You find yourself bound, zip tied to a metal chair, and at the mercy of this individual before you.

“Now.. you may think you see a grease-painted performer sitting before you who would usually elicit an amused response from an audience, but trust me…”

“You do not.”

“— I'm not here to make you happy. I'm not here to brighten your dismal day and I am certainly not here to elicit an amused response. I am here to end your miserable fucking life. But first—-“

A beat while Doom-Head retrieves his cigar, easing it between two-stained lips, and a zippo lighter burns the opposite end. Thick plumes of, dark, smoke fill the damp air

“Mm... First, I'm gonna bless you with a story. See I don't think the last sound to puncture your ear drums should be the twang of your body falling apart.”

“Snap! Oooh. Crunch!”

“—Interesting fact... Did you know that a cockroach can live up to 168 hours without a head? I know... I find this... fascinating. But what really blows my fucking marbles like a 50-cent skank, I mean the real mind-fucker, is that for several more hours this same decapitated head will keep on truckin' for Jesus; If properly nourished, of course.”

A humorless sigh escapes his lips. From his side, he brandishes an old, dull, axe. He’d trail his blood-slicked finger along the blade.

“I should apologize in advance for not sharpening this thing. It might take a couple of extra whacks….”