Suddenly, Grell felt himself being jerked out of the kitchen away from Mandalay. He was thrown into the opposite wall with such unexpected, brutal force that he lay on the grimy tile floor, momentarily stunned. Then, he was pulled up yet again and went flying, this time at the stove, and he feinted injury, groaning and rubbing his head, but in reality, Grell was perfectly fine and had already caught on to what was happening. He decided to have a little fun.

The next time he felt a tug again, he shrieked girlishly and flung his arms and legs like a madman, trying not to laugh, and he found himself suspended in midair by near-invisible wires and facing the perpetrator standing before him. "Look at who's playing games now," cooed Grell.

"I won't let you kill my master. I will protect him no matter what." Drocell Keinz tried to threaten, but in his dying voice, the words had little effect.

"Now, you're just being foolish. Mandalay's gone cuckoo! Do you understand? He's not the same master that you served, although I doubt he was any better before."

"That does not matter to me. I will not let anyone harm him."

Grell was now curious. Was this idiot being genuine? Or was it all an act? "I want to protect him! I won't let anyone touch him!" Grell mimicked. "Why are you doing this? You have no obligations to him."

"I do." Drocell rasped forcefully. "He took my parents and me in when we came here from Germany, even though no one else would. He took care of me and raised me like a son even after my parents died. He was like a father to me. I owe him everything. I owe him my li—"

Drocell's words were suddenly cut short when a huge barrel of wheat was brought down upon his head from behind him. He more or less crumpled under the weight, his knee joints breaking off completely and the rest of his body cracking to pieces. Drocell fell to the ground, and the wires ceased to hold Grell prisoner, and he dropped down in a most unfashionable manner. Drocell lay, twitching among the grains of wheat scattered everywhere, and his head spun 180◦ to look upwards. Even when he saw Mandalay, his "precious" master, looking down at him deliriously, holding the remnants of the broken barrel, he seemed not to understand.

"Ha!" Mandalay sneered. "I raised you like my son? I was like a father to you? Surely you are joking because I don't recall ever having gone to that much liberty to take care of you. To me, you were just a way to keep my daughter's mouths shut and away from my business. Those silly dolls that you made for them were the only value that you ever had to me. I always knew you thought highly of me, but I never could have imagined the extent to which you deluded yourself. Well, to you I say, good riddance and good night!"

With that said, the crazed man made a move to escape from the kitchen, and that was when Grell Sutcliffe's chainsaw of death was finally brought to good use, and cut clean through Mandalay in one felled swoop.

Grell relished in the splatter of red that dyed his pale skin a deep crimson. He grinned, pulling the chainsaw from the body and bringing it down, over and over again, until Mr. Mandalay was nothing more than an unidentifiable pile of red flesh and Grell was thoroughly dyed crimson.

Grell smiled to himself, wiping his glasses on his bloody coat and smoothing out his bloody, clotted hair. He tossed his beloved reaper's scythe to the side, letting it clatter onto the kitchen's tile floor, before he threw his head back and laughed.

Drocell was horrified.

His father, his only family, the man who he had respected and loved and cherished for all his life, was now a pile of meat at the feet of a crimson-clad stranger. Grell Sutcliffe laughed, a harsh, biting and crazed sound, making Drocell quake with fear, for he knew he would be next. He tried to force himself to stand, but his current lack of legs made it impossible.

He, with a weak flick of his wrist, cast his puppet strings at Grell. Grell simply grinned, his sharpened teeth menacing in the fading evening light, and Grell allowed his arms and legs to be immobilized at his sides.

"You violated our contract, reaper," Drocell pointed out, the voice he meant to be strong and meaningful coming out weak and small, with a waver at the end of his sentences that betrayed his urge to cry. "You made him suffer."

Grell shrugged, giggling when he felt some of the strings cut into his flesh, feeling warm blood drip down his sides and the familiar sting of pain. "He died on the first hit."

"Why did you stab him so many times, then?"

"I wanted a bit of fun, is all. Look how lovely this room is, now, all dyed in red," Grell sang, tipping his head back and laughing. "And look at yourself; you're bathed in gorgeous, lovely red, Drocell, from your head to your toes." Drocell suddenly realized that he was covered in blood, the blood of his father.

Drocell cried out, the strings slipping from his fingers, allowing Grell to go free. Drocell furiously and uselessly swiped at his body and his bloody clothes, frantic, and he used his arms to drag himself away from Grell. Grell grinned, his green eyes hidden behind the glint of his glasses, and he picked the chainsaw up from its place in the kitchen tile.

Drocell choked on his own tears. He had only cried once before, when his parents had died, and the sensation was unfamiliar. The sobs caught in his throat, and he was terrified to let them out, lest the crimson reaper hear them and take them as a weakness. He felt Grell behind him, but he still uselessly dragged himself away from the monster of a reaper, tears escaping from his bleary eyes. He had loved Mandalay, he had cared for Mandalay.

He had sold his life to Grell for Mandalay's protection.

And yet, Mandalay cared little—if he even cared at all—for Drocell. He treated Drocell like a toy to discard, overworking him and overusing him until Drocell was finally useless. Even in his last moments, he had chosen to protect his pride and tell Drocell off, tell Drocell that he did not love him, rather than allow Drocell to protect him.

Drocell was utterly confused.

Drocell felt Grell's blood-warmed hand clutch at his hair and pull him, tossing him onto the oak dining table like a doll. Drocell, without his legs, was helpless. He cast puppet strings at Grell, but Grell snapped them in half with his bare hands.

"Now, my lovely puppet, I wonder what color you bleed," Grell purred. Drocell screamed as he felt the chainsaw dig into his arm, slicing it clean off. Though no blood leaked from it, and sawdust flew in the air, Grell was pleased. "Not a single drop of red. Would it be worth it to kill you with this chainsaw? Or should I just burn you, and watch your ashes float to heaven? You wished for death in exchange for your Master's painless end. You're mine, Drocell Keinz." Grell grasped at Drocell's throat. Although there was no use in strangling someone who did not need to breathe, he was able to hold Drocell, flailing and screaming, still, while he watched the cinematic record play back.

It started as a teenager; Drocell, his fluffed, orange hair making him stand out from a crowd. Grell instantly noticed Mr. Mandalay, fat, ugly and balding, with two equally ugly girls at his side. Drocell was hunched over a table, his blue eyes cast intently on a piece of wood. Grell watched as Drocell took up a small carving knife, bringing it down on the rectangle of wood. He hacked out a rough shape, and, his eyes concentrated and his pale pink lips pursed together, began to detail on the wood.

A few swift flicks of the knife made a doll's hair, two jabs and a curve made eyes and a smilling mouth. He smoothed out her cheeks with the knife and made the curve of her neck. He carved folds in her clothing, buttons on her blouse, ribbons on her dress; he made a perfect little girl.

Grell was never one to appreciate the arts. But, as he watched Drocell, completely at ease, submerged in his work, he let his jaw go slack. His eyes were wide when Drocell, a shy smile gracing his lips, finally held the finished doll up for inspection. He presented it to one of the young ladies at Mandalay's side, bowing his head respectfully.

Before the girl fully grasped the toy, she let out a shriek. Drocell jumped back, and quickly looked at Mandalay for an answer. His eyes were wide.

"B-blood!" the girl cried. "Blood! It's…it's blood!" she screamed, over and over. The doll lay on the floor, and Drocell finally noticed a small patch of red on her dress. He inspected his fingers, gasping when he realized that he had cut his right thumb.

Blood trickled down his finger from the shallow cut. He had not felt it while he was making the doll and, now that he was aware of it, it hurt terribly.

Mandalay looked wildly from his hysterical daughter to the dumbfounded and frightened Drocell. He, his teeth bared, raised a large hand in the air, and Grell watched as Drocell automatically bit his lip and closed his eyes.

Crack!

The sound was so loud, it reminded Grell of a whip cracking in the air. Grell jumped as he watched Drocell crumple to the ground, breathing heavily but not crying, as Mandalay delivered blow after blow after blow upon the frail young man. Finally, with one last, heavy kick, he left Drocell, wheezing and clutching his bloody chest, on the ground, beckoning his daughters out of the room. Drocell's breathing came in ragged, awkward gasps, as he dragged himself along the floor towards his bed. Before the memory faded away completely, Grell heard a trembling, small voice begin to sing.

"London…bridge…is falling…down…"

Grell was speechless.

He had known death, he had known starvation, he had known cruelty, but there was something particularly haunting and troubling about Mandalay beating defenseless Drocell nearly unconscious. Grell shook his head, gritting his sharp teeth, willing the unpleasant and all too unfamiliar emotion of guilt and pity away.

Grell found himself staring at Drocell, the real, current Drocell, Drocell's eyes wide with fear and his broken body quaking beneath Grell's. Grell lifted his body off Drocell's, and let go of Drocell's throat. He noticed, with guilt gnawing at his heart, that Drocell was crying.

His blue eyes were cold and full of hate, but tears spilled over the lids, smearing Drocell's make up down his cheeks. Grell instinctively reached out, brushing his slender fingers over Drocell's cheek to wipe away the tears, but he felt Drocell pull away from him.

"Don't touch me," Drocell begged.

Grell took an uneasy breath, looking oddly at Drocell. The man—was it even a man?—the puppet's legs were torn off, the ball sockets of his knees exposed, and his porcelain face was cracked. His hair was matted in his master's blood, and some of his fingers were missing. Drocell's arm had been sliced off by Grell's blade.

"I thought you were going to kill me." Drocell said dejectedly.

"…Do you want to die, Drocell Keinz?" Grell asked quietly.

"I don't know anymore. The only reason I was alive, I was taught, was to serve my master. Without a master…I don't know what there is to live for."

"Drocell…" Grell muttered. He shrugged and crossed his arms. "I don't know. You've ruined the mood, somewhat, and I will gain no pleasure in killing you. Besides, you don't even bleed," Grell held up Drocell's missing and yet bloodless arm for inspection.

"I have no life," Drocell said bitterly, "as I am a puppet. I am not a human. Kill me, reaper. Put my useless existence to an end."

"Drocell Keinz, you are still mine. You said I could kill you; therefore, you have your life to me. With your life in my hands, I can decide what I want to do with you. You're my puppet now, Drocell." Grell smiled to himself, but Drocell noticed it was no longer a sadistic, mad grin; it was sad, quiet smile, one of pity, of understanding. Drocell looked up at Grell, pathetic tears still pouring down his face, and he choked on them as he felt Grell gently wrap arms around him and lift his motionless body from the table. Grell held him tightly in one arm, and retrieved his other body parts, still twitching, from the ground. Grell heaved a sigh, bending down a final time to retrieve his reaper's scythe, and he quietly left the room, Drocell Keinz in his arms.