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→we don't have all the time in the world←
Created on 2006-10-25 07:59:51 (#11464568), last updated 2008-09-11
302 comments received, 2,065 comments posted
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| Name: | Assigned Name; Snow ←→ [Kal -- Classified] |
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(like the idiots you are) Maybe he was wrong, and maybe he was right. Aim higher, lower, adjust the trajectory, squeeze the trigger, gently, softly, deadly and quiet because don't you know? He's after you, been behind and in front of you for days and his silencer is on, tight, scope damn near attached to his eye at this point and his finger is still on that trigger as he watches you in his crosshairs, waiting for that final windshift that will send his bullet from his rifle and through your head and splatter what is left of your brain on that nice, clean wall behind you. Maybe it was wrong to be deaths chaser, but it kept him alive, kept him paid, and in a postwar world where he'd only ever known how to hold a gun, he needed something that kept him going. Kept him awake like the smell of gunpowder, the recoil of heavy arms, the stench of burnt flesh and building dust, that tinge of smoke and fire that made most people run. It was his playground, his school and church and mother and father, the gun in his hand a part of him. His eyes focused on the next target, and the hunt started again as soon as the cheque cashed. Wrong or right didn't matter. Surviving did. |
-- Mao Tse-Tung
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