Katsuki Bakugou~ Fifi's

Bullet

The bullet shot out into the crowd. It missed you, but at the cost of a man. Your eyes followed it in the darkness desperately trying to keep the flying lead within your sights. It hit him under his right pectoral slotting somewhere between the ribs. It entered his body disappearing under his clothes and becoming consumed by his flesh. His half lidded eyes were wide upon now, it didn't matter what was in his system the adrenaline had made him fully awake. His pupils expanded to max capacity while a choked sound bubbled out from his throat. There was nearly no white left in his eyes yet in that very same second that was all you saw. His pupils constricted to a size the same as the tip of a baby's finger.

Lips parted and jaw unhinged to release a scream no one ever heard. It was silent. And even if it carried nose it was sure to be lost in the chorus of others. The people beside him pushed at their friends to get out of the booth as soon as possible. They all pushed and shoved, clambering over each other only for their flailing limbs to tangle together. Eventually one of them managed to break free climbing over the other male, no regards as to the knees slamming into the other man's spine and face. They all twisted in such odd and peculiar ways, you weren't sure you'd ever seen bodies do that before. Another man came out victorious in the fight to escape the booth. This was the one sitting at the age. He had shoved the other degenerate under the table and stepped on him on his way out.

Survival brought out the savagery within us. It breaks us down to the very simplest of things, forces us to reveal not only the cards in our hands, but what we truly hold dear. And well, not all of us are holding hearts.

Just before all the screaming, and the rushing, and the shoving, and the fear. There was this ringing. Well not really it was more like a pop, amplified not only by fire power but by the shape of the space. After all the burlesque was made for performance, not a single sound could die in this room. So when it fired it rang out loud, that wasn't what made bullets so ear splitting, what made them so unforgettable was the ringing that came after. You had lost hearing in your left ear momentarily, and when your ears had yet to hear the bullet your eyes were quick to find it. Your hearing had just started to fade in when the man's mouth fell open.

That didn't matter though, the sound was so triggering that it not only fired a bullet but your memory.

You hadn't realized how dominate it was within you. You knew it lived somewhere in a dark memory, covered with cobwebs in a dusty corner. It was a sound your mind had learned to tune out while with the league, it was a memory you had learned to repress. Although your eyes remained fixed on the speeding bullet, mapping out it's pathway your ears flooded with laughter.

Your peripheral vision turned to black, the world blurring around that single bullet. Go back. Travel to before the man was shot, back to when it first fired. Not this bullet, not even the many ones before this one. Farther, you have to go farther. The first, remember the first.

Toga was always so thirsty for blood, she was like a vampire never wasting a drop. She'd never use a gun, blades, daggers and anything else were her preferred. But when she did use a gun- when she held the silver in her hands- she'd never fire a single fatal shot. No, first the legs so that you crash forward onto your knees. All that weight of yours fall onto your pierced legs and the wails that leave them are always awful. Still some thrash around attempting to reach for her, shoulders lurching forward. Some beg, plead, and pray, bringing their hands together before them. It's this reason that the arms go next. Unlike the legs this wound comes with screeches, and breathless gasp. The pain's now doubled and all limbs have been taken out. It's during this time that I wish the next shot to be deadly. It never really is. The stomach is the last part, gushing and squirting, bleeding out into a silent death.

Dabi always burns the bodies. Sometimes he waits until they're dead, but that's not his style. He's only ever picked up a gun to silence yapping. An interrogation turned meaningless noise, pained yells reaching volumes no human ever should. If it's not straight through the brain he waits for you to open your mouth. He finds it amusing, and loves using it as an example of his excellent aim.

The split one is never quick with it. He always cracks jokes and makes puns, sarcasm his only medicine. Insanity had long snapped his mind and although he tried to kill quick has carelessness lead to crappy aim. Shots were never aligned just randomly fired. He trusted them to go in the right directions, and well some casualties were a result. Those are the ones that truly haunt you. The women strolling down the street, the child with the bear, the man with flowers.

Finally there was their leader, who's trigger ruined your childhood. He certainly wasn't the most awful of them all, there were many above him that could do much worse. You hid underneath the bed upon your Mother's command watching as your Father fought against them. You were trembling, hoping along the steps as to prevent even the lightest of touches on the parts that creaked. The scratchy man only watches as they're dragged out to the back. He doesn't blink when they're pushed onto their knees, nor does he flinch when he fires the first bullet.