The streets of Queens are pretty dangerous at this hour — crawling with the worst kind of scum humanity has to offer.Veronica always tells me the same thing: «Stay away from those areas, there are bad people out there! Did you read the New York Times this morning? They found five men with their throats slit in one of those streets — probably a gang war. Promise me you'll never go there, not even during the day!»
I love it when she acts like a wild nymphomaniac, but I love it even more when she gets all protective like that — it almost makes her feel like a real mother, not just a fiery lover.
By "bad people", I'm guessing she meant the three guys who just noticed me walking alone through the backstreets toward Midtown — and who decided to take the same turn I did, down a narrow, dimly lit alley.
I can hear them speeding up behind me, their footsteps echoing through the alley — and their intentions aren't exactly hard to guess.
They probably think I'm going to scream and run like some terrified little kid. I can practically hear them snickering already, whispering things like: «That dumb kid hasn't even noticed us yet. Poor bastard — in one minute he won't even have his underwear left.»
Their steps get closer… heavier… until—
«Don't make a sound or I'll kill you!» one of them growls through clenched teeth. At the same moment, the other two grab me by the arms and slam me against the wall, while the one who threatened me pulls out a gun and presses the cold barrel against my stomach.
Wow. Shocking. Who could've possibly predicted they'd attack me — I'm truly speechless from the surprise…
«Didn't your mommy teach you to stay away from places like this, especially at night?» the one with the gun sneers, pushing the barrel even harder against my skin. The other two aren't any better — chuckling under their breath while throwing me the same kind of pathetic threats.
«Yeah, my mom did tell me there are bad people around here, which is exactly why you three should be careful too — it's really dangerous,» I reply with the same eerie, sinister grin.
BOOM!
A sharp, deafening blast tears through the quiet of the night.
That tiny provocation of mine is all it takes to send the armed guy over the edge. I guess they're the kind of thugs who dish out threats but can't take any back. Maybe he's one of those idiots who fires at the slightest provocation, or maybe he just had a shitty day and decided to use me as an outlet for his miserable, pathetic life.
Well… too bad for him. He's only about to make it worse.
First comes the cold — the bullet tearing straight through my stomach — and right after that, the heat of the blood spilling out, soaking my insides before dripping down my clothes, and… fuck, it burns like hell!
But more importantly… how the hell am I supposed to explain to Veronica that the hoodie she gave me for my eighteenth birthday is now completely drenched in blood? Whatever. I'll come up with something on my way home.
«W-What the fuck…?» the guy stammers, his face draining of color as the other two jump back, instantly letting go of my arms.
They're terrified — you can see it written all over their faces. Adorable. Truly, truly adorable. I don't know if they're more horrified by the hole in my stomach closing up almost instantly right before their eyes… or by my eyes themselves.
Blue like the open sea, bright as sapphires — I'm actually pretty proud of them. They're my best seduction tool… or at least that's what the girls I've fucked say. But right now they're no longer blue — they're blazing, glowing like burning embers in a just-as-beautiful but slightly more unsettling blood-red.
The armed guy, completely overwhelmed by panic, fires two more shots — almost out of desperation, not because he actually believes things will turn out any differently. One bullet hits me square in the shoulder, punching clean through. The other slams into my jaw at point-blank range.
Same result as before, obviously — both wounds seal up instantly.
One of them is frozen in terror, while the other two switch tactics and pull out knives. Persistent little idiots, aren't they? Not that running would've helped them anyway — their fate was sealed the moment they stepped into this alley with hostile intentions.
I'd love to keep playing with them, but honestly I'm tired and a little irritated — like always after dealing with that bastard John Hardley. Right now, all I want is to go home and take a nice, long hot bath.
The terror in their eyes just moments ago is nothing compared to what I see now — the instant they notice the deep gash opening across my palm. Rivers of blood pour from the wound, yet none of it falls to the ground like it should. Instead, it floats, suspended in the air around my hand, swirling faster and faster, stretching and hardening until it takes the shape of a massive crimson axe — metallic, as if forged from my own blood.
The three of them erupt in inhuman screams, deafening and panicked, but they last only a heartbeat — just long enough for the razor edge of my axe to slice clean through their flimsy necks in a single swing, their heads tumbling to the pavement at their feet.
Well… since I'm already here, I might as well drink a little, even if scum like this tastes awful — like yogurt forgotten in the fridge for months thanks to all the alcohol and drugs they drown themselves in day after day.
I don't think I've ever tasted blood this disgusting, but hey, better than nothing. Anyway, I should get the hell out of here — I can't risk running into a Monster Slayer.
I'm pretty sure that tomorrow morning the New York Times will report three more criminals found decapitated, along with yet another lecture from Veronica about how dangerous these streets are.
Ah, damn gang wars…