A growing pool of blood under the guard’s downed form has an open invitation written all over it. Small circled dark patches in his pant legs suggest he’s been stabbed at least a few times. His flesh tenderized with one or more of the prison made weapons held in various clammy hands.
The guard’s bleak eyes travel to Sinn'ous, the only one to notice his presence. They cloud in a pleading swirl of desperation, begging for help. And they close on a shaky exhalation when Sinn'ous makes no move to assist. A man giving up hope of derailing his destiny to the floating clouds—if thefucker is a religious type who believes in a sky daddy. Something tells Sinn'ous the guard is not a Satan enthusiast.
“Hurry up and stick it to him, we all wants a go.”An inmate standing by the guard sniffs. He is strung out and tweaking to such an extent his legs are visibly twitching, fingers fluttering over a crudely carved toothbrush handle.
“On it.” Another inmate steps forward.
The guard’s dread coiled pupils blow out when he takes in the sight of a second inmate, a glint of a weapon clutched in blood cracked knuckles.
The circle of hungry predators close in. Egged on by a pack mentality, Sinn'ous will never understand. If you can’t kill outside of the protection of a flock, you shouldn’t kill at all. If you can’t handle the heat of blame for the crime than hiding under a rock is all you’re good for. Only the weak can’t handle killing alone.
And Sinn'ous is no weakling.
The glint of weary desperation in terrified eyes is like all the victims Sinn'ous has stood before. They always break, they always show fear. And he eats it in like an animal starved.
Dulling irises flicker back to him. So much life in them, a hope for a miracle that is not present in this scantly lit laundry room, smelling of stale soap and old piss. He should step back and watch the show unfold. And yet, Sinn'ous exposes the taser, turning it over in his hand, watching the guards eyes lock with it. A questioning look passing over reddened features, exhaustion evident in the rapid rise and fall of his chest.
A guard on Sinn'ous’s side is a ticket he should collect.
He smiles, and lets out his inner beast to eat its fill.
Satanismy strength.
He zaps the closest man, watching their back arch and their muscles lock tight to the electricity injected into them. Thereis a collective gasp and a pause for everyone’s little minds to decipher what’s happening to their fellow flock member.
Sinn'ous attacks the next one without pause, pushing into the folds of shocked men, he disarms one by breaking his wrist. The crunch of bone is like music of the highest quality. As the men catch on and square up to defend themselves, his fist snaps out collecting one’s consciousness like a gift card and sending the man to the cold floor.
The shiv he’s acquired could have been a spoon in a former life. No worries there, it slips smoothly into the eye socket of a charging junkie, who keeps coming at him despite the new eye accessory. Sinn'ous slaps his palm over the protruding object—and between his stable stance, locked arm, and the junkie’s momentum—the shiv disappears right in there. Dropping the next sack of disappointment at Sinn'ous’s feet.
Here’s to hoping someone can put up a decent fight, and be an adequate kill. He wipes the eye juices off his hand on his prison pants, already honing onto the next kill.
Sinn'ous lets out an animalistic growl as he tackles an inmate, sending them both crashing into one of the machines. The loud clang is echoed by his grunted breath escaping as a second man punches his side. His kidney kits back, sending a wave of fuck you into his nervous system.
He snaps his elbow out, and the feel of bone crunching under it lets him know he broke a nose. The high pitched squeal of a stuck pig also informs him he hit home on that strike.
The pig pitches backwards, arms pinwheeling as he topples over his downed flock mates. At the same time Sinn'ous crushes the windpipe of the man he has pinned in his hold. Thumbs digging in while he feels the erratic heartbeat pick up in tempo to the knowledge of its imminent death.
Sinn'ous doesn’t play with his food, he stabs the artery in the man’s neck with the guy’s own shiv, and turns to the nextadvancing inmate. The man’s brown features are turning a dark scarlet, rage filled yells in threats of violence that Sinn'ous easily shoves out of his mind. None of the words hold meaning to him, they aren’t important. All he cares about is this next kill.
His ears take in nothing save for the sound of pain he delvesout. His body still. Mind quiet. Focus clear. The only presence he can feel within his soul is that of the deity he will follow to the ends of hell and back. The eyes of Satan are watching him, approving of his sacrifices.
To Satan I pledge thee.He vows, and launches himself at the next one. Speaking to his deity through the bones cracking and the innards leaking. Stabbing and slashing. Blood splatters over his face, running into his eyes, causing them to itch in irritation. An irritation he grins at.
Each body becomes one in the same. Each kill connecting in blood shared. He can no longer see who is where. Which body belongs to which ark of blood splatter. It’s a messy scene he dives into, swimming through it to step out on the other side as a man who has had a full meal.
A meal not partaken alone, it’s one he gladly shares.
For you. With these sacrifices I re-pledge my loyalties.He sends down his prayers to a deity he serves.
The shiv in his hand—from where it came he can’t say—is a toothbrush he uses to open the closest stomach. Well, he tries to, the weapon is too blunt to make it through the prison shirt via slashing. So he stabs instead, and it sinks right in without a moment’s hesitation creating a home inside a warm body.
His hand releases the shiv to duck under a sloppy punch. Coming face to face with the guy’s crouch he has a tickling urge to do something unpleasant. He kicks the urge away, instead he grips above the knee and high on the thigh, pivoting his hips and driving his shoulder in to drag the man down. They both hit the floor in a sloppy splat, blood sloshing under their grapplingbodies. It’s all too easy to lock his arms over a throat and cut the other’s air off in a chokehold. Feeling every twitch and shudder of a dying man trying to starve off the inevitable.
All too soon the body stops its jerking, laying limp against Sinn'ous. He shoves it away and crouches ready for the next one. The next sacrifice to Satan. Only to discover that there is no next one.
He’s killed them all.
This was over far too quickly, it leaves a resentful taste on the back of his tongue. It could have been hours spent killing or minutes, it’s still never long enough. He could kill for days on end—with no end in sight—and it still wouldn’t be enough. It would still feel like a matter of seconds.
