Death 38.
Fuck.
FUCK. FUCK. FUCK!
My teeth grit against each other and my eye twitches. Every drop of blood in my body boils and my vision blurs.
HOW THE HELL AM I SUPPOSED TO GET THROUGH THIS? I'M ACTUALLY FUCKING SOFTLOCKED.
No matter how fast I turn around, this SHITHEAD is always able to kill me before I can do anything! This is some BULLSHIT!
I grip onto my gun and look down at it. The more I stay here, the more the white tiles on the ground seem to get brighter. Too much for the eyes at this point, like come on. Pissing me the fuck off.
Not only that, only thing I was able to get from this loop is that the guy doesn't shoot at me unless I turn around. Anything else I do is fair game like taking my gun out, walking forward, or absolutely RAGING AT THE FACT THAT I'VE BEEN HERE FOR AGES! Like why can't you shoot me first, so I can react to it? Save the both of us a whole lot more time. Or, I guess save me a whole lot more time.
Okay. Deep breaths. Think, Vivian! Think! What could I possibly even do here that can get me out of this situation?
My head throbs while my brain circles around for any sort of idea that comes to mind. There's nothing. I can't think of anything at all. How is it possible for me to point my gun at him without turning around?
My eyes begin to wander slowly downwards. Down... down... down... They focus on my hand, or more accurately, what my hand is doing. Like a puppeteer pulling on my strings to do this cute little party trick, my subconscious is telling me the answer.
Time slows down every single time the guns spins.
Slow, then fast.
Slow... then fast again.
When is it slowing down specifically?
I try to focus on it. My hand spins the firearm around my index finger once more.
Right there. The split second of when the gun is spinning. The split second where the gun is pointing backwards.
That's the answer.
The dumbest, most stupidest, most craziest answer ever in the history of reverse brain blast dumb fuck answers.
Am I really supposed to try to pull this shit off?! That's impossible! Not only do I have to time it correctly, I will NEVER be able to hit the guy! And even if I do, who's to say it'll actually be lethal? But at the same time, I really don't have a fucking choice, do I?
I let out a long sigh. You guys are gonna enjoy this, aren't you?
My head tilts upward as I finish my exhale.
"I've got all fucking day for this. I wish I didn't, but I do."
I push my right index finger onto the trigger the second it's facing backwards. The gun drops to the ground in front of me. This is gonna be a long day. Turn around. Let's try that again.
Death 39.
Alright, so not enough pressure that time! I try again. Same thing happens. Turn around. Run that shit back.
Death 40.
Yet again the gun falls out of my hand. Fuck me.
Death 41.
I'm already pissed off. Okay, so I don't think flicking my finger forward works at all. It just sends the gun off course and doesn't even have enough power to press on the trigger. What's the next thing I can move to press it? Let's see here...
I shift my entire arm forward. My finger makes contact with the trigger and the gun goes off. Bullet hits the floor and I do too not long after.
Death 42.
Y'know dying over and over again trying to kill a dude in such a specific way isn't that far from the coding I was taught. Guess I learned how to be a little more patient cuz of college, but I still broke a keyboard because of that bullshit. Whole thing is a bunch of hippy dippy baloney. A whole load of reeking pile of garbage. A giant load of human fucking feces.
I try again. Gun goes off but I timed it incorrectly. It shoots directly into my right tricep.
"Shit!"
I fall to my knees with my left hand holding my arm. I bite down and wince from the pain.
"Just kill me and spare me the fucking embarrassment, you snot-nosed cuck!"
Death 43.
This is GENUINELY so humiliating, bro. Oh my fuck. I can hear everyone laughing at me already. This stupid bitch can't do shit right. I'll show all of you fuckers.
I try again. Hit the wall. No dice. Again.
Death 44.
Shot the side of my torso. Fuck all. Again.
Death 45.
Dropped my gun. Again.
Death 46.
Hit the ground behind me. Again.
Death 47.
Hit the ground again. Closer to the guy this time. Again.
Death 50.
Shot my hip. Again.
Death 51.
Shot down the hallway behind me. Close but not good enough. Again.
Death 52.
Hit the ceiling. Fuck my head hurts. Again.
Death 53.
Shot down the hallway. Again.
Death 54.
Fucked up my aim and hit the floor directly below me. I can't get tired but my arm is getting stiff and my heart is beating irregularly. Fuck does that matter for? Again.
Death 55.
I take a deep breath before trying. Nothing but floor. Again.
Death 56.
My free hand pinches the bridge of my nose. Come on, you piece of shit! Lock the fuck in and do something for once!
I slam the bottom of my gun against the side of my temple a few times before pressing it up against the underside of my face. Its cold metal tickles my neck. The only thing I can feel at this moment. I squeeze the trigger.
Again.
Death 57.
Land this fucking trickshot you worthless fucking idiot.
Hit the corner of the wall right next to the guy. I see him flinch in the split second I turn around before getting shot. Not good enough, asshole. Again.
Death 58.
You have all the redos in the world and you can't even do this?! Sounds about right if you couldn't even save her with something like that.
Barely grazed his arm. Fuck you, dipshit. Again.
Death 59.
My whole body remains still. I can't do anything right. My eyes shake while looking at the floor. I don't get to think. Those were one of the first things I was told when I was hired.
Don't think. Be a Specialist. Rely on pure instincts alone. Don't think. Be a Specialist. That's what you're here to do you useless, good-for-nothing pawn.
My gun goes off.
I turn around.
I don't get shot.
The guy is clutching a bullet wound on the right side of his chest. I start to see more clearly, my body isn't shaking anymore, I start to cool down.
And my lips curl into a smile.
"I finally got you."
Sobbing, he tries pushing himself backwards with his other hand and aims his gun at me. Tries to at least. His arm can't move as if the body had accepted its fate. A very, very cruel and terrible fate.
Kneeling down to his level, I fire into his left forearm in quick succession, each of the bullets spaced out starting from his inner elbow to his wrist. He screams for each one. Oh, the screams. The sounds of someone in pain who deserves every bit of it. How could I ever find it annoying before?
"I FINALLY FUCKING GOT YOU!"
The words echo through the hall with a playful tone added to them. My chest heaves as I laugh, my face unable to stop grinning and becoming slightly sore in the process. I push the tip of my pistol into the wound on his chest and twist it repeatedly, forcing him to close his eyes and bite his inner lip.
"Holy shit! That's gotta be so embarrassing! I can't even imagine that! You get a job like this with the promise of becoming strong like the dickwad that hired you, and then BAM! You get shot by a girl who had her back turned when she did it. I'd kill myself on the spot! You look so FUCKING stupid, it's hilarious!"
My lungs hardly take in any air from how much I'm laughing at this guy. He keeps his eyes shut. I lose my smile. This punk.
"Hey. Jackass."
A right hook causes my pistol to hit his left cheek. Blood shoots from his mouth and onto the floor. One of his teeth hit the ground as well.
"Look at me."
My other hand forcefully grabs his jaw. I can feel him shaking underneath my grasp. He says something but I don't pay attention to it.
"Don't die yet. I'm not fucking done with you."
I press the gun into his left thigh and pull the trigger multiple times, not even noticing that it ran out of bullets after several shots.
His pleading cries fill my ears.
"Do you have any idea? Any idea how much I hate you. I'll tell you this before I take your USELESS fucking life!"
I take a deep breath. I lean in close to his ear. His heart is beating so loud I can hear it from here. I start to whisper.
"My hate for you spans over severallives. If I could kill you a thousand times, I'd still keep going after that."
Eyes widened and expressionless, my body pulls back while my right arm shakes as it holds onto my pistol. I twist my body and punch his face with as much force I can. Blood splatters on the gun and myself. Again. And again. And again. And again. And again. And again.
After a few seconds he stops begging and screaming. The more I hit him, the less his skulls starts to crack and the more it starts to squish from each consecutive punch. I keep going until my arm gets tired. It felt like I was punching him for hours when it was only less than a minute.
My chest heaves from exhaustion as I lean back and stare down at the corpse. Its head was beaten to a pulp with any standard features of a face to identify. Pieces of bone are meshed within chunks of bloody flesh indented inwards like a bowl.
His blue hoodie now mostly a reddish brown catches my eye, as well as the wide puddle of blood on the floor. I wipe my face with my arm but instead of cleaning it, the blood from my arm smears on my face a little. I see my reflection on one of the few white tiles around me and there's several blots of red on my face.
"Fuck. All this blood makes me look like a psycho or something." My face contorts into a disgusted expression as I stand up and look around. The messy scene in front of me is so much more different than everything else around me.
"Nobody saw that, right?" I raise an eyebrow.
"No, but we definitely heard it." I hear Chrissy giggle in my right ear. Fuck. Yeah, honestly kinda forgot about the earpiece.
"Stop lauging at me before I say something I'll mildly regret later. This shit is way above my pay grade. What are you doing anyway?" My shoes leave red footprints on the floor as I turn away from the viscera and resume walking towards the vent.
"I'm just enjoying myself while finishing off some stragglers when I can! I have to say, there sure is a lot more people than we expected." Following her words I hear the suppressed noise of her sniper rifle.
"You got the easy job. Can we maybe split the goddamn work load evenly next time?" A magazine attaches to the left wrist brace and I pop out the empty clip from my pistol to reload. I slam the gun down on the clip which pushes it inside. As I learned a couple days ago, reloading is hella important. Which, y'know, is probably a given, but whatever.
"Oh, honey, trust me. It's just a little hard because you're new here! Even so, I think you'd dislike it a whole lot more if we sent you in with the boys. You sure do switch up in mood a lot though! Have you ever considered going to therapy for that? I heard it works wonders for people like you!" I hear a few more shots on her side.
After a moment, I'm able to pry open the vent grate. I peer inside and look up. The vent turns 90 degrees down the direction of the hall after going upwards 15 feet or so. "Not sure what the fuck that's supposed to mean but nah. Therapy never worked out for me anyways. Always hated that shit."
"Is that so? Well, what don't you hate?" She asks.
My mind thinks back to that day. Sitting in front of a coffee table. Orange sunlight glaring through the huge window. Absolutely nothing wrong in the world. I stay silent and think carefully of what I'm going to say next.
I miss her.
"Eh. I kinda like dogs I guess."