Tough Guy
Kid thought he was tough. From his cold stare and purposeful way he reached inside his coat I knew he meant business. Of course he didn't do a good job of concealing the chromed pistol in the first place. A status symbol.
Funny thing about tough guys these days. Society has changed. Used to be you could win respect through a rumble, but after a few punches you get up and go your own way. Now you go to jail for those little fights. We step right past a minor altercation to blow off steam and go to the major leagues. If it comes down to it. Society only gives you one option when something can't be handled with words. And, that's blood.
Ah, yes. The funny bit. I almost forgot. Some of the most stone cold killers around, the meanest and the baddest, these kids have never been punched in the face. I mean really punched. You can always tell the second after they got hit. The look of total shock and surprise. Hit 'em hard enough and their nose will go sideways and they'll drop that gun like it's hot. Kid was no exception. I hit him three times before he hit the ground and then stomped his wrist with my size twelve Timberwolves. The sound of breaking bone startled the guys that were with him. Made them hesitate.
Go for blood! Become the second Storm!
The pain felt good. Someone had managed to wrap a chain around my neck. I could feel my self lose control and the Wurm in me was emerging in all of her glory. Her sense of pleasure and release mixed with my sense of fear causing nothing but euphoria. I slipped into the cracks and reseses in my mind where the wurm rested. She exploded into my conciousness. An ember falling through the night scy to cascade over rocks into a boiling ocean.
The sound of the last body hitting the brick wall, very hard, caused me to awake. My clothes were ripped and I could feel a wet hot burn around my neck were the chain had lacerated my sensitive skin. I felt something that seemed unreal. The heartbeats of those around me. most were slow or stuttered in their wounded states. There was a beat behind me that had quickened in it's approach. Spinning around I made contact with the street cop before I even realized that I was holding a crowbar in my left hand. Blood splattered along the fire escape in a crimson wave.
The second Storm!
Shit. Gonna be one of those days.
Funny thing about tough guys these days. Society has changed. Used to be you could win respect through a rumble, but after a few punches you get up and go your own way. Now you go to jail for those little fights. We step right past a minor altercation to blow off steam and go to the major leagues. If it comes down to it. Society only gives you one option when something can't be handled with words. And, that's blood.
Ah, yes. The funny bit. I almost forgot. Some of the most stone cold killers around, the meanest and the baddest, these kids have never been punched in the face. I mean really punched. You can always tell the second after they got hit. The look of total shock and surprise. Hit 'em hard enough and their nose will go sideways and they'll drop that gun like it's hot. Kid was no exception. I hit him three times before he hit the ground and then stomped his wrist with my size twelve Timberwolves. The sound of breaking bone startled the guys that were with him. Made them hesitate.
Go for blood! Become the second Storm!
The pain felt good. Someone had managed to wrap a chain around my neck. I could feel my self lose control and the Wurm in me was emerging in all of her glory. Her sense of pleasure and release mixed with my sense of fear causing nothing but euphoria. I slipped into the cracks and reseses in my mind where the wurm rested. She exploded into my conciousness. An ember falling through the night scy to cascade over rocks into a boiling ocean.
The sound of the last body hitting the brick wall, very hard, caused me to awake. My clothes were ripped and I could feel a wet hot burn around my neck were the chain had lacerated my sensitive skin. I felt something that seemed unreal. The heartbeats of those around me. most were slow or stuttered in their wounded states. There was a beat behind me that had quickened in it's approach. Spinning around I made contact with the street cop before I even realized that I was holding a crowbar in my left hand. Blood splattered along the fire escape in a crimson wave.
The second Storm!
Shit. Gonna be one of those days.
posted by Goddamn Batman at 10:46 AM
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