Stone Cold K*ller

The coolness of a mans barrel of a gun to ones temple hadn't deterred the feeling of one's emptiness, only the cold hearted knew of this self preservation. One who had grew up in a world with blood, money, and power. It all comes down to those three unfortunate factors. This world- in a 'made mans' Empire was his only goal, his success. Five years of age didn't change a father's perspective while the little boy watched as his papa whipped out a gun, and pointed the tunnel where a bullet would shoot out towards a sweaty older man's face.

"Watch and learn, Nicolai." His father had said to him. "Someday you will take my place as Pakhan."

With two pinkies, and a couple nails later from the old mans interrogation, his father pulled the gun out and pointed towards the mans temple, "please, please," the old man wailed, "I didn't do it!"

The Pakhan grunts, "weakness is useless..." he loads a bullet into the chamber, "uselessness is flaws...and I will not have any flaws in my army."

A five year old boy stands behind a chair in the shadows; at the corner of their basement. A tear falls down his cheek as he watches a monster, not his Papa. The one who makes him hot chocolate at night, who reads bedtime stories; the man he looked up to.

This was the first time he was seeing the real man that he had looked up to.

A vial monster.

The little dark haired boy closes his eyes, squeezing his lids tightly, unable to see what was happening. He didn't want to. He knew this was in ways--wrong. His innocence needed that protection...

Only for his Papa, the Pakhan, shout back at him, "open your damned eyes boy and watch!" In his thick accent.

Blue eyes pop open in fear as tears threaten to rush down his red cheeks, "p-papa, please!"

"Enough!"

The Pakhan heir flinched before saying, "I hate you!" It was true, at this moment, Nicolai hated him for watching something so vicious.

Then a loud pop resonates before a ringing noise follows behind, turning ears to red with heat in a beat of silence. An echo carried as seeing red--more of a dark brown red, could have sworn seen an orange hue afterwards as brains of matter splatterd the side of a wall. The old mans body goes limp lifelssly hung from a ceiling, legs dangling from the concrete floor. The chains swing from the blow leaving a creaking noise.

The Pakhan stood there, blood splattered his chin and on one side of his cheek. His eyes were black it seemed once he laid eyes back to his son, "это мир созданный мужчиной."

'This is a made man's world.'

He wished his mother were alive, she was an angel compared to this monster--the Devil.

But years had blurred the lines for the boy. Right from wrong be damned because the monster had created...

A nightmare.