One, two, three, four..
Foot over foot, the hunter weaved in and out of the Psycho’s reach, blade in steady hand. Even, planned steps, like a dance, though he loathed the thought. Zer0 was no dancer. His profession held an elegance all its own and in turn he carried a certain grace, but to say he looked like a dancer was an insult.
The Psychotic man at hand that moment screamed at him. It was all gibberish, funny, but crazed gibberish. He was the last patron of Zer0’s targeted camp, the rest had been left as bloody bodies to be buried with time by the Pandoran dust storms. For a brief moment he wondered what this man had been like before madness, how had he lived? Any family perhaps?Those thoughts were dispelled abruptly as the enemy gave another sudden burst of speed and gained those last steps on him.
I tire of this game..
Like a switch Zer0’s curiosity, sympathy and mercy all disappeared and in a single sidestep, his blade was buried deep within the gut of the Psycho. The dead man sputtered. Choked. His arm twitched and the hunter’s arm swept outward, the razor edged blade cutting cleanly from his prey’s stomach, disemboweling the man and spraying the ground in crimson.
Wiping the faithful tool upon his latest kill’s grimy shirt to rid if of most all the blood, Zer0 smirked behind his visor.