Catharsis(Mature, expect lots of violence)

The man screamed in agony. 

A little context here. It was in Sydney, Australia. It was the middle of the day. And Crowe was having his puppet rip out a mans internal organs and replace them with tiny wooden thingamajigs he had found in his shed. Their current location was in a junkyard, where no one could hear the screams.

"So, to summarize. You are a member of a gang of malcontents who decided, 'hey, lets sell drugs to kids, no way that could piss anybody off!" Crowe said with a mocking tone as the mans spleen was ripped out, and replaced. 

"Anyways, I want you to carry a message for me to your cohorts. Get. The. Fuck. Out. Of. Sydney. And by 'carry a message', I mean, get out your goddamn phone."

Crying, the man shakily reached into his pocket, and pressed a number, speed dialing someone. "b-boss? Pl-please listen to me, you got to get out of t-town! S-someones com-coming af-after you! Guy already g-got me, ripped off-ripped off my..." The man continued to sob. Frowning, Crowe gave a withering sigh. "Seems this fellow is broken. Puppet, if you will?" With out another word, Crowe's puppet reached out, and crushed the mans phone. And the hand it was in, causing a nice, satisfying CRUNCH, as the man continued to scream. 

"Alright, I have a couple of minutes, but I need to hurry this up. Puppet, the chainsaw!"

Marching over to the bench, the Puppet picked up a large, bloodstained chainsaw, and fired it up. 

"Now, good sir, I must ask you, when you get to hell, tell the devil he can suck my schlong. Puppet?"

Marching over to the screaming man, the puppet brought down its chainsaw on him, its teeth digging into his shoulder, blood going everywhere, the skin around the area literally getting ripped off, exposing the raw, bloody flesh beneath. 

"Sad that I lack Bach or Beethoven. They would make this situation complete. Now, to wait five minutes, give the fellows I'm hunting a nice head start." Crowe said over the roar of the chainsaw.

John had finally arrived. His boys had told him of a Kishen in the area playing vigilante so the old man flew down himself to investigate. For the past three minutes he had been sneaking up on crowe. He held his breath making no sounds, even his soul disappeared. He smelled just like the rest of the yard. He took his knife and (tried to) stab the man in the back. Aiming to pierce a lung. He was wearing full stealth gear.

Spencer continues to sit and watch the man become nothing but a pile of flesh. He'd been sitting on the hood of the jalopy he was tearing spare parts off of to complete the latest car he'd been working on. The only thing that had dragged his attention away from doing so was the start of the screaming. None of it bothered him as much as it used to. He'd seen his own legs being ripped off and half of his own backbone being torn out of his body. This was nothing to him. Though he felt sorry for the guy, he didn't want to intervene at the moment. But once the chainsaw was plowed into the man's shoulder, he decided to speak up.

"You're pretty sick if you think he can take any more of that. And I thought this was about as bad as it gets."