𝑭𝒂𝒄𝒆𝒍𝒆𝒔𝒔 𝑭𝒊𝒙𝒂𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏 {𝘚𝘢𝘭 𝘍𝘪𝘴𝘩𝘦𝘳}

Viper of Fear [16]

"Gimme all your love, all your tears
All the hate you feel
Gimme all your love, your pain, your thrill
Gimme all your memories, melodies,
remedies now..."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I'm crouched behind the one piece of protection I was able to find in this abyss of unspoken horrors. This battle ground of malice and revenge.

My heart pounds against my ribcage, a war drum thrumming within my own body. My chest is splattered with the lost hopes and dreams of my enemies. My veins are filled with the icy bite of fear-- fear that strikes with the accuracy of a viper.

This is a wasteland. What once was is nothing anymore. The ground beneath me held up opportunity mere minutes ago, all for it to be stripped away in a moments notice. And it's all my fault.

The surface beyond my safe space is riddled with the neon blood of my foe. Synthetic shotgun shells cover the floor, acting as hell's very own field of bones. The desert scene that earlier reflected a symbol of goals I never thought I'd achieve now mimics Vlad the Impaler's wet dream.

I take a shaky breath, adrenaline pumping through every millimeter of my being as I listen to the war waging behind me. I don't spare even a simple glance over the box I'm hiding behind. This box is the stone that Arthur's sword once resided in-- this bitch will never break as long as I believe in it.

My fingers flex around the weapon in my arms, my muscles tense and my mind alert. If I'm not on edge at all times right now, I'll get caught. And getting caught means death. All hell has broken loose amidst the cloud of contentment that blinded me just minutes ago. I should have know that karma and revenge go hand-in-hand. They're best friends. They are a repeated process and know each other good and well.

I acted on revenge, and karma was quick to collect my debt.

"You've been hit by..." my heart stops upon hearing that deep, sultry, amused voice. He's having the time of his life, relishing in the screams of his victims. "You've been struck by..." I hear the barrel of his gun snap, releasing a plague of venom upon the person at his mercy. And the sufferer bellows in agony, spreading their unfortunate and horrific fate to me. I sympathize, my heart skipping a beat. I'm trapped in the clutches of hesitance, of terror. I squeeze my eyes shut. "A smooooth Larry Johnson!"

I swallow thickly, a guilty grin quirking my lips. Everyone's fair game to Larry right now. We aren't his friends at the moment, we're pawns in his chaotic chess game.

I set my gun on my knee, wiping my clammy palm against my chest. My hand comes up sticky though, so I look down at it, grimacing at my neon orange skin. I chew on my bottom lip, contemplating the memory of how I became covered in paint.

The issue with my win against Sal earlier is that I expected him to silently fume over his loss. I wasn't prepared for him to throw paintballs into his mag and pelt me with three almost immediately. I was too confident. Overzealous. And... I guess I had it coming.

I can't wipe the image of that moment out of my head, when I finally looked up at Sal to see him stalking over to me with a fire in his pretty blue eyes. As soon as our gazes clashed, he launched into fighting position with his gun up, aimed at me, and at the ready. His finger slammed on the trigger with no regret, effectively slathering me in the ugliest colors I've ever seen. What's worse is that he came at me short-range, so my gut and chest are throbbing in pain. Probably have some bruising, but hey, that's game. This is war.

What I want to know is how the hell Sal and Larry know how to work a paint ball gun. I underestimated my enemies.

First rule of gaming and life: never, under any circumstances, underestimate the enemy. And for fucks sake, double tap! Don't be like me, apparently.