Disclaimer: I DO NOT OWN. I make no moneys, I'm not brilliant and/or twisted enough to have come up with characters/backgrounds like this anyway...

Home Again

Horace's gait was slow and purposeful, as it always had been. He never wasted the energy to get someplace he didn't want to be, and there was no point in hurrying to get somewhere he wanted to be when he was already dead… He had the rest of eternity to make the trip. As he made his way closer to the junkyard he once called home, Horace began recognizing landmarks and feeling more at ease. It was the only home he'd ever had, and though his life hadn't been the best, familiarity was better than nothing.

The dogs would likely be long gone. After he died he kept up feeding them as best he could, but once Kriticos had gotten hold of him there was no telling what had happened to his junkyard and its furrier inhabitants. Thoughts like those made him sad, as his dogs were sweet and protective as the day was long, ever thankful for the home they had found in his little sanctuary. They had also made for a wonderful sort of garbage disposal for the cruel and awful people Horace had so badly needed to break. However, they were smart and had to have made a living somehow before he'd found them, so he had some hope.

When the yard finally loomed into view Horace felt suddenly… lighter. Better. It was the first real comfort he'd felt in a long, long time. It was familiar, it was home.

It was overrun.

Horace could only stand at the gate and look on, stunned, at the horde of young people that had infested his home. The padlock on the heavy gate had been broken and there were probably a dozen people, from teenagers to those well over the legal age to drink, littered around the front of the yard like sybaritic little cockroaches. They were laughing and carrying on and, in some cases, smoking what smelled like pretty powerful weed with not a care in the world. Apparently after his capture someone had been stupid enough to venture onto his turf and had met no resistance. Since that time the junkyard had become a haven for gutter-children and potheads, forgotten by the law and embraced by the underbelly of the area's youth. He could only imagine what went on here in the dead of night.

Feeling that familiar rage rise in the pit of his stomach and the back of his mind, Horace advanced on his yard, his home. They were destroying it!He had nothing against the idea of taking refuge in the junkyard, that was what it had become for him, and the pot certainly wasn't a problem either... But they had no respect for his things. They'd forgotten the ferocity with which he used to protect this place, forgotten the cold fear that once gripped people at the thought of setting foot on this cursed ground. The ground was littered with trash and the yard was littered with miscreants. There was a difference between trying to find a place to be free from judgement and simply trying to duck the law and pretend to be badass. These were the kind of people he used to break.

Horace growled lowly and thought that it was high time to reestablish some long-forgotten fear and alarm in this sleepy little town. His dogs were gone, all the cars he'd salvaged were gone… Everything. All that was left was the crushed garbage he'd left behind and the anger, the territorial rage that caused him to want to tear these people to pieces. And he wanted to make them remember it too.

At first no one noticed the heavy footsteps, the change in the air. He couldn't be seen but Horace's presence was most definitely one that could be felt. He'd been away long enough for people to forget what that heaviness in the atmosphere meant, to forget who really ran this place. No matter, they'd know soon enough.

The first person he could get his hands on didn't know what hit him. Or rather, didn't know what bent him backwards so suddenly his spine snapped and then threw him against a tall tower of crushed cars as if he weighed less than a loaf of bread. The loud crunch-creak of flesh on old, rusting metal drew the attention of the rest of the party, and it was nearly five seconds before anyone started screaming. They scattered like the cockroaches he had earlier likened them to, this sudden act of violence on his part being the figurative light switch that forced them toward the dark. Snagging another one as it ran by in a panic, he turned the shrieking man upside down and, holding him by either ankle, tore him easily in half. This method was much like playing the wish-bone game, as Horace never knew which side more of the pitiable creature's mass would cling to. Sometimes he only managed to rip off a leg, but this time his victim came apart in basically even pieces. A particularly harsh noise of fear from further inside the junkyard distracted the Juggernaut and he let both halves of the man fall to the ground, quickly forgotten.

Oh, how he'd missed this.

Some he tied into knots, some he simply held by the foot and slammed their heads against any and all hard surfaces, like whopping the head of a frog on a tree. He turned one girl into sort of a Rubik's Cube, twisting her at the neck, the spine, the elbows and knees… It was pretty amazing, actually, how easy she was to contort.

Too soon he had run out of bodies to break and he finally came to a complete halt, just in front of his garage. HIS. He had reclaimed it, and it felt incredible to be home again. One extremely fast young man had torn out of the gate as soon as the first unfortunate's body hit the ground, and Horace had let him go. After all, if the news of his return wasn't spread now, more senseless murder would have to be committed until it was. Besides, Horace had what he wanted: peace and quiet and a place that was just for him. In sparing that one skinny little git he'd cemented this, and now everyone would know he'd re-staked his claim…

The Breaker was back.