks at him and pauses for a second, looking confused.

"...We usually aren't."

As Ophelia goes for another bite, her phone vibrates, and an unnamed number says "he'll be here soon." She puts her phone down and waits. A minute later, a young black man walks in and sits in front of her.

"Mr. Callen?"

"Call me Patrick."

"I hope to be calling you by your stage name soon enough. Nick Banks, and your brother would be Rob, right?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"Good. I can't tell you how many people come to me proposing 'Yung' something. I always make sure to blacklist them. But you come in with an original name that has a double meaning. Hopefully your music is as good as your stage name, then I can consider going ahead with this deal."

"I hope I don't disappoint you."

"I hope so, too. Now, have the track with you?"

Patrick nods and pulls a CD player out of his backpack.

"I know, seems primitive, but it's for privacy reasons."

"I understand, miss."

Ophelia takes a pair of earbuds out of her purse, plugs them into the disc player, and turns it on. After sitting there for a minute or so, eating her tiramisu, she stops the machine and takes out the earbuds.

"We've definitely chosen the right artists for this."

Patrick smiles for the first time since he arrived.

"Thank you, Mrs. LaVey!"

"So first, here's the contract. This is the first part needed for the deal. Of course, your brother needs to sign it too, but you only live an hour from here, so that shouldn't be an issue."

Patrick almost signs his name at the bottom, but gets a message from his brother, Kevin.

"Call me as soon as you can."

Ophelia sees the look of concern on Patrick's face.

"Need to take this immediately?"

"Yes, sorry."

Ophelia smiles warmly.

"Take your time."

Patrick gets up and goes outside with his phone, dialing his brother as he walks.

"Have they found her?"

"No, still looking. We should feel lucky that the Oakland PD even considered coming down here to help us. They could be out finding murderers and gangbangers, but they chose to look for Tania."

"Well, good news is that Mrs. LaVey likes our work. I was just about to sign a contract."

"Finally, someone realizes our talent! Good-bye to Detroit, California, hello to Miami!"

"I'll be over later so you can sign your part of the contract. Keep it real, Kev."

Patrick goes back in to the bakery where Ophelia has finished her tiramisu and is up at the counter paying for it. Patrick gives a passing admirative glance at her giant bottom, covered today by a purple miniskirt with a matching blouse covering her gratuitous upper half. Ophelia comes back with a coy smile.

"I wish I could tell you that you'll get groupies with bodies like mine, but it just isn't possible."

Patrick laughs silently and looks down.

"Let's pick up your brother. Nico should be here soon."



Nico sits quietly in the limo with Ophelia enjoying champagne next to him, analyzing the clever analogies and insults with the beats complimenting the brothers' flow nicely. The track ends and he leans forward to the brothers sitting on the other side of the limo.

"You're almost overqualified to sell your souls. You two are the next Puff and Biggie in waiting."

The brothers laugh, nod, and fist bump each other.

"I have to ask you, though. How willing are you to really go through with this?"

"Completely, Mr. LaVey."

"Are you sure? You've read up on the contracts, right? There's some pretty dark stuff in there that you have to do."

"Yes, we know. Sacrifices, including your messages in our music, etc."

Nico grins and lowers the window separating the driver from the passengers.

"Chauffeur, next left up ahead."

Ophelia can barely hold back her smile, knowing what lies in the alley.

"I'm sure you're aware of the seedy underbelly of Oakland, aren't you?"

"We were practically raised by it, Mr. LaVey."

The limo sharply turns into the alley, the side scraping against the edge of a brick wall.

"We control that underbelly."

The limo starts going faster and faster, the alley stretching way farther than it logically should.

"Every drug deal, woman selling her body, person getting robbed, and drive-by shooting is either our fault or the perpetrators will soon be associated with us. But, at the same time, every breakout star, every late night cocaine binge with lawyers and hookers, every useless socialite has us behind them. We control the bad, we control the good."

The limo stops abruptly and various guards surround the limo, checking for the marks they need to let it through. One of the guards looks directly inside to see Ophelia, who smirks and blows them a kiss. The guard signals to his partners and they all stand back. The limo continues into what appears to be an underground parking garage.

The limo stops and the chauffeur opens the doors for them. Nico lets the brothers leave first, followed by Ophelia so he could give her a quick spank before getting out himself. The brothers stand in the dark garage in absolute shock at what they see and hear. Nico goes to a wall to turn on the lights, giving a clearer view of what's going on.
The dim red lights and heat lamps give way to the type of lights you'd see on the ceiling of Costco or Walmart.

Cages are strewn about the parking garage with guards standing next to each of them. Each cage has a person inside, some chained up, others let loose. Some are covered, others are nude. All of them are reacting to their situation differently. Of course, you have people screaming, people crying, people just laid on the cold ground, having given up on the idea of escaping or fighting back.

"Second part of selling your soul, proving your worth to the Dark Lord. Follow me."

Ophelia begins walking, champagne still in hand.

"If you're going to kill someone, might as well bring you to the newest arrivals."

She uncovers a keypad and inserts a code to open up an armored door. Inside, there are a few other cages with people inside.

"Choice number one, young pastor who personally wronged us. You may recognize him as Dave McClure, we know him as Arnold Greene."

Ophelia slips off her stiletto heels and uses the sharp end of one of them to stab McClure in the arm, his screams muffled by the bag over his head and blue bandanna wedged into his mouth.

"Choice number two is a yuppie lawyer who thought he could get away with letting his client fake an injury on our property."

"He scuffed up my red Coupe De Ville just to pretend he had a broken arm."

"Finally, choice number three is a bit boring, but you can still go with her if you wish. Urban youth we kidnapped for the purpose of eventually sacrificing her."

Inside the third and final cage we see a woman with torn up and burned clothes, gently weeping as she hears Ophelia speak. Nico hands a gun to Patrick.

"Whoever you choose, you must finish the job. No choosing someone else, no takesies-backsies. Who do you choose?"

Patrick looks at all three of the prisoners with Kevin looking at the third in particular.

"I think we should choose her."

"...yeah. Why not, right?"

Nico then turns around and opens the door.

"We'll leave you to your devices. Have fun."

The couple exits the room and closes the door behind them.

"Here we go, Kev. No turning back."

Patrick pistol whips the lock open and the brothers enter the cage.

"So, our boss wants you dead. Whatever the fuck you did doesn't matter, whoever the fuck you are matters even less. This is for our fame, and we won't let any bitch get in our way."

Kevin gets closer and closer to the woman as he yells.

"Patrick, wanna do the honors?"

Patrick nods and takes the pistol from Kevin.

"Take the bag off her head. I want to see the fear in her eyes as I take her life."

Kevin kneels beside her and unties the cord keeping the bag over her head. He pulls it off, revealing a young black woman with straight hair.

"...oh my god."

Patrick immediately starts to cry slightly. He still has the gun pointed at her face as he cries. After a few minutes of fighting with himself, he turns around and points the gun at her again.

"I'm so sorry, Tania. But this is the only chance we have. We'll dedicate everything to you after this."

Tania doesn't cry, weep, or even look up at Patrick. His hands start to tremble in anticipation. Just before he pulls the trigger, he turns the gun slightly to point it at Kevin.

Outside of the door, we see Nico and Ophelia patiently waiting to hear a gunshot. They hear it, and Nico smirks before going up to unlock the door. The smirk quickly fades and becomes a look of panic as he hears a second gunshot. He begins frantically trying to get the door open, and when he does, he sees Kevin and Patrick dead on the floor in front of their sister.

"...fuck."

"Yeah. They didn't even finish the job first."

Ophelia picks up the gun and looks directly into Tania's eyes as she pulls the trigger.



The camera opens on Ophelia in a "Master of Puppets" t-shirt.

Yeah, I know. Not my usual attire, huh? But, sometimes my nightgown just isn't comfy enough, so I dress like this. Sorry for the lack of cleavage.

Now, I'd love to say that I was too busy to trash talk about Ghost Tank, but I was honestly just lazy. Been working hard all week, training and working at the office, and coming home to snuggle up into the hubby's arms and watch "Stranger Things." As much as I enjoy thinking I'm some unbreakable dominatrix badass, I'm really just a slightly sultry fangirl. Behind the lipstick, wide hips, and seduction, I'm a standard millennial.

And so are you, Oswald. Seriously, use that name more than Ghost Tank. It's far less try-hard sounding. You, despite the Death Incarnate nickname and the countless violent deathmatches, are just a millenial. I mean, sure, you show your home life all the time, but you still put up the whole Ghost Tank character even when you do that. One second, hugging your daughter, the next, vowing eternal revenge on someone that cut you off in traffic or some petty shit like that. It's sad that you can't just choose GT or Oswald, it's like you're always trying to be both.

That's why you trying to scare me by asking if I hear the screams is so transparent. I hear the screams daily. I cause them. Me and Nico both. We cause the screams. Whether it's for business, sacrificial purposes, or fun, we cause them. We, as a couple thrive on screams. It's our way of knowing the power we hold over people. It's our way of knowing that we are still in control. The more screams we hear, the higher our body count becomes. So, yes, Oswald. I hear the screams. Soon enough, they'll be your own.