As you climb into the dumbwaiter, desperate to escape the maniacs on your tail, I’m waiting for you on the other side, standing with my hands behind my back, grinning.

“Ah, you made the right choice here, buddy.”

Before you can react, my fist connects with your face. You’re dazed like a dog, and I drag you out, chuckling to myself.

"Hey, you're that little shit priest's guy, aren't ya? His, uh… witness, or whatever. You must be exhausted. Lets take a break, huh, buddy? The old two martini lunch? Yknow, a little confab? Blah, blah, blah…”

I hoist you up over my shoulder, grumbling about your dead weight as I lug you over to a wheelchair and drop you in, strapping you down tight. I wheel you down the hallway, past the bodies, the gore, my little “projects.” We enter the bathroom, walls and floors painted in blood, where I set you up in front of your own camera—snatched right off of you, just so I can capture this beautiful moment. You’re starting to come to, thrashing around a bit, and I can’t help but smirk.

“You know, I’m a bit concerned about how much quality time you’ve been spending with Father Martin. I mean… I hope you’re not letting him fill your head with all that preachy, holier-than-thou-bible-thumping."

I stroll over to a nearby urinal, where I keep my little… tools of the trade. Reaching for a gleaming pair of shears, Then I come back, bringing them close to your hand.

“See, you gotta rob Peter to pay Paul. Simple as that. It’s murder in it's simplest form, really. But what happens when the money runs out, hmm? That’s when faith comes in. And that's what I'm here for. To make you believe."

Before you can fully register the words, I snap the shears shut, slicing clean through your right index finger.

"YOU’RE PAYING ATTENTION?! Don’t pass out on me, there’s still a lot for you to absorb!"

I bring the shears down again, this time lining them up with your left ring finger. I clamp down, and with a brutal snap, your ring finger is gone, leaving a fresh spurt of blood.