Post by Puppet on Jul 11, 2007 16:02:46 GMT -5
EDIT: Accidentally wrote down "Danny" instead of "donny" at one point. Have to fix that. <_<
-------------------------------------
Jacob Frost stuck to a wall, crouching below the enemy fire roaring over his head. His protection was little more than an impromptu wall made out of a piece of metal wedged into the ground, but it worked. He risked rising up above the wall for only a split second to lob a frag grenade at the enemy, firmly entrenched in their own makeshift defenses, which were, unfortunately, far better put together than his own.
He waited for a few moments to hear the resulting explosion, but he could barely hear it beneath the rapid-fire blasting of the turret that had already killed a lot of good men. He’d no idea if the grenade had taken out any of the enemy, but the mocking, never-ending sound of the turret’s firing told him that he hadn’t damaged the turret or its damned gunner.
He heard a split-second cry of pain, and whipped around to his left, to see that one of his comrades had fallen dead, his chest torn open with bullet wounds. Frost forced himself to look past the corpse to see that an enemy had made the gutsy move of crossing behind their defensive line. He immediately raised his overused weapon and fired the underslung grenade launcher on his carbine rifle, taking out the bastard and tearing up a huge storm of dull, brown dust amidst the angry flame of the explosion.
He didn’t bother glancing at his comrade. He couldn’t, not in this chaos. Instead, he just loaded up his last 40mm grenade, knowing full well that he’d need it all too soon in the madness of war.
He threw another grenade at the enemy, not even daring to raise his head, this time, as the barrage of bullets seemed concentrated directly above his head. He was forced to throw it off in another direction so that the stream of bullets wouldn’t hit it and set it off. It landed amongst a group of three of the dirty bastards, but only one was killed by it, two others only wounded. He poked his gun around the corner of the admirably durable, but nearly-worn-out piece of metal he was using for cover, and took a few shots at one of the wounded enemy.
He never kept his head out and vulnerable long enough to look, but he was fairly sure that he’d killed him. Still, it was bad. Himself counted, there were only a handful of guys left now, and those monsters just kept comin’ and comin’. Deciding that it was do-or-die time, he grabbed a beat-up shotgun laying on the ground and ran straight past the enemy turret and into the enemy trenches.
He’d made it! Straight past the turret gunner! He turned towards the monster, all comfortable and safe behind his turret, and blasted the guy before he had a chance to grab his gun. He turned and went down into the dirty, blood-stained trenches, ready to kill whatever sin against god he had to face next... when a Chimera shot him down.
“Dammit!” He swore, throwing the controller down on his bed. Damn video game was getting on his nerves more than it was fun. He’d sprung for a Playstation 3 a month ago, figuring that all the money he hadn’t spent on beer (he’d quit drinking entirely, for fear of what might happen if he ever got drunk around Donny) had earned it. Unfortunately, so far its only accomplishment was making him furious when he was killed by one of the zombie Russians in the damn game.
He’d been trying to take his mind off if Donny’s upcoming match with some good old fashioned zombie-killing, but that hadn’t worked out. Hell, it had only managed to put him even more on edge.
He’d be the first to admit that he probably wasn’t the best person on the planet to take care of Donny; after all, he was using him in this OWF thing to make money. But still, even if he took care of Donny with an almost grudging dislike, he did care for the kid (Jacob could never think of Donny as being eighteen years old), and every time he thought about him going into a wrestling ring with someone far more trained than him... well, it worried him.
He looked at Donny, sitting on the floor with his Bambi, mute as he usually was when the doll was in his possession. It was easy to forget what he was capable of, and how severely insane he was, when he was sitting on the cheap, dirty floor of their cheap, dirty apartment and looking altogether innocent. He wasn’t even talking to the doll or anything of the sort... just holding it, staring into its lifeless eyes.
Jacob would never understand his fascination with that doll. Then again, there wasn’t much about Donny that he could understand. He knew that he was perhaps a little afraid of his brother, no, very afraid of his brother. But at the same time, he couldn’t help but worry about him when he was sending him into a ring where the goal was to wound and injure.
Of course, Donny was perfectly capable of wounding and injuring. But still... Jacob couldn’t help but feel guilty that he was sending his own brother into a wrestling ring, particularly since the only one who was really going to benefit from it would be him. Of course, the less guilty-feeling portion of his mind argued that he’d sacrificed everything to take care of Donny; all possibility of any sort of relationship was gone, he could barely hold a job (in fact, he was currently unemployed save his role as “Puppet”’s manager), for crying out loud, he couldn’t even drink.
Truth be told, he’d often wanted to just check the kid into a psych ward, but their mother had fought to her last breath to keep Donny out of one of those places. Jacob didn’t know why, but he assumed that she’d had her reasons, and chose to respect her last wishes, if grudgingly so.
He looked at his little brother, sitting innocently on the floor, and couldn’t help but feel disgusted with himself, treating his brother like some sort of burden, and using him to make a quick buck.
“Hey, Donny?” He asked him. No answer. Donny rarely spoke when he was occupied with his doll. “Be careful when you’re in that ring, okay?”
Still no answer. He put his hand on Donny’s messy, too-long hair and petted him almost like one would pet a dog. Donny actually did respond this time, and looked up at Jacob, saying,
“Will I get to make someone bleed?” He sounded like he was about to have a birthday party or something, a manic smile on his face not unlike that of a child on Christmas morning. It was in that instant that Jacob remembered just what Donny was like. He was, after all, not only insane, but very, very good at inflicting pain and opening wounds. Not to mention he enjoyed it. For all Jacob knew, Donny might enjoy bleeding himself.
Jacob doubted it, though. Somehow, he thought that Donny thought that he wasn’t like other people, at least in the sense that it was okay to hurt other people, just not himself, Jacob, or Bambi. Perhaps he thought that other people weren’t human, or that he and all that he cared about were more important than regular human beings.
“Will I get to make someone bleed?” He asked again, this time almost angry. If Jacob had to pick a word to describe the look on the kid’s face, it would’ve been “cross”. He looked like a sulking kid who was being ignored by their parents.
“Yeah, Donny. But they’re gonna try to hurt you, too,” Jacob said in his gentlest tones, wondering how the littlest psychopath would respond to that.
Donny looked a little confused. Either he hadn’t considered the possibility of being hurt himself, before, or it just didn’t register with him at all.
“So I’ll get to make them bleed?” He asked, sounding just as eager as before. Jacob looked at his little brother, not able to help feeling a combination of pity and terror as he thought about the way his mind worked. How could someone look so innocent and so guilty at the same time? He knew that, in a lot of ways, Donny was nothing more than a little kid. But, at the same time, he was also a psychopath, who should probably be locked away, far away from any human beings before he killed someone.
And here Jacob was, thrusting him into a chance for either Donny himself to get hurt, or for his desire to inflict harm to be truly released. Either way, this wasn’t going to end well. Jacob was reconsidering this wrestling thing entirely... sure, Donny might not be Jacob’s first pick for a sibling, but he was Jacob’s brother, and that was supposed to mean something or other, wasn’t it?
He looked down at Donny, who had gone back to happily staring at Bambi. Maybe he was talking to the thing in his head? Or maybe he was insane enough that staring at a doll really was an acceptable past-time.
Well, whether it was “right” or not, Jacob had gotten Donny into this wrestling business, and now he was going to have to see how it would end... with Donny on a stretcher, or with someone else.
-------------------------------------
Jacob Frost stuck to a wall, crouching below the enemy fire roaring over his head. His protection was little more than an impromptu wall made out of a piece of metal wedged into the ground, but it worked. He risked rising up above the wall for only a split second to lob a frag grenade at the enemy, firmly entrenched in their own makeshift defenses, which were, unfortunately, far better put together than his own.
He waited for a few moments to hear the resulting explosion, but he could barely hear it beneath the rapid-fire blasting of the turret that had already killed a lot of good men. He’d no idea if the grenade had taken out any of the enemy, but the mocking, never-ending sound of the turret’s firing told him that he hadn’t damaged the turret or its damned gunner.
He heard a split-second cry of pain, and whipped around to his left, to see that one of his comrades had fallen dead, his chest torn open with bullet wounds. Frost forced himself to look past the corpse to see that an enemy had made the gutsy move of crossing behind their defensive line. He immediately raised his overused weapon and fired the underslung grenade launcher on his carbine rifle, taking out the bastard and tearing up a huge storm of dull, brown dust amidst the angry flame of the explosion.
He didn’t bother glancing at his comrade. He couldn’t, not in this chaos. Instead, he just loaded up his last 40mm grenade, knowing full well that he’d need it all too soon in the madness of war.
He threw another grenade at the enemy, not even daring to raise his head, this time, as the barrage of bullets seemed concentrated directly above his head. He was forced to throw it off in another direction so that the stream of bullets wouldn’t hit it and set it off. It landed amongst a group of three of the dirty bastards, but only one was killed by it, two others only wounded. He poked his gun around the corner of the admirably durable, but nearly-worn-out piece of metal he was using for cover, and took a few shots at one of the wounded enemy.
He never kept his head out and vulnerable long enough to look, but he was fairly sure that he’d killed him. Still, it was bad. Himself counted, there were only a handful of guys left now, and those monsters just kept comin’ and comin’. Deciding that it was do-or-die time, he grabbed a beat-up shotgun laying on the ground and ran straight past the enemy turret and into the enemy trenches.
He’d made it! Straight past the turret gunner! He turned towards the monster, all comfortable and safe behind his turret, and blasted the guy before he had a chance to grab his gun. He turned and went down into the dirty, blood-stained trenches, ready to kill whatever sin against god he had to face next... when a Chimera shot him down.
“Dammit!” He swore, throwing the controller down on his bed. Damn video game was getting on his nerves more than it was fun. He’d sprung for a Playstation 3 a month ago, figuring that all the money he hadn’t spent on beer (he’d quit drinking entirely, for fear of what might happen if he ever got drunk around Donny) had earned it. Unfortunately, so far its only accomplishment was making him furious when he was killed by one of the zombie Russians in the damn game.
He’d been trying to take his mind off if Donny’s upcoming match with some good old fashioned zombie-killing, but that hadn’t worked out. Hell, it had only managed to put him even more on edge.
He’d be the first to admit that he probably wasn’t the best person on the planet to take care of Donny; after all, he was using him in this OWF thing to make money. But still, even if he took care of Donny with an almost grudging dislike, he did care for the kid (Jacob could never think of Donny as being eighteen years old), and every time he thought about him going into a wrestling ring with someone far more trained than him... well, it worried him.
He looked at Donny, sitting on the floor with his Bambi, mute as he usually was when the doll was in his possession. It was easy to forget what he was capable of, and how severely insane he was, when he was sitting on the cheap, dirty floor of their cheap, dirty apartment and looking altogether innocent. He wasn’t even talking to the doll or anything of the sort... just holding it, staring into its lifeless eyes.
Jacob would never understand his fascination with that doll. Then again, there wasn’t much about Donny that he could understand. He knew that he was perhaps a little afraid of his brother, no, very afraid of his brother. But at the same time, he couldn’t help but worry about him when he was sending him into a ring where the goal was to wound and injure.
Of course, Donny was perfectly capable of wounding and injuring. But still... Jacob couldn’t help but feel guilty that he was sending his own brother into a wrestling ring, particularly since the only one who was really going to benefit from it would be him. Of course, the less guilty-feeling portion of his mind argued that he’d sacrificed everything to take care of Donny; all possibility of any sort of relationship was gone, he could barely hold a job (in fact, he was currently unemployed save his role as “Puppet”’s manager), for crying out loud, he couldn’t even drink.
Truth be told, he’d often wanted to just check the kid into a psych ward, but their mother had fought to her last breath to keep Donny out of one of those places. Jacob didn’t know why, but he assumed that she’d had her reasons, and chose to respect her last wishes, if grudgingly so.
He looked at his little brother, sitting innocently on the floor, and couldn’t help but feel disgusted with himself, treating his brother like some sort of burden, and using him to make a quick buck.
“Hey, Donny?” He asked him. No answer. Donny rarely spoke when he was occupied with his doll. “Be careful when you’re in that ring, okay?”
Still no answer. He put his hand on Donny’s messy, too-long hair and petted him almost like one would pet a dog. Donny actually did respond this time, and looked up at Jacob, saying,
“Will I get to make someone bleed?” He sounded like he was about to have a birthday party or something, a manic smile on his face not unlike that of a child on Christmas morning. It was in that instant that Jacob remembered just what Donny was like. He was, after all, not only insane, but very, very good at inflicting pain and opening wounds. Not to mention he enjoyed it. For all Jacob knew, Donny might enjoy bleeding himself.
Jacob doubted it, though. Somehow, he thought that Donny thought that he wasn’t like other people, at least in the sense that it was okay to hurt other people, just not himself, Jacob, or Bambi. Perhaps he thought that other people weren’t human, or that he and all that he cared about were more important than regular human beings.
“Will I get to make someone bleed?” He asked again, this time almost angry. If Jacob had to pick a word to describe the look on the kid’s face, it would’ve been “cross”. He looked like a sulking kid who was being ignored by their parents.
“Yeah, Donny. But they’re gonna try to hurt you, too,” Jacob said in his gentlest tones, wondering how the littlest psychopath would respond to that.
Donny looked a little confused. Either he hadn’t considered the possibility of being hurt himself, before, or it just didn’t register with him at all.
“So I’ll get to make them bleed?” He asked, sounding just as eager as before. Jacob looked at his little brother, not able to help feeling a combination of pity and terror as he thought about the way his mind worked. How could someone look so innocent and so guilty at the same time? He knew that, in a lot of ways, Donny was nothing more than a little kid. But, at the same time, he was also a psychopath, who should probably be locked away, far away from any human beings before he killed someone.
And here Jacob was, thrusting him into a chance for either Donny himself to get hurt, or for his desire to inflict harm to be truly released. Either way, this wasn’t going to end well. Jacob was reconsidering this wrestling thing entirely... sure, Donny might not be Jacob’s first pick for a sibling, but he was Jacob’s brother, and that was supposed to mean something or other, wasn’t it?
He looked down at Donny, who had gone back to happily staring at Bambi. Maybe he was talking to the thing in his head? Or maybe he was insane enough that staring at a doll really was an acceptable past-time.
Well, whether it was “right” or not, Jacob had gotten Donny into this wrestling business, and now he was going to have to see how it would end... with Donny on a stretcher, or with someone else.