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Have you ever had a guilty pleasure, Sprocket? Have you ever thought back on it, decided that you harbored only a small amount of regret over that slight misdeed, and would do it all over again? This series was my indulgence, my Luxuria. Must all controversial works redeem themselves, or all morally deficient souls find absolution? HappyFunBall(tm) might beg to differ.

Selected lyrics from NIN's Mr. Self Destruct are copyright Nothing Records, used without permission, or remorse.

The FLIR Conspiracy

Chapter VI - The Short Happy Life of Kelvin Klein and the Fang Gang

2008 by Eldyran

In the torn apart confines of his two room efficiency, the black wolf Klein drummed his jittery paw tips into the press board of a flimsy card table and waited for a phone call. As the nude lupine brooded in the darkness of his apartment, flashing yellow lights from the cleanup crew's emergency vehicles working outside filtered in through the window blinds, casting him in flickering bright light and then deepest shadow.

But unlike the panic that Klein had unleashed upon Cherry Hill last night, construction crews could not rebuild the pandemonium of strew about militia magazines, torn asunder gay pinups, and slashed up cardboard boxes that had become the ex-marine's residence. Nor could they fix the broken mind that had gone askew and rampaged through the once tidy apartment.

The the only thing missing from the all sprawling chaos of Klein's tenuous sanctuary was the conspicuous crate of homemade pipe bombs that had once sat under his military surplus cot. Klein had saved one pipe bomb however, and occasionally ran a shaky paw over its smooth plastic casing, drawing some small amount of internal resolve from it. As he bowed his head, trembling all over from the ravages of Gulf War Syndrome, Klein wondered how things had devolved as far as they did.

Just about everyone he knew or even remotely cared about was dead.

His boss, Fast Eddie, blown apart inside his own Mercedes Benz while buying some cheap wine. His girl, Ms. Nakali, strangled to death during last night's riot up here on Cherry Hill, her cold jackal corpse stuffed in some closet next to some nameless dead fox.

He hadn't killed them both, had he?

No of course not. It had been the trickster Hungarian and his little Kosher bitch all along. The gray coyote and grublet. They had been the ones. But they couldn't have the only one left that meant anything to him: his manager Ben Wechsler. Klein couldn't believe it himself. At first the racist German wolf was going to snuff him last, as a twisted sort of thank you for all the times the wizened ram had watched over him in the painted circle of 'Fang Gang'. But as time wore on, he fell in love with his trainer.

Sure the ram was thirty years his senior, belted him with olde yiddish for the most asinine shit, but come what may, the black wolf had honest to Washington fallen in love with him. His manager had never stuck a knife between the ribs of his back, unlike his mafia boss, nor had he taken him to bed just to get some dirt on the local drug lord, like his girl.

Klein waited for Mr. Wechsler to call him back, anything to get him away from Ground Zero of Project Cacophony. He'd tell the ram how much he loved him. Maybe it make him feel better when taking the express elevator to Hell later tonight. The wolf's paw shook, and the broken marine bust out in a sudden sob.

Pathetic, at the very end.

The ancient rotary phone sitting on the card table rang without warning, and the unhinged wolf snatched the black molded ear piece from its cradle and brought the cool plastic up to his burning furry ear. For a moment there was silence, maybe the roar of passing cars on the streets of Baltimore, the soft hiss of late night drizzle, but that was all. Finally Ben spoke.

"What, you going to call me up out'a the blue and not talk? What game is this? Do you know what time it is?"

"Fight Five, Round Four."

"That right, kolboynik! And you should have been here an hour ago for fight Three. I had to throw the referee your towel. You care to care to give me the shpiel on that? You made me look like a shlub in front of the organizers."

"Ben, are you calling from the phone booth on St. Paul and East Baltimore, like I told the runner to have you call me at?"

"Of course, unlike some, I follow ... instructions ...." The ram let that last bit drag out, berating the wolf. Klein sucked in a deep inhale, as if what he was about to say was difficult.

"Ben, I love you."

"I know you do, Shnook."

"So, you don't care that I like ...?" There was a moment of dumbstruck silence.

"Vos iz? You act like I should make a big hupla about it. So what if my boy spends more time in the locker room than he should? You have moxy, and when you feel like it, you can duck an well thrown inside hook. As they say on the waterfront, you could have been a contender. You could have been somebody. Why? Why did you make me throw in the towel tonight?"

"Because I'm scared, Ben."

"Feh," the ram scoffed, "As always, you whine like a goyeh. Ive seen you take on Boots twice your size. You ain't scared of the painted ring."

"No. I'm scared of what I become when I step inside of it. Its got to end, Ben. Tonight." Klein gave a terse pause. "I just wanted you to know, about everything." There was another moment of silence as the trainer listened to the strain in the wolf's voice.

"Whats really eating you, K?"

"Ben ... why did you decide to manage me? You know I hate jews."

"Huh? You have me all fachadick."

"You must know I'm German. My name is Klein."

"What is this meshugass you are talking about, Klein is a Jewish name ..."

Klein blinked, the warmth draining from his vein's at his manager's words. He gently sat the receiver down in its cradle, effectively hanging up on the only male who had ever understood him. But it was okay. The phone call, while not presenting as much closure as the wolf would have liked, was really just a way to get his manager out of the Wachovia building.

Inside, in a certain maintenance sub-level, a certain mafia enforcer lion wiped blood off his sweat soaked mane, preparing for the final round in this week's 'Fang Gang' tournament. While high profile bankers fucked their rented whores in club houses over the pit fights below, the blood thirsty crowd of spectators cried out for more. Always more. The referee gave the sign to the officials up in the control room, and the auditorium speaker horn gave a shrill blare that shook the packed stands to its concrete foundation. Round Five. Fight Five.

Sudden Death.

Pipe bombs wired to the horn controls went off a second later, setting Project Cacophony in motion. A massive explosion ripped through the backup generator's gas tanks one level under the painted ring, sending spectator, official, and participant alike tumbling about as the financial building rocked from beneath. Carefully set thermite charges ignited right after, the steel support struts holding the Wachovia Tower up buckling after softening into useless slag.

Outside, Ben watched in horror as the twenty four story building next to him collapsed into a cloud of steel debris and pulverized rubble. The falling Tower of Babylon shook the entire city of Baltimore, heralding in a panic of chaos unseen in urban streets since a certain fire on Thanksgiving Day in 1982. But unlike the race riots two years earlier in Los Angles, the pandemonium running rampant now had not been inspired by the narrow minded hate of simple specism.

It was inspired by a broader hate. Against the capitalistic powers that enabled a culture of excess and want, that peddled and enforced a system of control against those who had none. Instead, a sweeping hate of consumerism inspired tonight's reign of untainted Anarchy.

That, and Klein's canceled Wachovia backed Exxon gas credit card.

But back up on Cherry Hill, the Wachovia Tower wasn't the only thing falling apart in Baltimore that night. Inside the darkness of Klein's rented two room efficiency, the black wolf's fabricated mental facade also crumbled. With a howl of torment, he stood up and hurled the card table into the barren eastern wall. Indifferent, the demon wall stood there, laying silent vigil to the lupine's sudden, inexplicable tirade. Klein ran over to the drywall and put his bawled furry fist through it.

Whatever psychosis drove the mad wolf wasn't clear. Perhaps Klein didn't even know himself, but after shoving his last remaining pipe bomb into the new hole and lighting the homemade fuse, it became evident that he was intent on taking down one of the last walls that separated him from his ever spying neighbor. He fled with his tail tucked to the adjoining bathroom, where he howled in frustration at the spiderweb of silver and glass that comprised the mirror above his sink. Mr. X smiled back at him with a heinous Hungarian grin, the black pools of the gray coyote's twisted eyes foretold Klein's impending, unavoidable death.

But not if Klein had anything to do with it.

He knew where Kelvin lived. He had known all along about the white grub of a bitch that had spied on him since the jackal moved in. He'd kill Kelvin before the little snowball could rat him out to Mr. X, and then later, he'd strangle the gray coyote for the all the sick shit he had put him through. Stalking him. Breaking into his apartment. Setting him up for the fall at the Mariano pill house. It had been Mr. X all along who had manipulated him, with Kelvin keeping tabs on him.

_I am the voice inside your head

and I control you_

But now he was going to kill Kelvin, and set things right.

Kelvin heard a sudden howl, and turned away from his porno mag to stare at the barren western wall to his now tidy, two room efficiency. The naked white coyote stopped masturbating to the raunchy stills of two buff cougars getting it on, their spiny cocks slapping hard against each other in the throes of a hard fuck. He quickly hid the magazine under a stash of straight porn, hoping to give the illusion of his heterosexual nature should anyone, such as the landlord, ever decided on a surprise visit. The introverted coyote still had a hard time accepting certain aspects of his conflicted personality, but unfortunately for him, he wouldn't get a chance to come to grips with his secret love of cock.

A black wolven fist suddenly punched through the wall in a small explosion of drywall, and the white coyote actually gave a pathetic squeak of fear. Despite the pink spear of erection the albino sported, the coyote wasted no time in fleeing to his bathroom and flinging the door shut behind him. Scared shitless, Kelvin somehow knew that the black wolf was coming for him.

Tears streaming down the snow white fur of his recently washed cheeks, the former drug cooker pressed his thick back up against the door, feeling the wood creak with his considerable mass. His clammy pink paw pads left sweaty wet spots as he steadied them against the door frame, and he glanced to the broken mirror above his sink. Mr. X smiled back at him with a heinous Hungarian grin, the black pools of the gray coyote's twisted eyes foretold Kelvin's impending, unavoidable death.

But Kelvin could do nothing to stop it.

It had never been his fault really, from day one. Ever since the jackal narc moved into his apartment complex, Mr. X had kept his beady little eyes on him. Kelvin certainly couldn't blame the gray coyote. Ms. Nakali had used every bit of her gypsy wiles to entrance him, play to his introverted sexual needs. But Mr. X had seen right through her, and tried to actually get Kelvin to face facts. Only by forcing him to voyeur the black wolf's steamy sexual encounters with other males did Mr. X get Kelvin to face his own hypocritical homophobia. Mr. X set up a deadly conspiracy indeed, almost exclusively through the impartial, thermographic eye of the FLIR lens.

_I am the lover in your bed

and I control you_

But now Klein was going to kill him, and set things right.

A sudden explosion ripped through the flimsy drywall divider, and the concussion wave demolished what at one time had been a single apartment. Almost nothing remained of the kitchenette and living room now aside from blasted remains of the kitchenette island, not that there was much standing furniture in either efficiency to begin with. The explosion smashed the delicate tiled walls of the two bathrooms, leaving them both nothing more than collapsed heaps. The gashed remains of a utility closet was the only thing still standing; in essence not much was left but a haze of pulverized drywall and pitted debris. It looked nothing less than a war zone.

Downstairs, the roar of the explosion jolted the goat landlord awake, where he rolled right off the side of his bed and hit the floor in a shell-shocked stupor. Wearing little more than cotton briefs, he wobbled up on his shaky hooves and grabbed his shotgun off the dresser next to him. He muttered a loud Irish curse before flinging open his door and storming upstairs, his hooves clattering on the scuffed wood. Terrified tenants peeked their heads outside their doors just long enough to hear the soft cha-chink of a cocked shotgun, before triple bolting their doors from the inside.

First a rash of break-ins over the span of the last several months, the riot just outside last night, and now this.

The few tenants that still payed rent packed what few belongings they had and fled. It wasn't like they had jobs anyway. With the drug trade all but in chaos now with the death of Fast Eddie, no one on Cherry Hill had a good hustle anymore. The fickle rats fled into the night, jumping the sinking, decadent urban-rot of a ship.

Inside the ravages of no-man's land, Kelvin was the first to extract himself from the pile of tile and porcelain that had once been his bathroom. As the mildew encrusted tiles fell off him like the used husk of a cocoon, Kelvin coughed out some inhaled asbestos, his once bleach white fur covered in dingy gray dust. His pink eyes fluttered a bit, rattled from the explosion, and through the ringing in his ears, he found it hard to hear anything at all. The now gray coyote pushed himself to his huge hind feet, stumbling about the war zone in a dazed stupor. Despite the pain and ache in his body, he looked down and found himself rock hard, an odd surge of sexual rage still coursing through his debased flesh.

A sudden stir in the deep recesses of the shadows across the devastation caught his eye, and a mountain of smashed tile clinked as something arose from it. At first Kelvin thought the wolf shaped shadow emerging from the pile was nothing more than a figment of his rattled brain. Upon spying the vague, hard musculature under the gray covered soot of his fur, the coyote's eyes wandered down lupine's toned nude body, and found that he could not look away from the hard, tapered length jutting out from the ghost's sheath. Kelvin found an odd, irrational conflict arising in him.

A part of him, the part that throbbed between his legs, wanted to get closer, rub against that hard toned body. Another part of him, the part that ached with fear atop his thick neck, wanted to get away from the strong paws that twitched before him, eager to wrap themselves around said neck.

_I am the sex that you provide

and I control you_

Fuck or Flee. Somewhere in himself, Kelvin knew there was Fight, but he usually let someone else take care of that part. The coyote gave a final squeak of either need or terror, and with a howl, the gray phantom wolf charged him.

As Klein dug himself out of what was left of his bathroom, a low growl escaped his black muzzle lips. He had never felt as pissed off as he did right now. Despite the violence and blood lust he had found week after week inside the painted ring of 'Fang Gang', it paled in comparison to the deviant sexual rage that now coursed through him. It felt like his cock was on fire, so rock hard he almost had to piss. The small cuts and bruises that now speckled his naked flesh only seemed to egg his need for sex and wrath only further, and his furious yellow eyes glowered across his self-created war zone to the gibbering fantasm of a submissive cowering before him.

The little fuck could have fled. But like so many others, Klein read the double speak of fear and arousal, saw the gray coyote's stiff erection, his pinned back ears, and found that he could not deny his dominant, predatory nature. With a howl, he charged the miserable little snuff-job, closing the short distance between them with uncanny speed, as if only ether had separated them to begin with. Their bodies collied with bone jarring force, and Klein slammed the coyote hard into the utility closet door.

The wolf wasted no time in taking the coyote's head and bashing it back against into the wooden door, their hard erections slapping into each other as the smaller wolf beat down the larger coyote. Their naked outlines blurring against each other in the struggle, the coyote's pathetic whines only seemed to spur on more snarls from the attacking wolf, whose balled fists slammed again and again down into fuck-face's muzzle.

Stunned from the massive blows, the coyote's head lolled to the side, his eyes glazing over. Klein wasted no time in wrapping his paws around the grub's neck and strangling the little peeping tom. The taller canid's eyes widened in reflex, his meaty hind legs kicking now as the shorter, stockier wolf picked him up by the throat with both paws as if he weighed nothing more than wispy smoke. Snowball gave a panicked squeak, his gray paws fumbling up and down the Klein's chest.

Lover's caress or desperate gambit at survival, it was hard to say. It was however, equally as sexy, and his body wanted it bad.

Pinned against the door and and the snarling wolf, the coyote's desperate bucks only caused his straining erection to grind into Klein's hard abs more and more. Snapping at the coyote's grit covered muzzle, Klein grunted in effort as he adjusted his stance, planting his hind feet to bring his hips up under the thrashing little shit. Using his outer thighs, the wolf spread apart the coyote's kicking legs with little effort. It took a few moments for Klein to get his spongy tip up under the coyote's tail with all the bucking the sheath warmer did, but Klein stilled the futile struggles with a sharp knee up into the coyote's groin.

_I am the hate you try to hide

and I control you_

To Klein, Kelvin represented everything that he despised, and he was going to make the sniveling little bitch pay.

With a muffled groan of agony, Kelvin's body sagged. The hardness that slapped into the wolf's dirty belly flagged momentarily at the sudden explosion of pain that engulfed his privates, but returned in full measure when the coyote's oxygen starved mind sensed something poking at his rear entrance. Kelvin's numb, terror stricken mind couldn't give himself a rational explanation to why his body acted this way. Choking to death, his shaft spurted thick pre all over his assailant. Pain stole into shock, metamorphosed into submissive pleasure.

It was if his body wanted it.

Pinned against the dominant wolf, throttled, Kelvin did what only prey like submissives could do in these circumstances. He wrapped his his hind legs around the wolf's hips, spreading his ass wide. With what little air he had left in his lungs, Kelvin threw back his head and barked as the wolf entered him, plunging deep inside. The wolf's girth ripped his virgin ring, but his nerves already burning out in the fires of oxygen depletion, Kelvin's floating mind found a haze of deadened sensations.

That was until the wolf's tip speared his prostate, before the top of the lupine shaft ground its down down past it. Kelvin gave out a muffled bark at the jolt of pain and pleasure deep inside of him. The initial friction burned like a thousand fires, the thick grit scouring out his shit hole from the outside in. The coyote almost passed out from the vertigo of agony that now flared inside his bowels.

And yet, from the pits of anguish, his dying body rebounded into the heights of bliss. Fleeting as it was, it was the closest that either would come to heaven. As the wolf pulled out of him, dark crimson welled up from the around Kelvin's ripped, virgin pucker, before a small stream of blood tickled down onto the already blood soaked, scuffed wooden floor.

No small irony that Kelvin would be the last blood sacrifice to Klein's mad rampage. No small irony that a feral wolf would play right into a trickster coyote's malicious prank. No small irony that the coyote's dark trick would end up ultimately consuming him as well. The world is cliché.

It doesn't make them any less true.

_I take you where you want to go

I give you all you need to know_

Kelvin grunted when the wolf rammed his lupine length back deep inside him. Now slicked with bloody lube, his once virgin resistance was now almost nil. The wolf arched his hips up, taking the coyote fully now, with even less restraint that before. The wolf's hard abs mashed Kelvin's furry sacs as the taught belly slapped the gray coyote's rigid prick hard. What little light from outside trickled in through the two busted windows dimmed in the coyote's tunnel vision, before blanking out to a dark field of nothingness.

Klein felt the little prick go limp in his pin, and loosened his iron grip on the coyote's swelling neck. Almost immediately the canid pinned against the door sucked in a ragged inhale, before rasping out a pained fit of lung seizing coughs. The dusty gray wolf gave a sick grin; broken toys were no fun to play with. He pulled his cock out slowly, before jamming it bad hard inside the helpless coyote. Klein made sure to jab the fat grub's prostate on the way back in, and was rewarded with a soft squeal, along with a sudden spurt of pre from the length trapped between them. The coyote's legs tightened around his waist as he withdrew and thrust again, the coyote's ears pinning back against his thick skull.

The little snuff job was fucking loving this.

Wasting no more time, the grit covered lupine set up a savage rhythm, banging the yote hard against the door with his brutal thrusts. He could feel the the miserable little twat tighten around his swelling knot. It wasn't going to be long now before they both blew their loads, and Klein wanted to nothing more than to get his last rocks off with a bang. The wolf's paws tightened again, just enough to make the coyote's eyes bug out a bit, and then snarled, banging his cock warmer into the only thing left standing in the ruins around them.

Unable to take the continued abuse, the damaged closet hinges broke, and the gouged wood broke in several pieces. Two bodies broke through the remains of the closet door, tumbling to the bloody floor like two discarded, used flesh puppets. The fresh corpse of a female jackal rolled atop her new lover; a male fox missing from Baltimore's premier Club Phoenix since last week.

Both Kelvin and Klein looked down at the floor to the macabre exhibition fuck before them, and then looked at each other, both thinking the same thing. On the next thrust the snarling, snapping wolf planted his knot deep inside the yelping, strangling coyote. Klien threw back his head and howled out as he emptied everything he had into Kelvin. With Klein's knot jammed up tight against his bruised prostate, Kelvin yipped hard as his eyes clenched, his rigid yote pole spurting right up into the underside of Klein's muzzle.

_I drag you down

I use you up

Mr. Self-destruct_

Deep in the throes of his own climax, Kelvin's large yote paws walked up Klein's bulgy biceps, past the steely wolf's forearms, and softly squeezed the paws clenched tight around his swollen neck in reassurance. Klein understood, and pressed his muzzle lips up tight against Kelvin's own. Klein parted the itching, purple lips effortlessly, and as his tongue danced with Kelvin's own hideously swollen one, they both shared the same thought at the same moment.

They each had lived a short, happy life.

Somewhere between murky reflections of a dark mirror, two old childhood friends had finally come home to each other, and Mr. X gave one last, demented smile.

As Miles Daugherty raced up the grimy stairs of his run down castle, the goat hoped the loud explosion hadn't meant what he thought it did. Nearing the top of the stairs, he did a double take at the unbelievable sight down the scummy hallway. The doors to apartments 215 and 214 were simply missing; half the dividing wall as all well. A cone of debris littered the corridor, and entire banks of damaged florescent lighting flickered ominously in the ceiling above him, bathing most of this part of the second floor in darkness.

What in the fuck had the coyote done?

Miles raced down the hallway, wishing he had never laid his green eyes on that bothersome little mutt. He knew the creepy canid was trouble the moment his late boss, Eddie Coccotti, asked him to put him up in his complex. He should have said no to the cougar, as well as that shifty jackal, but for the kickbacks that the feline offered, how could he refuse? Some had commented, during the cougar's wake earlier today, that the idea of keeping all his muscle and pushers all under one roof had made good sense at the time.

Making the reclusive drug cooker and occasional pusher keep tabs on everyone else, well, that was just begging for some trouble.

Who would have suspected that the ominously quiet, yet resourceful coyote was going to burn himself out on the very drugs he baked, and then systematically spiral downward into violent psychosis? Miles should have paid attention to the rumors he heard on the street, listened to those whose paw pads he had greased with Franklin's to get the dirt on the one tenant he could never seem to collect rent on.

Kelvin Richard Klein had been born to second generation Hungarian-American immigrants somewhere in the Midwest. While of mixed Jewish and German descent, the coyote never seemed to reconcile his blood stained and persecuted heritage to any sufficient degree. Despite not being very close to his extended family, his great-aunt handed down tales of growing up from old Europe, and had impressed upon him to be wary around wandering Romas.

Darkly ironic, as the young coyote had been busted several times for B&E as a juvie. According to other expunged juvenile records, he had also been one of the two delinquents who started the Thanksgiving Day Fire of 1982, burning down the Norwest Financial Headquarters in the process. Not much was more was known of the trouble making gray coyote with odd black streaks in his fur before he moved to Baltimore, but there were several rumors.

One was that he almost graduated with a degree in the biological sciences somewhere on the banks of the Mighty Mississippi, thus explaining his knack for pharmaceutical engineering. Another was he had served a brief stint with the National Guard to help pay for such education, but was dishonorably discharged after found consorting with a wolf in a manner 'that disgraced the uniform' during Basic. If the coyote had continued through with his AIT, his skills as a combat engineer might have been put to more constructive ends.

The least likely of these tales was that the coyote fled to Baltimore to evade a double homicide charge in the Midwest. The trench coat and cheap fur dye he may have used to evade local authorities contributed to his untrustworthy, greasy look, in truth hiding his natural, red hued fur. His life firmly seated in shadowy deception and crime, it was no surprise that the sleazy yote turned to the Mafia for a source of steady income, and that is exactly where the rumors ended, and the dark facts of Kelvin Klein's short, happy life began.

Had the dossier on Mister K. been more complete, Detective Nakali might never have volunteered to infiltrate the Coccotti Family, or agree to live below the already homicidal coyote. Knowing full well that Mr. Coccotti had been suspicious of her clandestine activities from early on, the undercover narcotics agent allowed her cover apartment to get bugged, and gave secret, private shows to the ever watchful surveillance lackey.

Compounded with the Olney's lesions forming in his brain cells from the recreation use of Substance D, the coyote's inherent unstable psychology split when forced to confront his conflicted sexual orientation. Entranced by pert Roma jackal tits, the coyote missed recording a pivotal DEA meeting at the bugged downtown precinct. For his blunder Mr. Coccotti had his favorite enforcer, the lion oddly enough now splattered underneath several hundred tons of ruble, break his arm. The massive bouts of ultra-violence the coyote repressed up to that point blossomed into a seething hate for all Puss in Boots.

The catalysts set, the two mirrored halves of the coyote's psyche began to prey on one another, unaware of who Mr. X really represented. But now as Miles ran up to the empty, gaping hole that had once been apartments 214 and 215, he skidded to a stop in abject horror at what greeted him.

A naked coyote hung from a impromptu noose of dangling electrical wiring, bucking back and forth, strangling himself to dead. His hind feet twitched, barely scratched the bloody floor underneath his claws, but when they did, the gurgling coyote pushed himself backwards into a jut of exposed steel rebar. Miles' eyes widened in shock when he realized the red coating the rebar wasn't rust, but blood. The coyote grunted with each asphyxiating backwards thrust, the ribbed steel bar disappearing under his tail and deeper into his shredded bowls in steady, masochistic rhythm. The worst part, the part that would haunt the Irish landlord to his dying day, was the coyote's paw.

The fur and pads already slick with cum, the dying yote continued to pound away at his purple knot, hind legs kicking as he unleashed unending spurt after spurt of his thick jism into the cold night air.

"Ahhhh fooking shittte ..." the goat whispered in equal measures of disgust and pity. He raised his shogun up, aiming straight for Kelvin's drug eaten brain. When he squeezed the trigger and emptied both barrels into Klein's dense skull, he gave the fictitious wolf the last bang he so eagerly desired ...

~ Fin ~

I'd like to thank the following for their inspiration on certain unspeakable, sick pleasures.

Lykos Bane - For giving me the courage to leave no minority unscathed. Murder and Mayhem is equal opportunity after all.

Koshne Bear and Gazban - For their encouragement, and most of all, their brutal honesty.

Hawk - No one can do the mixture of DID and drugs like that black wolf can.

PunkWaffle and InfinityParadox - For their comments, when no one else had the stomach to speak.

All the drugs that tried to fix me - Thanks for taking my Hope.

All the drugs that tried to break me - Thanks for giving me Hope.

My Perfect Drug: Lupinestar - For allowing me to use the name Nakali. And no. I would never strangle her. I'm not that stupid.