LANDLINE PASCOM

CHAPTER IX

The querulous face of Pascom welcomes the mentally plagued visage of Simon Vincent, strolling by the sidewalk in haste, the neon haze loomed sooner than expected. Everyone around him died as the sickening aura of Networks came into his own perception, to his own notice. Bad blood stirs the classless rippling, and both bad blood mixed is a ripple never seen to cease.

Rule Letter A: A Network is not to be intermixed naturally; such acclimation tended to be a debacle, total fiasco over grandeur means. Rule Letter B: If said Networks are to be called, by all means, the corporation will gain the initiative to disseminate cooperative. Subjectively speaking, two animales will cease accordingly, and if persistence is stirred then decommissioning protocols should be followed. Rule Letter C: Networks are not to be held at the same place, in response to the natural coloration of these repressive individuals, two pawns must part nor be subjective to declination. Having conflict between the first two rules, which is evident in some cases, said subjects will begin to assert dominance as to who would win in a brutal fashion.

In a broader sense, anyone that would triumph will resume their duties. This is proven to be the very first sickness that the ELC has. Further attempts to rectify this insatiable jonesing is proven to be unnecessary as all assets are capable of showing dominance over witticism. Succession might superimpose their own gist, but through their concupiscence, it is of lust that murder is the norm of these masked affiliated people. If bad blood is struck, the boiling of their innards for murder will cook their own brains.  Hence, malleability is a dangerous disease that deteriorates proper thinking.

The constitutional faculty is barred, cognitive abilities regress as instinctive compliance is held underway: they are pliant, easily tempted for murder. Simon's pace dropped fifteen inches deep, and his steps faltered. At the corner of his own eye, two masked individuals blending inside the gush of people darted such fixation over him. Within those poked out eyes that gave a million yards of stare, it is more frightful to even think that the foundation had withdrawn from supporting him to such a degree. No matter, cowardice is a child's game. He is ready to die, one way or the other. Deep inside of his pockets were two of the things that he always carries: a pocket knife, and a knuckle duster. Handy tools often used by Networks in their disposal, easy to use, easy to conceal. With relaxation, his whole perspective recoiled, and the brush of these impeded people continued. Simon transcended beyond boldness itself, he fished for those two things and went by as the river of people seemed to deafen the impending chaos nearing.

Two butchers, in plainclothes, wearing animal masks that are conspicuous to his own understanding. Like what Mister Coral taught him, if two Networks come to your way, be so kind to greet them with your own brutality as this faithful encounter won't leave anyone safe if seen nighing. He kept his head cool, and his constitution composed as these two individuals seemed to shape the advantage they had with these people. Knives were drawn, hidden to their backs. They approached the matter quickly, a florid transition that almost fooled Simon at first. He was pushed to an alleyway, these people are mindless, classless, boobs even. Naive in all sorts.

Squeezing him off from their own perspective, the first hacking of a butcher's knife was a success. Now the real fun starts, his shirt torn, snagged by the blade that swiped through, and then the second. These two fuckfaces wore a bear mask and a panda's, masks that brandished aggravation to their own facial complexion. Twins by physical means as these two individuals were built to carry the natural instincts of killers hiding beyond these plastic faces. Mister Bear soon tackled him down with a great force. These two lads weren't that impressive as the ones he had slaughtered in his night to night job, they were rotund douchebags that over powered him, even so, they went as far as growling like a factual feral bear wanting a piece of his delicate meat. Groaning intensifies, and their approach became violent as the two used their knives to tear through his shirt. Simon hammered his cheek with a fisted punch, knocking him off. Shortly after, with a swift motion, he flipped his knife loose and stabbed Mister Bear by the back. Squeals, insofar resemblance to a pig's were heard, his plunging however tore through the skin until blood stained his uniform. He was agile enough, and had enough when his blood dabbled through that hole. A diffusion that laid in drips and drooling. Mister Panda hacked him with his blade, missed, but the sound of chink from his murder weapon only echoed through his ear canal. Missed. He rolled away and got up to his own feet, balling his fist, he threw lethal punches over the china bear that dared to intimidate him.
Pounding him with his aid knuckle, modified for an absolutely soothing outcome. The masked man staggered, he was open with punches. Simon laid a few over his sand bag of a body, destroying those insides with a balled beating before swiftness juiced his animality.