Simply put, a collection of Freddy's kills. OC characters…(:
The boy ran in slight fear, cowering and buckling at the knees. A useless weapon was gripped in his hand, slipping only slightly as the glands in his palms released perspiration. His black hair dangled over his icy blue oracles, and through the strands of hair he saw his burning path. Fire erupted behind the walls, metal pipes and gears rather, sizzling and crackling alluringly loud in his ear drums. Panting heavily was he, sides and chest heaving as he pushed himself further down the hallway. And as the boy ran, a dark figure followed in long strides, followed with a chuckle so eerie it sent chills down his spine.
Over his own foot, the teenager—Ian, tripped, his face connecting with the pavement in a smack, this pain nerves spiking. "Fuck!" he cussed, grasping his fallen gun once more and stumbling up from his mangled position. Another chuckle abruptly emitted. His bare feet slammed upon the concrete with loud thumps, and as soon as he slowed his pace down, he turned the corner…
Freddy slashed out with his gloved hand in a precise moment, exact and malicious, Ian putting his hand out in defense. He winced as it scrapped against his skin, tearing the flesh and causing crimson to erupt freely.
And then in a moment's notice, he was tossed to the side, his back crashing against the metal pipes. He grunted once more, attempting to get up before being thrown around like a chew toy for a wild dog. Freddy stretched out a smile, crisped face twisting. He pulled the 17 year old up by the back of his shirt collar, slamming his face into another metal pole over to the side in vicious smacks; a cling and clash erupting violently as the boy struggled against the grip. Blood coursed from his nose and scrapped cheeks, face calloused with scars and bruises. Finally, Freddy chuckled and kicked him away, letting his back collide with the nearest gear tool once more. Ian looked upwards, spitting blood to the side.
"W-what do you want…from me?" he asked, crimson liquid running down his chin.
"I just wanna play a little game…" Freddy replied, drawing closer and rasping his knives together. Ah…the game was just beginning. "You've been a very bad boy…Ian" he drawled.
By then, the boy had stumbled to his feet, shoving the shaft of his gun into Freddy's ribcage and extending a fist to smack it against his burnt and deformed nose. Freddy however, was too quick; drawing his knives and slashing them against his chest, four parallel cuts forming. Ian shouted out in pain, clenching his fists before shoving him in a successful push.
It was Freddy who ended up accomplished once more, moving his ungloved hand to boy chest and gripping his shoulder once he had him slammed to the ground.
He drew his glove above his face, grinding the knives together in anticipation as he always had…ah. Another toy lost. Oops.
Ian let his arms hang limp at the sides, doing his best with a cringe to keep his face away…he let go of the gun, the small clicks and slaps of it dropping to the ground pounding.
And at last, Freddy had won the game, driving his gloved hand into the boys eye sockets and quickly taking his life…
…
Many police officers were bewildered at the fallen robber, face down on the ground with blood pooling around his body…
…
How'd I do on that one? :)