Disclaimer: Don't own and never will.
AN: This is going to have some very unflattering depictions of Christianity. This is not intended as a dig at that faith, but the character in question IS from the worse aspects of Christianity.
AN2: Set not long before the mission, Hating the Haters.
Ernst Dunn hated faggots.
It was as natural as breathing really. Every decent Christian American knew that they were filth, scum, sinners without hope, who rejected the loving arms of Christ and the morals that made this country great. They defiled God's chosen people and God's chosen land.
He gripped his baseball bat and growled to himself. He could see a fag coming this way, running through Middle Park like he was a normal person. He'd warned him, warned him away from decent God-fearing people. He wasn't a decent person, he was just like Ernst's father. A fag who had abandoned him to live with his boyfriend when Ernst was six. They were all the same, all wrong, all aberrations to God and nature.
They all deserved the punishment he handed out, beating them up with his bat. The cops weren't going to catch him, they hadn't a clue. God was on his side, bringing the pain of retribution to the faggots that dragged America down. It was like his preacher said, reject the gays and their aggressive atheist agenda against the good, God fearing Republicans. It was up to good, God-fearing folks to save them. He was doing them a favour really, showing them the error of their ways and saving them from the depths of their final punishment for their depraved, degenerate lifestyle.
As the faggot came out of the tunnel, Ernst swung his bat and swung it hard, hitting him in the stomach and forcing him to keel over in pain. He was dressed in a light green tracksuit jumper and bottoms and unlike Ernst, had long blond hair that was tied into a long, effeminate ponytail.
"I've had it with you fags!" he shouted at the faggot as he slowly walked around the man. Raising his bat once more, be swung it hard at the fag's arse, knocking him face first to the ground.
"Please…" the fag began to plead, but Ernst ignored him and swung his bat once more, hitting the filthy fag on the back of the head.
"You ain't good enough for the likes of decent Americans," he sneered angrily, a sudden thrill running through his veins as he noticed the blood pouring from the fag's various cuts. He raised his bat and swung again.
"You happy now daddy?" he shouted angrily. The fag he was beating up was far too young to be his father. There wasn't even a remote resemblance. But he was a fag, and that was enough.
A police whistle rang through the park and Ernst ran. It wasn't right that he had to run when all he was doing was enforcing justice. God's justice no less on the unworthy filth that polluted Liberty City like the trash that they were.
Jumping on his Faggio he made his get away. There would be more chances, more opportunities for his revenge, his justice.