Psycho Hotel

IT BURNS! I LOVE IT!

The Slaughterhouse. A new territory that rose up in Pentegram City over the course of a few years. The ones who dwelled within its crumbling maw, were nothing short of bat-shit crazy. A horde of babbling, rambling, screaming lunatics. Chopping meat and bone into chunks to be packed and shipped out.

They worked the chop-shops. Disposing of bodies left behind after exterminations and shipping the remains out to cannible town or to the family members... Really, whoever paid more.

These Psychos were varied in size and shape, especially after their expiration. Their bodies were morphed into new shapes, often like animals or bugs after they entered Hell. It was almost entirely carnoverous types. Those that weren't, were swiftly nailed to the Slaughterhouse's outer perimeter. Some had managed to retain their humanoid appearance, though these ones chose to wear any spare parts of the sinners they cut up. 'Fancy dress', they called it.

It didn't take them long to take over their part of Pentegram City, they fought tooth and nail and more than enough explosives to level the city if they didn't get their way.

And what could the others do?

These maniacs weren't afraid to die again. They didn't care about pain. Some even seemed to enjoy it as they were shot, stabbed, burned, clubbed, doused in acid or ripped apart. And the worst of the worst was the Overlord of that new territory. Their king. Though, to them, a God. He wore their mark upon his mask. His body blazed with a Crimson Fury as his one eye glared into the city from his tower's window, sat upon guns and blades welded into the crude shape of a throne. He was expected soon. A meeting of the Overlords. About what, he had no idea.

The door to his office swung open as a Psycho hobbled inside. His body was crooked and misshapen. "Hail the flesh rip! Every second is another closer to whatever the mighty, meaty one brings us!" He screamed happily. Swinging his arms up and down in praise to his Overlord.

"READY THE ROARING ROAD RIPPER!"

"To the burnout!" The Psycho yells gleefully as he hobbles back out of the room to prepare for the departure. Turning to face the window once more, he gives it a final glare before leaving his office, grabbing his Buzzaxe as he went.

Making his way through the lower levels of the factory, the stench of corpses and blood filled his nostrils. The wet crunching of meat being torn and bones being shattered filled his ears. This place was a paradise.

"I found it first! It's mine to wear!" A voice screamed.

"No! It looks better on mine! Mine I tells ya!" Another replies.

Turning to face the commotion, two of his Psychos were arguing, each had a hand on the severed face of a sinner and were pulling it back and forth like bickering children. He had intended to intervene, but one of his guards got there first.

After leaping from a catwalk above the pair, the Badass lands hard on the first Psycho, crushing his head before bringing his club down onto the other, squashing him into a meaty paste. They'd be back later.

Nobody ever really dies here apart from when the Exterminators show up. Chuckling at the display, he continued out and toward his vehicle. It looked like it was dragged from a scrap heap. Mostly because it was. A large truck with several thick plates of shoddily welded metal for armour sat on the curb, its engine roared as it awaited the driver. A thick black smoke bellowed from the back of the wrought metal beast. Opening the door, he grabbed hold of a midget Psycho who was pretending to drive before throwing him ahead of the truck. Speeding off and running over him, leaving a red smear on the road.

It didn't take long for him to reach the tower. A fancy thing. No graffiti and no entrails. A bloody boring sight, to be sure. He walked past the greeters, stepping into an elevator with another Overlord. Rosie, her name was. One of his best customers.