Mitternacht Preperation (Closed)

["Unfettered"]

"...And There Will Be A Terrible Gnashing Of Teeth In The Night."
Theme Song: Mitternacht by E-Nomine

"...EUGH..."

Midnight.

Sweating profusely, the German stood in the first floor of his still ruined restaurant. Both hands gripping tightly onto his weapons. In his left, he held... according to the newspaper: 'Sol's Baton'. And in his right hand, which he did not allow the tip to touch the ground of, he held his own custom-made 'Ambition' bokken. Japanese design, German crafted. Both were heavy. Not so much for the metal core in 'Ambition', or the memories of a homosexual groping his ass in his death throes. Raising up his left fist, the baton horizontal, pointing to the right, his hand curled into a fist down at his right, right elbow creased into a subtle arc, the bokken pointing out in front of the German, he licked his cool dried lips, and looked forward, a strained look of frustration in his right brow, as his eye struggled to see the invisible enemy in front of him.

Outside, a stray dog howled.

The burden of all the dead bodies on his conscious, that he denied, as many times as he abstained from taking his cross daily and carrying it with him. Sol was the most prominent, and in an odd way, a bit of an ironic savior, cushioning his own potentially deathly fall. A man who deserved death? And then... the boy in the auditorium, the day of Mr. Asiv's heroic death against some... at the time, anyways... unknown menace. And like many with such a mind before him, he came to the same terrible conclusion: That this was just the beginning. Aye. The beginning of a very long road.---"Hyah... phoo... neh..."

Sweeping out his baton in a quick feint to the left, the German brought about his bokken into a quick stab, past the invisible foe's eye, step-jumping forward with his right, slinging his left bokken around the enclosed enemy, trying to bring about a knee to the forehead---"OOF..." Pushed back. Too strong, apparently. Grunting, knowing full well that he looked like an idiot as he danced and prattled with this... 'thing', he slashed his shorter baton forward, following up with a parallel slash, reaching all his momentum to turn around, before he stabbed into the ground, to kick out with one foot, two feet... a repetitive kicking combo. No. That wouldn't be as effective. He needed knock outs, and quick ones. Needed to get more direct...

* * * * * * * * * * * * *

"...Scheiss..."

With a barely open eye, the German slumped into a chair, looking at the table before him. All of his alcoholic drinks, waiting in line, as he stuffed down some cloth in each, corked them, put out the fuse, mixed it up a little, making ever Molotov cocktail, bottle by bottle, by hand. For a moment, he held up his hand to himself, in the dimly lit floor, turning it over, looking at the caked blood. Gripping his weapons for too long without any regard to his own personal health. But he'd let the blood dry for now, and let it scab over. There was only so much time. Just earlier that day, Mr. Malice threw upon them, the 'heavy hitters' to rescue their fellow school mates. Majority of which he knew, which true on an emotional vein. And then, of course, there was honor to be had, in vengeance over Sean Barker. Cause of death of Mr. Asiv. All preparations were near complete.---

*COUGH* *COUGH* *HACK...*

Doubling over, he groped around the table for a small container. Head slammed into the table, he weakly let his hands grapple over to the container and popped it open. Pain killers. In light of his recent withdrawal, which he didn't go through the proper steps of letting it flow through its course, there was now terrible pain to be had at intervals... Suppressed (if it can even be called that), by... ironically, more drugs. Wiping the blood from his mouth, he quickly reached into his pocket for a handkerchief. Dabbing the specks of blood from his mouth, he quickly shoved it away, twisting his neck in odd ways, as if curious if he had tuberculosis from the odd 'cracking' sounds his bones made, before reaching out for another empty bottle, hefting up the container of gasoline onto the table. A tired look in his eye, as his finger flew over the glass, reaching for more cloth, tearing up a strand, and dabbling it through, working meticulously into the night.

...Two strangely shaped boxes, already put together, a double-edged hammer sitting head-down into a bucket of water, placed nearby a centerfold of ashes and rust.

* * * * * * * * * * * * *

*POP*

*COUGHCOUGHCOUGHHACK...*

---*Gulp*

...He looked ahead at his work. Grinding his teeth, as he led his blistered fingers over, signs of burn marks on his hands, as he lightly and nonchalantly began to dress himself down. Emotions to be set, numbers to be called, and the setting to take place. Slowly crouching up from his chair into a standing position, he walked to the left, bumping into a table, his body haggardly flowing towards his medical kits he usually kept hidden in his locker over at the public high school, methodically opening it up, and taking out a bottle of alcohol, bandages, and some anti-bacterial cream. Without flinching, he held out his hands, and roughly 'bit off' the cap of alcohol, and letting a light fall wash over his hand. He moved it over splash it all over himself, beginning to grit his teeth, but the pain killer was still in effect. Hunching over to reach for the cream and bandages, he made quick time, binding his hands tightly. Baton. Shorter, faster, useful for defending. Bokken. Long, powerful, made for critical strikes against armored, and a weapon against blades with its metal core.

"..Von... more time, ja?"

"..Before ze sonne rises."

Eye not even open, muttering something out loud to himself for the first time in two hours, as he took up and tried out a new stance...

"Eins."

Bombs were created, with thanks to Cody on funding.

"Zwei."

Molotovs assembled.

"Drei."

Dozens of copies of the map made and outlined.

"Vier."

'Dylan's' paycheck had finally come through.

"Fünf."

His speech was prepared.

"Sechs."

Improvisation weaponry and defenses plan drawn out.

"Sieben."

Word had been spread.

"Acht."

He'd been mantra-ing himself, convincing himself all night that this was for...

"Neun...!"

...The kidnapped and...

"---Aus."

REVENGE.

...Kekekekeke...

"Alle warten auf das Licht
fürchtet euch fürchtet euch nicht
die Sonne scheint mir aus den Augen
sie wird heut Nacht nicht untergehen
und die Welt zählt laut bis zehn"

Eins.

"Hier kommt die Sonne."

Zwei.

Hier kommt die Sonne."

Drei.

Sie ist der hellste Stern von allen."

Vier.

Hier kommt die Sonne."

"Die Sonne scheint mir aus den Händen
kann verbrennen, kann euch blenden
wenn sie aus den Fäusten bricht
legt sich heiß auf das Gesicht
sie wird heut Nacht nicht untergehen
und die Welt zählt laut bis zehn."

Eins.

Hier kommt die Sonne."

Zwei.

Hier kommt die Sonne."

Drei.

Sie ist der hellste Stern von allen."

Vier.

Hier kommt die Sonne."

Fünf.

Hier kommt die Sonne."

Sechs.

Hier kommt die Sonne."

Sieben.

Sie ist der hellste Stern von allen."

...Acht, neun...

Hier kommt die Sonne...!."

"Die Sonne scheint mir aus den Händen
kann verbrennen, kann dich blenden
wenn sie aus den Fäusten bricht
legt sich heiß auf dein Gesicht
legt sich schmerzend auf die Brust
das Gleichgewicht wird zum Verlust
lässt dich hart zu Boden gehen
und die Welt zählt laut bis zehn."

Eins.

Hier kommt die Sonne."

Zwei.

Hier kommt die Sonne."

Drei.

Sie ist der hellste Stern von allen."

Vier.

Und wird nie vom Himmel fallen."

Fünf.

Hier kommt die Sonne."

Sechs.

Hier kommt die Sonne."

Sieben.

Sie ist der hellste Stern von allen."

Acht , neun...

Hier kommt die Sonne."

* * * * * * * * * * * * *

...The sun came...

...

*Grin*