prologue.

He's a cold blooded-killer, they say. He's got no soul, no mercy, no remorse. They say the only time he ever cared for someone was the day he was born, and even that was only for the doctor for taking him out of his mom's womb.
They say his rage is hot enough to set people aflame even from across the room. He's got hot, fiery eyes that can make a bear piss himself.
They say his ball's hang lower than Guy Fawkes on the 5th of November.
They say.

But rumor, rumor ain't got shit on eyewitness testimony. I've seen this dude in real life, and I can tell you firsthand that everything they say is a lie. That's right.
He's even worse than that.
He carries around a gun the size of Zeus' dick, with all of his wrath included. I've seen him put holes the size of basketballs in people, blowing off entire limbs with a single shot. And get this--he calls that devastating handcannon of his "B.B." Like it's his kid sister or something. Sadistic fuck.
If there's one thing that gets this guy pissed, it's implying that there's something feminine about him. He's a total homophobe. His murderous personality is fueled by his hate for homos, so it would be the biggest mistake in your life to claim that he's a gay.
But it get's even better.
He calls himself--come closer, you don't want him to hear--he calls himself "Buttercup," and always wears these fairy wings, like a dare for someone to challenge his masculinity, challenge his power. They say whoever says his name dies shortly after. Yeah, I agree, it does make him look kind of...gay. But that's what makes it so sick. He loves killing so much that he gives everyone the impression he's a gay so that way he has an excuse to kill you. Not that he needs one.
It's just what gets him off.

It all started about a year ago, when he was still just a punk junkie dealing drugs on the street. He'd always had a tough life, and shit only got tougher that day. Being the junkie he was, he couldn't resist digging into the goods he was selling. Stupid kid, yeah, I know. But very sick in the head.

One day, his boss calls him down, says, "I know what you've been doing. And you knew you couldn't get away with it."
And the tension, the stress, just keeps building up inside the kid.
He says, "I don't know what the fuck you're talking about. I'm straight."
So the boss says, "That's not what I've been hearing from my clients." He says, "You know I don't take no fucking shit from no pissy grunt."
The kid is boiling, about ready to blow. But right at that moment, someone comes crashing through the door. No one knows what he looked like, but he was there for the kid. To kill him. No one knows what the kid that would be severe enough for someone to send a hired gun out to kill him, either. Rumor is he killed everyone in that ghost town out west, but that's just what they say.
But that's beside the point. After the killer burst in, he had the audacity to call the kid Buttercup--where he got the name from--and the kid just lost it. Before either the boss or the killer could bat a lash, the kid pulls out that gun of his and blasts them all to hell--the killer, the boss, and the three guards standing by in the room.

From that day forward, he's never been quite right in the head. Some say it's the drugs that make him so fucked up, but I've never heard of meth making someone that fucked up. Some think it's his bad upbringing, but no one knows about his parents, so that's bullshit. I think he's always had something loose upstairs, and that day threw off the entire fucking clockwork. But whatever it was, he's a loose cannon now.

They say he goes around randomly, killing whoever he feels killing, just for the hell of it.
They say he's become an assassin, killing punks kids like himself who got into the deep shit.
They say.
But I say--whatever he does to fill his time with, kill people, do meth, or plan out fucking tea parties with his BFF Jill--if I don't concern myself with him, he won't concern himself with me.

But that's just what I say.