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Post by bill on Jun 27, 2018 18:44:37 GMT -5
Patrolling he’d been told, his superiors had yelled at him with that particular watchful air. “Watch yourself Twist, we’ll know if you haven’t been patrolling” he had sighed of course. He always sighed and then scratched the back of his head, walking off the vessel. He didn’t like the concept of patrolling but he felt it was just a reason to get him off their boat. Twist had always felt his superiors preferred to get him off vessel rather than having him mop the deck. The chore-boy didn’t mind mopping, in fact he preferred it. Unfortunately his colleagues didn’t think he was particularly good at it and the litter of cigarette butts he left on the deck defeated the purpose of mopping to begin with. There was a reason to why the chore-boy had wanted off the boat however, as Twist walked down the dockside retrieving a cigarette from a box tucked in his coat and lighting it. A thin tendril of smoke coiling off the end and into the open air. His hand pulled out a crumpled piece of paper, scrawled in his own spindly writing an address. The bustling dockside was alive with people. Some civilians were trading berri with fishermen to get the best catch of the day, other civilians were telling their problems to the marines stationed just outside the vessel. Picking a fish up and dangling it next to his nose, the marine frowned and dropped it back in the barrel. “‘Ey buddy if you don’t like the fish don’t try buy them!” a grubby man said to him through gaps in his teeth. “This address” said Bill with an outstretched hand “Do you know where it is?”. The fisherman leaned forward and screwed up his eyes at the writing. “The brothel? What do you want to do there? It’s just down the street just take a right” then the fisherman leaned back and laughed. “What do you want to do there?! Of course, I know! Ask for Gina she’s the best” the fisherman called after him as he dropped a couple beri into the barrel. A long drag from his cigarette mimicked his steady stream of thoughts. Prior he’d overheard some of his colleagues talking about a bloodbath at the brothel, apparently a murderer had cleared the place out and there were no leads. A puzzle had emerged for him to solve, and if his colleagues couldn’t well - he would. Rounding the corner he pressed himself softly back against the wall. A group of marines passed by, comments of “We’ll get back to it tomorrow” caught Bill’s ears. Bill looked towards the brothel and saw a marine standing guard by the entrance. A sign had been put up saying “Crime Scene” and he watched a couple of regulars be turned away at the door. He noticed a girl who seemed to have taken an interest in what he was doing across the road. Were his actions that strange? A small wry smile crossed his face and he flicked a cigarette butt in her direction before lighting another one. The investigator came at the marine guard from the left. It seemed to him like the guard was barely awake, clearly he’d been standing at this spot all day. Keeping within the guard’s blindspot as the man’s eyes wandered to the right, the investigator tapped the man’s shoulder and ducked under his gaze, moving passed him through the door into the brothel. Easy. Bill walked into the hallway of the brothel, the scent of incense drifted into his nose along with various silks draped absolutely everywhere. The marines had clearly been through here, it was relatively disorganised. Silk had been pushed away to look for clues and items had been cleared away from where the body lay. He approached the first body, he guessed there would be more. A bloody bullet hole in the neck. Instant death, or rather the force of the bullet had sent the victim into the wall behind her counter and she’d choked on her own fluids. “Cause of Death: Bullet hole” he mused as his eyes scanned the corpse. Lines seemed to drag out from her limbs and the bullet hole. A doll appeared in his mind's eye and he stood at length away from the doll, mimicking shooting with a gun and the doll collapsing into the same position. “Victim was already defending herself”
“Reasoning?” “Debt?”, “Ex Lover”, “Threatened” A line came from the cash register to the woman, another line came from her finger to a bouquet of flowers lying beside the door. “Money has not been taken. Woman was mourned by spouse. Conclusion: Threatened”
A glaring red line came from the door and went through the bullet hole of the doll and down to the corpse. Twist seemed to hold onto the line as he drifted through the mimicry and down to the corpse.
“Solution: Premeditated murder with a gun. The victim did not know her attacker. The murderer killed for the sake of the kill”
A noise behind him. Bill’s brain whirred, those shoes weren’t marine regulation and the murderer had no intent to want to return to the crime. Then who? “Oh” he whispered standing and turning, removing the cigarette butt from his mouth in one fluid action. “You followed me” he flicked the cigarette butt at the girl’s feet. A statement, not a question. 899 |
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Post by Isabelle Walker on Jun 27, 2018 19:02:13 GMT -5
Her piercing blue eyes scanned the man standing before her from head to toe, before shifting her gaze to the still burning cigarette on the ground just short of her shoes. The thought of snuffing it out with the sole of her shoes flickered through her thoughts before she dismissed it with a shake of her head. Bending down, Isabelle managed to find a scrap of paper from rummaging around in her pockets, which she used to pick up the cigarette and scrunch up into a small ball. Straightening back up, she eyed the man before her warily. “ First of all, I didn’t follow you,” she clarified with a smile, and with a clear of her throat, added hesitantly, “ sir.” Moving her feet to shoulder length apart, and her arms folded towards her back, she got into a formation she’d gotten so accustomed to over the course of the past few months, her eyes glued to the man before her, ready to take defensive action if needed be. Isabelle had been accompanying her crew who had been put in charge of investigating the murder. However, as they had been making their way to the scene earlier, one of them had accidentally tripped against her, causing her to lose her balance, falling backwards against a man that had been carrying a bag of food along with a small bowl of gravy which ended up all over the back of her marine uniform shirt. Her crewmates had sent her back to the ship to get changed as it was almost time for her to stand guard at the crime scene and relieve the other marine of the post. Izzy had initially planned to be back in time to listen to her superiors wrap up the investigation for the day but had been unable to find a spare shirt she thought she had for her uniform. After turning her room upside down, she’d settled for a plain white shirt before hurriedly making her way back to the scene, even forgetting her Marine cap in the rush. When she’d almost reached the brothel, she passed her crew on the street. Greeting them with a casual salute, they’d passed her by, majority of them lightly giving her a tap on the shoulder with a smile which she returned. Once they were all gone, she had been helping herself to a momentary rest in an attempt to dispel the disappointment she’d felt in missing out on the investigation when she looked up to find a man, also in a marine uniform, lingering on the outskirts of the brothel. She didn’t think anything of it, even when he flicked his cigarette in her direction, till she caught him slithering into the building, unnoticed by the man standing guard. Frowning, Isabelle had made her way up to the marine at the door. Realizing that he was barely awake, she tapped his shoulder to gather his attention towards her. Meeting his clouded and confused gaze with a smile, she introduced herself, though she knew he wouldn’t remember. “ I’m Isabelle Walker from the thirty-seventh crew and I’m here to relieve you of your guarding duty for the remainder of the day.” Giving the sluggish man a push into the direction of the port and the vessel, Isabelle had made her way into the brothel where the man had flicked the cigarette at her feet - for the second time. “ Second of all, you’re not supposed to be here, sir. Would you kindly remove yourself from the premises, please?” Isabelle asked, being as polite as she possibly could, a smile still tugging at her lips. She had no wishes to make an enemy out of a fellow marine, but she had no desire to be chided for not doing her job properly either. Her smile faltered when her gaze finally drifted to the countless bodies scattered within the room. How she’d failed to notice the stinging metallic taste of blood clouding the air was beyond her, but now that she was finally aware of it, it seemed to be overwhelming all of her senses at once. Unable to tear her gaze away from the lifeless ones framed by blood-soaked fringes, Isabelle lost track of time before she finally blinked. And once again every sense seemed to hit her consciousness at once. With one hand clutching at her temple, as if it would help dulling the sudden aching there, and the other going straight to her lips, Isabelle turned on her heels and ran the way she’d come, barely managing to make it out the main brothel doors before heaving up her lunch into the small strip of grass that surrounded the block. Finding herself too exhausted to stay standing up, Izzy let herself fall onto her knees till she’d emptied her stomach. Only then she let herself fall backwards onto the pavement, leaning against one of the doors, as she desperately sucked the cool afternoon air into her lungs to soothe the burn she felt. Thinking back to how she’d been anticipating this moment less than an hour before seemed foolish, to say the least. A deep sigh escaped from between her trembling lips as she wiped the tears away from the corners of her eyes. With a sharp intake of breath, followed by quick taps to her right cheek with the palm of her hand, she straightened up and squared her shoulders, one hand clutching at the handle of the door. Laughing bitterly at herself when she noticed how white her knuckles had turned, clutching onto the door handle for dear life. Isabelle prised her fingers away from the door, and instead, balled them into fists by her side. As she stepped back into the vicinity, she only had four words echoing in her head being repeated over, and over, and over. I can do this. I can do this. I can do this. I can do this.
But as the crimson red filled the edge of her vision again, her determination seemed to falter. Can. . .I do this?
[10,10] |
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Post by bill on Jun 27, 2018 19:06:24 GMT -5
Sir? It had been a long time since anybody had called William Twist a sir, a longer time since anybody had shown him respect. That man was long dead, that man had turned his back on his past long ago when he’d signed the form to become a marine. “Chore Boy” that was the rank they’d given him about a month ago, since he had no formative combat experience and no military training.
So why did this girl insist on showing him respect? Ah, perhaps age did matter in the end. Or perhaps his jacket made him look more high-ranking then a simple Chore-Boy, either way it seemed she held him in some regard.
“No” he answered softly to her demand, hands deftly weaving to retrieve a cigarette and lighting it. But she seemed too preoccupied to register his response, her face had quickly grown pale and the sight of the bodies had made her run outside. Unfortunate. Some people he guessed, were still chore-girls for other reasons than just joining the marines.
The investigator turned approaching the doorway that the girl had looked in, his soft footfalls echoing across the hall. He took a drag from his cigarette inhaling the smoke into his lungs. Twist exhaled at the sight of more corpses meeting his eyes.
A regular ripper-style killing. He had read about these, men who called themselves “Rippers” they simply only targeted woman. Lines began to crisscross across the room to lightly in front of him. He plucked one from the air, then two, then three. All the same. Bullet holes. Bloody bullet holes.
He dropped the lines as he heard familiar footsteps behind him. “You are back” Not a question, a statement. She was driven by her own motives if she’d willingly came back to the crime scene this quickly. “What do you see?” not curious or questioning, a command. What did this girl notice that his observation hadn’t? There was something missing and he couldn’t put his finger on it.
The jewels were still there, the garments were unsoiled and the terror on their faces. The murderer had killed for the sake of killing, there was no motive and he had fed off the fear. Whoever had murdered these people was a monster. Plain and simple. Twisted in the dark epiphany that was the killers mind.
A crowd appeared in front of him, the five victims - modelled as dolls. Each being hit by a bullet and collapsing into their positions on the ground. The same cause of death, the same level of fear and the same sadistic motive.
This killer’s identity was found here. Somewhere.
He needed more light, the windows were covered by thick curtains, the intention to hide the sordid goings-on. With a sudden movement he tore the curtains from their brackets and let the morning sunlight fall on the bodies. Across the road he saw a crowd of thugs, some drunk and asleep others active and brawling.
Turning once more to the bodies on the ground he mused to himself.
What was he missing?
899 + 511
= 1410
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Post by Isabelle Walker on Jun 27, 2018 21:27:53 GMT -5
Breathing as shallow as she could manage without feeling lightheaded, Isabelle made her way back through the brothel, keeping her gaze firmly fixed on the smooth brown leather pulled taut across his shoulders. Stopping herself just short of the man, and taking care to keep her gaze directed off of the floor, the younger girl shifted her weight nervously from one foot to the other, stopping abruptly when he directed a question her way. “ Sir. . .” she started, her eyes involuntarily drifting down, filling her vision with nothing but blood for less than a second. She darted her gaze away as soon as she could but her mind had already begun to process the scene she’d merely glanced at. Disappointed in her lack of professionalism but unable to help it, Isabelle clenched her eyes shut, willing herself to be elsewhere. Anywhere but here. . . she wished, and almost believed her own lie till the scuffle from the man’s shoes on the worn floorboards brought her back to the reality. Again, with her gaze fixed on the man’s back, Isabelle’s thoughts spiralled. I can’t do this. . .I’m not fit for this job.
Maybe. . .maybe I can ask. . .Isabelle didn’t let herself finish the last thought with a firm shake of her head. She may be inexperienced, but she was no coward - and running away from a problem screamed cowardice in her books. It was time to step up to the role she’d signed up for. She was a marine now; it was expected of her to come across things that test her limit and threaten to break her mentality, but her job was to overcome it and fight against it. With that, the girl let out a calming, long breath. She needed to get a hold on herself and do her job. “ Sir, you really need to leave. I wasn’t notified of anyone else from another crew coming to investigate t-. . .” She trailed off, remembering that a junior member in her crew had handed her a bunch of his notes on the case after seeing how dejected she’d been at missing out on the investigation. Rummaging around in her pockets for the second time since their encounter, the brunette pulled out a bunch of paper that she’d folded multiple times, and discarded into her pocket, along with the crumpled ball of cigarette she’d also dumped in there without much thought. She slid the ball back into where it came from. “ Okay. . .” she muttered, more to herself than to anyone else as her eyes darted across the pages. “ Two in the lobby. Three in the main hall. . .”
“The witnesses. . .all say they heard. . .they heard what?”
She asked herself, half in frustration and half in curiosity as she noticed the information cut at the bottom of the third page. Examining her pockets once more, she fished out the crumpled ball out, once and for all, and unfurled the paper, shifting the scrunched cigarette to the bottom so she could read the remains of the investigation. “ They heard two shots in total. . .and when they thought it was all over, they heard the last one?” Isabelle risked a quick glance over the three bodies in the room, peeking over the side of the man that was taking over most of the doorway. “ Bun there's five of them dead. . .” she muttered under her breath, her voice clouded with confusion. “ Three shots heard in total, but five dead,” Isabelle clarified out loud, hoping that somehow if the words were spoken aloud, they would start making sense. “ Did the killer fire in succession so rapidly that the witnesses only thought they heard three?” she pondered out loud, forgetting that the man in the room with her was an intruder himself as she squinted to find his gaze from across the now lit room where he stood by the window. Her marine regulation shoes made a dull thump against the floorboards as she tried to gather all the information laid before them in order. “ Okay, so, the shooter initially fired two shots, theoretically killing two women with each one. Then. . .then he takes a break and kills the last one?" Something didn't make sense. "I think. . .I think he was targeting one specific person in this room, sir. There’s no reason for him to hold the last shot since. . .” she trailed off, glancing around the room for confirmation on her theory. “ Since there’s nothing that could hide the women from the shooter in here.” “ He had a clear shot of everyone but chose to leave one alive, even if very briefly. He must’ve wanted something from her.” From the way the three women were laid out in the room, it felt near impossible to figure out what had just happened in the room. Three shots heard. Five bodies found. A gap between the second and third shot. She was missing something. “ What am I missing? I feel like I'm overlooking something important. . .” She looked towards the man in the room for an answer. Because she had no idea. [1,010+866= 1,876] |
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Post by bill on Jun 28, 2018 0:05:22 GMT -5
The girl had notes, fantastic! He stood in the center of the room, the lines began to shake and change, dancing and morphing. Dolls stood and fell, dolls ran and fled and a singular morbidly red doll stood in the doorway with his gun smoking The scene played out with the new information, the witnesses heard two maybe three shots. But, there were five bodies? There was something missing, a link that hadn’t been revealed. “Three Bullets Heard . . .
. . . Five Corpses . . . . . . No Bullet Shells”
Nothing had been said about the bullet casings being retrieved by the marines and he severely doubted they would miss a bullet casing, he severely doubted he would miss something like that. Red streaks ran from the corpses up the walls, claw marks from the victims probably.
The girl seemed to think that the killer had wanted something, but Twist wasn’t so sure. If the killer had wanted something then - that last part now. . . he'd left one the woman alive. Bill spun around and looked at the girl clutching the piece of paper.
“There was a survivor for a time?”
Yes. . . that would make the signs of a struggle make sense. Suddenly his mind raced and the lines turned red. The detective spun around and a match crackled to life between his fingers, the man leaned down towards the bullet hole and the matches hungry flame did nothing . . . it did nothing? As if . . .
He already knew the answer.
“No gun powder residue . . . . . . Three Bullets Heard . . .
. . . Heard”
“There was no gun. The killer interrogated the survivor for information and then killed them, he got what he wanted so he will not be back here. We’re also dealing with a murderer who kills without guns” the Detective turned back to the girl. A bigger more pressing matter had arisen in his mind. If the killer left a survivor to interrogate and that survivor hadn’t given the murderer what he wanted, then that meant the survivor had no further information. During the interviewing however, somebody had heard the gunshots, more importantly, they had probably seen the killer but not wanted to share; in short: there had been enough time.
The Investigator pointed out the window. The burly thugs had mostly all woken up now, some of them were practicing wrestling each other for the entertainment of the group. Gnarled drunkards without weapons, but still violent. They seemed to just be hanging in front of a bar that was probably their hideout. Tables were littered haphazardly around them and beer bottles were stacked around the place.
“We should interview the thugs outside, they look like they have been around a while”
Chance of success: 80%. . .70%. . . 60%. . .
He stopped in the doorway and his shadow cast along the hall.
“You can go back to the ship if you want. This killer, I am going to find him and bring him to justice. Do you see those lines, leading from the corpse? They aren’t made by the victim. . .”
The detective began walking across the street towards the thugs, he quietly tossed the cigarette on the road and put it out with his heel.
“. . . They were made by the killer”
Like a child with paint.
0%
1410 + 519 = 1929
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Post by Isabelle Walker on Jun 29, 2018 0:46:13 GMT -5
Questions. That’s all they had to work with. It felt as if they were swimming in quicksand; the more they struggled to find the truth, the faster they sank, into a pool with questions filled to the brim. Isabelle felt an almost inaudible sigh escape from her lungs. Rubbing at the creases formed by a confused frown from between her eyebrows, she stood in the room in thought, unaware of the man making his way across the room till he brushed past her towards the door. “ Ah, w-wait, sir. Sir. . .” she started, following the man towards the door, but stopped in her tracks once the man began speaking, his words directing her attention to the two bodies that lay in the hallway by her feet. The glassy eyes she met for the second time that day stirred up her stomach, but the girl ignored it and directed her gaze towards the lines in the blood that the other Marine was talking about. As she kept her attention on the markings in the blood, the churning in the pit of her stomach changed into a steady flame, spreading fast and covering every accessible area within her body. Looking up to return the man’s questioning gaze with a firm determination in her own. “ I’m going with you.” As they headed towards the group gathered across the road with newfound resolve fuelling their steps, Isabelle eyed the brawny men, not yet aware of their presence. She thought of halting the man briefly, unsure of what they were supposed to ask these men if they were willing to cooperate. Once the man came to a full stop in front of the thugs, Isabelle stopped to the side of him, one step back. “ You have a plan, right?” She whispered to the marine, but before she could hear an answer, one of the thugs closest to them roared with laughter, silencing most, if not all, of the rowdy men on the street, gathering their attention towards the two newcomers. “ Look who came to play! A marine and a. . .a pretty little lassie.” Stepping up from behind the male marine, Isabelle matched the ruffian’s amused grin with her own. “ That’d be two marines. We just want to ask you some questions,” she started, trying her best to keep the smile plastered on her face. They were outnumbered, and she didn’t know how well the other marine could fight. “ We don’t know anything about the murders, do we boys?” the man roared into the air. “ NOOO,” the group behind him matched the fervor of the man. “ I didn’t say anything the questions had anything to do with the murders. . .so you know something, huh?” Isabelle saw the edge of the man’s lips twitch. Before she could pursue the matter any further, she saw something spinning in the air, heading directly towards her and her companion. With no time to figure out what it was, she dashed to the right, grabbing the other marine by his forearms and spinning him out of the way with her. A glance over her shoulder told her it was a table, now laying in multiple, almost unrecognizable pieces. Looking back towards the group of men, she noticed the man she’d been talking to had settled himself down rather comfortably on the steps leading up to a small roofless porch in the front of the establishment, and a handful of the groupies were heading towards the two marines. Turning around and taking a few steps towards the wooden heap, Isabelle kicked at one of the table legs, sticking up in the air, sending it spinning to the ground near the other marine. Walking around to the other leg, she kicked it downwards, picking it up when it dislocated from the mess with ease. “ We could’ve done this the easy way, you know,” she said, walking forward to meet the approaching group. She wanted to glance at the marine, but she couldn’t afford to be distracted. She only hoped that he at least knew how to take care of himself. --- The wooden leg only lasted for about two out of the handful of men that had approached her. Isabelle was stronger and faster than the average human being but the strength was barely noticeable against these men. The only thing she could use to her advantage was her smaller size and speed. Darting here and there, Isabelle managed to bypass the majority of the underlings, finding herself within metres of the head of the blasted goons. Ignoring her body’s screams to stop and catch a damned breath, Isabelle dashed towards the man, unaware of the man that had approached her from the right side. Though she managed to get her hands up in front of her face to block the punch, she was flung backwards, over the porch, her back colliding with the wall of the bar. Groaning at the pain that shook her entire body, Isabelle lifted herself back up to standing position with the help of a nearby chair. Waiting for the same man to walk up the steps and reach the distance just out of her arm’s reach, she swung the chair as hard as she could, catching the man’s jaw and temple with the legs and knocking him unconscious. Still out of breath, Isabelle released the chair from her grasp to clatter onto the ground, and instead picked up a bottle of alcohol on the table closest to her. Unaware - or maybe just uncaring - that the bottle was unopened and filled with alcohol, the girl smashed the bottom of the bottle against the edge of the table while holding onto the neck of the bottle, sending the liquid and shards of glass everywhere. Holding it up in front of her threateningly, she approached the head of the thugs from the back, pulling his head back by tugging on his hair and depositing the broken end of the bottle in the crook of his neck. “ I think I’ve had enough of this. Isn’t it about time for our heart to heart?” Isabelle glanced out into the yard, meeting the scowls and glares from the many men still standing with the most radiant smile she could conjure up on her lips. “ Now. . .where’s my friend?” [1,876+1,049= 2,925] |
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Post by bill on Jun 29, 2018 2:41:07 GMT -5
Answers. Eyes closed.Twist could feel the puzzle closing in. It had been twisting at first, a fine cube, undone. A twisting ugly thing driven by a twisted ugly person. But this puzzle? It had threads, patterns in the surface of the cube that could be matched up. He was slowly accomplishing this, one click at a time. She was going with him? A fool? No, she was brave. Twist liked her, just a tiny bit, the way that she just went with what he said. If only the rest of the marines were like - they actually had the motivation to the find the truth. If only they had the motivation to find justice. She asked about a plan? A plan. A wry smile spread across his face. The plan had been laid out the moment he crossed the road. The investigator hoped that she could fight, because he knew the basics. Adrenaline. It had been a long time since he’d felt it hot, pumping with his blood through his veins. A fire had been lit in his stomach. Was this the anticipation of justice? Ah he could breathe again without the need of cigarettes. The cool morning air tasted sweet for the first time. Cold, a morning chill tainted with alcohol. Mmm, and what was that? Hints of metal. Ah yes, the thugs. It all made sense. The stage was set. Curtains open.The marines stances loosened and his posture seemed to hang. He’d much pondered how his first combat experience would go, little did he know it would be like this? The formative combat training was useless. “Punch like this” the instructors had said, “kick like this”. That wasn’t good enough, Bill needed flexibility, to hang like a puppet. Surprisingly the girl was doing the talking, usually that was him. Fine by him, plucky sidekick or something. There was a cold grace about his actions now, a chill criss-crossing his fingertips. A terrifying slow cold burn. “Twist . . . Twist? Where have you gone?” the voice crept in his head. “Run devil, run”, another seemed to answer in passing. She was good. . . this . . . woman. She asked the right questions, Bill liked that. Out the corner of his eye he watched a man toss a bottle in the air and catch it. Caught like the thug wanted to throw it - then another object, a table. The woman dashed, grabbing and twisted him to the side, his hand reached out and grabbed the bottle - picking it from the air. The marine held it hidden behind his lower back as the table went crashing into pieces near by them. Bill’s right foot hung in the air, slightly above the ground, he watched the woman - her name? What was her name? A question for after the brawl - extract a leg from the table to use as a makeshift club. ---- What she did . . . it no longer mattered as three thugs charged him from all directions. Twist moved fluidly as he brought the bottle slamming into the side of one of their heads. The thug let out a grunt of pain and collapsed as the vessel exploded against his skull, shards of glass raining onto his bottle as he collapsed. That however was enough time for one of the other thugs to cross the distance and grab him by both arms, pinning them behind his back and restricting his arms. The other thug, who had seen what happened to his buddy, smashed a bottle on a nearby table and began to approach the captive marine with sadistic intent. "Sadistic intent . . .
. . . No . . .
. . . You are not my killer" His wrist snapped backwards jabbing the enclosed glass into the thugs legs. The crook let out a scream collapsing backwards and releasing him as thick hot blood gushed from his fist. "Injury. . .
. . . Fatal? . . .
. . . Key artery not damaged . . .
. . . Opportunity." The other thug made a swing with his own glass bottle at Twist, who ducked under the swing and sent a jab at the thug sending him reeling backwards. The bottle was dropped to the ground as the fighter steadied himself. Twists eyes shone, lines started from the fighter - a doll ran at him, making an overhead swing at his head, another doll came out of Twist’s body and ducked under the blow only to have their head grabbed by the enemy doll and have their neck grabbed. The enemy doll squeezed and Twist’s doll’s neck broke. The images faded. Blood ran down onto the ground from his hand. A new variable. The Thug ran at him, making an overhead swing at his head, Twist danced backwards and flicked his wrist, sending blood spraying into the thugs eyes who howled in rage. Stepping passed his blind opponent who grasped and flailed at the air, Twist grabbed the Thug’s head and snapped it right - breaking his neck. "Death . . .
. . .Unavoidable." A sound of scraping behind him as the thug whose leg he’d punctured reached towards a shard of glass to attack with. Bill’s heel crushed the man’s hand and his fist slammed into the would-be attackers skull leaving him unconscious on the ground. An inquisitive glance around him revealed the woman had dealt with three of other thugs which meant . . . he turned and looked at the man they called “boss” who was now backed up by the three lackeys that were left. He smiled. One of the Thugs ran forward obviously consumed by rage, he punched Twist in the torso and the investigator continued smiling as he brought his knee up into the attackers torso sending him reeling back towards his partner who finished the Thug off. Raising his bloody hand, he looked at the appendage quizzically, as if he had just realised he was bleeding. “Two left and one snitch. You take the one on the right and we’ll interrogate the snitch after”
The thugs charged. 973 + 1929 = 2902 |
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