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Climax Control Archives / Perverted, Profaned and Cleansed in Flame
« on: June 22, 2022, 12:26:26 AM »“The most unassuming persons are some of the most horrific monsters this world has ever seen. Ted Bundy, Pee Wee Gaskins, Jerry Brudos, hell even Edmund Kemper was unsuspecting. Horrific human beings, who did things that no monster would ever even think of. Yet the truth remains, that just like Dahmer was ignored, so too are the rest of the unsuspecting monsters of this world. Max Burke, learnt a lesson. Max Burke learnt that a cornered bird will peck the eyes from the face of its aggressors in defence of itself. Max Burke learnt a very important lesson. A lesson that all need to understand. That the unsuspecting monster, is usually the most violent and depraved. That the one who you turn away from, ignore and forget, may in fact be sitting upon his own throne of carrion and carnage.”
Lanterns filled with ebbing flames illuminate a small circular area. Hardwood floors, dull with a lack of care, dirty with the same ambivalence. A small claw foot table sits in the middle of the area, carvings of birds emerge at points of an octagon. In the centre of the odd shaped table, a spinning wheel. A roulette wheel, brightly coloured cells of red interlinked with spots of black. The light clatter of a ball skittering across its surface as it spins. Alexander Raven sits at the top end, his eyes focused on the spinning wheel.
“Danger comes in many forms. Danger comes in many ways. It’s a curious thing, danger. Just like the wheel of fate turns, so does the threats of violence and danger in our lives. Actions chosen can influence the outcome, and defending ourselves becomes foremost paramount in our own success. I broke a streak of losses last week, I broke a streak of failures. In doing so, there was an acknowledgement. An acknowledgement, that the eyes so focused on me, are for reason. That the disappointment people felt, may not have been so sincere. It’s a cruel thing to beat the dead horse, but when the wounded beast stops feigning. Yes, when the horse bites the hand of the whipping jockey, then there is a shift. Suddenly fear of the beast becomes far more than it once was. The threat of a buck is suddenly more threatening than ever. The blood flows and the fear builds. The beast, even in this dilapidated state, beaten and broken, has still caused distress. Now the wheel of fate has changed. Raised back to health, the noble steed strikes fear into all those who once would’ve happily poked it with sticks. They now regret their barbed words. They regret the poking and prodding. The real question we have to ask, is where does the wheel of fate land now? Despite the failures I’ve experienced, I am chosen to be the one to shift the entire landscape. A match filled with men, all of who wish to take the crown of chance and lift it up high. A Bulldog filled with anger at his stolen toy being held out of reach. Now in the corner of the bird it once tried to kill. Now given the role to ensure that said bird remains safe. Does the bulldog, ensure the bird flies high, knowing that it can once again break the birds wings? Break the wings and take back its favourite toy once more?”
“It becomes a matter of questioning. Is the bird truly one to fear, or is it the better option gift the toy to the bird? The danger becomes the question of chance. Have I been put in this position, because I am the least likely to win? Have I been put in this position because outside eyes see the potential of the steed, rather than the broken beast that has laid before them? I ask this of you Bulldog, and I will ask this of you too, Miles. Impartiality means a fair fight. Yet in a fair fight, does the champion keep the floundering bird grounded? If he does, what does that spell for you? The Bulldog who lost his favourite toy to the Saint. The Virulence of danger that keeps the Bulldog frothing at the mouth with a debilitating rabies. The Saint that does not weep for the collapsed dog. Do you want to leave it to chance, Bulldog? Or do you bend the hands of fate, to ensure that the bird soars with the toy in hand. The toy that you so desperately want. I wonder.”
The ball slowly comes to a clattering stop. A red square, a bulldog head emblazoned upon the square, foaming at the mouth. Raven smiles, collecting the ball, and running a finger across the symbol. A black mark obscuring the symbol. Once again, he spins the wheel, and flicks the ball into the wheel. He pulls a cigarette from his pocket and raises it to his lips, his eyes focused on the spinning wheel, the ball clacking away as it rolls through the world of options before it.
“Interesting how fate comes to us, isn’t it Miles? I am a man, who does not like leaving debts unpaid. The fees continue to climb, yet I fear not the cost they will reap. Perhaps, this match is a test for me. Can I, the one so focused on the past, see beyond the veil? Can I forget the scars I wear from the mighty Bulldog? Can I forget, the humiliation of losing to yourself as well? Is this match a test for me, to see if I can ignore those debts, and reap a new reward. With one aggressor at my back, and two in front, do I find myself trapped in the jaws of an inevitable fate? Do I forsake my crown, to ensure the blood debt to me is paid? I wonder, Miles. Who do you think is being tested here? I ask of you, the same I ask of Barnhart. Who do you think, is the easier target? Do you see me as a broken beast, who has just a small bit of light left in his eyes? Was my victory over Max Burke, a whimsy of fate? Or simply something of luck? Do you wish to leave it all to fate? Do you wish to play the game? I wonder, Miles. Is impartiality the truth, or is there a chance for you, to change the odds. Will you stand idly, will you break the wings? Or will you cure this virus that plagues us?”
“The reality is this, Barnhart and Miles. The reality is that destiny can be influenced. The odds of the game can be changed, and in doing so, a new truth emerges. Four can indeed become three, but who do you fear more? The Saint or the King? Or do we leave the odds as they lay? Impartial and accepting of the way the wheel spins. I wonder, can any of you truly be turned? Seeds of doubt lay in the minds of the weak, and I intend to lay those seeds. Good and bad? Good and evil. It doesn’t matter how you see it, the truth remains this. This is our reality, and the odds can be influenced. No game of chance ever plays in the hands of the player, yet you can become the dealer. Barnhart and Kasey, do you want to be players? Or do you want to win with the house? I offer you only thought, for I do not pretend to know the truth of the world.”
Once again the ball comes to a slow and skitters to a stop. A square of black, a red wolf head emblazoned upon it. Raven smiles as he blows smoke from his mouth onto the table, obscuring it behind a cloud. Slowly the smog clears, and the wolf head is now marred with a streak of black, obscuring it. The ball now back in the hand of Alexander Raven, his eyes fixed upon the table, watching as it turns slowly, never-ending.
“Finn Whelan. A man who knows how to speak with his fists. A man, who I can see the anger in. Someone, who like myself knows the power of aggression and weakness it exposes. The Seattle Saint. Interesting, isn’t it, Finn? The Broken Messiah, the False Prophet, the One True King, stands across from the Saint himself. Prophecy, fate and destiny, all words for gambles of life. Gambles of truth. Gambles of our reality. Do you understand what I’m saying, Finn? I need you to understand me. I need you to follow. You see, Finn. I respect a man who knows his place. I respect a man who looks to the sky but understands the blood that holds him aloft. The ground is just another thing to fall to, and blood will only soften that blow. It is interesting, those we find ourselves surrounded by however. These incestuous mixing of this Sin City refuse to let up. Every way one turns there is another link the underlying pervasive nature that finds its roots in the depths of this business. Cleansing this business takes more than just rattling the foundations. It takes more than just neutering the dogs. Max’s eyes were focused elsewhere, and his mind slipped because of it. The ironic symbolism of him being collared and shocked into submission in a land filled with men obsessed with their animal monikers is not lost on me. Wolves and Dogs every which way once turns, and yet we cannot shake it. The world conspires to illicit responses from us, and to keep us marred and buried. To keep us under, and force our hands to do the dirty work. To throw the stones in the stained glass houses, and burn this damned place to the ground.”
Raven drops the ball once more onto the table, more flames igniting and jumping to life. Four braziers illuminate more of the circle, throwing shadows and images across the area. A light murmuring pervades the air, and the seemingly empty scene is filled with untraceable sources of sound. Animal sounds, the screeching of cicadas and the croak of settling birds. The sounds un-matching to the hard wood world. The clatter of the ball sitting above all other sounds.
“We are innocents in this world of perversion. Without intrinsic links to everything that is going on from the ground level. You too, throw stones in this glass house. You too carry the torch of flames ready to burn it all down. This masquerade of filth. Holy men, Saints and Prophets alike, it falls to us. The cruel irony Finn, is that as much alike as me are, a severe divide exists between us. Whilst we fight with our fists, and illicit the rage that boils deep within to keep us moving, our similarities are profaned even in this. I do not seek to cure the disease that pervades this Sin City. No, I seek to purge it. To cleanse it in flame and to enact my truth upon it. The One Truth. My reality, as it stands. No more lies, no more incest, no more perversion of reality. Disconnected no longer, people will have to acknowledge the truth. This is my truth, Finn. Blood, pays for blood, and all will understand that. I will bleed the Bulldog, I will slit the throats of all wolves, and I will clip the wings of all winged beasts, bird to dragon. In my Kingdom, Finn. There is no space for Saints. In my reality, there is no space for those who would remain disconnected from what I am bringing forth. No more games of chance. No more mockery of fate. I will become the house, I will become the dealer. In my dealing of the cards of fate, truth becomes what I deign it to be. The odds become my odds, and with that Finn, no more will we need people like you. In my reality, Finn. She will forgive me. For love is one of the greatest motivators, and I will show them all. I will show, everyone, my love. I will be forgiven. I will, forgive.”
“Are you listening to me, Finn? I need you to listen. I need you to understand what I’m saying to you. I need you to follow. Follow me, Finn!”
Once more the ball comes to a rolling stop. A green square, A hand distending from a robe, holding those of another. Marred and pocked hands. Diseased hands. Raven suddenly lifts and flips the table, throwing it at his feet. He kicks violently at the top causing the claw foot base to separate from the roulette wheel top.
“This is my time Finn. No more will I be the one who people turn their noses up at. No, I will not be the pitied beast, clinging to life. I will be the majestic bird that flies the souls of the dead to my kingdom. My kingdom of truth. My kingdom of reality. My Conspiracy will feed upon the destruction I reign, and with that. Peace! My peace, will no know ending. Forgiveness holds the hand of peace, and secured in violence and decay it will be. I will collar the rabid animals. I will collar the Bulldog. I will tame the wolves, and I will cage the birds. Slay the dragons. We live in a fucking fantasy world, and yet, I’m the one that people think has lost his marbles? I’m the one who sees things as they are Finn. Do you understand? Do you follow? Are you listening? I need you to listen to me, Finn. Nobody ever listens. I don’t want to hurt people anymore, but nobody listens. They don’t understand that I’m trying to show them the truth. That their profaning of the world is not reality. That they are more disconnected than they realise. Analogy, symbolism, whatever you fancy. It doesn’t matter. Love, is a great motivator Finn. Love is what I will show you. Love is what I will show everyone. Love comes in many ways, shapes and forms. I talked about some despicable monsters. The Dahmers, Bundys and Kempers of the world. Men who perverted the idea of love. Yet they acted because it was their motivator. Violence, and love, Finn. I love, violence. I love, love. I loved her. She wouldn’t forgive me if I stopped. She wouldn’t forgive me, if I didn’t love you. She wouldn’t forgive me, Finn.”
His face softens slightly. The anger and rage subsiding a little, as he looks down at the broken table, then away to the left. Staring off into the shadowy darkness beyond the light of the lanterns and braziers. The creak of floorboards. The sounds of the world beginning to dull away, before silence became deafening.
“I am, focused, Finn. Whilst I will forgive, Miles and Barnhart. I will blood them, and in their bleeding, they will be cleansed. They will be, forgiven. Their debts paid, and their future in my Kingdom, secured. As the food that feeds my Conspiracy. Ravenous, hungry and demanding. My Conspiracy are insatiable Finn. I have to keep them cared for, and if that means that I must illicit the carnage they demand, then so be it. For I am Broken, but not longer false. I am a King, but no longer false. I am truth, for I have become it. I am, the One True King, Finn Whelan. You are holding my rightful crown, and I will tear it from your skull if I have to. Love is a great motivator, Finn. Do you love what you do? I do. I love every single second of it. I cannot give up. I’ve come too far. I’ve broken, too many promises. Collar the dogs, tame the wolves, cage the birds and slay the dragons. You will become, my past. Fear not, for that is not forgotten. No, it seems my past remains part of my present. I cannot escape the humiliation that Bill served me. Miles served as a turning point for my mind, but I need to cleanse him still. You hold my crown, and in doing so, you become a war I need wage. Griffin Hawkins, a man of my past. One who skates away from me. Who ignores my existence, spits in the face of that determination. I need take you down, Finn. I need take you down, and then, in one swoop. I take the debts owed to me. I will collar the dog, I will tame a wolf, and I will make him see. I will make him acknowledge that I am still here. You will be the banner I raise, to make him see that. None of you, will stop me. I cannot be stopped.”
“She will forgive me.”
Raven slowly drops down onto his knees. Staring off into the far distance still, before lowering his head. His arms dropping to hang limply at his side, as the embering cigarette hangs loosely in his left hand. The embers dropping to the floor, and then the eruption of fire. A streak of flame from near his hand stretches into the surrounding area. Fire stretching into the air, surrounding Raven in a circle of it.
“Knox once talked about cleansing in the flames. He’s right. We need to cleanse this Sin City. I will cleanse it in flames. Finn, I will cleanse you, in flames. Just like I too, once was cleansed.”
“Do you understand me, Finn?
The clatter, the crackle and snapping of wood and flame. Raven’s body is slowly obscured until he vanishes behind the growing inferno. Flames crackle and snap, filling the space. And then.
Nothing.
Darkness.
Silence.
Lanterns filled with ebbing flames illuminate a small circular area. Hardwood floors, dull with a lack of care, dirty with the same ambivalence. A small claw foot table sits in the middle of the area, carvings of birds emerge at points of an octagon. In the centre of the odd shaped table, a spinning wheel. A roulette wheel, brightly coloured cells of red interlinked with spots of black. The light clatter of a ball skittering across its surface as it spins. Alexander Raven sits at the top end, his eyes focused on the spinning wheel.
“Danger comes in many forms. Danger comes in many ways. It’s a curious thing, danger. Just like the wheel of fate turns, so does the threats of violence and danger in our lives. Actions chosen can influence the outcome, and defending ourselves becomes foremost paramount in our own success. I broke a streak of losses last week, I broke a streak of failures. In doing so, there was an acknowledgement. An acknowledgement, that the eyes so focused on me, are for reason. That the disappointment people felt, may not have been so sincere. It’s a cruel thing to beat the dead horse, but when the wounded beast stops feigning. Yes, when the horse bites the hand of the whipping jockey, then there is a shift. Suddenly fear of the beast becomes far more than it once was. The threat of a buck is suddenly more threatening than ever. The blood flows and the fear builds. The beast, even in this dilapidated state, beaten and broken, has still caused distress. Now the wheel of fate has changed. Raised back to health, the noble steed strikes fear into all those who once would’ve happily poked it with sticks. They now regret their barbed words. They regret the poking and prodding. The real question we have to ask, is where does the wheel of fate land now? Despite the failures I’ve experienced, I am chosen to be the one to shift the entire landscape. A match filled with men, all of who wish to take the crown of chance and lift it up high. A Bulldog filled with anger at his stolen toy being held out of reach. Now in the corner of the bird it once tried to kill. Now given the role to ensure that said bird remains safe. Does the bulldog, ensure the bird flies high, knowing that it can once again break the birds wings? Break the wings and take back its favourite toy once more?”
“It becomes a matter of questioning. Is the bird truly one to fear, or is it the better option gift the toy to the bird? The danger becomes the question of chance. Have I been put in this position, because I am the least likely to win? Have I been put in this position because outside eyes see the potential of the steed, rather than the broken beast that has laid before them? I ask this of you Bulldog, and I will ask this of you too, Miles. Impartiality means a fair fight. Yet in a fair fight, does the champion keep the floundering bird grounded? If he does, what does that spell for you? The Bulldog who lost his favourite toy to the Saint. The Virulence of danger that keeps the Bulldog frothing at the mouth with a debilitating rabies. The Saint that does not weep for the collapsed dog. Do you want to leave it to chance, Bulldog? Or do you bend the hands of fate, to ensure that the bird soars with the toy in hand. The toy that you so desperately want. I wonder.”
The ball slowly comes to a clattering stop. A red square, a bulldog head emblazoned upon the square, foaming at the mouth. Raven smiles, collecting the ball, and running a finger across the symbol. A black mark obscuring the symbol. Once again, he spins the wheel, and flicks the ball into the wheel. He pulls a cigarette from his pocket and raises it to his lips, his eyes focused on the spinning wheel, the ball clacking away as it rolls through the world of options before it.
“Interesting how fate comes to us, isn’t it Miles? I am a man, who does not like leaving debts unpaid. The fees continue to climb, yet I fear not the cost they will reap. Perhaps, this match is a test for me. Can I, the one so focused on the past, see beyond the veil? Can I forget the scars I wear from the mighty Bulldog? Can I forget, the humiliation of losing to yourself as well? Is this match a test for me, to see if I can ignore those debts, and reap a new reward. With one aggressor at my back, and two in front, do I find myself trapped in the jaws of an inevitable fate? Do I forsake my crown, to ensure the blood debt to me is paid? I wonder, Miles. Who do you think is being tested here? I ask of you, the same I ask of Barnhart. Who do you think, is the easier target? Do you see me as a broken beast, who has just a small bit of light left in his eyes? Was my victory over Max Burke, a whimsy of fate? Or simply something of luck? Do you wish to leave it all to fate? Do you wish to play the game? I wonder, Miles. Is impartiality the truth, or is there a chance for you, to change the odds. Will you stand idly, will you break the wings? Or will you cure this virus that plagues us?”
“The reality is this, Barnhart and Miles. The reality is that destiny can be influenced. The odds of the game can be changed, and in doing so, a new truth emerges. Four can indeed become three, but who do you fear more? The Saint or the King? Or do we leave the odds as they lay? Impartial and accepting of the way the wheel spins. I wonder, can any of you truly be turned? Seeds of doubt lay in the minds of the weak, and I intend to lay those seeds. Good and bad? Good and evil. It doesn’t matter how you see it, the truth remains this. This is our reality, and the odds can be influenced. No game of chance ever plays in the hands of the player, yet you can become the dealer. Barnhart and Kasey, do you want to be players? Or do you want to win with the house? I offer you only thought, for I do not pretend to know the truth of the world.”
Once again the ball comes to a slow and skitters to a stop. A square of black, a red wolf head emblazoned upon it. Raven smiles as he blows smoke from his mouth onto the table, obscuring it behind a cloud. Slowly the smog clears, and the wolf head is now marred with a streak of black, obscuring it. The ball now back in the hand of Alexander Raven, his eyes fixed upon the table, watching as it turns slowly, never-ending.
“Finn Whelan. A man who knows how to speak with his fists. A man, who I can see the anger in. Someone, who like myself knows the power of aggression and weakness it exposes. The Seattle Saint. Interesting, isn’t it, Finn? The Broken Messiah, the False Prophet, the One True King, stands across from the Saint himself. Prophecy, fate and destiny, all words for gambles of life. Gambles of truth. Gambles of our reality. Do you understand what I’m saying, Finn? I need you to understand me. I need you to follow. You see, Finn. I respect a man who knows his place. I respect a man who looks to the sky but understands the blood that holds him aloft. The ground is just another thing to fall to, and blood will only soften that blow. It is interesting, those we find ourselves surrounded by however. These incestuous mixing of this Sin City refuse to let up. Every way one turns there is another link the underlying pervasive nature that finds its roots in the depths of this business. Cleansing this business takes more than just rattling the foundations. It takes more than just neutering the dogs. Max’s eyes were focused elsewhere, and his mind slipped because of it. The ironic symbolism of him being collared and shocked into submission in a land filled with men obsessed with their animal monikers is not lost on me. Wolves and Dogs every which way once turns, and yet we cannot shake it. The world conspires to illicit responses from us, and to keep us marred and buried. To keep us under, and force our hands to do the dirty work. To throw the stones in the stained glass houses, and burn this damned place to the ground.”
Raven drops the ball once more onto the table, more flames igniting and jumping to life. Four braziers illuminate more of the circle, throwing shadows and images across the area. A light murmuring pervades the air, and the seemingly empty scene is filled with untraceable sources of sound. Animal sounds, the screeching of cicadas and the croak of settling birds. The sounds un-matching to the hard wood world. The clatter of the ball sitting above all other sounds.
“We are innocents in this world of perversion. Without intrinsic links to everything that is going on from the ground level. You too, throw stones in this glass house. You too carry the torch of flames ready to burn it all down. This masquerade of filth. Holy men, Saints and Prophets alike, it falls to us. The cruel irony Finn, is that as much alike as me are, a severe divide exists between us. Whilst we fight with our fists, and illicit the rage that boils deep within to keep us moving, our similarities are profaned even in this. I do not seek to cure the disease that pervades this Sin City. No, I seek to purge it. To cleanse it in flame and to enact my truth upon it. The One Truth. My reality, as it stands. No more lies, no more incest, no more perversion of reality. Disconnected no longer, people will have to acknowledge the truth. This is my truth, Finn. Blood, pays for blood, and all will understand that. I will bleed the Bulldog, I will slit the throats of all wolves, and I will clip the wings of all winged beasts, bird to dragon. In my Kingdom, Finn. There is no space for Saints. In my reality, there is no space for those who would remain disconnected from what I am bringing forth. No more games of chance. No more mockery of fate. I will become the house, I will become the dealer. In my dealing of the cards of fate, truth becomes what I deign it to be. The odds become my odds, and with that Finn, no more will we need people like you. In my reality, Finn. She will forgive me. For love is one of the greatest motivators, and I will show them all. I will show, everyone, my love. I will be forgiven. I will, forgive.”
“Are you listening to me, Finn? I need you to listen. I need you to understand what I’m saying to you. I need you to follow. Follow me, Finn!”
Once more the ball comes to a rolling stop. A green square, A hand distending from a robe, holding those of another. Marred and pocked hands. Diseased hands. Raven suddenly lifts and flips the table, throwing it at his feet. He kicks violently at the top causing the claw foot base to separate from the roulette wheel top.
“This is my time Finn. No more will I be the one who people turn their noses up at. No, I will not be the pitied beast, clinging to life. I will be the majestic bird that flies the souls of the dead to my kingdom. My kingdom of truth. My kingdom of reality. My Conspiracy will feed upon the destruction I reign, and with that. Peace! My peace, will no know ending. Forgiveness holds the hand of peace, and secured in violence and decay it will be. I will collar the rabid animals. I will collar the Bulldog. I will tame the wolves, and I will cage the birds. Slay the dragons. We live in a fucking fantasy world, and yet, I’m the one that people think has lost his marbles? I’m the one who sees things as they are Finn. Do you understand? Do you follow? Are you listening? I need you to listen to me, Finn. Nobody ever listens. I don’t want to hurt people anymore, but nobody listens. They don’t understand that I’m trying to show them the truth. That their profaning of the world is not reality. That they are more disconnected than they realise. Analogy, symbolism, whatever you fancy. It doesn’t matter. Love, is a great motivator Finn. Love is what I will show you. Love is what I will show everyone. Love comes in many ways, shapes and forms. I talked about some despicable monsters. The Dahmers, Bundys and Kempers of the world. Men who perverted the idea of love. Yet they acted because it was their motivator. Violence, and love, Finn. I love, violence. I love, love. I loved her. She wouldn’t forgive me if I stopped. She wouldn’t forgive me, if I didn’t love you. She wouldn’t forgive me, Finn.”
His face softens slightly. The anger and rage subsiding a little, as he looks down at the broken table, then away to the left. Staring off into the shadowy darkness beyond the light of the lanterns and braziers. The creak of floorboards. The sounds of the world beginning to dull away, before silence became deafening.
“I am, focused, Finn. Whilst I will forgive, Miles and Barnhart. I will blood them, and in their bleeding, they will be cleansed. They will be, forgiven. Their debts paid, and their future in my Kingdom, secured. As the food that feeds my Conspiracy. Ravenous, hungry and demanding. My Conspiracy are insatiable Finn. I have to keep them cared for, and if that means that I must illicit the carnage they demand, then so be it. For I am Broken, but not longer false. I am a King, but no longer false. I am truth, for I have become it. I am, the One True King, Finn Whelan. You are holding my rightful crown, and I will tear it from your skull if I have to. Love is a great motivator, Finn. Do you love what you do? I do. I love every single second of it. I cannot give up. I’ve come too far. I’ve broken, too many promises. Collar the dogs, tame the wolves, cage the birds and slay the dragons. You will become, my past. Fear not, for that is not forgotten. No, it seems my past remains part of my present. I cannot escape the humiliation that Bill served me. Miles served as a turning point for my mind, but I need to cleanse him still. You hold my crown, and in doing so, you become a war I need wage. Griffin Hawkins, a man of my past. One who skates away from me. Who ignores my existence, spits in the face of that determination. I need take you down, Finn. I need take you down, and then, in one swoop. I take the debts owed to me. I will collar the dog, I will tame a wolf, and I will make him see. I will make him acknowledge that I am still here. You will be the banner I raise, to make him see that. None of you, will stop me. I cannot be stopped.”
“She will forgive me.”
Raven slowly drops down onto his knees. Staring off into the far distance still, before lowering his head. His arms dropping to hang limply at his side, as the embering cigarette hangs loosely in his left hand. The embers dropping to the floor, and then the eruption of fire. A streak of flame from near his hand stretches into the surrounding area. Fire stretching into the air, surrounding Raven in a circle of it.
“Knox once talked about cleansing in the flames. He’s right. We need to cleanse this Sin City. I will cleanse it in flames. Finn, I will cleanse you, in flames. Just like I too, once was cleansed.”
“Do you understand me, Finn?
The clatter, the crackle and snapping of wood and flame. Raven’s body is slowly obscured until he vanishes behind the growing inferno. Flames crackle and snap, filling the space. And then.
Nothing.
Darkness.
Silence.