Haywire stands in the thick of The Groves cradling a knife. It gleams in the light of the sun as he twists and turns it in his blood-stained hands. Haywire: …
Entry #4: The Night Before Christmas
‘Twas the night before Christmas, and all through the cell, Not a sound could be heard, just the toll of a bell. The moon cast its glow, on the bars …