Post by Jeremiah Sykes on Aug 9, 2012 13:12:24 GMT -8
OOC: Continued from Suck a Sage > Mature for Blood and Gore, Violence
He awoke, a splitting headache cracking through his brain. Opening his eyes slowly, the world seemed blurred, but also moving slowly around him. His back was grating against something....gravel, was his first thought. He was miles away from where the previous battle had taken place, being drug through a side road near a rather dark fence. It was around two in the morning, and his rest had done much- both for his energy, and his attitude. The men dropped him roughly, grumbling under their breath to one another about a map, and having taken a wrong turn. Rather than wait patiently, he sat up, letting out a little sigh before brushing himself off and coming to his feet.
"Thanks for the lift, dickheads, but i can walk from here."
They jumped, drawing pipes and brandishing them menacingly before charging him. He turned to them and palmed the first one in the face, turning and crushing his head violently against the wall, blood and skull particules rupturing against it and flowing down the side of the polished stone. The man instantly went limp. The other fellow stopped and stared, slack jawed, at his companion, fear turning into his gut. He turned to run, the loose stones under him slipping him up and making him faceplant. Jeremy's knee would press into his spine, his right hand grabbing for the metal pole previously held in the soldiers grip. He'd put the pipe against the back of his neck and push downward repeatedly, causing several cracking noises to resound into the night.
The male weezed a few times, kicking feebly. Holding down on the pipe and using his other hand to grip his hair, Jeremiah would yank on his head as hard as he could, over and over, ripping it from his neck.
Then, he'd stick the severed head on the seat of the motorcycle and walk away whistling, leaving his hands covered in blood as he picked a random direction to move off in to.
The war had not been kind to the mind of Mr. Sykes, and he made no move to fight the madness of it.
He awoke, a splitting headache cracking through his brain. Opening his eyes slowly, the world seemed blurred, but also moving slowly around him. His back was grating against something....gravel, was his first thought. He was miles away from where the previous battle had taken place, being drug through a side road near a rather dark fence. It was around two in the morning, and his rest had done much- both for his energy, and his attitude. The men dropped him roughly, grumbling under their breath to one another about a map, and having taken a wrong turn. Rather than wait patiently, he sat up, letting out a little sigh before brushing himself off and coming to his feet.
"Thanks for the lift, dickheads, but i can walk from here."
They jumped, drawing pipes and brandishing them menacingly before charging him. He turned to them and palmed the first one in the face, turning and crushing his head violently against the wall, blood and skull particules rupturing against it and flowing down the side of the polished stone. The man instantly went limp. The other fellow stopped and stared, slack jawed, at his companion, fear turning into his gut. He turned to run, the loose stones under him slipping him up and making him faceplant. Jeremy's knee would press into his spine, his right hand grabbing for the metal pole previously held in the soldiers grip. He'd put the pipe against the back of his neck and push downward repeatedly, causing several cracking noises to resound into the night.
The male weezed a few times, kicking feebly. Holding down on the pipe and using his other hand to grip his hair, Jeremiah would yank on his head as hard as he could, over and over, ripping it from his neck.
Then, he'd stick the severed head on the seat of the motorcycle and walk away whistling, leaving his hands covered in blood as he picked a random direction to move off in to.
The war had not been kind to the mind of Mr. Sykes, and he made no move to fight the madness of it.
