“Still think it’s funny,” the man stated gesturing around them to the empty waste of space.
Nothing.
Not even a crate.
Just him, hanging from a lone chain in the middle of the room. No doubt there just for this exact purpose.
“Yeah, it’s still funny.” He chuckled, blood trickling down his chin.
If he was going down, they were going to burn with him.
He chuckled again.
Yes, burn motherfucker!
His head went light as the old feeling of bloodthirst surged through him.
“Why’s that?” The man looked up at him, a power in his eyes, a power that Mark knew he wouldn’t keep for long.
“’Cause I don’t even know why I’m here.”
“That’s funny?” The man frowned.
“What the fuck? This guy lose it or something?”
Burn motherfucker!
“Fucking freak,” another muttered.
He laughed.
“Creep.”
He laughed.
“Stupid fucker.”
He just kept laughing. Letting the words roll over him. Long ago they would have cut him up.
Now he knew different.
His little bird loved him.
Flaws and all.
“Maybe we just cut him up and end it.”
“Man,” he choked out through his laughter, “you can do whatever you want to me. It’s not going to make a difference.”
“Yeah, why’s that?” One man stepped forward, a gun in his hand.
Even the cold feel of the steel against his head didn’t dim the light.
God he loved her.
Burn motherfucker!
Maybe he really had lost it.
