CHAPTER 45: APOCALYPSE NOW, PART 3

The death of Eugene Horowitz was the most tragic one to the group of defenders known as the Hillwood Heroes, even moreso than any other death following the First Baptist Church of Hillwood Massacre. As horrifying and as tragic as every death within was, none deserving of such fates, Eugene was the absolute last to deserve any sort of harm.

Each of the Hillwood Heroes, knowing him well since their childhood, took his death heavily, but none so much as Sheena.

Knowing him well since the two were but youths, the two became good friends, sharing similar joyful and optimistic outlooks on life, interests in arts like music and theater, and perhaps were on a path to become something greater than friends, as many of their peers speculated.

However, there laid one roadblock in the way of any true relationship that could be built with the two: Eugene was a gay man. Watching her best friend fail relationship after relationship throughout his life, being left without a fulfilling partnership with another person. She had made her attempts to offer herself for that position, in both a forceful and misguided way during one of them.

Nonetheless, her confession had made its way to Eugene, and had driven him to attempt a relationship with her, for better or worse. Making the promise of a date following the end of the Freak's reign of terror and mayhem upon the city of Hillwood, the two would soon go on a date to see how they would fare, and, in the mind of Sheena, it would be just the first step towards their eventual marriage.

But, like many of the good things within Eugene's life, things came to an end with bad luck. Not only was the joyful young man forced to murder women and children in a church, albeit a very bigoted one, and not only was he murdered by the Freak and his confederates, but his body was destroyed in so many pieces that there was naught to mourn over save pieces of meat that once lived and breathed as a human being.

To see any human being suffer such a fate, let alone a person one cares so deeply about, is enough of a taste of hell on the visual senses, but Sheena is not one with a strong stomach, and is a newcomer to the pain of loss. Knowing that a person she was all but joined at the hip with, was no longer alive and in her life, was not a fact she could take in so easily.

However, she was not alone in her attempt to accept this fact. With the hour of night growing close at hand, it came time for her to shed her identity of Flower Child, returning to the ego of Sheena, and return home to her apartment. Accompanying her on this journey back home was a friend that she had come to accept as a close second in the past year: Nadine.

During the return home, Sheena remained at a dead silence, not letting a single sound out of her lips or making any physical movement to engage any manner of conversation. Recognizing that this was not a healthy thing to see following a tragic death, Nadine sought to change that by breaking the silence herself.

"Sheena." Nadine said.

"Hmm?" Sheena asked.

"I'm not gonna play dumb and ask if you're alright, but... You haven't said a word at all during the walk back."

"I... Uh... I don't really have anything to say."

"Sheena, I saw what you saw. If you need to talk to me, I'm right here. Anybody who saw anything like that probably could use someone to talk to."

"Well, what's there to say? Eugene, he's... He's de... He's dea..."

Cringing in pain at the very word, unable to complete it in full, Sheena let out light drops of tears from her eyes. Before making her way to her apartment door, she dropped to the floor, beginning to cry in full and much more loudly. Once again offering her emotional support to her friend, Nadine crouched onto the floor and hugged her tightly, giving her a foundation to lay her emotions upon.

"It's okay, that's it. Just let it out." Nadine said.

"Oh, Nadine, you were right. I should've just let it go. I shouldn't have done this." Sheena said.

"What?"

"Before... Before we left, I told you that we were going to give us a try. You told me I shouldn't. Now, he's dead, and... And I never got that chance. I should've listened to you; I shouldn't have given him false hope like that."

"No, no, no, Sheena, that's not what-"

"You were the one who told me to give it up before that. You told me that it wouldn't work anyway."

"I did say that, but- No, look, forget I said that. You couldn't have guessed something like this was gonna happen, and it has nothing to with this at all, I was just- Look, don't beat yourself up so much, okay? It's not the end of the world."

"It sure feels like it."

"I know it does. Just... Don't give up on me, okay? You're still here, and you've got all of us, okay? We're trying to get through this just like you, and we'll help you get through it, too."

Picking her up off the floor, Nadine continued her escort of leading Sheena back to her apartment, finally bringing her to the door.

"Look, just go get some sleep, okay? You need it. And please, don't do anything stupid. You're my friend, and I don't want you to hurt yourself. I'll come back for you in the morning. Unless you want me to stay here, I don't mind." Nadine said.

"N-No, I'm okay. I'll be fine." Sheena said.

"Are you sure? I'll sleep over if you need, it's okay. Whatever you need."

"No, really. I'm okay. I just need to be alone for right now. I'll see you in the morning."

"...Okay. If you say so. See you in the morning."

Opening the door to her apartment, Sheena stepped inside, bidding her final goodbyes to Nadine and closing the door behind her. With Nadine departing on the other side of the door, Sheena carried through the last of her nightly rituals, changing into her pajamas and heading into bed.

Despite trying to stay strong up until this point, Sheena could no longer hold her emotions back again. Planting her face into the pillow, she cried and continued to cry for what could have been an hour, perhaps even longer so, if she cared enough to count the time as it passed her by.

But she did not care about anything at this point in time, especially not something so trivial as her current placement in the flow of time. The only thing that she could focus on, her one object of fixation, was her beloved Eugene; slaughtered in a way no human being deserves to suffer, and especially not one so innocent as him.

What pained her the more than the fact that she would never have him as a friend any longer, of course, was the knowledge that he would never be more than a friend, as she so desired and came so close to achieving. Never would she know the feel of his body against hers, the satisfaction she could bring him, and the satisfaction he could bring her.

Unable to accept this reality, not managing to sleep at all for the past few hours, Sheena got out of her bed to find something else to take her mind off this obsession.

Her first attempts led her to her liquor cabinet, grabbing a bottle of vodka out of it and heading to the refrigerator for orange juice. After seating herself at her dining table and pouring vodka in a glass, Sheena prepared to pour orange juice in with it, but, not feeling in the mood for flavoring to her liquor, tossed the bottle aside, letting it hit the floor and pour out.

Downing her vodka raw and untainted, the strong burn of the alcohol caused her to let out pained coughs, beginning to regret her decision of not mixing in the orange juice. Nonetheless, the taste of the vodka, foul as it was, helped take her mind off Eugene for one sweet moment as she drank.

Pouring herself another glass, Sheena downed the drink as she did the previous one, once again subjecting herself to the harsh alcohol burn that came with it. Being a woman of a slender build, it did not take long for the alcohol to blur her mind, making her drowsy at the brain, fogged at the eyes, and tipsy at the legs.

Taking the bottle with her as she rose from the table, Sheena continued to drink the clear, corrupting swill, marching around her bedroom in a feeble attempt to wear herself out. Following several more gulps of her placebo, she turned on her stereo and selected a CD of Are You Experienced? by the Jimi Hendrix Experience; a favorite album of her childhood, and selected her personal favorite track.

[Soundtrack Cue: The Jimi Hendrix Experience - Manic Depression]

Turning on the song and letting it play at maximum volume, Sheena began dancing to the music, throwing her hands up into the air and swaying her body slowly to the sounds of the guitars squaking and crying through her ears. A chuckle and smile came to her face as she danced, as if trying to force herself into a better mood, but only found her attempts leading to more irrational decisions.

Her bottle of vodka reached somewhere near half-empty through her private dance, and she threw it against the wall, leading it to crash and shatter against it. Continuing this sorrowful act masked in joy, Sheena began removing her clothes, makeshifting a striptease in a playful manner.

With her mind far too intoxicated to coordinate her movements properly, her intended act of playfulness only managed to come across as desperate and foolish, making her no longer attempt a more graceful manner of disrobing herself. Instead, intent only on removing the shackles of clothing on her body, Sheena tore and ripped them off, tossing the pieces all across the room and floor.

Leaving herself as naked as the day she arrived on this Earth, Sheena continued her dance in a more aggressive way; the anger brought upon by her struggles against her clothing leading her further down her path of self-destruction. With each second that this rampaging performance continued, her rage continued to increase along with her loss of self and self-control.

Her movements becoming less and less coordinated by the moment, Sheena's dance became all the more cumbersome, with her various articles of clothing leading her to trip over and fall onto the ground, leaving her just barely able to get back up again. When finally making her way back on her feet again, her dance found yet another roadblock in its way.

Stepping on a shard of glass left over from her destroyed vodka bottle, Sheena screamed in pain at the sharp remain of the bottle pierced into her foot, driving her to the floor once again. Sitting down against her bed, she reached down to pull the glass from her foot, squealing in pain with each attempt to remove it.

The glass made its way deep inside her sole, nearly cutting its way into muscle in its path of blood vessels and skin. Even with the vodka numbing her body and mind to any pain that could be inflicted on it, this depth of the wound left by this shard caused her more than enough pain to prevent her from removing it right away.

Even so, this did not prevent her from trying. Perhaps with the amount of liquor she had put into her body, her sense of pain was numbed just enough to soldier on and remove the shard, driving her to continue on her attempts at removing it. As such, Sheena reached down again to try to remove the glass from her foot.

Grabbing hold of the shard, Sheena tugged away at the piece, soon fully pulling it out of her foot, leaving it to bleed out on the floor, staining the carpet red. Taking a piece of her torn shirt from the floor, Sheena tied the cloth around the wound, making a crude bandage for the open puncture.

As she laid on the floor, she took notice of her reflection in the mirror, taking a look at her body in contemplation. Sitting with her legs apart, Sheena examined herself, taking observations over her body in an overly analytical move of self-consciousness, remembering when she had previously offered herself to Eugene.

Remembering how disgusted he seemed by her body, she looked back at herself, trying to understand what made her so undesirable to someone like him, unable to fully grasp his lack of attraction to women. Like many fits of jealously that overcome young women over not feeling desired, she attributed most of these problems on her body.

Looking upon her miniscule breasts through her drunken eyes, nearly appearing to have a flat chest, a look of inadequacy fell on her scowling eyes. Leading her eyes downward, viewing her full patch of pubic hair resting above her vulva, it looks unkempt and unsanitary to her.

She feels ugly. This is not acceptable.

Taking another piece of glass from off the floor, Sheena attempted to shave off some of her excess pubic hair; her efforts in vain with the glass being insufficient to perform the task. Crudely grabbing chunks of the hair in her hands, she ripped the strands from her crotch, taking away many tracts of hair but leaving behind scorching pain in its place.

Tearing away most of the hair, Sheena squeezed her breasts together in anger, desperately wishing that her chest was larger, believing this to be the flaw in which her failure to attract Eugene stemmed from. In the middle of her wishing to be beautiful for him, she finally came to the realization of the reality that led her to this situation; a grim reminder of the reason for her sorrow after forgetting it in a drunken fit of insanity.

Eugene was dead and gone forever. That was the reality she was living in.

Finally, she decided that it was time to end her time in this reality.

[Soundtrack Cue End]

Stepping inside her bathroom, Sheena plugged the drain of the bathtub, turning on the faucet and allowing it to fill with warm water. As the bathtub began to fill, she threw off her bathrobe, slowly caressing herself one final time before her imminent death. Wishing for her hands to be the hands of Eugene instead, Sheena placed herself into the mindset of her deceased best friend, pretending he was still alive with her.

"Don't hesitate, Eugene. It's all for you, and you alone." Sheena said as herself.

"This is all for me? You're just for me?" Sheena said as Eugene.

"Yes. I know you're not used to a woman's body, but I admit it's not that woman-like. You know me, I was always that tall, slanky kid in school. People'd think I was a boy or something. But you probably like that, don't you?"

"I do... but it's not that important to me. What matters to me is that I have you. I don't know why I didn't see this in you before."

"It's okay, Eugene. It's my fault. I should've told you from the beginning."

With the bathtub filling to the top, Sheena shut the water off. Her concentration still lingered upon the last words to come out of her mouth; focused on...

"It's my fault. It's all my fault." Sheena said.

Stepping inside the bathtub, Sheena laid down inside the warm water, submerging herself in the comforting womb she had made for herself. However, where the purpose of a womb is to grow and gestate life, eventually leading to birth, this womb will serve to slowly eat and take away a life, leading to her eventual death.

Taking a razor blade in her hand, Sheena pierced through the skin on her arm, drawing blood from the self-inflicted wound. Continuing on the harmful act, she ran the blade down from her wrist to her upper arm, cutting through and opening veins, arteries, and capillaries indiscriminately.

The cut drew tears from her face as it drew blood from the wound, each letting out a emotion of loss and grief and pain with every drop. Such a feeling was not one a rational person would actively seek out, but Sheena welcomed this pain, if only to feel something and not so numb and empty.

Following the cut with a similar one upon her other arm, Sheena concluded the ritual, letting her arms sink into the tub. As blood continued to seep out of her wounds, the lost fluids emptied into the water; unable to clot and seal the openings or disinfect with a lack of saline in the water.

But this is the intended goal of Sheena; wishing to end her life, worthless as she now perceived it. For a child of peace raised by bohemians, never wishing to lay harm upon another human being, even during her life as a defender of peace for the city of Hillwood, she has finally carried out her first act of violence; her very first murder being her own.

Where a fable once told of a virgin man who lived in peace without sin died for the purpose of bringing peace and justice for others, this virgin woman dies for the only purpose of ridding herself of her own sins, so she perceived them in her grief-stricken and sorrowed mind.

But she is not so eager to allow herself die as a virgin. Continuing on her previous self-fondling, Sheena slowly moved her hands to her crotch, running her hand down to the most sensitive part of her anatomy. Pretending that her hands were those of her would-be lover, she whispered both her own and the imaginary words of Eugene to herself.

"So... this is a... woman's... your... part?" Sheena said as Eugene.

"It is. But it's yours, too. Would you like to touch it?" Sheena said as herself.

"Sure... I mean, yes, I would."

Sheena ran her hands along her genitals, lightly grazing her fingers across the whole of it in an innocent fashion, as if exploring this region of her body for the first time. The massive loss of blood began to show its effects on her mind; her consciousness lightening and just barely catching the sensual emotions she was evoking from her own touch.

"Does it feel nice, Eugene?" Sheena asked.

In her fading consciousness, her mind began to concoct an image of reality that was simply not real, but felt just as much to Sheena. Her setting was not a bloody bathtub any longer, but instead her bedroom, with her laying back upon the bed and Eugene laying with her.

Just as she imagined within her fantasy, Eugene was curiously exploring her body, feeling around her anatomy to gain an understanding of the opposite gender for himself. For a man with no such attraction to her gender, Eugene studied her body closely and academically, with a sense of childlike wonder; his hands trembling as he touched her.

"It's... It's definitely different than I'm used to, but I kind of like it." Eugene said.

"I'm glad you like it. Would you like to feel it from the inside?" Sheena asked?

Gently placing his finger inside the offering, Eugene felt around the inside, causing Sheena to let out some light gasps and moans. Frightful of his action, believing himself to have harmed his best friend in some way, Eugene quickly withdrew his hand, giving into apologetics in reparation.

"I-I'm sorry, did that hurt?" Eugene asked.

"N-No. It felt good. You can do it again." Sheena said.

Repeating his previous action, Eugene once again prodded into the deeper regions of his best friend, examining this unknown and uncharted territory he was treading on. The feeling of this strange genitals on a human being with a body unlike any he has felt any attraction towards, was something akin only to examining some strange alien creature he had never before encountered; strange and uncomfortable, leaving him with a sense of fear.

However, seeing the looks of pleasure and sounds of happiness coming from a person he cared so deeply for, these feelings of discomfort were beginning to subside. To make his best friend he had ever known, a person he had been with nearly every day of his life, happy and fulfilled in this way, was a rewarding experience that made stepping outside this comfort zone all the more easy.

"It's kind of like a mouth down there, really warm and wet." Eugene said.

"It is, and there's something you can do with it that you can do with a mouth, too. Do you know what I'm talking about?" Sheena asked.

The suggestion resurrected Eugene's sense of nervousness, bringing it back even stronger than before.

"I... Uh... I don't know. This is all still a little much for me. I..." Eugene stammered.

"It's okay, Eugene. I want you to feel good, and I promise you that it will feel good. Trust me." Sheena said.

Placing his trust in her, Eugene let out a deep breath to fulfill that trust. Positioning himself to make their two bodies one, he paused in his action, still unable to complete their act in certainty. To calm his anxieties, Sheena ran her serene hands over his chest and shoulders, giving him confidence once again to continue.

"It's okay, Eugene. I want this. I want you to want this, too." Sheena said.

"Sheena, I... I don't know if I-" Eugene began to say.

Before Eugene could finish his sentence, spurts of blood and flesh began to spurt from multiple points of his body, all taking with them pieces of the whole that tore him apart. Unable to take such torment, he screamed under the pain, leaving the unsuspecting Sheena to scream in horror at his sudden spontaneous combustion; closing her eyes to keep the image from her mind.

Showered in his blood and flesh, Sheena opened her eyes to find herself not only covered in the remains of her best friend, but also with his the upper half of her head resting on her stomach; his eyes still seeming to have some manner of life left in them as they looked back at her.

Unable to bring herself to do anything else, all Sheena did was scream and cry.

Within some semblance of reality, Sheena no longer cries or screams. Having no blood left in her body to carry oxygen to her brain, said brain concluded the end of its blend of a fever dream and erotic nightmare with its cease of function. Having no more visions to come to her mind, her eyes rolled back in her head, letting out one final exhale.

With her body resting in the watery grave she has set for herself, her body runs cold and ceases to breathe or function. The clear water that once brought some warm comfort to her slow death ran red with her depleted blood; a gruesome scene for what was once a gentle and kind soul.

Sheena is dead.

And, so, her body will continue to remain; sitting in its final resting place for a long while to pass.

Away from the preceding tragic scene is a life not without its sense of loss, but far from looking to end its own in a move of grief. Hiding in a safehouse of his ownership, the massive mafioso named 'Little' Nicky Russotti enjoyed the smoke of his cigar, taking another puff as he continued to relax and calm his nerves.

Not a soul would dare to interrupt the stoic man in his idle state, and all would be the wiser to leave him be, but there is still one man that is always welcome to his side. This one man is, of course, his right-hand man known by the name of Weston, one of the few people in this world he still has the utmost trust within.

Approaching his employer at his side, Weston greeted 'Little' Nicky with a quick brief upon their collaboration with the Hillwood Heroes, informing him that...

"Though our relationship with the Hillwood Heroes seems to be working far better than could be expected, no one's caught a trace of the Freak, sir. Ever since that church massacre, there's been absolutely no sign of them." Weston said.

"And where are the Hillwood Heroes now?" 'Little' Nicky asked.

"Retiring for the night, sir. Young and energetic as they might be, they are still human and in need of rest. I could say the same about you, too, if I might be so bold, sir."

"You're looking at my idea of rest right now, Weston. I gave up on sleep a long time ago."

"Of course, sir."

As the two friends shared their own conversation, a collection of 3 men under the employment under 'Little' Nicky carried out their own talks regarding said employer. One of the men, feeling an unhealthy boost of confidence brough upon by a few inhalations of cocaine, sought to question 'Little' Nicky's alliance with the Hillwood Heroes.

"Alright, I'm gonna be the guy to say it. This is all bullshit. I mean, we've already gotten ourselves holed up in the middle of nowhere, it's not like things can get worse at this point." One man said.

"What are you talking about, man?" The second man said.

"It's this one-man war that 'Little' Nicky's been dragging us along on. All for what, just to- to get revenge on his dead kid? So what? He thinks he's the only one with a dead son?"

"Whoa, whoa, you don't wanna go here, trust me."

"Why? Because I'm the only one saying what we're all thinking? I'm sick of this shit, I'm gonna say it.

"Yeah, well, you wanna say it a little less loudly? Keep your damn voice down." The third man said.

"I'm not afraid to speak my mind. Hell, I'll say it right to the big man's face."

"Then go right ahead and say it to my face." 'Little' Nicky said.

Appearing behind the cocaine-driven man, 'Little' Nicky's presence caused the second and third men to cower away, leaving the two remaining men to speak.

"Couldn't help but overhear some of your conversation. If you have a complaint about the way I run things, then feel free to share it with me." 'Little' Nicky said.

"Okay. I'll share it with you. You're out of your goddamn mind, Nicky." The man said.

Looking down on the man with a pair of focused eyes, 'Little' Nicky analyzed him following another puff of tobacco smoke, listening carefully for his next words.

"I've been called that for a lot of reasons. Care to provide any specific examples?" 'Little' Nicky asked.

"Fine. I'll summarize my thoughts like this: Breaking your ass outta the big house and blowing away cops left and right? Crazy, but something I can live with. After all, the only good pig is a dead pig. Taking over all the gangs, mixing niggers, chinks, spics, and everything in between all under one umbrella? Playing with fire, but, you made it work, I can live with that, too." The man said.

"I don't see 'niggers', 'chinks', or 'spics'. All I see are hard workers or lazy assholes. At the end of the day, color of your skin doesn't mean shit as long as you can bring in the color green."

"Save it for a college campus, cause here's where I have to show my complaints. Making everyone declare war on the whole city just so you can kill some cripple? Getting not only the cops on our ass, but the National Guard and the Feds? Are you fucking insane? And now with your little unholy alliance with the same cocksuckers in costumes that put guys like us in jail? You've totally lost it."

"You can disagree with me or call me whatever you want, call me crazy if you like; I won't disagree with you. But, try to understand something. My son is dead. I don't give a flying fat fuck what happens to me or anybody else, but the man who took my son away from me has to suffer. As long as we're all on that same page, we'll get along just fine."

"Well, see, I'm afraid we ain't on that same page, and we ain't gonna get along just fine on that front. I hate to be that kind of guy, but here's where I got to give some tough love to ya, Nicky: Your son is dead. Get over it."

Discontent with his statement, 'Little' Nicky began to clench his fists in anger; his nostrils flaring with his breath picking up pace.

"You wanna run that by me again?" 'Little' Nicky asked.

"You heard me. Gino is dead. Get your big ass over it. You think you're the only one in the whole world who lost a kid? You're not. You're just the first one to do something this crazy over it. If you wanna have your whole 'one-man-against-the-world' thing and get yourself killed, by all means, have at it, but you didn't have to drag us into this shit. And you know something else? Your son wasn't no damn angel, anyway. He was a little princess diva that threw fits when he didn't get his way. He was a spoiled little prick. All of us are better off with that little fuckin' brat dead. The Freak did us a huge favor." The man said.

Spewing a cocaine-fueled rant complaining to 'Little' Nicky about his personal mission and way of running business, the intoxicated man's words only managed to reach the ears of his employer with a simple, but very clear, message to the massive mafioso, one that translated as:

'Excuse me, sir. I do not wish to continue living. Please murder me as quickly as you can. I would appreciate it very much. Thank you.'

Filled to the brink with rage, 'Little' Nicky grabbed the man by his suit in one hand, driving his other in the form of a fist flying straight towards his face. Before he could even process what was happening to him, even with the cocaine speeding his thought process, the gangster's head was splattered in an instant.

With 'Little' Nicky's fist punching through his face, the man's head was shattered into chunks, sending pieces of skull and brains flying around the room. As soon as the massive mafioso retracted his hand, there was nothing left upon the neck of the ranting man, leaving only a small fountain of blood spewing in its place.

Taking one last puff out of his cigar, 'Little' Nicky placed it in the empty neck, using it as a makeshift ashtray of gore. Removing a napkin from his suit pocket, he cleansed the remains of the man's head from his fist, doing so in a calm, gentleman-like manner that contradicted the display of violence that preceeded.

Though the event had already passed for 'Little' Nicky, the two remaining gangsters did not live the violence down, especially not when the massive mafioso turned his attention to them. Not wishing to join their friend in his grisly and horrible fate, both men stammered to provide offerings of kind words to save themselves.

"Uh... I, uh... I absolutely loved 'Big' Gino, boss. He was a real lovable and sharp kid. He was like my best friend." The second man said.

"Yeah, he was a great kid. Real beautiful and well-mannered. I just loved the little guy. I wish that I could've conceived him and given birth to him. I wish I could've nursed him and made him big and-" The third man began to say.

"Shut the fuck up and clean that up." 'Little' Nicky said.

Stepping away to continue his rest, the two remaining gangsters prepared to clean up the remains of their friend, picking up the pieces of his head and collecting them to dispose of them.

"'I wish I could've birthed him and nursed him'? Really?" The second man asked.

"Oh, I'm sorry. I was trying not to get my head smashed to pieces. Did you have a better thing to say?" The third man asked.

"Fair enough."

Seating himself back down, 'Little' Nicky returned to resting his eyes, with Weston continuing to stay by his side.

"Sorry you had to face that unpleasant interruption, sir." Weston said.

"I'm sorry, too. If there was a worse excuse for an employee, I'd like to meet him." 'Little' Nicky said.

Upon finishing his sentence, the infamous Lars Rodriguez, continuing his poor attempts of making the name of 'El Cucuy' stick, entered the room and approached 'Little' Nicky, bothering him once again for his own petty wants at that moment in time. In this one instant of time, 'Little' Nicky sincerely regretted his request.

"I had to say it." 'Little' Nicky said.

"Yo, jefe, you got any Magnums? I ran out." El Cucuy asked.

"I thought that arm of yours used 9 millimeter?"

"Not bullets, dog. Condoms. I used all mine up, and the average-sized ones ain't gonna cut it."

"And what makes you think that I would have large-sized condoms on my persons?"

"Well, you're a big dude, I assumed you'd be well-hung. I mean, not that I really wanna think about your dick, but I figured you'd be the only guy close to my range. You know, I should've got a ball transplant when I got my new cock; any kids I have wouldn't technically be mine, and I could put a pretty big spike in the number of teenage pregnancies. Heh-heh. Okay, seriously, do you have any condoms or not?"

"Not. Now leave me alone, you idiot."

"Okay, okay. I was just asking. I mean, it's not like we got anything better to do now that we're not looking for that Freak guy."

"Looking for little old me? I had no idea I was so wanted by people." The Freak said.

Catching ear of the voice of the man that ended the life of his son, 'Little' Nicky stood up from his seat to turn his attention to the Freak, with everyone else in the room joining him. The collective of people in the hideout all were given the sight of the Freak with his three confederates; the Jolly Olly Man, Wolfenstein, and Saint Lila, all standing at the doorway of the building, appearing nonchalant about their entry.

"Lucy, I'm ho-ome!" The Freak taunted.

Though the sudden appearance of the Freak brought a stunned silence upon the group, none sure what to do from his arrival, 'Little' Nicky was not so slow to react. Stepping forward to address his most unwelcome, but certainly wanted guest, the massive mafioso stared right into the eyes of the killer of his son.

"So. The Freak. You've got some massive balls on you, you know that?" 'Little' Nicky said.

"And you must be 'Little' Nicky. Guess ironic names run in the family. Real nice place, by the way. Took us a while to find it." The Freak said.

"There's a reason why it's hidden out here. And exactly what do you think you're doing, showing your face to me like this?"

"Well, I heard you were looking for me, wanted to kill me something fierce just like I did to your asshole son. Thought I'd spare you the trouble."

Dismissing his followers, the Freak stepped forward and spread his arms outward, inviting the massive mafioso to gun him down.

"Go ahead. Hit me with your best shot." The Freak said.

The foolhardy move of the Freak brought even more confusion to the group, still not sure whether to comply with his request. Seeking a guiding hand or approval on this situation, all eyes and ears turned to 'Little' Nicky, hoping that he would give them a definitive answer on how to respond.

Alas, even the great 'Little' Nicky himself could not think of what to do in this situation. Looking this gift horse in its mouth, he was not sure whether to comply with this request, believing it to be some manner of a trick, or if this offer was sincere as it was crazed, leaving Weston to help sway him in one direction.

"Sir? This has to be some kind of trick. Nobody's this crazy." Weston said.

"He comes close. Besides, he's surrounded by guns. There's no way he'll come out of this, anyway. I suggest we give him what he wants." 'Little' Nicky said.

Making up his mind, 'Little' Nicky shouted his orders to his men.

"Well, you all heard the man. KILL THIS MOTHERFUCKER!" 'Little' Nicky shouted.

Drawing their weapons, the gangsters opened fire on the Freak, sending bullets flying through his body, tearing away flesh and blood from his being with every shot. The gunfire lasted a full minute, with no place on the Freak's body untouched by bullets, but ultimately came to a stop with a deafening silence and gunsmoke in the air.

Stepping forward to the body of the Freak, laying dead and inanimate in its place, 'Little' Nicky gave a content smile, sharing the smile with the Freak's observing followers.

"So, this is the shithead you chose to follow. The man you all saw as some kind of god. What do you have to say about him now?" 'Little' Nicky asked.

The Jolly Olly Man, Wolfenstein, and Saint Lila did not give any clear reply to the massive mafioso, only chuckling at the question, turning to full-blown laughs.

"What's so funny?" 'Little' Nicky asked.

Joining the 3 laughing voices was a 4th, more familiar one, but one that should not have been heard in this plane of existence any longer. Still, this one laughing voice was heard, and heard first and foremost by 'Little' Nicky Russotti, turning his attention back to the supposedly dead body on the ground.

Rising up from the ground, the Freak stood tall and alive once again, showing that his resting place was far from his final one. Brushing off his trench coat and giving his neck a crack, the numerous bullet holes throughout his body began healing themselves; the wounds closing up and showing no evidence that they were ever there.

Speaking in a mock falsetto voice mimicking a famous furry red monster, the Freak shrugged off the shooting by saying...

"Ha-ha-hee-hee-hee, that tickled!" The Freak said.

As expected of anyone in this situation, everyone in the room all stopped and stared at the spectacle; all eyes and jaws wide open. Even 'Little' Nicky, the gangster Goliath himself, shrugging off men with super-powers in this day and age, could not comprehend what he was witnessing.

"Oh, Jesus... Jesus fucking Christ, what the hell?!" 'Little' Nicky asked.

"Jesus this, Jesus that, Jesus, assrape me with a baseball bat, everybody seems to make these blasphemous comparisons left and right. You know, it actually reminds me of a funny story from my childhood." The Freak said.

Taking out a revolver from his pocket, 'Little' Nicky aimed it at the Freak, cocking back the hammer and preparing to fire.

"Once, there was a hamster I saw in the window of a pet shop. I really, really wanted that hamster as a pet." The Freak said.

'Little' Nicky shot the Freak with his revolver, sending him stumbling back from the shot, but still shrugging it off and walking forwards.

"I begged and begged my parents for that hamster, telling them I would take care of it and treat it well, but they told me 'no'." The Freak said.

'Little' Nicky fired another shot into the Freak, once again doing no damage as he approached.

"I tried being on my best behavior and getting my grades up, doing chores all around the house, doing everything I could to prove myself responsible, but they still kept telling me 'no'." The Freak said.

'Little' Nicky fired another shot into the Freak, once again doing no damage as he approached.

"Then, I started praying to god every day that I would get that hamster, saying 'please' and 'thank you' every time. I still didn't get that hamster." The Freak said.

'Little' Nicky fired another shot into the Freak, once again doing no damage as he approached.

"So, I found a loophole. I just stole the hamster and asked Jesus for forgiveness later. It seemed to work out alright for me; I got the hamster I wanted, and none of the guilt for it." The Freak said.

'Little' Nicky fired another shot into the Freak, once again doing no damage as he approached.

"Of course, once I got it, I just skinned it alive. Guess my parents were right not to trust me with it. Keep in mind, though, my memories aren't quite what I thought they were, so some details could be a little-" The Freak began to say.

'Little' Nicky fired his final round, sending the bullet straight through the Freak's head. Though his target stumbled back from the point-blank headshot, the Freak was still not stopped so easily. Taking the shot in stride, the Freak looked right back at 'Little' Nicky with the bullet hole in his head; closing up by the second.

"...exaggerated for dramatic effect." The Freak concluded.

Tossing away the empty revolver, 'Little' Nicky threw up his fists, resorting to his preferred weapons of his fisticuffs.

"Alright, you little punk. I don't care if you can eat bullets. I'll tear your puny ass apart myself!" 'Little' Nicky said.

With a man reaching nearly 7 feet, a fight against someone under 6 feet like the Freak would seem like less than a fight and more like a slaughtering. However, despite all apparent evidence pointing to this fact, the very first move of 'Little' Nicky against the Freak proved this to nowhere near the case.

Catching his fist in mid-air, the Freak bent his fist back, cracking bones beneath and drawing a pained groan from 'Little' Nicky. Nonetheless, he was not anywhere near the case of giving up, managing to free his fist and swinging at his target with the intent of ending his life with whatever strike he could make.

However, he soon found himself capable of making none; the Freak's movements too fast for the massive mafioso to compensate for. Readying himself for a finishing blow against 'Little' Nicky, the Freak took a small knife and cut into his own cheeks, making a Glasgow Smile across his face.

Standing in place to welcome the next punch, 'Little' Nicky thoughtlessly threw his fist straight to the Freak's face, believing this to be his final finishing blow. Instead, what he found in store for himself was not the end of the Freak, but a situation that spelled the beginning of the end for him.

His fist managed to lodge itself into the mouth of the Freak; his Glasgow smile opening his mouth enough to make room for his fist. Catching his enemy's fist within his mouth, the Freak bit down on his wrist, chomping off his entire hand in one fell swoop, severing it from his arm.

Being left without a hand, 'Little' Nicky held his handless arm as he screamed; his henchmen all watching in shock as blood spewed out from the stump. Reaching into his mouth, the Freak pulled out the severed hand, spitting out the blood as his Glasgow smile healed itself, allowing him to speak properly.

"I could make a 'you could use a hand' joke here, but that's just not so original, now, is it?" The Freak asked.

Still not giving up even after the loss of his hand, 'Little' Nicky used his remaining fist to attack the Freak; pridefully continuing his attack, but only managing to prolong the inevitable soon to come. Leaning back and falling to the floor, the Freak landed a pair of kicks to 'Little' Nicky's kneecaps, shattering them both.

Unable to stand on his two legs any longer, 'Little' Nicky screamed in agony, falling to what remained of his knees and continuing to scream. The many of his servants were continuing to watch this event in complete shock and disbelief; none able to comprehend that the seemingly indestructible man was brought to his knees so quickly.

Following this spectacle, 'Little' Nicky began to cry, much to the surprise of the Freak himself. Kneeling down to the fallen man, he inquired for answers to his tears.

"Aw, poor baby, don't cry. What's the matter? Does it hurt? Are you scared to die?" The Freak taunted.

"No, you piece of shit... I'm not crying over that... I'm no little punk... I know I'm gonna die... But, my only regret is... that I didn't kill you. I failed my son." 'Little' Nicky said.

"Don't worry about that. I'll make sure you can apologize to him yourself. Tell him I said 'hi' while you're at it."

Taking out his knife once again, the Freak held it tightly in his hand, smiling as he had the massive mafioso at his mercy.

"One day... someone like me... is gonna wipe you and your fucked-up friends off the face of this Earth." 'Little' Nicky said.

Granting his victim one last grace, the Freak gave 'Little' Nicky a kiss, letting him taste one last Earthly pleasure before his death.

"I pray for that every day." The Freak said.

Swinging his knife downwards, the Freak landed it into 'Little' Nicky's head, cutting through his skull and loudly cracking the bone as it dug deeper down. With his full force piercing through his head, the blade soon reached through his brain, causing blood to spurt out of the head wound and his mouth, with gurgles leaving his lips.

'Little' Nicky is dead.

Drawing the blade out, the Freak let his body hit the ground; the departure of its life making the entire room quiet. The collection of gangsters, all of different races and backgrounds, all once united under the strength of this one man, were unable to accept that this was the reality they were living in and not some manner of fever dream.

But they were not given a choice in this manner. Letting his eyes glow red once again, the Freak sent a mental command to the group.

Bow down. The Freak said.

Complying with this order, everyone present all bowed before the Freak, giving him gestures of worship as if he were some manner of god. After witnessing the death of the man they had followed for so long, this was as close to a concept of a god as they could comprehend, and followed through with their bows.

One man who could not comply with that order, however, was one of the few men present who had a similar relationship with immortality. Standing with his legs shaking and his knees buckling, El Cucuy felt all the less unkillable as his reputation gave him, unable to move after watching the Freak kill 'Little' Nicky so easily.

Upon simply looking at El Cucuy, the Freak managed to make him empty the entirety of his bladder right into his pants, along with a frightened gasp leaving his mouth. As the Freak and his 3 confederates approached the cowardly El Cucuy, he continued his display of fear; his teeth chattering and his voice whimpering.

Finally approaching the standing El Cucuy, the Freak's confederates were the first to address him.

"Why do you not bow before this angel? Something wrong with your knees?" Saint Lila asked.

"Who cares? He's just a spic. Let me kill him, boss." Wolfenstein said.

"Hold it. Don't you know who this is? This is Lars Rodriguez, a man with one of the highest body counts out there." The Freak said.

"Uh... Heh-heh, yeah, that's me. I mean, I'm trying to come up with a cool nickname like you guys, I kind of like 'El Cucuy' okay and all, but... You can call me whatever you want, honest. I don't care." El Cucuy stammered.

The Freak stepped right up in front of El Cucuy, staring at him with a blank expression on his face, leading El Cucuy himself to close his eyes and whimper.

Expecting some manner of pain and death to come his way, this is not what El Cucuy receives from the Freak at all. Instead, what came his way was a wide, sincere smile and an open hand, prompting him for a handshake, much to his surprise and confusion.

"I love your work." The Freak said.

Nervously chuckling off his fear, El Cucuy reciprocated his handshake, beginning to smile as well.

"Well, uh, heh, nice to have a fan, you know? I like your work as well." El Cucuy said.

"That's great to hear, because I could use a man of your talents. Sit back and relax for a minute, will you? You look like you saw a ghost." The Freak said.

"Yeah, heh, will do, jefe. Thanks."

Leaving El Cucuy to relax, the Freak returned to the center of the warehouse, putting himself on a soapbox to address the remaining goons of 'Little' Nicky.

"Ladies and gentlemen, thank you so very much for being understanding of this transfer of duties over to me, I'll make sure that this business runs quite well under new management. Now, let's get down to my official order of business, shall we? Exactly how many guns do we have?" The Freak asked.