Today is a good day...
Continuing with the deceased sidekick thread experimentally:
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What it is, he thought, is childishness. All of it. Monstrous, and everything that engendered it too. He looked at Her gun, he had taken that too, although he could not convince himself of why. Of course he couldn't afford to leave weapons behind, even ones with sentimental value. It was almost as if he took it so as to prevent it from falling into the hands of another like himself, and it being used justly upon him one day. He could just barely concieve of how this could happen.
This weapon (Beretta 92F 9mm Parabellum RCMP issue pistol) would be used in said justified manner, he thought, but not by any save for him, and not yet.
He withdrew five 9mm Parabellum jacketed hollow point rounds out of the pouch that she had kept them in, and inserted each one into the magazine clip of the handgun until it would take no more. Then he replaced it, pulled back the sledge to put a round in the chamber, and let it go.
He fell back asleep to the sound of the water.
When he awoke he could not hear the water. All that he could hear was howling. Many low, subhuman voices howling at the sky. He had never heard a sound like this before.
The sources of these sounds were very close by.
Ideas lingered in him again. The thought of his rage, his dearest asset delicately ingnored before all of this. The one-man holocaust feeling that he had had before that compelled him to kill and kill and never stop until every voice was gone.
They were dogs, he understood, they were close by, feral- or wild, animals that could smell him. He jumped to his feet from the sitting position he was in and prepared himself with the gun and his cutlass (Actually just a machete, also Hers).
As he slowly ate the savoury meat from the dog he'd chosen to eat, he reflected that he ought to be developing animalistic characteristics himself. He should be sprouting fur and fangs and funny eyes every time that he lost it like that. He smelled blood pooling all around him, on his face. His heart still raced, he was up to his shoulders in blood. He desperately wanted to escape this brutality, though that part of him still stood guard.
He did not realise also, that he had only slept for an hour and a half. The ground seemed to be humming with bass static but he did not take that as unusual.
He walked, full inside and awake, distracted. He momentarily recovered a memory of a song that had touched him at one time, long before any of this happened. Back in high school, associated to a memory of a past girlfriend, now somewhat hazy. A song that was all in German called "Ohne Dich", about losing someone. "Without You" He sang what parts of it he could remember as loudly as he could. Inviting an attack, or investigation.
"Now look at this guy now. He's fuckling singing! What the fuck? I don't know man, I think that we should get away from this guy before he goes completely around the bend. He's not going to be useful to us if he's too insane to be controlled."
"He's lonely, his girlfriend is dead. (chortle) Man she was a peice of ass to mourn over."
"Onuh dish? Hey, do we have any more of her?"
"Sure, bon appertif." [Sardonic laughter]
He strode again, waving his arms to and fro. His attention turned to his rifle. (being the bulkiest peice of equipment that he carried, he paid attention to it rather frequently) It was an old weapon, a Lee-Enfield, he took it off of a Ranger he killed, or so he thought that he was a Ranger, only rangers use old weapons like these. The military only uses... used, FN FALs now.
It was very, very accurate, even up to many meters away. He had used it to pick off vague forms on the horizon so that he could catch up to the corpse and search it safely. The last time that he had performed this tactic he found a full ampoule of Atropine in the corpse's pocket. Might come in handy sometime.
His hair was getting long. There were very few reflecting surfaces to be found.
Of course!! (He thought that he heard a bell chime somewhere) Scratch the killing spree for now, his new mission was to locate and acquire a portable music device of some kind. Yesssss...
[Hours passed]
"New threads, check this out!"
"Wooo. Man, you are gonna make the difference with the desparate chicks now eh?"
"Fuck off. I look good after the bomb and you look like fucking beef."
"Oh, do I?"
"Wait, now what is he doing?"
"Can't tell, digging a shitpit probably. [speaking into radio] Position X, move into binocular range of target and report. [click]"
"Aw man, do we have to watch him?"
"I think that he's digging..."
"[radio crackle] Subject appears to be excavating small boxlike object from human remains. [close connection click]"
"Uh-huh... I think that he's our boy. He's been moving around the lower mainland for months, he must be familiar with where the peices of city are, and he's outlived all our other candidates, including having killed one. He's definitely capable enough."
They paused to consider him, watching the young male examine the box, looking for a latch or release.
"Ok. Let's wait until he stops moving and then we'll go for the interview."
The box was a rhomboid shape with a contour that bulged in the middle. He looked down at the pile of dessicated bone that he'd pulled it from, no way to tell that it was even human, then back to the box. There was a part in the middle that indicated that it opened into two halves. He tried to pry the two halves apart with his fingernails but it wouldn't come open. It was hard plastic that would probably shatter if he threw it against a rock or struck it hard with the butt of his rifle.
He pocketed it in the large hoodie sweatshirt that had rode him for months.
"Look at that, it's been, like, 72 hours now and he's still going strong."
"He's even going easy on the drugs."
"He doesn't have much left, he's being frugal. Wouldn't have guessed that he'd have the willpower."
"Well, he'll fall asleep eventually. It's too bad that we don't have any tranquilizer darts, like in the movies."
"He's gonna be too sketched by the time that he stops, let's just apprehend him. I'm getting fucking bored." This voice's owner spread C-Ration brown goo, labelled strawberry jam, on a thick wheat cracker and ate half of it. The sweetness delighted him.
"...Yeah. Maybe we should. [radio on]All positions move to closing formation and prepare to apprehend fugitive. Over.[click off]"
"[response]Affirmative.[close]"
"Stop, just stop. Don't fire, we want to talk to you!"
Were these apparitions?! These men in camoflage. His brain said that they were the military, but he was dreaming. They couldn't be there. His bullets would tell him. He aimed at one.
All at once his hand, his shoulders and buttocks exploded in pain and he collapsed.
He was disarmed, restrained, and carried back to thier camp. There his belongings were collected and searched but otherwise unmolested. He was still unconscious. They had shot him with non-lethal beanbag rounds and incapacitated him. Unfortunately, he would be asleep for some time due to his deprivation.
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Cliffhanger.
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What it is, he thought, is childishness. All of it. Monstrous, and everything that engendered it too. He looked at Her gun, he had taken that too, although he could not convince himself of why. Of course he couldn't afford to leave weapons behind, even ones with sentimental value. It was almost as if he took it so as to prevent it from falling into the hands of another like himself, and it being used justly upon him one day. He could just barely concieve of how this could happen.
This weapon (Beretta 92F 9mm Parabellum RCMP issue pistol) would be used in said justified manner, he thought, but not by any save for him, and not yet.
He withdrew five 9mm Parabellum jacketed hollow point rounds out of the pouch that she had kept them in, and inserted each one into the magazine clip of the handgun until it would take no more. Then he replaced it, pulled back the sledge to put a round in the chamber, and let it go.
He fell back asleep to the sound of the water.
When he awoke he could not hear the water. All that he could hear was howling. Many low, subhuman voices howling at the sky. He had never heard a sound like this before.
The sources of these sounds were very close by.
Ideas lingered in him again. The thought of his rage, his dearest asset delicately ingnored before all of this. The one-man holocaust feeling that he had had before that compelled him to kill and kill and never stop until every voice was gone.
They were dogs, he understood, they were close by, feral- or wild, animals that could smell him. He jumped to his feet from the sitting position he was in and prepared himself with the gun and his cutlass (Actually just a machete, also Hers).
As he slowly ate the savoury meat from the dog he'd chosen to eat, he reflected that he ought to be developing animalistic characteristics himself. He should be sprouting fur and fangs and funny eyes every time that he lost it like that. He smelled blood pooling all around him, on his face. His heart still raced, he was up to his shoulders in blood. He desperately wanted to escape this brutality, though that part of him still stood guard.
He did not realise also, that he had only slept for an hour and a half. The ground seemed to be humming with bass static but he did not take that as unusual.
He walked, full inside and awake, distracted. He momentarily recovered a memory of a song that had touched him at one time, long before any of this happened. Back in high school, associated to a memory of a past girlfriend, now somewhat hazy. A song that was all in German called "Ohne Dich", about losing someone. "Without You" He sang what parts of it he could remember as loudly as he could. Inviting an attack, or investigation.
"Now look at this guy now. He's fuckling singing! What the fuck? I don't know man, I think that we should get away from this guy before he goes completely around the bend. He's not going to be useful to us if he's too insane to be controlled."
"He's lonely, his girlfriend is dead. (chortle) Man she was a peice of ass to mourn over."
"Onuh dish? Hey, do we have any more of her?"
"Sure, bon appertif." [Sardonic laughter]
He strode again, waving his arms to and fro. His attention turned to his rifle. (being the bulkiest peice of equipment that he carried, he paid attention to it rather frequently) It was an old weapon, a Lee-Enfield, he took it off of a Ranger he killed, or so he thought that he was a Ranger, only rangers use old weapons like these. The military only uses... used, FN FALs now.
It was very, very accurate, even up to many meters away. He had used it to pick off vague forms on the horizon so that he could catch up to the corpse and search it safely. The last time that he had performed this tactic he found a full ampoule of Atropine in the corpse's pocket. Might come in handy sometime.
His hair was getting long. There were very few reflecting surfaces to be found.
Of course!! (He thought that he heard a bell chime somewhere) Scratch the killing spree for now, his new mission was to locate and acquire a portable music device of some kind. Yesssss...
[Hours passed]
"New threads, check this out!"
"Wooo. Man, you are gonna make the difference with the desparate chicks now eh?"
"Fuck off. I look good after the bomb and you look like fucking beef."
"Oh, do I?"
"Wait, now what is he doing?"
"Can't tell, digging a shitpit probably. [speaking into radio] Position X, move into binocular range of target and report. [click]"
"Aw man, do we have to watch him?"
"I think that he's digging..."
"[radio crackle] Subject appears to be excavating small boxlike object from human remains. [close connection click]"
"Uh-huh... I think that he's our boy. He's been moving around the lower mainland for months, he must be familiar with where the peices of city are, and he's outlived all our other candidates, including having killed one. He's definitely capable enough."
They paused to consider him, watching the young male examine the box, looking for a latch or release.
"Ok. Let's wait until he stops moving and then we'll go for the interview."
The box was a rhomboid shape with a contour that bulged in the middle. He looked down at the pile of dessicated bone that he'd pulled it from, no way to tell that it was even human, then back to the box. There was a part in the middle that indicated that it opened into two halves. He tried to pry the two halves apart with his fingernails but it wouldn't come open. It was hard plastic that would probably shatter if he threw it against a rock or struck it hard with the butt of his rifle.
He pocketed it in the large hoodie sweatshirt that had rode him for months.
"Look at that, it's been, like, 72 hours now and he's still going strong."
"He's even going easy on the drugs."
"He doesn't have much left, he's being frugal. Wouldn't have guessed that he'd have the willpower."
"Well, he'll fall asleep eventually. It's too bad that we don't have any tranquilizer darts, like in the movies."
"He's gonna be too sketched by the time that he stops, let's just apprehend him. I'm getting fucking bored." This voice's owner spread C-Ration brown goo, labelled strawberry jam, on a thick wheat cracker and ate half of it. The sweetness delighted him.
"...Yeah. Maybe we should. [radio on]All positions move to closing formation and prepare to apprehend fugitive. Over.[click off]"
"[response]Affirmative.[close]"
"Stop, just stop. Don't fire, we want to talk to you!"
Were these apparitions?! These men in camoflage. His brain said that they were the military, but he was dreaming. They couldn't be there. His bullets would tell him. He aimed at one.
All at once his hand, his shoulders and buttocks exploded in pain and he collapsed.
He was disarmed, restrained, and carried back to thier camp. There his belongings were collected and searched but otherwise unmolested. He was still unconscious. They had shot him with non-lethal beanbag rounds and incapacitated him. Unfortunately, he would be asleep for some time due to his deprivation.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Cliffhanger.