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My name is Travis Parks... I'm 24 years old, human. I'm part of the C Street Shufflers, just a low ranking member trying to get by in Sachus. When someone needs work done, I'm the expendable guy they send. Kill that guy, steal this car, sell these drugs... I never question my orders. I never stop and ask "why?", I simply do as I'm told. And I'm fine with that. I'm a drone to this gang. Hell, I'm a drone to myself. Humanity left me long ago. I joined the C Street Shufflers because I needed purpose. I needed acknowledgement. I needed people to know... that I exist...

I live two blocks away from their hideout. One day I decided to seek them out. After four cracked ribs, a broken nose and jaw, fractured cheek bone and busted left arm, they took me in. "Runt-rat" they used to call me. Four years later, I've been promoted. I'm just "runt" now. Looking back now, I would say I regret my choice to join. But I don't. I really just don't. I don't feel much anything at all anymore. I'm empty. Void.

Unlike the others I keep away from drugs and alcohol, most abuse these substances to escape their pain. Escape their feelings, escape their troubles... I have no need for drugs, because I have no pain to escape from. I don't need alcohol to save me from the woes I don't have. If I have trouble, I'll simply just kill whoever, or whatever, proves itself to be a nuisance. Other than that, I'm just 'there'. Maybe that's why I've never bothered with drugs and booze. There's nothing for me to escape from. No troubles. No emotions. No moral quandaries.

I think I've forgotten just how it is to feel. Sometimes I think I experience a twinge of sadness or anger as I perform my duties, but it never lasts long. It's an odd sensation. A teeny glimpse of something... something screaming away from the confines of its cage locked away deep in my brain. Rattling the cage, desperately trying to escape... No matter how hard it tries, it never will. My "off switch" has been stuck in that position for years.

In a way, it's good I just don't give a shit about things. I don't have reason to care. No family. No girlfriend. The crimes against humanity I've committed... The brutal methods I've tortured and kill people in... The sheer amount of blood I have on my hands. It'd drive a lesser man insane. I may not have humanity left in my soul, but I know I have sanity. Not a whole lot, but it's there. I think.

The closest I felt to the brink of insanity was about three days ago. My only buddy left in the Shufflers, Jensen, brought me into our interrogation room... a dusty ass chamber with peeling brown walls, blood coating just about every inch of the region... That's when I saw him. Sitting in the steel chair, hands tied around the back of the chair with rope. Some random kid about my age I had never seen before. Hell, he almost even looked like me. Long brown hair, piercing green eyes, pointed jawline. The moment he saw me walk in the room with my tire iron, he begged and pleaded for his life. 'Don't kill me, please. It was an accident.' 'I didn't mean to hurt anybody.' 'This was all a mistake.' 'Please, you have to forgive me.'

I had no idea what he was talking about. And I didn't care.

Once Jensen left me and him in the room alone with my tire iron, I knew what had to be done. Hearing the door close behind him was my queue, as soon as I heard the latches shut I unleashed. Without any form of expression I brought the tire iron down upon his left knee. The bone shattered, screams followed. I then crushed in his ribs with a baseball-swing of the iron, sending him and the chair toppling over to the floor. I walked over, brought him and the chair back up, and swung again. Normally I'd go straight for the head, bash in the skull. Quick. Effective. But this time was different. I had never tortured for pleasure up until this point.

In my mind, I heard myself screaming out in a blood curdling rage. In all reality I hadn't made a single sound. Not a shout, not a grunt. Only silence. I watched this poor bastard as he struggled to breathe, gasping for air like a fish out of water. Collapsed lungs are bad for your health. Another swing of the iron, this one aimed at his jaw. I could hear the bones snap out of their sockets as his screams became more muffled, more distorted, finally he shed blood. He was begging for his life, or at least that's what I assumed he was doing, at this point he could barely speak. Barely even find the energy to cry out in pain. It only seemed to fuel me more.

I rained down more strikes than I can count to the boy's face, with each consecutive strike the life drained out of his cries for help. Blood squirted and gurgled from every orifice on his head. Crimson trails leaked from his broken mouth, his wrecked nose, his begging eyes... As I delivered the killing blow, a moment flashed before me. In that caved in, deformed dome of his, I saw my own face where his once was. Hearing the final crack of his skull breaking would snap me out of that moment.

The tire iron was lodged deep within the mangled cavity that was once his head, I had to literally yank the thing free from his corpse. As I did this I could hear a few of his teeth plunking out of his jaw and bouncing across the cement floor, by the time I was done with him his entire skull was bashed in. Unrecognizable from the person he once was. It a matter of seconds I decimated this guy. This guy I had never met. No doubt this was one of the most physically brutal murders I had ever committed.

I said earlier I think I began losing my sanity as this scene played out. But I think I gained something, actually. I gained what I once lost, long ago. The ability to feel. And as I stood there with the dented, bloodied tire iron in my hand, gazing down to the terribly deformed monstrosity I just created from my years of rage...

I felt nothing but pleasure.