Unstoppable

The Sixtieth

"You really shouldn't have run from me." The voice, like most that used violence, seemed really familiar to me. It felt distorted, but I'm guessing that's because the Creature got most of it, whilst I got the scrap pieces of sound it couldn't analyse. It felt... Comforting. I can't explain it, but I wasn't exactly too alarmed at our new opponent. Considering that Oscar was on the floor in a puddle of slowly expanding blood, I know I shouldn't feel this way, but I guess my general tiredness and lack of caring had finally got the better of me. It almost felt like a fading light as I blinked again, looking at the sun for what felt like the last time I would in a while. Taking another breath in, I took a look around, trying to take in the sights and find my new predator or prey. I was still normal, and my human sight seemed to catch nothing, and, glancing at Callum, I could tell he had the same problem.
Would you like me to come out again?
No, we need your strength for later.
As you wish.
"HEY!" I shouted into the street, a gentle breeze carrying my words that little bit further. I guess in the end it was to no avail, as no hands emerged, no other gunshot sounded, and nothing new came out of the sudden outburst of rage and powder. It almost seemed unbelievable, I remember thinking as I stood here, breathing heavily before approaching Oscar with a nervous step. He seemed to twitch and almost twirl as I approached, flopping around like a wet fish. A ring of blood had formed from the gunshot, and my guess was that the graze looked a lot less meaningless than it lead onto be. If only for a moment, I felt the roles reverse: I felt powerful, unstoppable, god-like, and this human was just another pathetic mortal to eliminate. I took a quick look over to Callum, who seemed a slight bit shaken, but nodded as yet another agreement passed silently through our lips: anyone on our enemies' side was a problem. And, in this day and age, if you wanted to get rid of a problem, you got rid of the source and the infected.
"Huh. This is the way I'm going out..?" I heard his voice, crystal clear as day, stop my feet and allowed me to speak to my next victim.
"Yeah." I bluntly clashed back with my flattened voice, trying to keep my emotion to a minimum. The less we connected, the better the kill feels.
The better my food tastes.
Only if you're quick. We need to save th-
Yes, of course, I completely understand. I only need a small bit, and, as you know, I can last a long time without food.
"Well, these roles are reversed, right?" A laugh, still pure, came from his rib cage, an almost too normal laugh that made the corners of my mouth edge up and click into place in a poetic, yet joyless smile.
"Yep." Another blunt reply, keeping the place devoid of hope.
"And with what? You're gonna strangle me to death? You could barely find your own strength, much less hold out against me in a fight." Oscar grinned, a thin line of blood somehow managing to trace the outline of his lips in an almost lipstick-like way, dying and masking the things in a red paste.
"There's no reason for you to do this, you know." He tried reasoning, but I just laughed.
"How many people have said that now..?" I stopped, and jokingly put a hand to my jaw, and froze in a 'thinking hard' position before resuming what I was doing.
"God, you're sick." He spat onto the floor, the clear liquid gently bending with the blood on his face.
"I'm sick?! Oh, that's rich..." I felt anger building, but I knew that was what he wanted. I could tell you from experience that anger makes things worse, and almost always guarantees a slip up.
Unless there is another human being to rely on.
"You people, and you're... 'Boss' pushed me over the FUCKING EDGE! All you did was beat me, again and again, in that fucking basement, and outside, and anywhere you fucking COULD!! You can't expect me to do nothing, when all you did was hurt me again and again and again and again!" My voice was beginning to lose itself, anger lacing it with a pitch it couldn't handle.
"We only put you through what you could handle." His eyes wriggled out from under his almost dead body, trying to keep himself connected.
"Look, you're still alive. And you're stronger. Days ago, would you have killed? Would you have tried to murder any man? I know what you're going to do, and you shouldn't. You don't see the bigger picture. Stop. Turn around-" He tried to get through to me, but at this point I think I was sick of people trying to help me or change me. I wanted what I wanted, and I'd fucking had enough of people putting fingers in my face, telling me who I was, what I was going to be, where my life would go, everything. I was terrified. Key word: was. I don't think anything scares me anymore.
"I'm sick of you telling me that. Of everyone telling me that. I'll decide what I want to do with my life, who I want to attack, where I want to go. It's my life, not yours. What gives you the right to choose what I wanna choose?"
"Intelligence." The answer sent rage coursing through me, and I couldn't calm it down. I'm surprised that Oscar didn't get up, but after stomping in his chest and hearing a crack, I don't think he could.
"Exactly... prove my point, show that all you are is an extra pair of bloody hands... prove my point..." He said, straining against damages. Another stomp had the man wheezing, but still steadily breathing.
Fuck sake, it's like he's as strong as I am.
"What exactly are... you trying to accomplish..." The voice rattled again, sending shocks of pain through its own body, judging by the short convulsions. My heartbeat began to slow down, and I could feel the calmness of doing death's job setting in, almost like a silent omen.
"Revenge. Vigilante revenge." I said, darkening my voice and dipping my head gently, trying to drop contact with his eyes. I expected it to go silent, for him to understand his life is over, or for him to pray.

Instead, I hear laughter. High pitched, pitch-changing, twisting in a side like fashion laughter. Looking back towards him, I noticed that he was rolling on the floor with laughter, and tears were in his eyes. Whether that was pain or humour I never learned, because I picked up the gun that fell a few feet away from him, aimed the thing between my eyes, and pulled the trigger, sending a hit of heat and a burning bullet into his forehead, rocking it back gently before setting it firmly in the concrete, burying his stupid face and his fading laughter.