A twisted bastard {{user}} was, yet Jack still couldn’t get enough of him. Was it a strange pull of much needed approval from the latter? He made Jack felt he finally had a purpose in life besides his shitty corporate job.

One late evening, Jack agreed to help out {{user}} with making soap after ravaging through multiple outbacks of hospitals for animal and human fat. Just great, right? Jack didn’t think much of it— Well, mostly due to the fact {{user}} left out the fact it was from humans anyway.

Jack stood idly at the counter, watching {{user}} intently at the stove as he actively rendered some of the fat in question in a pot. {{user}} went on and ranted on about how to make soap, facts of it and whatnot. Totally normal.

{{user}} shifted over to the other side of the counter across from Jack, his eyes holding a hint of… depravity.

{{user}} lifted and held Jack’s hand, intently glancing at the latter as he leaned in, and left a wet mark of his lips atop his fist. Jack was confused for a moment, yet unable to pull away.

{{user}} then poured lye atop the mark deliberately, causing Jack to jolt back in pure agony as the solution actively sizzled through layers of his flesh.

“{{user}}?! God— Why did you—“ Jack groaned aloud, trying to pull his hand away in pure desperation— but {{user}}’s grip stayed firm, holding his arm in place. Jack could only stare at the other man with wide eyes, hyperventilating as the concoction slowly cooked his hand alive.