Warning: Language!

Lots and lots of language. And a possible future story. It was supposed to be the story I worked on next, but I hit a rut with this one.

Little bastard’s crawlin’ down the wall now y’know, just a hair-touch from freedom. Left me here he did, slipped through the goddamned cracks and just ran off. Bloody hell if I know how that big son of a bitch does it. But he squeezed all that stinking fat and hair through a little crack and oozed on out into the night.

I hope the sun fuckin’ melts him tomorrow. ‘Cause the bullets gonna be meltin’ me, and that’s a lonely thing.
“Hey bitch!” It’s Morrison, one of those dumb-ass guards. “Why’n’t you and your buddy come out here and put on a show for us? We got a nice cow for ya and all!”

They couldn’t see the finger I gave them. Almost made me glad that fat bastard got away. Hell, least the guards’r gonna lose their heads now. Really. I might try bein’ a ghost for a while so I can flip ’em off on the way to hell.

There’s somethin’ to be said for going out in a blaze of glory though. Me’n Fatty were the only ones left of three hundred Immortals. We’d only had one task: kill the fuckin’ man.

Yeah, you can probably tell that we failed. Dunno what sorcery they got around those parts, but hell,our guns wouldn’t even fire. You’da thunk three hundred men could put a dent in an armored car.

Probably coulda if it wasn’t magical. You gotta watch those politicians man.

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