"Don't do it, Pinkie."
A face looks up at me. One of so many that has looked at me this way over all these years. Fear in their eyes, abject fear, and not only this but sorrow, too. "Don't, look, I got a kid, man, I can pay you, Pinkie, just…"
I push my blade into the man's chest, slowly. I watch the light in his eyes fade and drift away, that glimmer, that thump, beat, pulse, disappearing and then gone.
I snip off their little finger to add to my collection. A token for me, and a signature that shows my intent, my strength, but it is not violence that holds the secret to my power.
The people of this city, of the Neo-Budapest Triangle, all held together in here, millions and millions and millions of them, of us, surviving in the aftermath of the Black Lake incident. Most use the Shroom to survive through escape, and this is where we differ. This is why I sit on this throne, and I am able to reign supreme.
Not because of the fear I instil in them which, is only to reinforce my position.
My power comes from my vision, my foresight, my ability to feel these people. The thump that runs through them, through us all.