A Touch of Hope

Chapter 1 (Part 2) - The Tat

WARNING GRAPHIC CONTENT

The street became roasted by the blazing light emitted from the headlamp. Caught within its steely glare cowered a man who pressed himself against the wall with the customary guilty look filling his face. Looking left and right as if to run, the man realised his predicament and appeared to wobble on the spot as sweat that had already begun to gather prior to the light, now cascaded from his forehead. His clothes, already dank and torn, became soaked with sweat from his armpits and his trousers, that barely seemed to cover his legs, gave out a very strong smell of urine. The sweat flooding from his face was quickly joined by tears streaking the grim on his cheeks as he collapsed to his knees hugging the wall. His body shuddered and became contorted as sheer grief and emotion racked his body. Flipsey could see that despite the man's condition, in another place and another time he would have been a decent looking bloke. Unfortunately this was not another place or time so Flipsey let out another sigh, louder this time, loud enough that his partner shot a snarl in his direction which was returned by a cold stare to remind Balls who the Senior partner was. It was well known that Balls did not take well to being outranked but still Flipsey could never have predicted what happened next. He blamed it on the new generation, the 'Untouchables', the ones that had grown up with no physical contact, it turned men into monsters.

With one hand in his belt, Balls kicked his passenger door open, his military issue black boots laced up with surgical precision hit the floor with a crack as the tarmac buckled under the force and sheer weight of the boots. Standing up to his impressive height of 6ft 6, he stomped towards the man taking massive strides. His shadow drew long over the man who still lay weeping on the floor, resigned to his fate. Removing his hand from his belt, Balls removed a thin metal rod about 20cm in length. With a flick of his wrist the rod shot out to its impressive, intimidating length of just under a meter of pure hatred. The man who had since seen the rod as Balls stood over him, felt the fear that was contained within it, turning him a deadly white and sending him from a blubbing mess to a level of sheer fear beyond any form of crying. The tool really was a sheer embodiment of evil, fear and all that the police state stood for. Flipsey watched in horror as a deep, booming, manic laugh rang out from Balls raised head as he brought the baton up and down with a whistle as the evil bombardment began. Each hit split apart the skin causing gaping wounds that oozed a deep, thick red blood that was smashed out of the body with every rise and fall. A colourful montage of red, yellows and purples spread from each wound, sweeping over his body, covering it. As the torment started to come faster and harder the cracking of bones pierced the night. They were not broken however, that would not be painful enough, instead the bones were shattered into tiny fragments as these too began to rain from the gaping wounds as the bones were tuned to dust. Throughout this vicious attack, the man flinched with each hit yet only made a small whimper, however as the rain continued the man's disfigured throat stretched out as the air was forced from his lungs. It was then that Balls abandoned his weapon, flinging it some 30 meters down the road as it skidded to a stop in a shower of sparks. The attack was not yet finished however as a single kick from the enhanced boots forced the man into the air and against the wall, before sliding down it where he lay unconscious on his back, blood and bone beginning to pool around him. A large, ugly streak of blood remained on the wall as a reminder to all for the next few weeks. Getting slowly down onto his knees, Balls knelt over he poor man and began to force his fingers through any unbroken parts of skin, ripping out muscles, tendons, chunks of fat, pieces of bone, all came flying over Balls' shoulder as his gloved hands began their ugly work. It was now that the screaming began, continuing only until his vocal cords were ripped out, the blood showering Balls as his manic laugh rang out once more. The laugh of a broken man that had never touched another human.

This was why a lack of physical contact was wrong. This was why it needed to be stopped.