Welcome to the Thunderdome.

The title of the newspaper amused me, when I landed in San Francisco. I had to be here for Robi’s, my and Knox’s match this week. Project: Honor had no idea what to expect from me, but I knew they’d either love me or hate me. I had been busy the last few days. From ripping the throat out of a man, to beating the living fuck out of Austin Ramsay, a second time, retaining my title and hunting down one of the men who signed Roscoe’s checks. I had found a few, but I wanted the one who spoke directly to Gotti.


But, little did I know, things were about to take a fucking turn for the Godsdamned worse.


Little did I know, my troubles were just beginning...


Diesel had called a meeting with Robi, and met her in Minnesota. He sat on his bike, as she pulled into the parking lot of the diner. They walked inside, together. As they sat down, presumably to eat lunch and shoot the shit; he hit her with his best shot. “Look Robs, you need to tell her you have him.” Robi was stern faced. She said nothing. “She is fucking hunting Robi, HUNTING!” He slammed a copy of the San Francisco Gazette on the table and pointed at the headline. “See that?” She nodded. “That’s her. And this isn’t the first one, Robs.” She growled, reading the article.


“Fuck.” She murmured, looking back at Diesel. “Fine. I’ll tell her, but I can’t let her do it. I can’t let her be the one to end him.” Diesel nodded, he knew why. And he knew Robi was doing what was best for his sister, and her best friend; but that didn’t mean anyone had to like this. It wasn’t going to end well, and he had a feeling it was going to get worse before it got better.


Especially for Dru.


If she was allowed to continue down this road of rampage, she might not recover from it.


I spent little time in my hotel, planning, finishing deals. I’d received a tip on a cohort of Roscoe’s right here in Frisco. I dodged a phone call from Robi, leaving my cell phone behind in my room. Should she choose to have A.J. track the GPS, it would show I was here. Not out, cleaning up the dregs of the city. Viciously.


Not out in the middle of the city, seething hatred, being a living, breathing consummate storm. Ready to roll over everyone at Fallout this week. Robi and I had done our dance previously this week. We sorted ourselves out; we reaped the benefits of one another's tempers. The blackeye was proof. But I was still roiling. I was still a tempest brewing and back-burning; waiting to decimate the world around me and possibly myself as well.


There was a definite chance I did not WANT to survive this. That once I put that bullet in Roscoe’s skull, maybe it would finally end my own suf-.... Or maybe, in watching his brain explode over the walls around him, I’d feel a wave of peace wash over me. But, I doubted it.


Had I only known, the person I trusted most in the world, was the one being duplicitous. Had I known she still had him in her sights, and was keeping me in the dark, maybe things would have been different. But how would that change what I am? How could that change the fucking hurricane in my soul?


Because, to be honest, Robi was doing what was best. She knew damned good and well, that if I was the one to end this whole shit-show, I’d lose every ounce of light I held inside my being.


I had no idea, but Robi was the only person in this entire fucked up world who could carry the weight of killing someone I not only grew up with, but stood side by side fighting with and in turn, loved deeply. She was the strong one. I was sturdy, sure, I was a brute; but I held something inside me not many did. Devotion.


In my life, I had seen those I loved, those I was devoted to, fall victim to Gotti or his henchmen. And I did not falter. But, learning that one whom I trusted above many others had been a spy for him… This sent the crystal ball of who I was into a tailspin and shattered onto the ground.



But, that is what brought me here.


To the church.


To seek solace?


No.


To. Fucking. Slaughter. The. Damned.


I was here to put an end to someone’s reign of terror.


To flagellate a man of the cloth, most Holy.


To shuck the human visage from someone who no longer deserves to breathe.


I had arrived early, far before the sun peeked over the horizon. Everything was set up. The bullshit cross had been reinforced for my needs. Nails. Barbed wire. Gas can and matches. The IV pole was hidden behind the cross. The vials and needles I’d be using were tucked very safely away. And my bag of goodies was also tucked neatly behind the pulpit.


I had ensconced myself in his office and then pounced when he walked in…


St. Patrick's Church. The church was ornate. The gaudy gold and mahogany statues glared down at me. The chains on the doors were hanging freely, having been cut. But the “CLOSED FOR RENOVATIONS” sign was still posted. Blood trailed up to the pulpit where I had crucified a priest. He was weeping. BEGGING me to end his life. I cackled. As the camera focused on my frame, it was obvious I was ready. My Wolf mask covered my whole face; save my eyes and lips. I howled with joy as the knife slid swiftly up the calf of the priest’s leg, alleviating flesh from meat. “You know, you chose the worst possible time to say you’re bad. That you could challenge my sister for her belt. She won that belt through blood and sweat. She retained that belt even AFTER SHE WATCHED ME DIE IN FRONT OF HER!! Can you say the same?” I grinned, behind the leather mask. “I’m sure one of you, maybe, has some accolades to your names. Here are some for your consideration: “Smallest Dick.”, “Blown-out Meat Curtains.” or even “World’s Largest, Cavernous Asshole.” The Priest screamed; coughing up blood as I continued.


“But honestly, I could not give a single, solitary FUCK about your titles and accolades!” I ripped the strip of flesh from his calf, up his thigh and flung it to the side. The squish it made was sickening, but I loved it. “I mean, do you know who I am?” I barked; yanking the leather wolfen mask off my face and flinging it to the ground. “DO YOU KNOW WHO I AM?!”


“Let me introduce myself to you cunts. I am fury. I am rage. I am Druscilla. But you may call me Dru or, if you're able to talk after True Society stomps your teeth down your Godsdamned throats… you may call me Drakon.”


I sliced the Priest’s robes off and tossed them aside, part of his left leg was almost fully skinned, whereas the rest of his right leg, and most of his body was dripping blood. I was nothing if not talented. I took great care in flaying my kills. Granted; this one wasn’t dead. Yet. But he certainly wanted to be. This, this was my masterpiece. This was my lead-in to killing Roscoe. I smiled as I looked at the Priest, “You know what you did…” I put my knife to his penis, made a gentle “tsk tsk” sound and SLICED! He WAILED in pain and I flung the flaccid small hunk of flesh to the pile. “You won’t need this anymore…” I took a small blow torch from my bag of tricks, and cauterized the spurting stump where his cock used to be. But his balls, the fleshy sacks of Male Desire, I took special care in skinning them. Gently. I turned my head slightly, looking at the camera.


“Nick Danger. Latoya Hixx. Logan Burgess… You fuckers sound like the misfit Power Rangers, like, the Wish version.” I cackled, I had made a funny! I was covered in blood. I almost bathed in it, as I continued to remove this sycophant's skin. “How did you decide who wore the skirt?” I chuckled; digging through my bag for a few clamps. Stemming some bleeding here and there, I went back to the other matter at hand.


“Green Ranger. Red Ranger and Pink Ranger. Gang’s almost back together. Do ya’ll still use the Dinosaurs as your Zords? It’s Morphin’ time!” I cackled, yet again, and shook my head. I kept working on flaying the Priest, his whimpers and cries had slowly become muffled, almost languid. Sure. He was dying slowly. But, I wasn’t done with him just yet…


I slapped his face, to wake him up and adjusted the IV drip in his arm. For good measure, I added a booster of adrenalin and slammed the needle into his heart. He hissed, his whole body tensed. I purred. “Latoya, you’ve boasted you’re going to take Robi’s title.” I glared at the camera. “You and whose army?” I flashed my fangs and smiled. “When she retains the belt, after Fallout, you’ll fall on those scabby, well-worn leg knuckles of yours and kiss my Godsdamned boots. That’s if I choose to let you live…”


A few flicks of my wrist and the Priest’s buttocks were smoothly skinned. As a baby’s naked ass. “Nick Danger. What kind of name is “danger”? Are you related to Darkwing Duck? Did your mother want to make sure you got your ass kicked as a kid?” I shook my head, taking great care to skin the Priest’s back, exposing that beautiful spine. He cried! “Please… PLEASE STOP!” Oh, that made me go harder. My knife flickered in the light as more of his flesh fell away…


“If I stopped, you’d learn nothing…” I grinned, grabbing my garden shears. I took his fingers in my hands, looking for the right one to start with. “Ahh, this little Piddy…” SNIP! As he screamed and I dropped the digit, I looked over my shoulder, at the camera. “Logan Burgess. I don’t know you, you don’t know me.” SNIP! Another wail of agony erupted from the Priest and sent a pleasured shiver up and down my spine. “But I think, after this, you might have some tiny idea of what I am capable of…” I smirked, snipping yet another digit from the Priest’s hand.


“I am worse than your worst nightmare. I am the epitome of the evil that lurks in the shadows.” As the final finger fell into the pile, I went back to skinning. His chest and up his neck. I needed to take care around the jugular; make sure I did not damage any major veins or arteries. As I worked the back side of his head, slowly pulling the flesh from his forehead, down to his jaw. I stopped for a moment, the Priest begging for me to stop. Every nerve in his body was screaming! I plopped his skin-sack down into a pile, striking a match and flinging it down below the Priest.


“You Don’t Know SHIT!”

As the fire bloomed and leapt at the meaty, wet, screaming Priest, the camera went BLACK!