|
Crazy
Location: right behind you...
|
(enjoy)
The fighting began about fifteen minutes ago and Z was going over the top exits once more to make sure they were secure. They couldn’t block the bottom exits until the real fighting began. He and Flick wouldn’t admit it but they had a low burn in them calling for blood.
It wasn’t a lust to cause suffering. Z despised people having to be in pain. Well, he despised good people being in pain. It was just the adrenaline of knowing that they were in serious danger and they were having to sneak around from not only men, but beast also. If they were caught here, the police were the last thing they worried about; no, if they were caught here they were dead.
All doors seemed secure and the night continued with no major incidents.
Z hated this part more than anything short of watching good people ache. Bordem. He needed something to do but was afraid to even breathe hard due to the surroundings. Thankfully, the main event was coming up. The people inside, men and women both aging maybe eighteen to fifty, were getting excited. Blood, sweat, urine, feces, and God only knows what other fluids were all over. It stunk to high fucking Hell.
It was time to finish what they started.
Z and Flick caught each other’s attention and used a type of hand code that the Protectors figured out for times like these. Top locked. Bottom, east, locked. Heavy, stone, block, exit, east. Ready, permenatly?
Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck. Z never hesitated, but this was big. If no one survived we’re talking thirty, maybe forty lives, he thought. God be with me and I pray I am doing the right thing. If not please forgive me.
Z had gotten an area so he’d be able to get to the kennels, which were only guarded by one man and he wasn’t paying attention and everyone was watching one of the main events.
Z pulled a garotte out and choked the dude until he didn’t move. Z made sure he was dead; he didn’t need any possibilities to occur. He placed a small wire on the lock of each kennel, a total of fourteen, and lead the wire through his exit.
He was out. Christ, but the sweat! He’d never have to exercise again with his heart beating this quickly. He signaled for Flick: ready? He got a nod. He looked in. they had no idea whatsoever as to what was happening. Fuck, fuck, fuck. He goes nothing. He struct his cord and heard a hiss; the wire sent an electrical wave to the kennels popping the lock of each one. As he did this, Flick dropped a 100 pound block in front of the door and threw a few mace grenades inside. Mayhem ensued.
As expected and hoped the dogs were far from happy. People were panicking and hell broke loose. It took almost no time form the dogs to start fighting each other and people. Z and Flick had left quickly and ran up the stairs of a building across the street and watched. “God have mercy”, Z spoke softly.
Flick watched, shuddered, but watched. Protectors took all actions seriously and part of the actions done involved them making sure they did it correctly. Uneccesary acts were less often pulled off if a so called innocent man watched what his actions brought to fruit.
They watched. They could barely sit still or believe what they did, but they watched and did not move a muscle.
Within twenty minutes most of the screams had stopped and the two human angels of death walked to their trap. All people were dead save one man curled in the back behind a table; the dogs were to busy finishing each other off. Three dogs remained.
The stink was unbearable and Flick almost lost everything he had eaten that day. “Never eat before cases like this, Flick. You should know better.”
Flick didn’t say a word, he just nodded.
Z pulled his pistol out that he had laid the other dog out with and shot one of the dogs and Flick was quick to follow. They shot the dude last; he was no innocent.
“Let’s leave this. . . place.”
For the first time in what he believed to be years, Z doubted. He doubted himself and Flick, the Protectors as a whole, his entire moral beliefs, everything. Even God.
It took him a couple of weeks to decide that he did indeed do the right thing. It is just one of those facts where what is said on paper is much easier than in reality. God, the odor and sight. Limbs severed, throats torn, disembowelment. It would be easier to believe demons came out of the Pit than those beautiful giant dogs were this powerful.
He shivered.
He logged onto the ‘net and yawned fiercely. He had never slept well, now he longed for a time where his sleep cycle was only ‘terrible’. The stink and blood, He thought again. He’d not forget this lesson. Not ever.
Email poured in. Hellos from friends, mail about penis and breast size, smut, a gazillion free dollars… and news. News. This is what he needed and feared. Ahhh, here, he thought, and saw:
Subject: dogfight statistics drop 30%
From: Flick@dontreplytofakemail.hah
Date: 3-09-04
To: stelthZ@hushmail.net
I was this and figured you’d feel better. I know it helped me… some. I’ll be back to a meeting in a week or two.
-F
What followed was a quick sypnoses about current crime statistics throught the area of Florida. According to the article the number of dogfights got cut drastically (about 80%) for a week, after which time picked back up to a steady 60% less than it was before the assault; but eventually raised further. One clipping read:
“Many gang wars percentages have risen, however, do to belief that the attack was an elaborate and well executed way of ridding of an entire outfit.
‘Well, at least both dogfighters stats and number of gang members both have droped dramaticly’, stated a local citizen.’ As for. . . “
Z felt much, much, much better. He wasn’t dumb enough to force himself to believe that knowing these facts would erase the facts that the had trapped dozens of people with thirteen or so dogs. But it did help.
It did matter. In one more moment of supreme weirdness he forced himself to acknowledge that the acts were justifiable. Unlike most people, Z didn’t argue for self satisfaction, he argued for truth. He honestly wish he had done wrong, for them he’d just have to know he fucked up. But knowing it was necessary meant heavy possibility of further events of that nature. He would do it again, but Jesus God knows he didn’t want to and he doubted even the danger could give his adrenaline the ability to override the dread of doing such again.
For a moment he felt a cool, feeling cover him. His God touched him to offer comfort and he embraced it; yet it only lasted mere seconds. He almost wept. Not since thousands of years have people fought so violently that even God’s soldiers who fought for Him could touch Him.
“Fuck this self pity. It was the right thing to do.”
He almost believed it.
In one last attempt at lighting his mood he logged on the “Tilted Forum Project”, or TFP, to find something amusing. He succeeded, watching a mock flame war between Antagony and some weird fuck named WhoaitsZ. Another theft of the letter Z! he thought sadly.
But even such silly antics only revived him shortly.
We did what we were supposed to.
(more to come)
Last edited by WhoaitsZ; 06-11-2003 at 05:11 PM..
|