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I'm afraid there won't be any long winded, grandiose intro in this depraved little piece, no. I'll let it stand on its own (lack of) merits. In fact, there will be some (a lot of) questionable, offensive content thrown in. So, if racial slurs and hate crimes easily offend you, click back on your browser and go read Hansel and Gretel with a warm glass of milk and a sweet cookie. HappyFunBall(tm) Decrees It.

Selected Lyrics from Puscifer's Rev 22:20 and NIN's March of the Pigs are used without permission. Naughty.

The FLIR Conspiracy

Chapter I - Heads

2007 by Eldyran

Klein placed a paw tip on the blinds of his only apartment window and peeked through the opening, but what he saw through it only sickened him further. On the other side of the rain streaked glass the shirtless black wolf spied a destitute, morally deficient world; a concrete jungle filled with impartial beasts that had crumbled outward as well as inward.

A roaming searchlight swept past the dour wolf's features, momentarily illuminating the sparse, yet somehow cramped apartment behind him. Klein let go of the blinds and turned back around to the maddening confines of his two room efficiency. With a deep inhale, the wolf walked the entire length of this room, an entire three meters, his military boots clomping on the scuffed wooden floor with dull thuds. He strode over splotches of black stains, forever soaked into the dry, unvarnished floor.

The wolf did an about face, and repeated.

Still, there was variation in this tedium. In his stir crazy pacing, he smoothed out the wrinkles in his desert colored BDU pants, readjusted his holster. After about ten circuits of his self imposed cell, the black lupine dropped to his chest and did a few hundred press ups, his chiseled chest and abs barely straining. He shot back up after that killed five minutes, and gave a stern glance about the room.

Stacked boxes of old firearm's magazines piled up along the western wall next to his card table, but he had read all of them at least fifteen times. On that wall he had tacked up a few lewd pinups; mostly of fem shirtless male foxes, their slender chests and sultry looks giving out what little atmosphere existed in the otherwise stark living arrangements.

He looked at his cot snug up against the north wall, and underneath it, small boxes of pipe bombs and the materials to make them; a sure fire surprise for the boys in blue should they ever decided to raid his little sanctuary. In the end he decided against sleep or making more party favors for his little side project.

Instead, he sat down in the fold out metal chair next to the card table and upholstered his old service piece, before doing a methodical field strip of the M9. His black paws shook as he inspected the magazine springs for the second time in three hours, but in his defense, he did know of an engineering defect that caused them to go slack at inopportune times.

Klein cleaned the weapon again with a kit that took permanent residence up on the card table, and looked down the barrel when he was finished, squinting from the dim lighting afforded by the single bulb hanging above. The wolf growled out when he realized he had cleaned the firing chamber and barrel too much, and began to re-apply the optimal amount of gun oil, the biting scent making his eyes water. He knew of another defect in the M9 that he felt needed to address constantly, almost obsessively; issues with corrosion in the barrel. He reassembled the gun twice before he was marginally satisfied.

He had picked up a lot of bad habits in the Gulf War.

Klein wiped the gun clean with a rag, the pistol glinting in the sickly yellow light of his self imposed cell. He sat it down and stared at it for a long while before he noticed the slight tremor in his right paw. The impassive, almost blank look on his muzzle turned into a sneer as he thought back to his short tour of duty over in the Great Sandbox during Desert Storm.

He had seen first paw the canisters of biological weapons lobbed behind enemy lines, and wanted to shoot the five star who felt that it would be a good idea to deploy air borne weapons in a wind streaked desert. By the time the yellow tinged mists drifted back toward them on fickle winds, it had already been too late. The experimental 'Anthrax Vaccine' the service deployed was actually meant to immunize U.S. forces from their own atrocities, but that too, had been irreparably botched. When Klein got sick after serving his country, he applied for veteran's disability, but like so many others, he was turned down for a syndrome that simply did not exist.

And if his superiors had their way, it would never.

When the same country that Klein gave his blood, sweat, and tears to turned its back on him, the wolf had little choice but to turn to his blood money skills in order to survive. Now in 1994, after a few years of scrounging on the mean streets of Baltimore, the ex-veteran found his hustle working as an enforcer for one 'Fast' Eddie Coccotti, Cherry Hill's primo drug trafficker and connoisseur of fine black Mercedes Benz 600's.

But never a pusher.

Klein hated working the drug scene. But like so many other things, the lupine found himself doing things he despised in order to survive. The black wolf's paw tips drummed on the press wood tabletop near the pistol in quiet contemplation, before looking back to the south facing blinded window. Blares of car horns, wails of sirens, and the rumble of a passing train passed through the portal of flimsy glass from the outside world; a world of pandemonium and lawlessness.

In short, Klein's own personal playground.

The grim wolf turned slowly to the barren eastern wall, the only wall that had nothing stacked against it or tacked onto it. His hackles raised slightly from the foreboding sight of it, a haze of unease pouring from invisible pores in the pitted, cracked drywall. It watched him; how he didn't know, but he if he was sure of anything, it was that.

Klein shot up from his seat and stormed into the adjoining kitchenette and bathroom, away from the demonic, barren wall. His shaking paws found the rusty handles to the sink's faucet controls and turned them with a corroded squeak, a gout of foul smelling water burbling onto his cupped paws. He splashed some water on his face and muzzle, before groping out blindly for a towel and patting the excess off.

When he opened his eyes to the mirror in front of him, a stranger looked back at him, almost as scared, startled as him.

For a terrifying moment, Klein almost recognized who store back at him. In horrified reflex he sent a furry fist into the mirror, shattering it before recognition could dawn in one half of his terrified mind. He gave a short gasp as shards of glass drove deep into the flesh of his paw, his cruel eyes closing in sadistic pleasure. As if savoring the treat of an ice cream cone on a hot summer's day, the wolf's tongue swirled around the sliced, bleeding knuckles, the zing of bitter iron and sweet pain dancing across his taste buds.

The addicting taste of blood made him hard with arousal; pushed him past the point of no return.

He had to escape. He had to feed the sickness inside him, or else it would eat at him instead.

In earnest he thrust his paw underneath the stinging, cool water and watched the blood turn a sort of neon red before swirling down the drain. Klein turned off the sink and walked back into the larger (if only by a square meter) room before grabbing a skin tight athletic shirt and pulling it on. He gave a sorrowful glance to the pistol on the card table, and left it behind in favor of the combat knife he fished out from a cardboard box from underneath his cot.

After all of this, Klein knelt down and re-armed the improvised explosive device on his door, before exiting it and re-running a small bit of wire from the inside door to the detonating mechanism. He patted down a tool hidden in a utility pocket of his DBU pants before closing the door the final crack, and locking it. If anyone opened the door more than the amount needed to shove cutting pliers in to clip the tripwire, he would send them piecemeal back to Hell.

Klein paused to listen to the god-awful music blaring through his neighbor's door, its deep base reverberating the hallway in an emergent style called Industrial. The screams and synthesized auditory chaos blared something about a precession of swine. He turned the other way with a roll of his eyes and marched down the stairs a flight to the ground floor, where he exited the Slum without alerting its Lord, a real piece of shant Irish work.

As the chaos of the urban Baltimore sprawl swallowed Klein, he found a shroud of protective anonymity descend on him. Amongst the vagrants milling about in their nocturne hustle for their latest fix, Klein's features blurred. In return, the anonymous wolf took a seat on a nearby bus station bench in the indistinct mob and waited for the 5-11 bus to downtown. As nearby voices mused about their latest hit, car horns blaring some random traffic infraction around Klein, his muzzle dipped down to his chest, and he closed his eyes ... waiting ...

The passing roar of the 2-12 startled Klein for a brief moment, and his head shot up to the last bus that dared to brave this section of town for the night. The wolf looked about, but saw no other soul around. It was as if he had somehow fallen asleep and woken up in a bizarre twilight zone. Even this part of the sprawl seemed somehow muted, as if the great God of Asphalt and Glass had turned down the volume on the city's remote. On instinct, the street smart wolf's paws felt about for what few meager possessions he had on him.

His tools, knife, wallet, were all there.

Klein grinned at the absurdity of it. He was extremely lucky that nothing got picked while he had zoned off, or worse. His favorite comedian, the cougar Dennis Leary, had once said that Detroit led the world in rape and murder, but it was NYC that took the blame. Baltimore however, was fast on their heels, and in ten years would surpass them both. The black wolf looked back to his ramshackle apartment complex still only a few blocks away, and narrowed his dark eyes.

He highly doubted that he could sit out here for an hour, appearing to zone, space, or trip and have no one roll him.

Instead of praying thanks to a deaf God, Klein got up off the public bench and stretched, finding surprisingly little stiffness in his lean lupine body, before hoofing it downtown on foot. On the way, he noticed a destitute ferret's body laying underneath a Taco Bell sign that proclaimed 'Think Outside the Bun'. Darkly ironic, the ferret had died of starvation.

What a trooper, Klein smiled, his hind feet almost skipping in delight.

The night was cool, crisp, a full moon peaking through a dark bank of clouds overhead. The scent of autumn spiked the air, and in it Klein found a strange lunatic elation. He had left the confines of his mental prison for a plantation of hard florescence and little bit of sport. It was a dirty way to ease the strain in his brain, but he had only an hour to find some quarry before all the bars closed down for the night. While he preferred to take his time selecting his prey, sometimes the lateness of the hour drove the herd into desperation, made the hunt easier.

Half an hour later Klein found himself cutting through dark back alley's on the way to some of his favorite hunting grounds, wary of the dark web of side streets he walked through now. In a moment's notice a street gang could ambush him, slit this throat for a Jackson. He certainly looked like a easy mark. Shorter than most other wolves, and fully clothed, he looked scrawny, despite the hard definition the shirt concealed. Instead, the pushers in this rival territory seemed content with milling about in their protective shadowy recesses, not hassling or even paying much attention to him at all.

He met his first catch of the night at the intersection of one such back ally, a random jaguar in designer cut stumbling past some trash bags strewn about, probably flying high on blow. In passing, Klein simply body checked him into a brick wall, making a front of wanting to continue on his merry way. The jag spun off the wall and shoved him from behind in return.

"What's your malfunction, Nine?!!" he hissed, baring his fangs, the only white that gleamed off what little light existed in the ally. Klein turned back to the taller feline with a smile.

"Why don't you learn how to walk, Boot, or what, does your momma stay all fours too?" The next thing Klein knew a fist had sent his muzzle snapping hard to the left.

He tasted blood on his muzzle lips, and the shark frenzied.

Klein grabbed the outstretched arm on trained close quarters reflex, and snapped it backwards at the elbow. The wet snap of bone accompanied the jag's pained yowl as it echoed between grimy brick walls. A few squatters within earshot shuffled further away, survival instinct overriding any foolish notions of being a good Samaritan. Klein's paws gripped the feline's trendy silk shirt and yanked him even closer, sending a knee deep into his opponent's rib cage with bone crunching force.

The jag's sheik of agony cut out abruptly as a broken rib punctured his lung, the kitty falling into wet sounding sputters. Klein felt the body grow slack in his grip and let it fall into a heap of trash in disappointment. It seemed like he had broken his new toy before he had really gotten to play with it. He knelt over the limp body, gurgling mewls escaping from quivering muzzle lips. A sudden flash of claws from the jag's good paw raked over Klein's muzzle and face in a sudden, desperate gambit, and the wolf shook off the bright flare of pain with an amused, hearty laugh.

"THAT'S THE SPIRIT!" Klein howled, before grabbing the kitten's head fur his left paw, slamming his right fist down into the jag's face again and again.

He only stopped when he felt the feline's flat nose break, a gout of warm blood pouring over his already sliced knuckles. The ex-soldier suddenly shook off his fist in disgust, fear that somehow the jag's blood would somehow mix with his and taint him. Klein growled before taking out his combat knife, determined to take care of the pussy's good looks in retribution. The lyrics that had blared from out of his neighbor's door now drifted into his broken mind for some odd reason.

_Don't like the look of it ... don't like the taste of it ... don't like the smell of it ...

I want to watch it come down_

The Boot yowled out as Klein slipped the edge of the knife down around the short skull, slicing the skin and fur open there. The feline bucked, his hind feet drumming on the filthy asphalt under them as the wolf cut deeper. As the hideous sheiks only grew more intense, the jag's struggles more desperate, Klein's sheath swelled while riding the thrashing, frantic feline underneath him. It was pure sex.

He had picked up a lot of bad habits in the Gulf War.

_All the pigs are all lined up

I give you all that you want_

His left paw gripped the loose flap of skin he had sliced open, and with much effort, peeled the jag's face off. The feline's screech almost seemed muted now, the wet slurp of muscle separating from bone instead filling Klein's ears, filling his now happy existence ...

_Take the skin and peel it back

Now doesn't that make you feel better?_

Klein looked up from the drink in his hastily bandaged right paw to the suspicious equine bartender leaning on the counter in front of him. The wolf's ears flicked a bit, his eyes shooting back and forth to either side as he got his bearings, the dull thuds of the resonating bass thumping hard in the dark night club.

You alright there, hombre? the wetback's huge horse lips sounding out his question over the racket. He eyed Klein with a small bit of unease over the wolf's sudden disorientation.

Yeah, why the long face? Klein mouthed back, shooting the equine a nasty look before taking his drink with him to sit at a bar stool farther down the line.

He looked around in the light smoke that had poured in from various machines to help contrast the dancing ambiance of laser lights. The raving masses bounced and undulated on the dance floor in front of him, jerking in the occasional flash of strobes, which reminded him of the salacious stop motion movies held in olde fashioned arcades.

The music suddenly changed tempo, and the masses slowed and swayed, grinding against each other in pace to the suggestive song. A flash of lewd embrace here, a flicker of fuck there, it all looked like a series of orgy shots strung together at semi-random intervals. Klein sipped his black Russian, watching the iniquitous herd like the proverbial wolf among the sheep.

_Don't be aroused

By my confession

Unless you don't give a good goddamn about redemption_

One such dancer caught Klein's clandestine attention, the fox almost shimmying out of the wriggling mass around him with graceful, slippery ease. He barely had anything on him, fishnets trapping his bright red fur tight against his slender body. His slim hips rocked and swayed to the music's sensual rhythm, his tight upper body pitching about in reckless abandon. Aware of someone taking interest in him, the fox locked a sharp glance back at Klein with dark emerald eyes, making no mistake about what he wanted.

_I know

Christ is coming

And so am I

You would too if the sexy devil caught your eye_

Klein downed his drink and slipped off the barstool, the sudden douse of hard liquor in his gut only fueling his depraved passions even further. The black wolf strode through the crowd, singling out his marked prey. As the short, hard bodied lupine drew near, the anonymous vulpine turned around and ground his rump back into the wolf's hips, his bushy red and black tail swishing between them. Foxy let out a long drawn out gasp as Klein paws worked his paws up and down the feminine body, grinding together in tandem to the slow, sensual beat.

_Jesus is risen

It's no surprise

Even he would martyr his momma

To ride to hell between those thighs_

Klein's strong lupine paws roamed down to cup the fox's package, rubbing the hardening sheath under what modesty the fox had left on. When he squeezed Foxy's furry balls tightly, the vulpine gasped out, throwing his head back and rubbing his muzzle up against Klein's own. Up close, under the strobes, the fox's fading shiner was apparent even under the bright fur there, and that just made the wolf's hardness grind even more into the vulpine's tight ass.

_The pressure is building

At the base of my spine

If I gotta sin to see him again

Then I'm gonna lie and lie and lie_

Klein had done his time in the Gulf War, witnessed some horrible things. He wasn't alone in the Great Sandbox through, he had his squad, and his squad had him. Even if they didn't talk about it, they knew how to keep company in their company. Klein did his best to help his brothers out, even if it was strange at first. Now, as his paw dipped down into the fox's tight shorts, stroking the slippery pink tapered length hidden within, he could not deny this newly discovered hunger.

He had picked up a lot of bad habits in the Gulf War.

Foxy didn't last much more after that before taking Klein's paw out of his shorts and leading him to the exit, a desperate urge for release on his muzzle. They joined the early rush of furs getting out before the bouncers started pushing the slow, drunken herd out calling bar time; a mass exodus of the unlucky and disorderly. After exiting the nightclub, Foxy tried to get more necking in while Klein flagged down a cab. They didn't even exchange names.

Both had visited the meat market, and both desired to buy. No haggling required.

The cab ride back to Klein's apartment wasn't awkward per say, but the Israeli fennec cabbie kept shooting the amorous pair dirty glances in his rear view mirror. A couple of times Klein returned the Dib's glare in equal measure, blatantly stoking the hardness between Foxy's parted thighs. Klein was a real piece of racist, specist work all right, descended from only the finest mixed, muddled Aryanian blood Europe had to offer. He followed in the bootprints of goose stepping, hate mongering Kraut wolves, the most despicable of all, with gusto.

When they reached the run down building of Klein's apartment complex, the black wolf made sure to give his cabbie a extended middle claw for a tip. After the cab pealed off in an indignant squeal of angry rubber, Klein took his prize by the paw and led him up to the second floor, almost tiptoeing past the slum lord's office door and his favored shotgun; a most effective tool for collecting barley overdue rent. The fox seemed puzzled as the wolf unlocked then knelt by the door with no apartment number on it. Upon opening the door a crack, the wolf took out a pair of cutting pliers from his pants, but then frowned at something.

In this case, however, something turned out to be nothing at all.

Klein pushed open the door to his apartment with a rusty creak, a bit of already snipped wire hanging askew from his homemade 'security' device. After a moment of suspicion dawning over his narrow, beady eyes, he re-pocketed the unused tool and ushered Foxy inside, almost immediately looking for his 9M. Klein found it in the same place he had left it, and hesitantly picked it up, pulling the slider back and looking for any sign of sabotage.

The fox just stood there in silence, looking around the creepy two room efficiency and its lack of warmth, both intrinsic and extrinsic. As he draped his arms around himself in the drafty apartment, the slender vulpine shivered lightly, his fishnets doing little to keep his meager body heat in. When the tawdry vulpine glanced at all of Klein's pin-ups, he smiled and walked over to the wolf, placing his paws on his chest and rubbing up against him. Klein, now remembering his guest, gave a slow grin and laid the pistol back down, his nose starting to seek the other canid's cheek fur. It didn't take long before the two began to make out, their muzzle lips intertwined, paws roaming about each other.

When Foxy unexpectedly slipped down to his knees, muzzle nipping, licking at the wolf's hard body, Klein closed his eyes and threw his head back, growling softly. As eager, nimble paws undid his belt, Klein gave a rough rub to the black tipped ears near his navel, Foxy murring with satisfaction. Klein had given new meaning to the phrase, Going Commando. After undoing Klein's BDU fly buttons, a seven inch rod of slick lupine cock flopped on Foxy's surprised muzzle.

It didn't take long before the little cocksucker earned his dubious title, eagerly wrapping his muzzle lips around Klein's lupine girth and slurping like a starving Ethiopian sucking the cream out of a twinkie. Despite the fox's small muzzle, Foxy took the wolf's shaft like a pro, right down to the root. Klein barked as he felt the wet square nose meet his pubic fur, and as the red furred canid on his knees started bobbing up and down on his fuck pole like one of those mechanical drinking birds, the wolf tore off his skin tight shirt, revealing the hard cut of his abs.

When Klein felt the tip of his sex slip down into Fox's throat, the wolf couldn't resist the urge, and grabbed the back of the vulpine's head, mashing, holding it tight against him. The fox sputtered, choked as the thick meat blocked off his airway, his throat gagging in reflex. As the fox's slippery throat gripped the head of his prick, Klein threw his head back and gave out a soft growl, ignoring the gurgling, strangled noises from the smaller canid kneeling, struggling to get away, at his feet.

One of Klein's biggest kinks was strangulation. The responses it provoked were so Primal. So Urgent.

So Arousing.

After a minute, Foxy's struggles grew more urgent, his paws starting to flail at the lupine legs before him. His tear streaked emerald eyes, bulging now, looked up at the wolf, begging for air. Klein looked down with a grin, the sort of sick grin an individual might give while watching a puppy held underwater, and just speared the vulpine's head deeper, before abruptly letting go.

Foxy sputtered and coughed, his raspy lungs pulling in deep, labored intakes of blessed air as he slumped down into the middle of the blood stained floor. Klein didn't waste anytime before dropping down his pants to his boots and kneeling over atop of the gasping little fox before slashing off what little flimsy modesty the little fuck had on with his claws. The fox wasn't sure what to make of this, his tear streaked eyes blinking up to the prowling lupine, but damn if it wasn't hot.

Klein sniffed at the vulpine's hard cock jutting out from his red furred sheath, before treating the slick, dripping length like a pop sickle, and giving it a few long licks. Foxy spread his legs and moaned, his tail flicking out of the way on instinct. The scent of the vulpine's fear and arousal just made Klein hard in a way nothing else could, and he wanted to taste all of it.

As the wolf's muzzle lips and tongue descended on Foxy's furry sacs, the taste and scent made the hard bodied wolf spurt a bit, the vein's in his hard shaft pulsing now with even more need. Foxy hooked his ankles around Klein's shoulders as the black wolf's huge lupine tongue lapped even lower, slipping back and forth over the vulpine's tight pucker, before slipping inside.

Despite the fox's peals of excitement, his neighbor never turned up the almost constant industrial blaring 24/7.

Maybe they secretly liked to listen to Klein fuck.

His tongue buried deep in tight fem vulpine ass, Klein almost couldn't be happier. He removed his tongue and instead hoisted himself to push his own slippery tip up against Foxy's saliva coated fuck hole. Foxy struggled a bit, for show or in earnest Klein didn't know, but one of his paws clamped tight down on the little fuck's neck, pinning his head down in place, just in case. Klein couldn't tell if Foxy's whines were in lust or pathetic helplessness.

And thats the way the wolf liked it

Klein looked down as he started to enter the fox, and loved to watch his tapered tip slip so easily into the vulpine's hole, watch it spread in reflex to this primal invasion. It felt so good too, sending inch after inch deeper and deeper. Klein halted half way in and withdrew, before looking up to Foxy's face. The fox watched him back, his black paws trying to pry off the black one around his neck, a mixed look of conflict about that slender muzzle. When Klein's other paw clamped down on Foxy's spurting, leaking fox cock, stroking up and down the slick canid sex, it sealed the deal however. A ragged gasp fell from the vulpine's muzzle lips, his eyes hazed, before he moaned out.

"Please ... fuck me ...."

Klein needed no further encouragement, and shoved his meat stick down deep into Fox's guts. Both canids groaned out, barking in sheer pleasure with half closed eyes as Klein withdrew, repeated. The wolf almost had the fox curled up into a ball the way he fucked him, his back bend to keep that tush up in the air. Each time Klein drove into that tight, velvety ass, Foxy's black hind feet twitched and kicked up by the wolf's black ears.

It just felt so damned good.

The angle at which Klein fucked him sent his lupine cock slipping back and forth over Foxy's pulsing prostate again and again, and between the way the wolf jerked his swelling vulpine knot, Foxy didn't stand much of a chance. With a short bark, Foxy's cock jumped in Klein's paw, before spurting all over his chest and face. Klein grinned a bit, slowed, as he continued to watch the little slut squirm in ecstasy as he came all over himself. His large wolf paw let go of Foxy's cum slick shaft to feel along the feminine, slender body, jealous of its shape; feel.

Klein glanced up to all the pinups he had pinned up on the wall, most of them mirroring the thing he had pinned helpless underneath him. A few however depicted tasteful shots of female wolves and other candids modeling off hosiery, the shapes and curves of their bodies fascinating the conflicted wolf.

The wolf leaned down and started cleaning the cum off the fox's beautiful fur. His knot started to push up against Foxy's entrance, but Klein seemed torn between two opposing needs. In the end his split mind decided to have both, as much as circumstances would allow. He forced his swelling knot into the fox's ass, and Foxy just groaned out more, begging for Klein to fill him with thick lupine cream.

Klein's roaming paw grudgingly made its way up to join his brother, wanting to instead linger on the male's feminine body. Foxy's body had done good tonight, and Klein decided to keep it intact. He secretly always wanted a body like this. Maybe he'd keep it.

In his closet.

The paws around Foxy's neck tightened, and the vulpine squeaked out in confusion as Klein cut off his airflow. The wolf began to buck into the fox's body in earnest now, no longer holding back. Those once trusting, pleading emerald eyes widened as realization dawned within them, and the fox thrashed, his claws slashing at the ones at his throat, but to no avail.

Foxy's strangled whimpers mingled with Klein's grunts of exertion.

When the fox's hind feet started twitching hard by his ears, Klein arched his back, his knot catching deep inside the doomed little fox. Klein growled out, his paws tightening even more, squeezing the life from the beautiful little queer underneath him. Foxy's body tightened, convulsed, his last gurgle greeting Klein's perked ears as he looked up with blood shot, bulging eyes to his killer.

Klein howled out as he watched the fox's body spurt again in its death throes, clamping down on his lupine knot.

The wolf released his load into the fox's body just as it gave one last twitch, stilled, then relaxed. Klein continued to fuck, tie the corpse several times in the ensuing twilight hours, knowing full well that his every move was being recorded, watched ...

~ Fin: Part I ~

One thing I forget to mention. It was religious persecution for two ungrateful brats to shove a kindly Pagan baker into her own oven. The world isn't sweet, often bitter, and two Brother's named Grimm knew this. Will there be a deeper meaning to this series besides random sex and ultra-violence? Only time will tell ...