Violence: We Love Hurting the Damned

Rain.

A Cold October night.

The kind of rain that’s constant and never ends. The kind of cold you won’t see in the winter but you know summer is long gone. This cold is unforgiving, lonely in a sense. You don’t see a nice sheet of snow, you see the brutal, unforgiving, rotting, and wet concrete. This place is a gray mess of souls, trying to navigate this modern jungle. They share a similar pain, a wavelength of sorrow. That doesn’t stop some. Men who chose to start a cycle of violence and continue it over generations.

On one of those rainy alleyways sit two men in tracksuits. Fully American white dudes with gold around their neck and a shiver due to the relentless chill brought on by the storm. A thunder growls, warning all who sit nearby that this won’t end anytime soon. One of the guys, a shorter fellow with a limp named… Limp, leaned against the wall as he smoked. The other, nicknamed Ace, stood next to him with an impatient tapping of his feet.

“Where the fuck is this guy, eh?” Ace complained, walking back and forth. The alleyway was damp and dark, with only one flickering light to illuminate anything. The rain was pounding so loud the duo had to speak up to converse. Nobody lived over here except squatters and rats. “We were supposed to get this shit an hour ago.”

“Chill, Ace,” Limp said, blowing smoke. He remained calm, sighing as he looked up at the sky, lightning shot across. “You don’t know what happened. What if the feds held them up?”

“Then we pay them off, it don’t take that fucking long.”

Limp shook his head as he flicked the cigarette. “Fuck. Well if you don’t wanna pay Rossi…”

Ace groaned as he put his hands up in defeat. “Whatever.”

Footsteps could be heard from afar. Louder than the sound of the rain. Both of their heads shoot over to a shadow. The last flickers of the light reveal only a little. Only a hooded man with his hands behind his back.

Ace looked over to Limp. “This our guy?”

Limp got off the wall and shuffled forward. “Dunno.” He started to yell at the stranger. “Hey! You got the stuff?!” He shouted over the rain.

No response.

“Can you hear me?!” Limp yelled again.

No response. Only the thunder sounded as he stood there. Face unknown to the thugs. He started to walk forward. Hands still behind his back.

“Who the fuck is this guy, huh? Hey buddy! I know you can fucking hear us!” Ace walked up angrily to the stranger approaching them, his sneakers kicking through the puddles. He gets face to face with the stranger, the lightning illuminating the rest of his face. This wasn’t the guy. The man had the top half of his face covered with a bandana, blood staining it. The lower half exposed his bare face where an evil grin was. The stranger’s hands lowered. An already freaked out Ace looked down to see a served head, still dripping blood, in one hand and a switchblade in the other. Before Ace could do anything, the stranger jabbed his blade in Ace’s stomach before chucking the head at Limp, hitting him and stunning him for a bit.

“Do you know who I am?”

Ace had his mouth agape, iron in his gut, leaking blood from his mouth and stomach. He held on to the other’s hands, trembling as he tried to pull it out. He couldn’t scream.

“I’m Ultraviolence. Haven’t you heard about me?”

He fell to his knees, where Ultraviolence followed, kneeling. He put his hands on Ace’s shoulders and started to repeatedly jam the blade into his body, groans of pain finally escaping his lips. He made sure to make it slow, the blade entering and exiting his gut getting deeper and deeper. The sounds of sharp iron ripping through human flesh was sickening, breaking through the sounds of rain. Ultraviolence’s hoodie sleeve was caked in blood by the time Ace stopped moving. He pushed him down and walked towards Limp, on the ground still trying to figure out what happened. Limp tried to pull his pistol out, but Ultraviolence kicked it from his hand and put a boot to his face, settling him down.

Ultraviolence pulled out his own pistol and aimed it down to his head. “You deal in heroin.”

Limp was hyperventilating, the rain blinding him from who’s threatening him. “W-What?!”

“You deal in heroin. I don’t like those who deal in harmful substances. You give your money to a crime boss and the cycle continues. You know what you deserve?”

“Please…” Limp begged.

A shot rang out. The bullet entered Limp’s throat. He felt the heat pass through him like he swallowed lava. Limp held his neck as he began to choke on the blood rushing to the wound. He tried to move but Ultraviolence put his boot on his chest, he watched him as he slowly faded, drowning in his own blood.

“You deserve Violence…”