that's what you get :: 007 vs 010

There's always been a bit of me that's relied on running away. Time and time again, I guess that's what brought me to this mess. Legs' shaking and I can't tell if it's anticipation or adrenaline, my mind's been on a downhill track race and I don't know what it's competition against but it's winning. I can't knock out the feeling of the riots - my skin's in D9, jumping and screaming to get out again. I'm AWOL trash, I feel the target on my head. 

My name's posted in the Gym as the front runner, player 007 who destroyed Mah-Jong. 

My brain's caught on the gape in 015's skull. The target on mine feels the same. 

The door's kicked open, a wad of spit and shoes crunching the glass shards. Story told in sound alone, my ears are blood red and my brain just tries piecing together who it is. A guard kicking down the door? The spit says a meathead, something that tells me to hold the pipe closer to my chest and count my heart beats til it passes. I'm in my own head - I'm freaking myself out. I've just got to convince myself to pipe it down, that's all. 

To chill out. There's a pause, a brief where I hold my breath and listen for their's. It's one person give or take, I think I would have heard the foot steps if it were a guard in boots. The list of players run through my head and I can't get 018 out of there. 

BOOM - I goddamn jump off the toilet seat hearing the first stall bust open. It doesn't take much more of a warning shot than that to get my brain buzzing, the fight or flight I had been weighing down comes right back up. I'm bleeding. I realize it as I start shuffling to my feet, gathering myself to slide out of the stall. God damn it- I don't have the time to check it because the stall next to mine explodes on the second kick. 

Fight or flight or fight or flight; the only thing I can think is to slide to the free space to my left, the few seconds I have to do something. My leg drags blood and I can't keep it off my hands as I skid to the 4th stall. Heart beating and a mind that can't keep up, all I have is the instincts to get the fuck out of the way, and sure enough the third kick comes and the door goes under. A sickly split and I rush as I can to my feet, grimacing with the weight on my right leg trying to push my way out of the stall, "motherfucker!" 

Of course, player goddamn 010. 

I catch the back of his head as I round out the stall, limping to the left and swinging high to knock the crown off the tallest brute. 

QolPob|swb1-20


 

"Motherfucker!"

a hit; a dull thud

"Motherfucker!"

He echoes with a laugh that makes my stomach sink, the piping's so thin it hardly does anything but knocks a smile onto his face. "Sick bastard," at least we're cutting to the chase - I feel my chip tooth with the grit. I already feel like I'm up against a brick wall, the shards of glass making the bathroom floor a minefield. I take a wrong step backing up and feel a sharp pierce the flimsy slip on sole. 

There's a bit of his glee in this that makes me feel nauseous -- I've heard the rumors of this guy. Overheard the cocky talks between him and the big guy who fucking died this morning; he's a Capitolite. He doesn't even need the money, and I nearly puke with the kick to my gut. Balance knocked right under my feet and taking a blind swing on the way down, taking desperate collateral as my pipe busts the facet off a sink. 

This guy's got a mean kick, my balled fists are cut up on the ground and it's the best I've got to still push myself up. There's not a second to fuck around, fight and fight and I can't make his words clear over the ringing in my ear. All I hear is adrenaline as I try to prop myself on my elbows, "go on, this one's free," my ass. 

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I swing for his dick from the floor, but it comes up wide with shrapnel in my lower back. The sweetheart flaring up in my hothead like a red flag in front of a bull -- get yourself to fucking gether Theo. Life or death it's all a fuckin' facade, I don't even care about my life here - I just want to knock the smile off this goliath. My back isn't even against the wall, I scoot as I can for some pitiful distance and think. 

And think, but no matter where I run there's 010 in my way. 

"What, skull too thick you didn't feel it?" I skid towards the back side of the bathroom, pipe raised ahead of me like it's something to be afraid of. 

My free hand swipes a shard, and I just have to hope he didn't see it. 

"You planning on stabbing me with that?" 

He laughs, I don't have time to think of a punchline. I didn't get it behind my back quick enough so I might as well stop hiding it. It's starting to slice into the palm of my hand and I feel the skin trying to keep together. Every word he says feels disgusting. Maybe it's the fatigue sinking it or my gut telling me I should have gotten out of here before the break down ever begin, but here I am. 

And here he is. 

"Let's get real intimate," and he takes a step, and I try to lunge past him to the door, and he catches me by what feels like the scalp. It's a tug and a wince, I swing the shard as I can and the pipe rattles against the floor as I drop it. "DON'T- F-" and it goes black. 

The thud of my brain hitting the sink corner sounds like punctuation to my ears. I hit the porcelain and flop to the floor, hanging like a marionette with my hair in his fist. It feels like he knocked a hang over into my brain and my gut instinct is to die -- give it up. But I clench my fist and the shard cuts into my palm line. My foot slips in whatever's on the floor and I feel my whole body yanked by the back of my head. 

Whatever momentum is there, I swing with my left hand into his gut. 

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And it's enough to feel my blood mix with his to let me know I got this motherfucker. Enough for him to let me go and the shard stuck in his gut, I'm shaky as I prop myself up with the sink. Back on my feet and on the door-side out of this bitch, "I'm not your type, boss." I bite back.

But that shard in your stomach is a good look for you.