Prologue: First Blood

Killin 's easy.

It's been a part of my life for so long, I can't remember a time when my hands weren't dirty from it. Then again I got a problem rememberin' much in the first place.

But ya always remember that first one. That first time yer soul's been tainted. A little bit of ya becomes alive for the first time as well as a piece of ya, that little sliver of innocence ya tried to hold on to that dies.

At first ya become disillusioned; believing there has to be another way. That maybe this jerk in front of ya probably has a wife and kids somewhere and who are you to play god?

That's the fear talking, the inexperience... And it's a sure fuckin' way to get killed.

The only true way I've found is simple. That it ain't you who's playing god, but God who placed him in yer path. There ain't no good or evil, just shitty luck that placed the two of ya in the same room.

It gets easier after that. Or maybe it just was for me.

Sometimes I'd wonder why it's so easy fer me, that the strikes seemed almost natural, like I've done nothing but it. But that becomes dangerous. To think, to allow a brief hesitation still yer hand. They always coin the phrase, 'mindless killer,' but if ya ask me, not thinkin' 'bout it is what gets you through the night.

Like I said, killin' 's easy. It can be almost second nature if ya let it. But livin'…

Now living, that's the real bitch…