Those words made a couple of the reruits as well as the man in the gas mask, Bobby Estacado, laugh in hysterics. It was perhaps the only gem of the whole ordeal that he was faced.
It was rather simple really: God hates him.
It explained everything. How the backwards miracles of Bobby barely managing to pass through all the tests, either through some ability he has, or the family connection. How his dream for a stable life was slowly dissapearing: The red Bentley, stable job as a stock broker, wife, kids, and a large house.
The Bentley got blown to smithereens on Wall St, in a "terrorist" act, though those words weren't entirely false. Bobby's dad has become what he like to call: A fucking psychopath. Any man who uses C4, can't text, and threatens a son, who is a
Of course the biggest piece of slime belonged to Bobby himself for being such a tool. Really, all he had to do was face his father. Alright perhaps face his father with a few policemen behind him (as well as a SWAT team) but it wasn't that easy. To rat on the man who raised him was definitly easier said then done.
Now the stable job as a Stock Broker was dissapearing as well. Instead, the valient A.S.C.O, was sucking him in a black hole, that once he got in he'd never get out and that's not a euphemism of any kind.
For now though, he remained calm at the imps that escaped the cages, with a little technique he had came up with. They weren't imps. They were midgets. Acrobatic midgets. With wings. And a taste for bloo-Too far! Acrobatic midgets with wings. That's all they were, Bobby kept telling himself. It was only then that he reilized he was the only person left standing at the spot, everyone apprently already run off, as he dazzed off in thought.
A good few minutes after everyone had left so did Bobby with his gas mask and his expensive suit at a walking pace! It was as if there was no such rush to battle imps and in reality there wasn't. He had no fantasies of battle and such.
...He's been wallking a good while too and still no imps. Or people. A sudden roar had got his attention and he froze in the spot; unsure of what to do now. It was like all of those horror films ever made where there's a sound and some putz decided to go towards the noise, without calling the police, and then all of a sudden-VRRRRRRRRR- head taken clean off with a chainsaw.
Like a putz, Bobby walks toward the source of the roar, with shaky legs, shaky hands, and some damned faulty thought process with too much of a curiousity.
Oh God! It's in his pocket! It's going to eat him alive! It's gonna slither in his skin and walk around like those creepy ass scarabs from The Mummy which slithers to the brain, destroys it, and, and-!
With a sudden hand at his pant leg, Bobby reilized that it was just another panic attack, and his iphone vibrating. With a frusterated sigh he took it out from his pocket and noticed he recieved a text from his girlfriend: Katherine.
It was hardly a time to check texts but nothing beats the time like the present. So with a tap of the phone he read the message:
From: Katherine
Subject: Goodbye
Bobby, this isn't going to work. It's not you. It's me. I just can't live a normal life with you.
Isn't she so nice? Texting to check up on him? Why he should jus-wait a second. 'T-This isn't..." He whispered to himself, shocked, then angry as he felt his blood run hot. He started to walk a little bit faster towards the source of the noise, jacket opened wide to the arsenal of weaponry in his coat pockets, pistol equipped with a silencer and laser sight in his right hand, mind swirling with thoughts.
Can't live a normal life with me?! She just thinks she's the cock of the walk isn't she? "Oo! Lets go skydiving! Lets go rockclimbing! Lets go scubadiving!" SHE'S the one with the boring life, I'm here slaying monsters and kicking ass like Buffy the vamp-well more like risking my neck for a job and THIS is how that bitch repays me?!
In any other situation he would have been the "chick crying because of the breakup" if he didn't have a gun in his hands. And imps to kill.
The thoughts practically consumed all the fear he had (for now) as his mind was racing, eyes on the goat-legged red skinned sonuvabitch, and the man that it had knocked down. Bobby could tell that this was a desperate situation, and raised his gun at the Ifrit in front of him, a red dot dancing around the cheek of its goat head. He had a side view of the whole situation, was distanced a good 10 metres with trees in between, but most importantly wanted to kill something.
Five pulls of the trigger with an itchy finger were sqeezed out of the gun in quick succesion, muzzle flash non-existent, and suppressors silencing the *BANG* of such a pistol...