Fantasised vividly about getting shot, once, perhaps in the foot, because pain and adrenaline would have been preferable to the mind-numbing tedium of customer service work. Anyway, here, have a RusAme scrap; Ivan is a killer marksman and Alfred is some kind of an undying monkey.
An Itch
He shot Alfred in the foot.
The scream that cracked the air was a high inhuman sound. Alfred rolled to the floor, curling into a tight ball as his hands reached to cradle his bleeding leg. He took a breath and screamed again, this time a little more thinly, from pain-ragged lungs.
He could not help but smile to hear Alfred scream.
"Fuck you!" Alfred managed to splutter out, his words gurgling in a mouthful of spit.
"But you said to shoot you," Ivan said innocently.
"What, when I said oh god just shoot me? Dude, I was joking!"
Alfred spat at the ground. Some of the spit did not quite clear his mouth, and it dribbled down his chin as he flopped back down, rubbing dirt and torn grass blades into his hair. He hissed oh motherfucker! under his breath, sobbing a little theatrically as he clutched his leg.
The truth was, the pain was already subsiding to a dull aching throb as his body worked to repair itself. Ivan watched in mild interest as blood and skin sizzled around the gun wound, slowly closing the hole in Alfred's shin. He had meant to shoot him clean in the foot, but Alfred had moved in the nanosecond it took for the gun to fire and the bullet to bury into flesh. He frowned at the thought of missing his original target. Alfred had superhuman speed, but it was poor excuse. He would need to do better next time.
"Oh, oh, I'm going to live! You won't have to cut off my foot, praise the lord!"
"Alfred."
"Oh sweet baby Jesus, I'm keeping my foot!"
"Alfred…"
"You couldn't kill me if you tri–"
He kicked Alfred's leg, the injured one, inciting a fresh scream from the latter.
"Ow! What the actual f–"
The wound had almost closed up, Alfred's pale flesh peeking through the hole in his dark combat trousers. But Ivan was adamant that his progress halted.
"The bullet is still inside," he said slowly, simply, as if speaking to a child.
Alfred stared, clutching dumbly to his rapidly healing leg.
"…oh fuck."