Double Or Nothing: A Coin Flip Away

A Lamb to the Slaughter

A shrill whistle brought the Sinner out of his sleep, smacking his head against the workbench. Griffith sat upright, stiff as a bolt, his eyes blinking furiously. The pale green light outside had become an unsettlingly gothic red, bathing the chop shop and its crates of mechanical scraps in an otherworldly crimson. Griffith stifled a yawn, rubbing his eyes before freezing at the tone of a cool, collected slither somewhere behind him. "Hello, Griff. Do you mind if I call you Griff? I had a pal with that name back in the day."

Griffith exhaled, cracking his knuckles over his shoulders. "The serum's not here. You're far better off looking for my boss." Footsteps rang through the deep red chop shop, accompanied by the splashing of blood soaked shoes. The rusty creak of steel cables before a scraping snap rang out from the dark. "Y'see, that's pretty ironic, Griff. I know where Bile is, I just can't figure out where your serum is. Although," the voice raised, growing closer with every step, "he's looking for the one sample of serum you were actually able to make. The experiment succeeded, didn't it?"

Griffith closed his eyes, his chest heaving. It was seconds now before, whether he cared or not, he was forced to address the person who, in the darkest depths of his cluttered mind, would end his life. "I've got nothing for you. Just kill me and get your pity party over with." The footsteps stopped just behind Griffith's chair. Without even feeling the scars punctured or the screams silenced by those scissor blades, Griffith could already feel his cheek sliced with a tiny cut.

"You're not stupid, Griffith. I've known Sinners like you. All smart people, the kind of people who should run this world. You're smart enough to know that I'm not asking for this serum. It rightfully belongs to me as the sponsor of your little science project." Griffith tightened his grip on his collar, feeling the itching rush of blood flowing to all the tiny cuts and scrapes on his hands and arms. Slowly, painfully, Griffith was being sliced into red ribbons by The Stripe.

Forcing himself around, Griffith's eyes narrowed when he met the sickly, carnage-filled smile of the serial killer, with their arms crossed behind that cardiac-trimmed suit. Griffith scoffed, wiping blood off of his sleeve. "Last I checked, I didn't make the serum. It was Bile's idea, and it was his mind that made the serum." Griffith made his way over to the sink with a whistle ringing in his ears. His heartbeat was deafening, squirting blood from his ears in a slow stream. "Fact is," he laughed aloud, "you're wasting your time here. You don't need me."

The Crimson Stripe faded into the darkness, sliding into sight with his arm propped against the sink. "You're an honorable guy, Griffith. For a Sinner who drew the short end of the stick and got, well," his pale ivory mask tilted up and down, "no special talents, you've done well with yourself. It's a shame you didn't choose to work alongside a man who, like yours truly," The Stripe chided with his reflection in the coagulated blades of his glove, "could see beyond the stars and reach godlike heights."

Griffith struck the sink ledge with his hand, laughing and laughing. That bubble of energy in his throat caused the Stripe's posture to stiffen and crackle with surprise. "What's so funny? Think death is too kind?" Griffith turned to The Crimson Stripe with blood pooling behind his eyeballs, a smile so wide and courageous it defied anything The Sin Hunter ever did. "Bwa ha ha!! You! A god?! Don't give me a heart attack like that, you're too funny!!" As Griffith collapsed into a chair at the edge of the table, bathed in deep red light from a window above, The Crimson Stripe swung around, his lips set in a deep, scarred scowl.

"So that's how you like to laugh, ah? Well! That simply won't do. I gave you a chance and you said no. Here's what happens when you decline this type of offer." With a snap of his scissor blades, Griffith's laughter sputtered as blood exploded from his arms, both of his sleeves flying across the room in a shower of glittering reds and blacks. Collapsing to his knees with bare, bloodied stumps where his arms once were, Griffith coughed back blood streaming across his face.

"You expect everybody to be afraid of you all because you're a murderer. But killers are a dime a dozen down here. What makes you so different?" The Crimson Stripe snapped, storming toward Griffith seizing the Sinner by his collar. Lifting Griffith into the air with only one arm, The Stripe's eyes reflected hypnotic rings of rage and torment. "I'm more than just your generic murderer. Guns and a good dose of fear go a long way toward getting what I want."

Griffith laughed, spitting his blood onto the Crimson Stripe's face. "What about the people who stand up for what they believe in?" The Crimson Stripe snarled, slamming the near lifeless body onto the workbench. "Oh, so now you've grown a spine and want to fight for The Sin Hunter and his merry little team of super friends?" Griffith smiled with a mouth stained red and white. "Pfft! Those guys? They're fine, sure, but even they have their problems. Still," he coughed with a grin, "I'd take 'em over you any day of the-"

With a slice and a snap, Griffith exploded into tatters, his corpse seeping into the Crimson Stripe's suit while his blood swirled on the killer's suit. Fixing his cuffs, The Crimson Stripe curled his lip in disgust at Griffith's remains. The sight of blood never bothered the serial killer. It was the people who didn't fear him that got under his scar-forged skin.