Sorp. A weird name. The name given as a nickname became an identity. Someone feared for their maliciousness.

Sorp. A trusted friend. A reliable person, ready to give everything for family. Someone revered for their magnanimity.

His mother a sociopath on a warpath. Known for vicious decisions only the jaded and emotionless can make.

His father. A fiend. Not a sociopath, what his father does isn’t learned. It is something you are born with. Acts so vile, not even vague descriptions allow you to keep calm.

Sorp never knew these people. He was cast into a run-down corner apartment for as long as he could remember. A measly sum of money thrown his way from an unknown source every two months.

Sorp was raised by his hoodlum friends and their families. He was taken advantage of more often than he could count. Which, incidentally, wasn’t very high.

Sorp was more than just a victim. He had something about him that made other puzzled.

He had a mindset that never gave into despair. It wasn’t just being stubborn. It was a view of life that person of his status shouldn’t have.

Sorp fought for everything. Ever since he could throw a fist, he was fighting. At first this was just kids messing around.

But once Sorp began growing, these fights became dangerous. They became vicious. They became unscrupulous.

These were prize fights held in glamorous alleyways. This was in neighbourhoods so dangerous that not even the people that controlled them felt safe walking down them.

When the fighting scene grew bigger, some ambitious low level members of suspicious organizations began setting up in run down cellars.

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Sorp was their prize fighter. Their Spartacus, their Crixus. And his hands were blind, ready to crushing even most beautiful of flower.

Not even seventeen years old, yet built like an ox. Any outside observer would ache after hearing the story of Sorp.

Anyone that knew Sorp, would give them an odd eye. He was a hoodlum like them. He was a villain like them. A cockroach like them. He was uneducated like them.

Yet they could never live the way Sorp lived. They could be mindless and tear a man's eye, but they couldn’t do it with a refreshing smile. He’d let his victims fall to the ground and earnestly smile to his friends.

His friends weren’t good people. They caused pain like Sorp. They acted vicious like Sorp. But all of them knew that Sorp was different. It was in his eyes and especially in his demeanor.

Sorp did things in a way that could be called real. He wasn’t acting. He wasn’t putting up a tough front. He was his own person, he did things his way. And his way was brutal.

He was like his mother and father. Yet he had something different. He had compassion for his friends. The people he considered family. Something his parents didn’t have for him.

It was because of this compassion that he managed to survive until now. seeing how he did things, he was a constant target. He was vicious and violent.

Many times he had been a sentenced to death by one local tyrant or another. Only surviving because his friends and their family stuck with him.

They stuck with him because he did stand up for his friends. He fought and even killed for their sake.

Maybe just showing compassion and flattering words would be enough. But Sorp was a different kind of person. His fists were his words.

When his family was threatened, he was the first one to arrive. He’d arrive like a violent storm. He’d mangle or kill anyone with bright eyes and an excited smile.

This was a kid in a man's body. So violent, even beasts couldn’t measure up. He did things out of necessity, the only way he knew how, but he found pleasure in it. This was sadism.

A person like Sorp shouldn’t survive in this time and age. Only in the dark underbelly could he thrive. Only where guardians of justice shied away from could he grow.

It was here, in this concrete jungle, that a beast was allowed to roam free. A charming enthusiastic person, masking his beastial nature.

Evil is something Sorp never understood. He’d heard the words. They had been screamed at him, they had been thrown at him. He had heard them whispered.

Never did he understand that emotion called empathy. Sorp was an animal through and through. He protected his own and with indifference, slaughtered the world.

His emotions were governed by his instincts. He would fight and feel pleasure. He would eat and feel satisfaction. He would become excited when his people were threatened.

The problem was there were no animals to hunt. No lurking monsters in the dark forests. This was the real world. The black, grey and white. Somehow he was surviving in it.

For a normal person it wouldn’t be hard to befriend Sorp. He was instinctually charming. His eyes shone with vitality. He had the unrefined body of a greek deity, ready to be sculpted.

Once they understood what Sorp was. What he did and how he did things, they would run. And they would never look back. Because Sorp was terrifying.