Lars laid in the floor of the conference room. He was breathing heavily and coughed. He coughed up blood. He spat out the last bit of blood that was left in his mouth and looked at the small puddle of the dark red fluid. His ribs hurt. His back hurt. His head hurt. Everything hurt. He looked up to see the eyes of the person who did this to him. He saw the purple eyes filled with joy. He saw the childish grin. He saw the once cream scarf, now stained with blood. His eyes wandered to the metal pipe in his attackers hands. It was dripping with the crimson fluid. "Why do you do this, Ivan?" He asked. "Because you bad influence to children" he answered. Ivan lifted his arms and whacked Lars on his back. Lars didn't cry out in pain. In his mind were only two of the bluest eyes known to man. The eyes of his lover. "Ludwig" he whispered before it all went black...