"Maybe for a while..." whispered the less then enthusiastic young man as he approached the cold sub-basement of his home.
The other human in the room raised his head with apprehension as he heard another enter the room. Hard metal chained him to the wall and through his blurred vision he saw many vicious blades hung upon the wall, that shined against the dull lighting that flickered ominously. As if the situation that befell him wasn't profoundly menacing already.
For a past few days the room had been intensely quiet, other then heavy breathing. The victim lost any hope he had of getting out of here alive and could do nothing more but plead for death. It was all too unbearable, shackled to the wall like a hunter's animal victim.
Heavy boots clicked against the cheap titles, echoing endlessly and pounding in the victims ears, not only the one in the room, but every victim, every victim who stayed silent long enough to hear it. "Maybe... one of them could help." The man muttered, he sounded as if he was in a daze, far off in thought. He wasn't speaking to anyone, or, no one who could be seen.
Stopping not far from the victim chained to the wall he stood for what could have seemed like an eternity. Staring at nothing in particular, seeming unaware of the dying man in the room. A single drop of red liquid hitting the floor snapped him into reality. He raised his hand not far from his face to see the blood which lined the tip of the knife he held; looked at it with disinterest.
With a sudden movement he faced the new victim, panting now and sweating with the inability to accept the enviable. Victims scream for there lives, plead for forgiveness, and cry hope. They're all just like worms; disgusting, wiggly, little creatures with no intent but to eat the dirt of the earth.
How this particular victim choose to diminish the last of his dignity, could not be heard by any living being in the room, it all becomes a swirling mass of carnal white noise when overexposed to it.
"I guess it would be rather inane to tell you that you're about to die."
The killer spoke in a strangely composed fashion, staring off at indefinite space.
Turning to face the man and in compete fluid monotone said "Tell the fat kid in heaven he's fucking things up down here."
The victim knew that was the queue for his life to end, the last scene. From a place unknown came an awful grinding of metal and gears. The victim swallowed hard and the killer stood straight and smiled. "Don't mind that." He said as it got louder and louder until it all at once just... stopped.