<em>"Such little things,"</em>Flayer wheezed through his mask, voice marked by the harsh static of some unseen breathing apparatus, or perhaps an Ultravoice.<em>"Such small actions.  A cut here, a stab there.  A bit of pressure in just the right place, and then...  Gone.  It's always the little things."</em><br/><br/>The man Flayer was whispering to was in no condition to respond, mostly because his tongue was currently being devoured by a bloated, flesh-eating grub that was being forced into his open mouth, and his jaw had been broken to keep it from moving.  He made squeaky little choking noises, like the last sighs of a mouse caught in a faulty trap that didn't quite snap the right bones quick enough for a quick and easy death.  Flayer's thumbs were caressing his throat, cutting off just enough air to keep him from shrieking but providing just enough to keep him alive.  An empty syringe lay inches away from his head, the adrenaline used to keep him quite awake for the entire ordeal.  If the worm sensed his considerable distress it certainly wasn't about to show any pity, its translucent gray flesh rippling as it enjoyed its gluttonous feast.<br/><br/>Eventually the last bits of tongue had been snatched up, and Flayer began to guide the horrid little thing down the prisoner's throat.<em>"Take this, for example.  Such a humble creature.  They normally like their prey dead first, but give them a little bit of confidence and they leap at a meal with such gusto!  They just need some encouragement.  I like seeing the weak take charge.  Devour the strong.  Like you, Mister Vasquez.  You were a very strong man once, isn't that right?"</em><br/><br/>Saying the man was strong was a bit of an understatement.  The fellow was positively mountainous, made up of so much raw muscle that his skin seemed ready to blister and break at the slightest flex.  But now his body was so completely broken and covered with lacerations that it was a wonder he was even alive at all.<br/><br/><em>"Power reduced to so much meat.  But that's how it is.  For you.  For the others.  For me.  We may live as Kings or Commoners, but all must one day bow before the Conqueror Worm."</em><br/><br/>One last convulsion shuddered through Vasquez as the blood filling his lungs finally became too much to bear.  His eyes lost their focus, and the man's choking gasps became a long, gurgling sigh that faded away beneath the grotesque noise of the feasting grub.  Flayer shook his head in a way that could be construed as mournful, then hoisted himself up from the corpse's chest and forcefully tugged the barbed wire binding it in place.  It came away roughly, taking chunks of flesh with it and rolling the body about.  The enforcer whipped the length of it against the nearest blackened wall until most of the gore was gone, drawing forth yet more worms from unseen holes in the darkness.  He wound it slowly about his arm as he walked away from the morbid sight, whistling a tune that came out as nothing more than harsh static.  For Vasquez it was the end of a long and painful life.<br/><br/>For Flayer, it was Tuesday.