Political value Nil. Operational value Excellent.
— An internal report on Donovan "Red" Grant, From Russia with Love
Dragonborn: How do you serve Lord Harkon?
Fura Bloodmouth: Simple. He says 'kill', I kill. Sometimes he doesn't even have to say it.
Fura Bloodmouth: Simple. He says 'kill', I kill. Sometimes he doesn't even have to say it.
Morden: When I first took Onyx on, I judged him to have potential. Unfortunately, power can be a discouragement to growth, and he's had difficulty adapting. I rather hoped his association with you might have inspired him to look beyond his current set of problem-solving tools, but he seems to have decided that he's learned all he needs to know.
Alex Verus: Which is a nice way of saying that he deals with anything in his way by smashing it.
Alex Verus: Which is a nice way of saying that he deals with anything in his way by smashing it.
— Marked
Once given the Blood Kiss, Konrad made no attempt to hide his supernatural powers, and fed openly on his friends and subjects (as well as rats, cats, cows, wandering pedlars and anything else with a pulse that came too close). Konrad appointed himself as something of a berserk enforcer for Vlad, executing anyone who displeased the Count. This, naturally, also included anyone who displeased Konrad. Over time, this encompassed many victims, including enemy generals, priests of all descriptions, people with a squint, and several Necromancers who had laughed at Konrad's pitiful magical skills.
— Warhammer: Vampire Counts Army Book (8th edition)
The front passenger door opened, and Mike Mazurki
got out. With his gorilla shoulders crammed into a double-breasted suit, he looked ready to go fifteen rounds with an enraged moose. His fingers were a bunch of fat white bananas. I had to look twice before noticing the automatic stuck like a child's toy in his giant fist. He didn't have any dialogue, but the gun said "get in the car" in fifteen different languages.
got out. With his gorilla shoulders crammed into a double-breasted suit, he looked ready to go fifteen rounds with an enraged moose. His fingers were a bunch of fat white bananas. I had to look twice before noticing the automatic stuck like a child's toy in his giant fist. He didn't have any dialogue, but the gun said "get in the car" in fifteen different languages."A muscle-minded tank-brain. No Mentat, my nephew... not a Piter de Vries, but perhaps something more precisely devised for the task at hand. If I give him freedom to do it, he'll grind over everything in his path. Oh, how he'll be hated here on Arrakis!"
— Baron Vladimir Harkonnen on the Beast Rabban, Dune
Torrio may have disapproved of violence, but Capone was a different story. "Moderation" was not really in his vocabulary; he believed in using as much brutality as necessary to achieve his ends. Torrio recognized this; back from Italy in 1924, he asked Capone to "fix" the mayoral election in Cicero so the cooperative party would stay in power. Capone did — his methods involved assaulting and intimidating voters, opening the ballot boxes to dispose of votes for the opposition, and making examples of people who wouldn't cooperate.
All slashers are horrific, but the Brute is unstoppable. All rage and unbridled strength, he crashes through doors, breaks necks with his bare hands, and is unfailingly deadly with any instrument he picks up. He is a killing machine; he knows or wants nothing else. And everyone, everyone is a target.
The Brute might seem simple, even stupid. Maybe he is. Perhaps whatever condition led to his enhanced physical strength also reduced his ability to reason. It almost certainly reduced his capacity for moral or empathetic behavior. It's hard to get inside the Brute's head, because there's just not much room in there. His motives aren't oddly justifiable like the Avenger's or the Freak's, or fascinatingly arcane like the Genius'. He doesn't even have the compelling, cloying madness of the Charmer. He drives the knife home, watches the light in his victim's eyes die, and then searches, slowly, methodically, for the next one.
The Brute might seem simple, even stupid. Maybe he is. Perhaps whatever condition led to his enhanced physical strength also reduced his ability to reason. It almost certainly reduced his capacity for moral or empathetic behavior. It's hard to get inside the Brute's head, because there's just not much room in there. His motives aren't oddly justifiable like the Avenger's or the Freak's, or fascinatingly arcane like the Genius'. He doesn't even have the compelling, cloying madness of the Charmer. He drives the knife home, watches the light in his victim's eyes die, and then searches, slowly, methodically, for the next one.
— Hunter: The Vigil: Slasher
"You are my enforcer; deployed to protect my interests, intimidate my rivals and silence my enemies."
— Darth Baras to the Sith Warrior, Star Wars: The Old Republic
Luca Brasi was indeed a man to frighten the devil in hell himself. Short, squat, massive-skulled, his presence sent out alarm bells of danger. His face was stamped into a mask of fury. The eyes were brown but with none of the warmth of that color, more a deadly tan. The mouth was not so much cruel as lifeless; thin, rubbery, and the color of veal.
Brasi's reputation for violence was awesome and his devotion to Don Corleone legendary. He was, himself, one of the great blocks that supported the Don's power structure. His kind was a rarity. Luca Brasi did not fear the police, he did not fear society, he did not fear God, he did not fear hell, he did not fear or love his fellow man. But he had elected, had chosen, to fear and love Don Corleone.
Brasi's reputation for violence was awesome and his devotion to Don Corleone legendary. He was, himself, one of the great blocks that supported the Don's power structure. His kind was a rarity. Luca Brasi did not fear the police, he did not fear society, he did not fear God, he did not fear hell, he did not fear or love his fellow man. But he had elected, had chosen, to fear and love Don Corleone.
"Of that curly-haired family, Cassius is the golden son. Julian was the kindest. And Karnus? My broken arm stands testament — he's the monster they let out of their basement to kill things."
— Darrow on Karnus au Bellona, Golden Son
