Page 7 of Knot Happening

"You know, Ron," I said, my voice calm and steady, "there's a certain poetry in this, don't you think?You, who took such pleasure in dominating others, are now at the mercy of a machine.A cruel irony, isn't it?"

He tried to respond, but his words were lost in a fresh wave of agony as his body finally took the fake knot in full.I watched him dispassionately, the alpha in me satisfied with the justice being served.The teacup was nearly empty now, the once comforting warmth long since faded.I sat it aside, my attention fully back on Ron.

The machine's relentless rhythm continued, each thrust driving home the magnitude of Ron's sins.I could see the exact moment when the fight left him; his body went limp, and his eyes glazed over with the acceptance of his fate.The screams have subsided now, replaced by a low, keening moan that seems to resonate with the very walls of the room.

I stepped forward, leaning in close so that he could hear my whispered words over the sound of the machine."This is for my ma, you piece of filth.May you rot in hell."

I retrieved the blade from my pocket, the steel glinting wickedly under the harsh fluorescent lights.With a swift, sure motion, I sliced through the delicate skin of his throat, the blood flowing freely, a river of crimson that marked the end of his vile existence.

His eyes, once filled with arrogance and malice, now stared blankly at the ceiling, the light within them fading until there was nothing left but an empty vessel.I watched, satisfied, as the life drained from his body, the final chapter of his wretched story coming to a close.

With a heavy sigh, I turned away from the table, my thoughts already turning to the crematorium.It was time to reduce Ronald Fischer to nothing more than ashes and memories, a fate he had sealed with his own depravity.As I prepared the furnace, the lullaby continued to flow from my lips, a haunting melody that spoke of love and loss, of a promise fulfilled, and of a son's undying devotion to his mother's memory.

seven

HARLEN

I stoodin the sterile glow of the funeral home's back room, the scent of death and antiseptic mingling in the air.The body before me was still warm, the life I had just extinguished still lingering like a specter.Ron's death should have quenched the fire that raged within me, but it had only stoked the flames higher.Killing him had awakened something dark and insatiable, a hunger that gnawed at my very soul.

I had hoped that his death would bring me peace, that it would honor my mother's memory and cleanse the world of his filth.Instead, it had left me with a taste for blood, a craving that whispered to me in the dead of night, urging me to seek out another sacrifice.And so, I did.

The second was much like the first—a low-level gang member, a man who had contributed to the decay of our city with his violence and disregard for human life.I lured him to the funeral home under the guise of a late-night consultation, and once he was within my domain, I showed him no mercy.The same fuck machine that had tormented Ron now served a new master, the relentless rhythm of its movements a grim harbinger of the man's fate.

As I watched the life drain from his eyes, I felt a momentary surge of satisfaction.But it was fleeting, the shadows within me already clamoring for more.I became a predator stalking the night, selecting my prey with cold precision.Each kill was meticulously planned, each body disposed of with the same care I afforded the innocent souls who passed through the funeral home's doors.

I wore de-scent lotion to mask my scent, ensuring that no trace of me would be left behind.I was a ghost, a whisper on the wind, and the city's underbelly began to take notice.Whispers of the Reaper spread like wildfire through the gangs, a specter that culled their ranks with ruthless efficiency.They had no idea that the monster they feared was me, a mortician who had always kept to himself.

The moniker they bestowed upon me filled me with a sense of pride.The Reaper—it was a name that commanded respect, that inspired fear.It was a testament to the impact of my actions, a symbol of the justice I delivered in the darkest hours of the night.

With each life I took, I felt the grip of my obsession tighten.The need to kill, to punish, became a siren's call that I could not ignore.I told myself that I was doing the world a favor, that these men deserved their fate.But as the bodies piled up, a nagging voice in the back of my mind questioned whether I had become the very thing I despised—a killer, driven by a bloodlust that could never be sated.

I pushed those thoughts aside, focusing instead on the task at hand.The latest addition to my grim collection lay before me, his lifeless eyes staring up at the ceiling.I had been careful, as always, leaving no evidence of my involvement.The funeral home was my sanctuary, a place where I could indulge my darkest urges without fear of discovery.

As I prepared the body for cremation, the familiar ritual soothed the beast within me, if only for a moment.The flames would consume all that remained of the man, reducing him to ashes and erasing the last traces of his existence.It was a fitting end for those who had lived their lives in the shadows, and it was the fate that awaited all who crossed my path.

The Reaper had claimed another soul, and the night beckoned me once more.

* * *

I had been trailing the gang member through the labyrinth of alleys and deserted streets that wound through the city's underbelly like a network of veins.He was a cockroach, scuttling through the darkness, oblivious to the predator that shadowed his every move.My senses were honed to a razor's edge, every shadow a potential hiding spot, every sound a whisper of danger.But as I drew closer, preparing to strike, a new scent wafted through the foul air—a tantalizing blend of dark chocolate and freshly brewed coffee.

I froze, my instincts screamed at me to abandon my quarry and follow this new trail.It was someone I was scent compatible with, the first I had encountered...Ever.

The realization hit me like a punch to the gut, the primal part of me awakening with a ferocity that surprised even me.My rational mind battled against the surge of instincts that clamored for dominance, but it was a losing fight.The potential promise of companionship was a siren's call, and I was powerless to resist.

I melted into the shadows, my presence all but forgotten as I followed the siren song.The de-scent lotion I wore ensured that my own scent remained masked, a ghostly echo that left no trace of my passage.The man I trailed was a mystery, a blank slate onto which I projected a myriad of possibilities.Who was he?What role did he play in the grand tapestry of this city's dark underworld?

I shadowed him through the city's narrow streets, my footsteps silent against the cracked pavement.He led me to a nondescript building, its exterior worn by time and neglect.I watched from the shadows as he entered, disappearing from sight.My heart pounded in my chest, the alpha within me howling with the need to claim what was mine.

I approached the building with cautious steps, my senses alert for any sign of danger.The window on the second floor was open, a square of darkness that beckoned me closer.As I drew near, I caught sight of him—his shirt discarded, his torso a canvas of tattoos that told the story of his life.

The tattoos were a roadmap of his past, each symbol a testament to his journey.The pointed stars on his shoulders spoke of rebellion, a rejection of authority that resonated with the untamed part of my soul.The dagger that ran through his throat was a clear declaration of his lethality, a badge of honor earned in the crucible of prison.And the rose entwined with chains...It was a reminder of innocence lost, of years spent behind bars.

It was incredible the way the Russian mafia etched their history into their very skin.It was a monument to their lives, a glowing neon sign that advertised their danger to all who dared to look.And yet, despite the clear warning, I found myself drawn to him, captivated by the raw power that emanated from his being.

I lingered in the shadows, my eyes tracing the lines of his tattoos, when suddenly, he turned.Our eyes met across the distance, and in that moment, I knew I had been seen.The sound of a gun being cocked echoed through the night, and I found myself staring down the barrel of his weapon.

eight

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