Genocide - The Best Kind
Chapter 13
I calm myself, adrenaline from watching the hysterical crowd fall over each other in fear of the dead vicar pumping loudly through the veins that keep this oh so mortal body alive. The shallow breathing slows, chest fighting itself to rise and fall in time to the rhythm of my heart instead of the lustful tantra of the chemical running through me.
Not yet...
Cold, scratched metal merges with the heated skin smothering my wrist, the tip lying snugly in an artificial crook of a wrinkled hand.
Not yet...
A silent step towards the manic stream of screams, and I pick the chosen ones - those who seek redemption.
Almost...
Slithering through an array of arms and attaching bodies, I slip behind them, one by one, and allow them to feel the blade too. The response pours from their grateful hearts, delivered through the channel opened by the ironic tool of justice, blood coating my hands with a heartbeat of its own, one untouched by the type of adrenaline sweating through myself.
The wound is shallow just like those vain enough to receive it, but it scratches the insides of the internal air bags, disabling a vocal response. Silently, they fall. But no one catches them: rings form in various places, watching as their cohorts choke and writhe, battling with the sweet release of death.
The police are spooked, and who can blame them? Not one round has been emptied from their heavily laden rifles, but rioting citizens are dropping without a single notice as to how it's happening. Blood spreads its thick crimson body across the paved surface, taunting the frightened feet tripping over those behind it in an attempt to escape. But they can't escape.
Oh no.
They're to enter a world designed to bring them something much worse than this...
Just have to wait for the signal.
Not yet...
Cold, scratched metal merges with the heated skin smothering my wrist, the tip lying snugly in an artificial crook of a wrinkled hand.
Not yet...
A silent step towards the manic stream of screams, and I pick the chosen ones - those who seek redemption.
Almost...
Slithering through an array of arms and attaching bodies, I slip behind them, one by one, and allow them to feel the blade too. The response pours from their grateful hearts, delivered through the channel opened by the ironic tool of justice, blood coating my hands with a heartbeat of its own, one untouched by the type of adrenaline sweating through myself.
The wound is shallow just like those vain enough to receive it, but it scratches the insides of the internal air bags, disabling a vocal response. Silently, they fall. But no one catches them: rings form in various places, watching as their cohorts choke and writhe, battling with the sweet release of death.
The police are spooked, and who can blame them? Not one round has been emptied from their heavily laden rifles, but rioting citizens are dropping without a single notice as to how it's happening. Blood spreads its thick crimson body across the paved surface, taunting the frightened feet tripping over those behind it in an attempt to escape. But they can't escape.
Oh no.
They're to enter a world designed to bring them something much worse than this...
Just have to wait for the signal.