"Please have mercy on me... Just kill me... I beg of you..."
The plea of a dying man.
A man who, if God above failed to stretch forth His hands to him, would be abandoned to fall into the deepest part of hell.
But even in hell, who was to say he would find peace?
The air inside the abandoned warehouse was thick with the acrid scent of blood and gasoline. The warehouse was faintly illumined by a broken light, which cast jagged shadows against the cold, concrete walls. The faint sound of water dripping echoed, a slow, rhythmic noise that only heightened the suffocating tension in the room.
Bound to a rusted metal chair in the center of the room was a man,bthough calling him that seemed almost generous now. His face was swollen beyond recognition, a grotesque mess of purple bruises, torn flesh, and dried blood. A jagged cut ran from his brow to his cheek, barely clotted, still seeping
