Another Monday Morning
You find a convenient dumpster to hide behind and begin tracing the wall, drawing ever closer to the figure as he draws ever closer to you. He's still only a silhouette right now, but in this case, well... any intrusion is the last one such a person would make.
You slip behind a pile of milk crates, stacked with what looks like old astrology magazines. You hear the man slip past you, and smiling, slip into the alley behind him. You can see his back now in a sliver of milky moonlight - he's young, burly, and dressed well, wearing pressed black pants and a light blue dress shirt. He's blonde, and about the same height as you. You find a piece of discarded lead pipe, and creep quietly behind him, drawing ever closer.
It's when you hear his muffled "oh my god", it's when he discovers your work that you strike.
The pipe hits with a wet thud into the man's lower back, and he gleefully crumples around it. You can almost feel the vertebrae snap and seperate around your strike - you're a strong man yourself, and all the force of glee and desperation is behind you. You almost laugh as you bring the pipe up to smash his head like a grapefruit...
... when something burning, something PAINFUL, rips through your stomach like molten glass. You crumple almost despite yourself, numbness ambushing your fingers, your limbs somehow watery, renegade. Your skull cracks against the pavement. You smell skin and blood.
The second bullet strikes you in the head and you die instantly.
Still, the last thing you see is the police badge, knocked free when you struck.
You slip behind a pile of milk crates, stacked with what looks like old astrology magazines. You hear the man slip past you, and smiling, slip into the alley behind him. You can see his back now in a sliver of milky moonlight - he's young, burly, and dressed well, wearing pressed black pants and a light blue dress shirt. He's blonde, and about the same height as you. You find a piece of discarded lead pipe, and creep quietly behind him, drawing ever closer.
It's when you hear his muffled "oh my god", it's when he discovers your work that you strike.
The pipe hits with a wet thud into the man's lower back, and he gleefully crumples around it. You can almost feel the vertebrae snap and seperate around your strike - you're a strong man yourself, and all the force of glee and desperation is behind you. You almost laugh as you bring the pipe up to smash his head like a grapefruit...
... when something burning, something PAINFUL, rips through your stomach like molten glass. You crumple almost despite yourself, numbness ambushing your fingers, your limbs somehow watery, renegade. Your skull cracks against the pavement. You smell skin and blood.
The second bullet strikes you in the head and you die instantly.
Still, the last thing you see is the police badge, knocked free when you struck.
