Royce steps through the thick shadow of the warehouse, a barbed wire door swinging close behind him as he walks into the dimly lit part of the large building, where a small bulb flickers over his head.
Royce looks unrecognizable, like the past two days have turned him into an untamed beast.
His hair is disheveled and hanging loosely over his eyes.
His face is painted red with fresh blood that does not belong to him. Down to his folded sleeve white shirt that has no clean spot with no splash of blood on it.
He grips his ballistic knife tightly as he walks towards the remaining eighteen underdogs kneeling at his mercy.
Each step comes with the sound of blood splattering underneath his shoes.
"Alpha, please, Alpha please, please hear me out."
Royce doesn't listen, already used to the moment his victim sees their life flash before their eyes. The inevitability of death, the cries, the begging and the fear.
