head fervently. Human beings or not they couldn’t be allowed to act
the way they did. The world had changed in mere hours and who knew why Wesley
killed that woman, Serenade, but if she were anything like these people, this
‘Pastor’ and his lackeys, then she deserved what she got.
I
walked out into the hall, guns drawn and decisive, my enemies deserved what
they were about to get.
LEVEL 08 – CLIMBING THE LADDER
Dead Kissers,
purification methods, and Pastor Pa Bernard; they were all causing my stomach
to turn. Anger bled from my veins. I couldn't stand by and let the bastard get
away with anything more. I'd kill him, even if I had to die trying.
I
walked through the second-floor hallway, past a mirror, and for a brief moment,
I could make out the expression on my face. It scared the crap out of me.
Hatred and rage had taken over my features. I'd already lost myself due to the ZPoc . Had it changed me so drastically in a matter of hours?
Could Pa have once been good? I shook my head. Pa and his people were evil;
they weren't programmed. They chose to be evil, and for that reason, I would
end them.
I
tiptoed from one hiding spot to another, ducking behind displays, and under
tables. My enemies likely guarded the gun section. Kitchen and cook wear
wouldn't provide much help. Maybe a frying pan as a
bulletproof vest? No time.
As
I came to the furniture section, I spotted the first ; an old, fat man, with a white beard. This guy had to be Santa. He'd come back
upstairs. He lay on a comfy-looking bed, with his arms were behind his head,
and his legs crossed. White cords were leading up to his ear buds. To my
advantage, his eyes were close. He wouldn't see me coming.
A
beautiful black blade stood against the bed unsheathed. I shoved my guns into
my belt, then crept in and picked up the machete. My prey still hadn't noticed.
Being extremely sharp, it would get the job done before anyone even noticed.
I
inched forward and put the deadly weapon to the man's throat. What if he hadn't
committed any crimes? A victim of manipulation?
After
a silent sigh, I moved the blade away. No! I needed to do it.
I
moved the blade closer. He wouldn't even get to scream, and no one would even
know. I tried to jerk the weapon, but Tiffany's scream echoed through the
entire store. My eyes flew wide. As I turned, a cast iron grip clamped my
wrist. I slowly turned back, to find Santa glaring.
“ Whatcha doin' boy?” He grumbled.
From
across the store, Merla yelled, “What's going on?”
I
struggled and tried to push the blade toward him, but he held my arm out wide.
“Let
go!” I whispered.
His
fat smile tripled his chin. “Not a chance.”
The
slapping of shoes echoed. I had to deal with him quick.
“Just
give me my friends!” I said.
“Screw
you, brat.”
If
they made it to us and had a gun, that would be it.
I
tore my arm free and drew the Smith & Wesson from Wesley. He tried to smack
it away, but I shoved the gun under his blubbery chin. His eyes widened, but I
couldn't pull it. Why wouldn't my finger move?
“You
ain't havin ' no guts kid!” He laughed. “Now ya gonna
die!”
I
couldn't afford to die, so I swallowed hard and curled my finger around the
trigger. He couldn't believe it, and neither could I. The gun went off, and his
head jerked, crimson gore splattering the white pillows behind him. I pulled
free from his grasp and fell back.
I'd
killed someone! Not just a Corpse, but a person.
“Oh
crap,” I whispered as my legs became rubber, and vomit rose into my throat.
A
bullet sizzled past and shattered the bottom part of a mirror to my right. An
unbroken piece of glass showed a girl in the reflection. It had to be Merlda. I
turned, holding up my gun. I hadn't expected her to be as tiny as a child, yet
still a woman. Her blue hair hung over her eyes.
“You
son-of-a-bitch!” she shouted.
She
released every bullet until her pistol clicked over and over. I expected to
feel the cold embrace
the way they did. The world had changed in mere hours and who knew why Wesley
killed that woman, Serenade, but if she were anything like these people, this
‘Pastor’ and his lackeys, then she deserved what she got.
I
walked out into the hall, guns drawn and decisive, my enemies deserved what
they were about to get.
LEVEL 08 – CLIMBING THE LADDER
Dead Kissers,
purification methods, and Pastor Pa Bernard; they were all causing my stomach
to turn. Anger bled from my veins. I couldn't stand by and let the bastard get
away with anything more. I'd kill him, even if I had to die trying.
I
walked through the second-floor hallway, past a mirror, and for a brief moment,
I could make out the expression on my face. It scared the crap out of me.
Hatred and rage had taken over my features. I'd already lost myself due to the ZPoc . Had it changed me so drastically in a matter of hours?
Could Pa have once been good? I shook my head. Pa and his people were evil;
they weren't programmed. They chose to be evil, and for that reason, I would
end them.
I
tiptoed from one hiding spot to another, ducking behind displays, and under
tables. My enemies likely guarded the gun section. Kitchen and cook wear
wouldn't provide much help. Maybe a frying pan as a
bulletproof vest? No time.
As
I came to the furniture section, I spotted the first ; an old, fat man, with a white beard. This guy had to be Santa. He'd come back
upstairs. He lay on a comfy-looking bed, with his arms were behind his head,
and his legs crossed. White cords were leading up to his ear buds. To my
advantage, his eyes were close. He wouldn't see me coming.
A
beautiful black blade stood against the bed unsheathed. I shoved my guns into
my belt, then crept in and picked up the machete. My prey still hadn't noticed.
Being extremely sharp, it would get the job done before anyone even noticed.
I
inched forward and put the deadly weapon to the man's throat. What if he hadn't
committed any crimes? A victim of manipulation?
After
a silent sigh, I moved the blade away. No! I needed to do it.
I
moved the blade closer. He wouldn't even get to scream, and no one would even
know. I tried to jerk the weapon, but Tiffany's scream echoed through the
entire store. My eyes flew wide. As I turned, a cast iron grip clamped my
wrist. I slowly turned back, to find Santa glaring.
“ Whatcha doin' boy?” He grumbled.
From
across the store, Merla yelled, “What's going on?”
I
struggled and tried to push the blade toward him, but he held my arm out wide.
“Let
go!” I whispered.
His
fat smile tripled his chin. “Not a chance.”
The
slapping of shoes echoed. I had to deal with him quick.
“Just
give me my friends!” I said.
“Screw
you, brat.”
If
they made it to us and had a gun, that would be it.
I
tore my arm free and drew the Smith & Wesson from Wesley. He tried to smack
it away, but I shoved the gun under his blubbery chin. His eyes widened, but I
couldn't pull it. Why wouldn't my finger move?
“You
ain't havin ' no guts kid!” He laughed. “Now ya gonna
die!”
I
couldn't afford to die, so I swallowed hard and curled my finger around the
trigger. He couldn't believe it, and neither could I. The gun went off, and his
head jerked, crimson gore splattering the white pillows behind him. I pulled
free from his grasp and fell back.
I'd
killed someone! Not just a Corpse, but a person.
“Oh
crap,” I whispered as my legs became rubber, and vomit rose into my throat.
A
bullet sizzled past and shattered the bottom part of a mirror to my right. An
unbroken piece of glass showed a girl in the reflection. It had to be Merlda. I
turned, holding up my gun. I hadn't expected her to be as tiny as a child, yet
still a woman. Her blue hair hung over her eyes.
“You
son-of-a-bitch!” she shouted.
She
released every bullet until her pistol clicked over and over. I expected to
feel the cold embrace
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