The Dark Somnium - "I’m A Hitman With a Unique Method of Body Disposal"

Episode Date: August 16, 2023

This Creepypasta scary story is from the creepypasta website, written by Woundlicker. Make sure to check out the original story and support the author!"I’m a hitman with a unique method of body disposal" https://www.creepypasta.com/im-a-mob-hitman-with-a-unique-method-of-body-disposal/ Hosted by Simplecast, an AdsWizz company. See pcm.adswizz.com for information about our collection and use of personal data for advertising.

I'm not going to lie to you, nor will I attempt to justify my heinous actions. I'm a mass murderer, a serial killer of the worst kind. Over a 20-year period, I've been directly or indirectly responsible for upwards of 300 murders. I don't kill for a cause or because I get some kind of perverse pleasure from it. Instead, I murder people for money, power, and status. I'll let you decide whether that's better or worse. The majority of my victims are officially recorded as missing, presumed dead. Their bodies have never been found, nor will they.

That's close to 300 families who will never know for sure what happened to their people. I'm certainly not proud of what I've done, or for the carnage and misery I've inflicted. Some of the killings will haunt me to my dying day. There were ones who were largely innocent, guilty only of some minor infraction or unlucky enough to be in the wrong place at the wrong time, they're the ones I regret the most, because those people didn't deserve to die in such a horrific manner. On the other side of the coin are the real evil shits, the psychopaths and sadis, the members of rival gangs who inflicted their own fair share of mayhem in suffering during their time. Those assholes got what was coming to

them, and I even took some satisfaction from their deaths. Nevertheless, after all these years and all the murders, they tend to blend into one, a montage of bloody carnage that's become a nightmarish blur in my memory. I tend to remember the details rather than the names and faces. I see those quaking bodies standing or kneeling at the pit's edge, often blindfolded with their hands bound behind their backs. Many will plead or beg for their lives, but it makes no difference. We couldn't let them go even if we wanted to.

Sometimes we'll put them out of their misery. before they fall, cutting their throat or putting a bullet in the back of their head. But more often than not, we'll shove them down into the pit while they're still alive and breathing. Our benefactor prefers his victims that way. The pit isn't as deep as it looks from above, and so usually the victim will survive their fall, although they'll likely break both legs in the process. My partner and I will stand above, looking down into the darkness, watching on as the injured victim squeals out and and crawls through the dirt, bones, and shit which covers the bottom of the stinking pit.

Next, we'll hear the almighty roar reverberating throughout the connected tunnels and the sound of something huge tearing its way through. No matter how many times I hear that awful roar, I'll never get used to it. It's difficult for me to imagine the victim's terror in that moment as the beast charges towards them in the darkness. They'll have come expecting to die, but few could have imagined such a horrific final fate. The attack is usually over fairly quickly, a violent blur of viscera, the victim having never stood a chance. As I walk away from the bloodied scene, I feel some satisfaction that the ritual has been completed, and our criminal fraternity will enjoy continued good fortune and victories until the next sacrifices do. No doubt you're confused and more than a little

bit troubled at this point, so let me start at the beginning. I grew up on the wrong side of the tracks, so to speak, born and raised in one of the poorest and most crime-ridden districts in a city of sin. My father wasn't around, and my mother was an addict, so, in the absence of any adult supervision or positive role models, I was raised by the streets, learning to live by my wits and my fists. By my early teens, I'd built up a reputation as being a tough kid in the neighborhood, but I also had street smarts and was always able to make a quick buck. I operated as a cat burglar, breaking into homes and such, before I graduated to armed robbery. The cops never caught me, but my criminal exploits did gain the attention of the local

mafia family. I made the potentially lethal mistake of robbing a liquor store that was paying protection to the mob. The local wise guys weren't happy with me, but my case came to the attention of a rising star in the family called Carl Guzman. Carl was still in his early 20s back then, but he already. was notorious, his name known throughout the city's criminal underworld. He carried out his first hit in his teens and was regarded as one of the most ruthless

and efficient assassins in the city. Carl's boss was an up-and-coming gangster called Angelo, a one-time low-level trickster in Conman who had risen through the ranks due to a combination of skill, ruthlessness, and sheer force of will. With Carl as his right-hand man, Angelo would ultimately eliminate all of his gangland rivals and escape any legal attention to become the most powerful gangster in the city, ruling of vast criminal empire incorporating drugs, prostitution, illegal gambling, loan sharking, protection rackets, hits for hire, and just about everything in between. But all that lay in the future.

Back then, I knew little about Angelo and Carl, other than their reputations for violence. Now, I was a tough kid, but when I got called up in front of Carl Guzman for my indiscretions, I'll admit I almost shit my pants. I'll never forget that fateful night when I was driven out to an abandoned parking lot close to the docks and brought in front of Carl. He was a handsome and charismatic man, immaculately turned out in an Armani suit, his dark hair slicked back, and short beard perfectly groomed. I remember his dark eyes looking down upon me, intelligent, but...

Also predatory eyes. Carl was charming, but there was also a sinister undertone behind his words, creating the impression that he'd slit your throat without giving it a second thought. I was scared out of my mind that night, as I reckoned he would kill me right then and there. But, of course, he didn't. Despite my bad behavior, Carl was impressed with my criminal aptitude and the stories he'd heard about me around the neighborhood. Therefore, he gave me two choices that evening.

Either I could accept my punishment for the robbery, which would mean a savage beating with baseball bats, breaking my arms and legs in the process, or I could join the family business and become Carl's new apprentice. Needless to say, it was an easy decision for me. It was only two months later when I accompanied Carl on my first kidnapping murder. This was a watershed moment for me, a real crossing the Rubicon situation. On that night, I sold my soul, and I do mean. mean that in the literal rather than metaphorical sense.

On that night of the abduction, I was drinking in O'Reilly's, a tough as-as-nails bar on the city's south side run by an ex-gangster who didn't ask too many questions of his patrons. I'd just downed my second whiskey when Carl walked in. His eyes quickly scanned the bar interior as he sought me out. I could tell from the look on his face that he meant business, and this was no social call. I had a lump in my throat as I welcomed him. Hey boss, what's up? He nodded his head solemnly, with intense eyes narrowing as he replied.

Finish your drink, we're working tonight. I knew from his whole demeanor, in the tone of his voice, that tonight's job was going to be more than your average hijacking or punishment beating. I realized right then and there that Carl wanted me to make my bones, to complete my first kill. I'd done a lot of bad shit up to that point in my life, but I was yet to take a life. The prospects of committing a murder didn't exactly fill me with glee. I was never one of those psychopaths who gets off on it. Nevertheless, I knew I needed to make my bones in order to rise in the family, and so I was prepared to do so, but I had no clue what lay before me. We drove to the location on the outskirts of town in a stolen car, Carl taking the wheel while I rode shotgun.

I carried a snub-nosed 38 revolver. Not much use for an extended gunfight, but handy for a close-range execution. Not a word was spoken during the 20-minute journey. Carl remained entirely silent and focused on the road. While I knew better than to ask questions, Carl would tell me what I needed to do when the time was right. We stopped at an abandoned warehouse in a desolate industrial estate, just outside of the city limits. It was a location I'd never visited before, but one which conjured up images of gangland execution. and buried bodies.

Carl drove up onto a piece of wasteland, parking in the mud, and waiting with the engine still running and the car's headlights illuminating the darkened scene. We sat there in the tension-filled silence until finally I couldn't take the suspense any longer. What the hell is this place, Carl? I nervously inquired. Angelo owns the land in the warehouse. It's his place. Carl answered dismissively.

I nodded my head, knowing that he hadn't really answered my question. I decided to push for more information. Why are we waiting here, boss? I thought we had a job to do. This is the fucking job. Carl shouted back angrily. Now shut your damn mouth and stay calm. You'll find out the truth soon enough.

I didn't quite know what to make of his cryptic words, but I knew better than to ask any more questions. In any event, it wasn't long before I got my answers. A few minutes later, a second vehicle came into view, slowly plowing through the muddy wasteland and pulling up to park about 20 yards from our car. Carl looked on cautiously as the doors of the dark sedan swung open, and two tall and bulky men stepped out, a pair of gangland enforcers dressed in cheap suits, both armed with nine-millimeter pistols tucked into their waistbands.

I didn't recognize the men, but Carl clearly did, as he opened the car door and stepped out, advancing across the dead ground as he went to meet the newcomers. One of the gangsters, a dark-skinned, bald-headed man, stepped forward and spoke. He apologized for being late, saying that there was traffic on the freeway. You got the package? Carl interjected abruptly. He confirmed that they were and pointed to the trunk. Get him out. A moment later, I was watching the two gangsters manhandling their victim, dragging him out of the trunk before frog-matching him across the wasteland. Their

prisoner was dressed in a soiled track suit, his hands tied in front of him with a black bag over his head, obscuring his vision. He was an average-sized man, but dwarfed by the pair of hefty enforcers who held him. I noted how he hardly resisted his captors, apparently utterly defeated and submissive in his demeanor. Carl walked up to the hooded man, standing only inches from his face as he inspected the victim with a discerning eye. Take that damn hood off his head, Carl instructed, it doesn't matter if he sees our faces now. One of the men obliged, removing the hood from his victim's head. The face underneath was a sorry one.

His nose was broken and his face covered in dried blood. His eyes were bloodshot and tired. Surprisingly, he didn't seem scared or in a state of panic. Instead, the victim appeared beaten and resigned to his fate. He adjusted his eyes to the glare of the headlights and looked up at my companion. To my surprise, it turned out they knew each other. Guzman, is that you? He muttered through trembling lips.

Yeah, it's me, buddy. Sorry we have to meet like this. Carl replied coolly. The condemned man surprised me again by shrugging his shoulders dismissively. I fucked up. He replied simply. Yeah, you did. Is there any way out of here for me?

Any chance of a pass? Carl shook his head in the negative. Can't do it, old buddy. You know what happens when you steal from Angelo. There's no way back. What about my body? The man interjected. Could you get it back to my family?

so they can give me a proper burial? Can't do that either, man. Carl replied, with a hint of guilt now evident in his voice, It's out of my hands. You know that. But we'll get word to your people. Let them know you're not coming home. I saw the condemned man's face contort and tears well up in his eyes. He took a deep breath before saying,

Fuck it. Let's get it over with. Carl took hold of the bound man, dismissing the tooth bugs while doing so. We watched as they drove. drove off, and then Carl directed us towards the waiting warehouse as we led our victim on a solemn death march. It's fair to say I was feeling pretty disturbed at this point. In the years which followed, I became hardened to death and violence, and how the man meekly accepted his fate.

This almost made things worse. I knew Carl was watching me closely and evaluating my performance. My whole future in the criminal underworld hinged on how I carried myself over the next few minutes, And I was determined not to mess it up. Carl made me hold the condemned man while he unlocked the door, leading us inside of the warehouse. The interior of the building was almost entirely bare, albeit illuminated by a portable lamp linked up to a generator. In the middle of the concrete floor was a gaping open hole in the ground, about 20 by 20 meters

across. I was puzzled and more than a little concerned. Initially, I assumed the pit was some sort of mass grave. That would have been bad enough, but the truth was far worse. We dragged our victim forwards right to the edge of the pit. I remember his whole body was shaking uncontrollably, and he couldn't stand without support. The stench by the pit was pretty horrific, a foul combination of rotting flesh and what smelled like animal waste, the same as you'd get in a zoo.

I was uneasy, but also morbidly curious, peering over the edge, but it was a little bit of the edge, but seeing only darkness. You don't want to get too close, Carl warned. By this stage, our victim was down on his knees by the pit's edge, muttering a quiet prayer through his trembling lips. I pulled out my piece, preparing to fire, but something stopped me from doing so. Suddenly, I heard a sound emanating from the dark bottom of the pit, faint at first, but quickly growing louder.

I jumped when I heard the animalistic growl for the first time, quickly followed by an almighty roar which filled the space. A moment later, what sounded like a huge beast as big as a rhino came storming into the pit. The ground was shaking due to its immense size and strength. I couldn't get a good look at the monster, only seeing a dark shape circling the bottom of the pit. I looked to the quaking victim before me, seeing him whimpering in a tear as a stream of urine poured down his trouser leg. What the hell is down there? I yelled, shouting to be heard above the creature's ground.

Shoot him and kick the body down there. Carl ordered loudly. I shook my head in confusion. I don't understand. Shoot him in the head! Carl screamed. I raised my revolver holding the barrel against the back of his head. I paused before firing, not wanting to pull the trigger, but I realized that killing him

would be a mercy compared to what lay below. I closed my eyes and fired, feeling the kickback as my victim's head exploded. His limp body fell forward, dropping over the edge. I heard the poor bastard's corpse hit the bottom with a dull thud. A moment later, the beast grabbed hold of him with its mighty jaws, biting down on flesh and bone while producing a sickening crack, as it briefly emerged from the shadows, seeing its shark-like eyes and huge mouth filled with razor-sharp teeth. The mere sight of the beast brought a cold chill at my spine, a primal tear unlike anything

I'd ever experienced before. A moment later, the beast dragged the corpse back into the shadow. and started to devour his flesh in a sickening display. I walked away from the pit and disgust, feeling like I was about to be physically sick. Carl gave me a moment to compose myself before he walked over, slapped me on the back and spoke. You did good, kid. The first time is always the hardest. Now, let's get the hell out of here. I don't recall much about our drive back to the city.

I guess I was still in a state of shock. My brain's still trying to process the horror of what I had just witnessed. It was some time before I was able to speak, asking Carl the most obvious of questions. What the hell happened back there? I demanded. I'll tell you what I know, but we're going to need a drink. Carl answered. Ten minutes later, we were sitting in a secluded booth in an empty bar, free from prying eyes and ears. I ordered a double whiskey and downed it in one.

What the hell was that thing? I asked, half not wanting to hear the answer. Carl took a large gulp of his own drink before answering. I don't exactly know. It doesn't have a name. All I know is where it comes from. A tunnel leading deep into the earth. A passageway, too.

He paused briefly, carefully considering his next words. You believe in the afterlife kid? In heaven and hell. I shrugged my shoulders, puzzled by the question. I guess so. I've never given it much thought. I answered. Carl nodded his head before continuing.

What about a Faustian bargain? You heard of that? I shook my head in the negative. It's a fable about a guy who made a deal with the devil. Carl explained. I scoffed and laughed dismissively. I don't believe in all that supernatural shit. I replied.

Well, Angelo sure his shit does, and he's not on the side of angels. And how can you deny what you saw tonight? I didn't have an answer. I don't know all the details. But Angelo made his deal with the man downstairs a couple of years back. The deal was simple. Angelo offers up a regular sacrifice to the beast below, and in return, he gets everything he wants in life, money and power.

No trouble from the law, and all his rivals dead are in prison. The good times keep on rolling as long as he delivers the bodies. I shook my head in disbelief, wanting to believe this was all some kind of sick joke. her type of initiation, but there was no way to explain the beast I'd seen down there. My brain was racing a hundred miles per hour as I tried to make sense of what I'd been told. I don't know, Carl. I've seen some shit in my days. Robbing and shooting people is one thing, but deals with the devil and human sacrifices?

That's a whole different level. Carl nodded his head in understanding. I get it, man. I felt the same. First time I saw that monster and learned the truth. truth. But look at it this way. As Angelo grows more powerful, we benefit too. A few more years and our crew will be running this town, and if the devil renegs on the deal, Angela will be the one to pay the price. It's a win-win. So what do you say, kid? You want to make it to the

big leagues? I know I should have walked away right there and then, but what can I say? I'm not a good guy, and the promises of power and wealth were just too tempting. So I said yes, and my life changed forever. Carl was right, up to a point at least. It did get easier over time. We carried out a lot of sacrifices in those early days, and it was around that time when Angelo went to war with the biggest crime family in the city, and the streets ran red with blood.

Our boss was ultimately victorious, no doubt due to the deal he'd made with the man downstairs. but it was a long and bloody gangland conflict and our hit squad was kept very busy. I can't recall how many men we killed during that gang war. The faces and names tend to blur after a time. We weren't able to sacrifice all of our victims to the beast, many we shot dead in the streets, but where possible, we kidnapped our rivals and brought them to the warehouse. This wasn't always an easy task. Some of the men we took were real tough bastards who fought fiercely, but almost without

our victims would shit themselves when they got to the pit and they heard the beast's terrifying roar. Now, these guys were nasty, gangsters, drug dealers, pimps, and killers for hire. They were the worst of the worst, and I really didn't feel bad about serving them up as human sacrifices. Those bastards would have happily tortured and murdered us if the tables were turned. I'd shown mercy to my first victim, shooting him dead before letting his body fall into the pit. The beast preferred his meals breathing.

So we pushed most of our victims down while they were still alive, hearing the crack of bones when they hit the bottom and relishing their cries of terror as the beast devoured them. After a while, I feared I was enjoying my job too much, and so I had to remind myself of how horrifying this truly was. But those were good years for our crew. Angelo destroyed all of his enemies and took full control of all criminal enterprises throughout the city. The money was pouring in, and we became the most feared and respect.

elected men in the neighborhood. Soon, Angelo became untouchable, with city councillors, top police officials, and judges all in his pocket. Even the honest cops and prosecutors weren't able to build a case, and our boss never spent a day in jail. Yeah, those were the good days, and clearly the ritual sacrifices were working. But of course, it didn't last. The trouble was that we were too successful. When the gang war ended, Angelo no longer had any rivals left to eliminate. But of course, the devil and his beast were relentless, and they continued to demand fresh sacrifices. Before long, we began executing men and women for the most minor of infractions or insults. But the crooks were so terrified of Angelo and us that they didn't dare put a foot out of line,

so we had to change tactics once again. That's when we started picking victims at random. They were people who no one would miss, the homeless and drug addicts mostly. We found it easier to dope our victims before throwing them into the pit. It made them more docile as we dragged them to their deaths, tossing those poor bastards over the edge and walking away as the beast ripped in the shreds. Carl and I rarely spoke on those nights, but neither of us were happy. I became sickened by my role in these senseless killings, a seemingly never-ending conveyor belt of death and suffering.

I tried everything to dull my pain, drink, drugs, sex, nothing worked. I just couldn't escape the immense guilt that I carried with me. Carl got bumped up about six months ago, taking on the role of Angelo's number two. I didn't quite know how to feel about this change. Carl and I had worked together for a long time and we shared a terrible secret, but a part of me was glad to see the back of him. I'd come to loathe the man who led me down this bloody path, even though I knew, I had ultimately made my own free choices. But the asshole they sent to replace Carl turned out to be a real piece of work.

His name was Tommy, and he grew up in my neighborhood, being introduced to the criminal underworld from a young age. Tommy was the type of kid who tortured small animals for fun, before graduating to do the same to human beings. He took a perverse, sadistic pleasure in killing, which had never appealed to Carl and me. We considered the murders an ugly but necessary act. And we tried to be as professional as possible, but Tommy loved killing and was almost giddy every night we carried out a sacrifice. He would mock our victims, laughing in their faces as they pled for mercy, or giving them false hope before delivering the fatal blow.

Tommy was also obsessed with the hellish beast, almost to the point of worshipping it. He talked at length about every grisly kill when all I wanted to do was forget. Working with a psychopath like Tommy made a horrific situation. even worse. I knew I wouldn't be able to keep this up for much longer. Everyone has their breaking point, and I reached mine a week ago. The night of what will be my last murder sacrifice started out the same as my first, as I sat drinking in a dive bar, waiting for a call. Tommy rang me soon after midnight, saying Angela wanted us to work tonight. I sighed deeply while downing my whiskey, wandering out onto the wind-swept street where Tommy picked me up in a dark sedan.

I climbed into the passenger seat, noting the cruel smile on Tommy's lips and the suspicious twinkle in his eye. His body language immediately put me on guard. Where's the job? I asked wearily. The assholes in the trunk. Tommy replied, while laughing sadistically, All ready for his little trip to hell.

I nodded my head grimly and asked no further questions during our drive out of town. I assumed the man trapped in the trunk was just another nameless victim grabbed off the streets. Little did I know what lay before me on that fateful night. We reached the warehouse shortly before 1 a.m. I got out of the car and shivered from the cold, looking up at the stars above as Tommy opened the trunk to reveal the hooded victim within. The man inside was bound with duct tape, his hands tied in front of him. He wore what looked like an expensive suit, except it was ripped, soiled, and covered in dried blood. At first, he looked like just a typical kidnap victim, but some of the same.

Something didn't seem right. Get the hell up, asshole! The victim complied, shakily pulling himself out of the trunk and managing to stand on his own two feet. I didn't understand. What's going on here, Tommy? I whispered in my companion's ear. Why isn't he drugged? We usually doped our prisoners to make them docile and less able to resist.

Tommy replied loudly, making sure that our victim overheard. And that would be too easy, man. Angelo wants this bastard to suffer. He's going to know it when the beast eats him alive. Ain't that right, buddy? He punched the hooded man around the back of his head, making him yelp and pain and shock. I didn't like this at all. Tommy was playing games, and I wouldn't let it slide.

In an instant, I reached out and yanked the hood from our victim's head. I then recoiled in horror at what I saw. The bloodied and bruised face of my former mentor and brother in arms. Carl Guzman. I stood there, awestruck, looking my friend in the eye. seeing that expression of total defeat and resignation which I'd witnessed in many other condemned men over the years. He looked down, seemingly unable to meet my gaze.

Carl? What the fuck, man? I exclaimed. It's okay, old buddy. It's my time to go. This ain't on you, man. I shook my head in disbelief as Tommy pushed Carl forwards towards the warehouse and his terrible fate.

I ran after them, shouting questions in a state of frenzied panic. Carl, I don't get it. How did this happen? I messed up, man. He replied solemnly. Took a shot at the king and missed. Now I'm paying the price. I just couldn't understand.

But why? Why the hell would you do that? Carl suddenly stopped walking, fighting against Tommy's grip to turn and face me. His eyes filled with a fiery intensity. Because that son of a bitch needs to be stopped. That's why. Angelo and his damn deal. What we've done, it's evil.

I should have stopped this years ago, but I was weak. Don't make the same mistake. That evil fucker needs to go. Tommy ended Carl's angry tirade by whacking him hard around the head and forcing him to continue his death mark. Shut the fuck up, traitor. The thug swore. I should have intervened to stop it, but I guess I was still in a state of shock, not truly

believing what was occurring in front of me. But Tommy knew exactly what he was doing as he forced the helpless Carl inside the warehouse and frog marched him toward the waiting pit. I followed behind in a daze, my mind racing as I desperately tried to come to terms with this unexpected turn and considered my next move. We entered the dreaded warehouse, Tommy and Carl marching ahead and me trailing behind. I saw the pit and heard the faint roar of the beast as it tore down the tunnel, greedily anticipating its coming meal. I lost control, grabbed Tommy by the shoulders and pulled him around while I placed the other hand on the butt of my pistol. What the fuck are you doing?

Tommy spat angrily, his dark eyes full of fury. We're not doing this. I exclaimed with determination. I was sure it would come to blows, but Carl intervened. It's okay, old buddy. He said calmly, speaking directly to me whilst maintaining eye contact. It's my time. I have this coming.

But, Carl. I whimpered, already losing faith in my cause. But nothing. It's over for me. There's no sense in you dying too. Listen to your friend here. Tommy interjected, shooting me a twisted smile as he did so. I was paralyzed, unable to act or intervene as Carl marched towards his terrible fate.

I didn't understand it. Carl knew what was down there better than anyone. How could he accept such an awful death so meekly? I looked on as Carl kneeled by the side of the pit, replicating the stance of our first victim all those years ago. Meanwhile, the beast came charging into the pit, its dark shadow circling in eager anticipation, whilst emitting a low, animalistic growl. It'd been a long time since it'd been so excited about a sacrifice. It was almost as if it recognized its soon to be victim.

I knew what the monster did to living bodies, so I was determined to not let Carl suffer such a fate. After all, he had been my friend once upon a time. I'll give you a clean death at least. I said grimly as I drew my pistol and held it to his head. I didn't know how my old friend would react, and so was astonished when he turned to speak with me. His eyes filled with a fiery intensity. Listen to me. This evil needs to end.

You must finish what I started. Carl didn't get a chance to finish his frantic last words, because in that very moment, Tommy kicked him hard in the back, forcing his body over the edge. Adios, asshole. Send us a postcard from hell. Tommy laughed. I screamed while lurching forward, but it was already too late. I watched in horror as my friend fell into the darkness, his body hitting the bottom with a heavy thud. Carl was still conscious when he hit the ground.

He tried to crawl to safety, but the beast was on him in a flash, trampling his helpless body under its huge hooves, cracking bones as if they were twigs. Carl screamed in agony as the beast made a second pass, this time grabbing its victims in its mighty jaws, throwing him across the pits. like he was a rag doll. I lost it in that moment, doing something I'd never done before, aiming my pistol and firing down into the pit. I screamed in between shots. My gun was empty in just a few short seconds. It was dark, and my aim was off, but still I must have hit the beast at least three or four times. But the monster didn't even slow down. The bullets bouncing off its hide like

its skin was made of steel. I could only look on an abject whore as it continued to toy with Carl's helpless body, seemingly taking pleasure from his suffering. Finally, the horrifying ordeal came to an end, as the monster bit through Carl's torso, practically splitting him in two before dragging his shredded remains into the shadows, where it proceeded to devour his flesh. I stood by the edge of the open pit, perspiring heavily with tears in my eyes as I tried to come to terms with Carl's horrific death. Suddenly, my six senses spiked as I felt the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end. I turned around sharply and saw Tommy approaching from behind, his hand reaching for his gun and his eyes filled with a murderous intent.

A second later, he surely would have pushed me down into the pit, but now Tommy was caught out like a deer in headlights. I stepped away from the edge and made my knuckles into fists preparing to fight for my life. Tommy wasn't used to fighting people who defended themselves, so he hesitated. We glared at each other for a tension-filled minute before I eventually broke the silence. We're done here? I asked coldly. Yeah, Tommy replied after a lengthy pause. We're done. Let's get the hell out of here.

And we left the warehouse behind, trying to ignore the sound of the beast gnawing on Carl's bones. I survived by the skin of my teeth that night, but I know my days are numbered. With Carl gone, my loyalty is definitely suspected. Angelo surely knows I'm not his man anymore, but he doesn't know that I'm coming for him. I haven't forgotten Carl's final words. He was right. This evil must be stopped. Tonight, I intend to arm myself to the teeth and go after Angelo.

I'm going to kill him or die trying. It's the only way to end this living hell. I know this act won't make up for all the evil stuff I've done. It's too late for redemption, and I expect to burn from my sins. But damn, I'm going to enjoy seeing the look on that bastard's face right before I put a bullet. through his skull. And all the better when that vial is forced back to hell where it belongs, it's time to go to work.