There she is again, on TeeVee, standing in the background, behind her squad-mates. She always looks so gentle, so perfect and I love her smile. I know its especially for me; each time she smiles, she smiles for me. I know.
She is almost hidden behind the tall figure of the frother woman and their ex-model media operative, Isis, and I only can see her head, but she smiles into the camera and after their squad-leader and financer, Jewel, has finished her statement each of them is asked for a quick personal comment and when it is Banshee’s turn, she smiles, her head inclined, and she greets me through the camera, her voice as soft as I know her kiss will be. Then the screen shortly turns black and the gore-stuff follows. I zap to a different channel and watch the ads. Perhaps I can catch a glimpse of the new Pentaxx-squad video. I like the sequence, when Banshee looks up from an injured civilian and cries for help, her hands full of blood when she touches the civilian’s torn open chest and tries to heal him with the Ebb, her face full of concern for each and every civilian life that is endangered through DarkNight terrorist strikes or Thresher raids. There was this quality of light, the day I went to the casting for the Pentaxx-ad, a dark twilight filling all of DownTown and my room is illuminated by thousands of candles and shadows dance on the orange colour of the walls. They flicker in the soft wind that blows through the broken shutters that seal off my apartment from the rest of the world. Rain crashes against the wood of the shutters and drops down onto the window-frame, but at least no drop stains the perfect translucence of the window-pane. You must be careful not to let your windows get stained by the rain, it’ll ruin your day. I wait for the digital clock to tell me that it’s time to go; I have showered and I have eaten breakfast and now I wait the time away, wait for the clock to show 6:30; time to leave and brave the streets of DownTown. Its a long hard way to the ThirdEye MediaDome in Uptown and the casting is scheduled for 9:00, and I must not let this chance slip through my fingers, to star in a televistion ad together with Banshee. I cannot pass out the chance to let her rescue me from any harm and kiss me while the rain streams down on us.
Time to go. I pick up my jacket and lock the door when I leave my apartment. In the hall I almost stumble over a junkie, lying spread-eagled on the floor, the syringe still in his armpit, but I can avoid falling and ruining my best suit. I kick the junkie and hope he will OD soon, but unfortunately you can’t OD on Alice, provided that it’s clean and company Alice you buy; with street Alice it’s another matter. You never know what your local dealer-dickhead might fill your Alice up with.
I open my umbrella and step into the rain-filled DownTown streets, people rushing by, edging me and I hope that no one will stain my best suit until I reach the station. I try to avoid a girl, carelessly stumbling down the street, high on some fuck, eating a pizza she is holding in her hand, the oil and sharp sauce dripping onto her fingers, down her wrist and all along her arms. I will smother her with her pizza should she dare stain my suit with her shit, but she takes a turn left, before she even can come close. Good for her.
Some feet away there is a neon sign on the pavement, how can a neon sign be on the pavement? but the neon-sign only reflects on the pavement in a great puddle of water and it is too late to try to avoid it, the mass of people pushes me right through its middle, and although I walk carefully through it, with tiny steps and hinder the ones who are pushing me from behind, the others around me aren’t careful, and I feel water soaking the cloth of my trousers wet. What fucking piece of scum was that? It must have been one of the DownTown sluts, their brains fucked off and eaten away by the sperm they always swallow. How can they swallow sperm and shiver in lust and moan and say yummy! although it always sounds uhmmy! because they cannot speak clearly with the thick, hard dick in their mouths. If I could I would put an end to all of this, this excrement that poisons all of us in DownTown and I can’t understand how Slay lets all this happen to us, his people. And if I could I would crash the head of that whore, who stained my trousers right into the puddle of water until it splits, but then I would ruin my suit even more and I go on. Banshee wouldn’t like me to kill someone anyway. She never kills, she is a healer and I cannot imagine her carrying a gun. I wish I was like Banshee, so full of love, so caring.
The station is packed full, like the streets are, a throng of people, pushing, shouting, sweating, stinking on their way down to the BulletTrain platforms. A train to Central arrives in 29:31 minutes precisely, its arrival heralded in red digital letters on information screen IS00589/715B hanging from the ceiling in the main hall, a deadline I should be able to hold.
The receptionist in the ThirdEye building eyes me from head to waist and suspiciously asks me of my intentions. Is something wrong with my face or my suit, that she eyes me so suspiciously? I am not a DarkNight infiltrator, I assure her; but perhaps its not the suit, although its old – and how should I buy a new one with only the check – but my hair. I used an umbrella, so it cannot be wet, but perhaps I didn’t do it right. I tell her that I am here for the casting of the new Pentaxx-ad and she starts to smile a reluctant smile. Fird elevathor, fourthieth floor, still smiling.
It is hot and the elevator stinks of something human. Sweat? I smell at my suit, but I do not smell of sweat, thank Slay! The elevator doors open and the whole floor is full of people, leaning at the walls, the few chairs already occupied by the ones who came first. Picking a number, waiting. It was the perfume that made her eye me suspiciously. The freshness of Mort. I bought it especially for Banshee, when I learned that her squad was going to do a new ad, a whole monthly check for this perfume. Ignorant slut down in the hall, doesn’t know what’s good. Banshee does. She told me before that she liked this perfume, a long time ago. The tick fat creep on the opposite wall won’t have a chance, can’t imagine that any of the girls would like so much fat in their ad. The bald one also, they like men with full hair, like me; they told it in Squad&Success.
Creeps. All creeps. Especially the ones, who exit the room where the casting is held and head directly towards the elevator. Didn’t get the job, you fucks? Can’t say I’m surprised, scum. Only 43 numbers to go. Oh my, that bitch over there; they allow any street-slut to enter this building down there -no wonder, with a slut doing the reception. Ha! I knew the fat one wouldn’t get the job. Heading directly towards the elevator, head bowed. Fucking creep, why don’t you just die and stop bothering the rest of us with your presence? Must have seen the disgust in my eyes. Averts his gaze from mine, looking back at the paper in his hands. Extra Contract? How can this piece of fucking piece of can meat fucking sweat dickhead fat fucking get fucking a wanna kill him get a fucking wanna slice him open and use his fat a fucking contract? Too hot in here. Need a shower. Completely bathed in sweat. Running down my forehead. Fat creep did me good. At least Banshee cannot see me this way. Drenched in sweat. My trousers stained with dirty water and a big grey smudge on my white shirt. How the fuck did that get there? How fuck must fucking musta get fucking cool get no air out here. Elevator doors open. Oh Slay, I wanna die. What a beautiful smile. Perfect dark brown-red lipstick. Perfectly executed. Deeply smiling eyes, completely black. Skin, pale and unblemished. Not even a single spot. Wearing only a mini. Rust coloured pullover. Loosely knitted. DeathSuit shining through, muscular fibres glittering. Reflecting neon light. Raven hair waving in motion. Three other people behind. Walking towards me. Her raven hair stops waving, lips opening, nose widening, smelling my perfume, inhaling it deeply, her breast heaving, drawing in breath, eyes blinking, the teeth behind her lips perfectly white. Her voice, gentle, soft, an orgasm of sound, saying my name, greeting me, still smiling. Waiting for me to answer. Stammering her name. She walks by.
Didn’t get the job then; wasn’t destined to get it. But it was my destiny to see her there, to feel her presence again; to feel the warm, soft rays of her aura shine on me and bathe in them. To let them warm up the coldness of her absence inside, to let them resparkle my own aura. Rainbow colours everywhere, that day. In the rain, in the wind and around everybody I saw, a happy congregation of happy people. A good day that was. Even for the fat dickhead. Met him again in the BulletTrain. Faggot fuck tried to flirt with me, Hallo, you were also at the casting. Weren’t you? ‘Course I was. Pissed on his contract, after I sliced him up in a dark alley. Let him swallow his fucking faggot dick before I strangled him with his own guts. What a perfect day.
I get up from my sofa and walk the four steps into the kitchenette and take out a bottle of water and take a long sip. I put it back into the fridge, close the door and walk back to my sofa, lying down, waiting for the new Pentaxx-ad. I am feeling sleepy, but I cannot sleep. The digital clock shows 2:08 and I still cannot sleep. Fight with a Fen. A professional’s choice. New gore-stuff. Switching channels. Some home-shopping channel advertising RoachCatchä . Turn around, wanna sleep, but I can’t. Oh, fuck! I almost forgot the appointment with Banshee. I’m looking at the clock. 2:17. Still enough time. Dressing in a hurry. Strapping on the holster, putting the new FEN 066 Reaper – 12.7mm loaded with a cocktail of HESH and HEAP, 40 shots per minute, 8 bullets per clip, comes already fitted with an underbarrel laser pointer and can be further equipped with silencer, flash suppressor and a full range of overbarrel accessories – into the holster and slip into my RainMan duster. I put my grinning death facemask into a side pocket and slip out of my apartment. Rain is leaking everywhere on the corridor. Strobic beams of light flash in searching patterns through the broken roof into the corridor. I rush down the corridor and a Junkie stumbles out of a broken door, holding out his hands, gripping a syringe in his left, begging for some unis, and I blow away his head, redeem him from his miserable existence and head towards the stairs. Most of them seem to have been blown away by heavy slugs, must have happened sometimes earlier today when I was not at home. The entrance hall is full of puddles of water that is leaking uninhibited through several big holes in the ceiling and pools on the floor down here. Doesn’t matter now; can force the janitor to repair them later. Fucking creep that is. Outside, the rain is heavy but Banshee’s silver Argos is parked right before the door to my apartment and I can see her silhouette through the water-sprinkled windows sitting inside, waiting for me. Her head moves in my direction and I can see the smile forming on her lips when she opens the door and gets out. I am speechless. Her hair is slightly wet from the rain and it is piled up on her head, in her special style. Two long strands frame her pale face on both sides and her dark red-brown lipsticked lips smile and her deep black eyes also smile as she takes the few steps towards me. She is only wearing a short skirt of brown brocade, richly embroidered with elaborate patterns and her DeathSuit is interdermalised. I can see her perfect small breasts just below her décolleté and I can feel them pressed against my chest, when she embraces me and kisses me softly on the mouth. Our tongues meet and we kiss long and ever harder in the rain, and the rain is pouring down on us, but we are lost in our kiss. The candles are burning around her bed and I slowly undress her, while she kisses my chest and I flex the muscles and her tongue licks me all the way down to the four rows of iron-hard abdominal muscles. Her soft hands grip my NukeTendon-steeled broad shoulders and her nails gently bite into my flesh when I enter her and caress her with long and gentle strokes while I am licking her long hard nipples. I am lost in her moan and our motion and she is just large enough for my dick. I wake with an erection and I jerk off into my hand and the clock shows 3:13 and with the home-shopping channel still advertising RoachCatchä and the sperm drying in my hand and around my dick, I can finally sleep.
Later. Doing some work in the house. Repairing rotten floorboards and leaks in the ceilings. A broken window in 347, order a new one. Tidying up the workroom that has been flooded last week in the century storm that hit Mort then. Lot of buildings down here collapsed in that storm, virtually all basements in all houses were flooded and a lot of people died in the floods; a festival for the pigs.
Evening, and I leave for a pizza. No food left in the fridge, but Belinio’s, round the corner, is open 24 hours a day. As kids we used to hang around Belinio’s all the day. Slice ‘n Dice. Weren’t as big as KT or the Johannas, but it was our thing. Never did anything serious, no drugs and only petty crimes; if we did them at all. Nothing to set us apart, to make us known. The Pastas, PizzaFaces, Pepperonis and the like we were called by the others. Didn’t bother to beat them up; didn’t have to. After all, what fun is there in a fight if you know that you’re gonna win? The others knew this, too and so they only called us names. We couldn’t care less.
The air in Belinio’s is drenched with garlic, oregano and salt; the whole small room an oven. G, don’t know why we called him only G, but the name stuck, behind the corner, waiting lazily for customers, wiping away the flies from the surface of a huge bowl of tomato-sauce. Nodding, when I am entering, the sneer that’s always on his face shortly changing to a grin. I order my pizza, a double cheese-pepperoni-tuna-bacon refined with three olives. Puke Pizza, G always calls it. Can’t understand why. Waiting. Trying not to eye his fat daughter too obviously, after all she might get the impression that I would like to talk to, or even fuck her. Six years ago, when she was 10, I think, the door would open and she would enter the room, running towards her dad, embracing his oily apron, her small little ass towards us. We are standing in the corner, talking about the features of the FEN 603 and Karrack, this dumb motherfuck, is absolutely sure that you can order a 603 with a 12 inch barrel. I want to punch him into the mouth to silence the stream of pathetic shit that is leaking out between his lips, but then Cristal enters the room and runs towards her father and I watch every motion of her little ass underneath her tight woollen pants. She whispers something into his ear and he laughs his roaring laughter and then she turns and runs out of the room, but when she passes me by, she slows and her tongue is slowly licking her lips and in her eyes swims this plea, take me. Fuck me. I want you to fuck me deep into the ass and then make me bleed. Bite my nipples and let me suck your cock. But then she’s through the door, and now she’s too fat. Don’t want to think about fucking such a fat whore, but I’m sure that she has fucked every man in the neighbourhood, apart from me, her fat enveloping, almost smothering her lover during the intercourse. You don’t want her to sit on top of you during the fuck; if you can anyhow plug your dick into her hole anyway that is. Fucking Cristal. Disgusting.
The smell of Puke Pizza. The cheese glistening on top of the melange of tuna, bacon and pepperoni and imbedded into the melted surface of cheese, the three olives. Met Banshee, some years ago, eating Puke Pizza, standing outside of Belinio’s in the rain, together with FF, Roachock and Triple. Jax is taking a shower outside the shelter of Belinio’s and Cristal pops out her little head asking if anyone of us would like something else. Yeah, little one, would like to jerk off. Would you like to lick the sperm from my dick? No, Roachock answers. She eyes me as if she waits for a definite answer from me and I grab for her, but the little beast’s to fast and I cannot grab her nipples; her tits are beginning to grow and till the end of this week I have seen them naked, touched and kissed them.
The taste of Puke Pizza, garlic sauce running over its crust, down my arm and all around my mouth. An Ebon girl walks through the rain, heading for Belinio’s. She is soaked, her black hair clings to her head in thick patches and she is small and slim. A nice fuck for each of us. We eye each other, smiling our fucking smile, and the others wait for my decision. Fuck, she’s Slay. Sports a big fucking badge on her coat. Must be on a mission, down here in our neighbourhood. Fuck, SCL 8. That young and already eight? Did she fuck her way up? Wouldn’t be surprising, with these looks. Slay, she’s a real striker beauty. And these eyes. She passes and walks into Belinio’s, her gaze glued to mine, eyeing FF, Roachock and Triple just casually. The door-bell rings and then the door crashes shut behind her. Silence. Fuck, wasn’t that, is that the girl from, you won’t believe guys, all of us together, no one understands the other one. Silence. “Boys, I think that’s the girl from the Lanaque No. 3 spot.” The others just nod. A rocky shore somewhere on Mort, oceanic waves of blue water crashing against it. This girl in her half-interdermalised DeathSuit coming from the waves, her hair glued to her body by the water, half concealing her breasts. The freshness of Mort. Lanaque No. 3.
The door opens, the door-bell ringing and the girl exits Belinio’s. The door crashes shut behind her but she still stands next to me, looking curiously onto my pizza, a thin vertical line of doubt between her brows.
“Puke Pizza”, we all answer simultaneously.
“Hope it doesn’t taste like that.”
“Wanna try a bit?”, and let me try you afterwards, baby. I’m sure, you’re as tight as Cristal is.
Takes a step away from me. “Thanks. Have a nice day, guys.” Leaving.
“You, too, miss”, come back later, apartment 51, no one’s at home, can fuck you everywhere, any way. Hey, baby, you can even fuck me. Special offer for you.
No Banshee today. Not even her ad. First it only was sexual, but over the years I learned to love her. I learned to love her gentle being, her charisma, her personality. Must not forget to put on some more Lanaque later, I might stumble across her somewhere. Perhaps she even visits me and then we will talk long and drink wine while the candles burn and their flickering light throws chaotic patterns across the walls, across her face and across our naked bodies. Her soft touch stroking me, taking my dick, stroking it until it gets hard, licking its tip. Blowing me. Then we fuck and her soft body moves beneath mine, her hips swinging in gentle motion against mine, her hands scratching over my chest, my hands on her shoulders, her breasts, licking her nipples, softly biting her neck. Falling into the loving gaze of her deep black eyes when I come, kissing her hard on her mouth, tasting her tongue and tasting the rest of my own sperm underneath her tongue. Finish my pizza. Hope Cristal won’t follow me, as she often does.
The street outside Belinio’s through the big window: rain still strikes down with unmatched fury. Few cars pass by, most of them taxis. White letters on a metallic blue varnish, Blue Cab Taxi, 037-667-2568-889, watery spray foaming behind screeching wheels, rushing by. Some DownTown gang convened around a burning trash-bin. Isn’t easy to keep the trash burning in the steaming rain, you need quite an amount of LH-3. Hard to get, but nasty thing is that you cannot extinguish the fire by adding water; you’ll only increase the amount of burning fluid if you add water. Nice thing for cocktails.
Must go home, the rerun of ThirdEye Portrait: Pentaxx upcoming. Pay my Puke Pizza, off into the rain. Fuck, isn’t rain anymore. Everywhere hard and icy grains of hail strike the street and the gang has retreated into the cover of a nearby house; the trash-bin burning uncontrolled. Will overflow soon, the burning liquid leaking into the street. If Cristal follows me now and tries to rape me, I cannot even stab her and slice her fat away; the FireShivers will find her too early. And my switchblade is at home, anyway.
A Shiver APC is parked at the street corner opposite of my apartment block. Must be doing business somewhere around here. Good that Cristal didn’t follow me, better that I didn’t have to slice her. Nice Augustus, parking right behind the Shiver APC. So Operatives are around here, too. Excellent that I didn’t have to do the little fucker in; they would have found the body for sure and afterwards, who knows. Some Slops are too fucking tense, killing an entire neighbourhood just because they think a serial is hiding there. Any pleas of innocence falling upon deaf ears; the fuckers like the feeling of superiority that killing gives them, arrogant SOB’s.
The leaks in the ceiling I have repaired today, are leaking again. Hate this house. Two Shivers in Blocker lean against the door to my office, looking at me, “You are the Janitor”, more a statement than a question.
“Yes, how can I help you sirs?”
One of them turns away, mumbles something into the interior mike of his helmet, Jannis here. Static.
“The sergeant has some questions. He’s upstairs in your apartment.”
A numbness in my toes, beginning to claim both feet, “Have I done—“
The Shiver just nods upwards, towards the stairs then the other takes hold of my arm and leads me to the stairs. I cannot feel my feet and my legs turn to jelly. My apartment door is broken open and lies on the floor, ripped from its hinges. Shivers are leisurely walking up and down the corridor, everywhere static and fragments of speech. Two operatives standing further down the corridor, talking to each other, half-hidden in shadows.
The sergeant is sitting on my couch, watching Manslaughter Fixation, toying with my switchblade. “Sir?”, the voice of the Shiver behind me. The sergeant turns and pays attention to both of us. “Thank you, Stevenson. Dismissed.” The iron grip around my upper arm stops and the Shiver leaves. Going to have a purple bruise for the next days on my upper arm.
“Mr. Dren, as I understand you are the janitor of this house.” I nod. “Good. You understand the concept of loyalty, do you?”
“You have applied to Meny, right?”
“I know, you didn’t pass the engagement test.” I nod. “Didn’t know who the CEO of SLA Industries is.” Fuck, how should I know who the Chief Execution Officer of SLA Industries is? “Yes, I’m sorry, but—–“
“You do not need to be sorry. We all have our little mistakes.” There is a grin underneath his mask, I know, and I want to widen this grin with my blade. “But as you have been to Meny, if only for a short period, you know that we all do not rock the boat.”
“Yes, sir of course, but I——–“
He puts away my knife and begins to play with his pacifier baton, swinging it by its handle, from left to right in his hand. “So, if a friendly Shiver asks you, if you know if this man”, producing a photograph from nowhere, holding it under my nose, “has been seen in this neighbourhood, or even lives in this house, you would of course happily cooperate with your friendly Shiver, wouldn’t you?”
I nod. What does this creep want?
“So, have you seen this man?”
A blank. Never seen the face before. Some dickhead from down here. Real nerd. “No sir. I have never seen this man.”
“He is a very dangerous man”, swinging his pacifier baton dangerously close to my TeeVee set, “and he has killed nine women. Strangled them and raped them.”
Interesting combination. First killing then raping. That way they wouldn’t offer any resistance. Should try it this way next time, too. “No, sir, I have never seen this man. Believe me. Never. I swear. To Slay!”
He puts away his pacifier baton and picks up my switchblade again. “Too bad”, handing me back the blade, leaving, “By the way, interesting stains on your blade. Good for you that we do not look for someone using a blade. Hope you only use it to cut animals with.”
How the fuck, did he see the blood? I always clean it meticulously; can’t be any stain left. The Shivers leave, but the sergeant still stands before my door, talking to the two operatives. No, Miss Banquet, he doesn’t know anything about this fucker. Yes, Mr. Lumber, we will search the next house. Black hair, floating in the air. A small, slim Ebon walking by my door, following the Shiver, followed by another Ebon. What’s Banshee doing in my house? Dashing towards the door, catching only a glimpse of her, walking down the spiral of stairs, arm-in-arm with this fucking creephead of an Ebon faggot asshole. She is so beautiful, her skin so pale and how can she kiss such a piece of shit? She even swallows his tongue.
She stops. Looks up, sees me, recognises me. An astonished You?
Leave my room, walk towards her. Want to embrace her.
“Don’t come closer, you creep!”
“I told you before, leave me alone!”
“But Miss Banshee, I only want——–“
“Don’t come any closer. I warned you!”
The Sergeant looks at me and the switchblade in my hand. Reaches for his pacifier baton. “But, Banshee, I——“
“You’d better go back into your apartment, Mister”, the Sergeant concludes.
They leave. “—–love you”, under my breath. She doesn’t look back. Her high-pitched, screaming voice echoes through the staircase, mocking me all the way down until they reach the hall. “Hate this creep. Fucker follows me everywhere. And the stench.” Faggot speaks, then Banshee’s scream, “Yeah. Lanaque. Did an ad for them once. Was the only thing I got. Shit stinks like the sewers.” Now everybody knows, and everybody believes her lies. Emptiness in my stomach, everything turns. Stumble to the bathroom, on the corridor, the toilet. Puke Pizza. Closed lid. Exit.
Much later. Ebon bitch. A heap of tossed paper before me on the floor. Now I’m cool again. Had to rip the Banshee tapestry in my bedroom off the wall. Have torn it into little pieces. In my living room. Fucking lighter. Klippo Lighters never falter. This one’s only a Spark. Fucking civvy shit. Ha, it lights. She burns. Payback time, bitch. Know you’re somewhere around here. Gonna git ya.
A row of street vendors, some levels deeper, some time later, selling sushi, pizza, guns and drugs. Hate sushi, have puked pizza and don’t do drugs. But need a gun. But not the civvy shit. Need something to plug a Slop with. Fucking bitch! “You have a 603 with a 12 inch barrel?”
“A what? You licence?” Fucking Orienta scum. Should plug you afterwards, and cut out your eyes. Never collected anything before.
“Uni’s my licence, almond eyes.” Show him the unis.
“Money okay. But no 12 inch barrel. Can order it. Okay?”
“Fuck okay. Need something now. Big punch, you understand?”
“Yes, understand do I. CAF?”
“Hey, you little piece of Orienta scum. Don’t fucking bullshit me, or”, my switchblade at his neck, “I’m gonna let you leak. Okay, dickhead?”
“Cool off, hot shot. You got the money, I got the punch”, reaching with his hand for something under his stall. Produces a pistol with a quick motion and points at me, my switchblade still at his neck. Little dumb fucker’s got nerves.
“You should put the safety off first” and then my switchblade cuts through the flesh of his neck like butter and I sever his carotid artery, blood spurting out in a thick spray, covering me and everything on his stall. Nobody cares. He falls in a mist of blood, twitching in pain, taking some weapons with him in his fall. I step around the stall. He is lying in a pool of blood, still twitching, weapons scattered all around him. Step onto his hand, the one holding the pistol. Peer under the stall. A MAL Anvil. Nice 12.7mm killer. Take it and a silencer, too. Press it against his abdomen. Pull the trigger. Plop. More blood. “No chance for you, dumb ass. Gonna bleed to death. Have a nice one.” Wipe my face clean with the cloth of his stall. Vanish into the raining darkness. Have an appointment with the bitch.
Later. The APC and the Augustus are still parked at the curb opposite my burning apartment block. Fire Shivers have arrived, too, blocking the streets in all directions. No way to get away, bitch. Love LH-3. Fire must have gotten to my little depot under the floorboards. Looking bad for the Shivers. The bitch and her faggot lover leaning against the side of the Augustus in the shadow of an umbrella. She’s licking him again. Not for long, that is. Take out the Anvil and put on the silencer. Cock it. Almost cocked that bitch. Put off the safety. Aim. Bye-bye Ebon fucking bitch.
Plop. Glass shatters. A side window, Plop, of the Augustus. Bitch’s trying to dive, Plop, for cover. Hidden in the shadows of, Plop, an entrance. Gonna shoot her indirectly, Plop. A brick explodes. Bitch cries in pain. Plugged her, plugged her! Long rattling noise, flashes from behind the Augustus.
Falling to the pavement. Pain in my stomach and my chest. Something wet. What? Hard to move my head. Blackness leaking in from everywhere. Chest and abdomen ripped apart, a mess of gore. Fuck, how does my back look like?
Ebon faggot fucker getting out of cover behind the Augustus. Fucker did me.
Can move my hand. World narrows. Come closer little faggot, come closer.
Moving closer, cautiously.
still pain. vision.
bitch’s not dead. bleeding. next to fagg—–
bitch raises arm. vibro disc.
© 1998 by dnotice.de