SEASON III: CHAPTER V

•A MAN OF FEROCITY•

In that same room Carl is, Klyde's been sitting comfortably whistling a nursery rhyme, playing the knife in his hands, staring at the unconscious Carl tied up on the chair.

"We bought you your breakfast, boss." Rig placed a borwn paper bag of food above a wooden table. "Bon Appetit." He added and chuckled, glancing at Carl's unconscious body from that sedative they gave him, putting him in his sleep for hours.

"What do you say, Rig? Should I start the show or... let's wait for the audiences? My fists are itching to land some punches on that old man's face." He asked with that bored face of his. He lifted his balled fist and stares at it like it's his first time to realize that he has a fist.

"Well, a show wouldn't be complete without the audience." He answered with a shrug and protruding his lower lip. A great answer, no signs of being nervous, suspicious but full of jus