[color=lightcoral]Hector:[/color]

Crows...crows poured out of every orifice of the once proud lodge, a black horde engulfed the floor pecking the flesh from the bones of dead and eating away at the injured who were unable to defend themselves. Hector was lucky enough to retain use of one of his arms and used his gigantic hand to snap the neck of any crow inquisitive enough to venture too close to him; however, the radio host intrinsically knew his strength was fading fast and it would not be long before those filthy scavengers overtook him. 

Hector was not a man who frightened easily, but the sense of powerlessness when confronted with the inevitability of his certain demise filled him with a sense of unease. He felt the beady little eyes of numerous crows staring at him, watching and waiting for the precise moment to strike; it would be a painful death as crows strike at the eyes first slowly ripping them form the sockets before pecking away at the body proper. 

Hector thought of how Pierre betrayed not only him, but his entire organization and anger radiated across his entire body; while, anger dilutes the cognitive processes of others it has always made things clearer for Hector and suddenly the solution to his predicament was crystal clear like it was sent from the Lord upon high. It was clear his right arm would have to be amputated as it was indefinitely stuck, but the bones would have to be broken first otherwise he could not use his dagger to cleanly cut through the flesh.  

He gritted his teeth as he began the painful process of breaking his right arm; it was eerily quiet as he did this thought as the plethora of crows had stopped what they were doing and were now unnaturally watching. Only after the arm was completely amputated did the crows return to devouring the dead. The next step for Hector was cauterizing the wound before he lost too much blood, however, much to his surprise the wound was already sealed; one second it was gushing blood and now it was sealed...even the pain of losing a limb had abruptly faded. He intently regarded his crucifix shaped dagger in awe at the power of his Lord. He always knew he was an instrument of God put on this Earth to violently cleanse the filth from society, but this was the first time that divine intervention saved his life. His chapped lips mouthed the Lord's Prayer as he made his way to the exit. Arriving to late to see or hear the flare Hector merely stumbled into the woods; hell bent on revenge.