The basement's awash in the orange glow of flames from three incinerators. Men in white coats pull bodies out of laundry bins and dump them into the fires. "Beautiful isn't it?" You turn and see a man you've seen before. A doctor. "We need 17 tonight. Your choice." He pats you on the shoulder and smiles. "Happy birthday, Butch." You look down at the thick lead pipe in your hand-- your good fuckin' boy. You open the stairwell door and--