JORDAN BISHOP IS BACK . . . he’s a Master, but he’s still the prick you can’t hate!
I know you can still hear me. Even in that broken and pathetic state your eyes move to follow my every word. They haven’t stopped the entire time I’ve been talking—watching like you always did. Tell me…were you excited as I recounted the tales of how I came to be standing in this miserable room right now? The stench is like death—sort of like you. You’d never believe it, but you’ve died so many times . . . yet here you are . . . air in your lungs . . . blood pumping in your veins and after all you did to twist my brain. I wonder if your guilt will let you die for me this time . . . I once knew a girl . . . a long time ago . . . she said she would . . . Do you know who that could be?

Just so it’s crystal clear—I’m not the product of what you did to me—I’m a fucking sadistic and evil bastard, but I am still the creation of myself. I learned to improvise . . . adapt . . . and overcome what you encouraged me to be.

Through six tours I returned home safe but not sane. In each enemy I slaughtered—I saw you—fuck if I didn’t relish them all. I may have carried the picture in my pocket . . . it was you I kept killing, and you know—each time was better than the one before it. It was you who was burned into my brain.

You’ll feel some pressure . . . don’t worry, it’s to be expected . . . Now you’ve been warned haven’t you? Will you listen this time?

Oh my . . . your ear is already cold . . . my breath will warm it I’m sure . . . Tell me . . . will you . . . die for me? This will be our secret before you do—and we share so many don’t we? . . . I need to know . . . how much pain were you in when I took his life? How many useless tears did you cry?

Keep looking at me . . . I’m almost done.

Are you surprised? A malicious monster can find his way out after all—no thanks to you. Don’t think I’ve gotten soft—it isn’t anywhere in my make-up to be something other than a ruthless prick, but I’m sure you know that . . . I was bred to be this thing and made it my business not to squander my wicked inheritance on being mediocre. If you’re predisposed to malevolence be the best evil bastard you can be. I never was an underachiever.

Even as a Master, I still love the struggle, but I also love that . . . paralyzing . . . fear.

Relax now . . . I’ll tell you the rest of the story before I lay you to rest. I need to close this chapter of my life before I can truly move on.



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