Disclaimer – I don't own Fallout 3 or any of its extensive, insane or confusing content. UPDATE AT THE BOTTOM.
Chapter 19
Kylar and the Phantom hit the floor. Hard. Mid-air, and on the subsequent fall from the roof to the floor, both Kylar and the Phantom had lost their knives. They landed separately, both in pain.
But the Phantom was a Phantom. He knew pain, and he knew how to ignore it. He picked himself up, dusted off his suit, and threw himself at Kylar.
But Kylar was Kylar. He'd been through things that no man, pre or post war should have to endure. The hate and determination to see the man before him dead drove everything from his mind.
Kylar grabbed the man's ribcage from the sides, and squeezed. Something popped. Kylar didn't know, but he knew that since the Phantom screamed, it was good. While the man was in pain, Kylar grabbed the arm of a bystander, and hauled himself up. He then walked unsteadily over to Jericho, who came here for lunch, but never breakfast or dinner, and took his rifle.
He made to stand, but seeing it was Kylar, sat back down, although unhappily. "Damned punk." He finished off the mutfruit he'd been eating in a single bite. "Give it back when you're done." He grumbled.
Kylar nodded absentmindedly. He walked over to the Phantom, and beat him with the butt of the rifle, driving all of the force he could towards the Phantom's cracked or broken ribs. He collapsed to the floor, writhing in agony. Kylar picked him up to his knees, and beat him sideways across the head. The other people who hadn't left the bar averted their eyes, or looked away.
Kylar placed the gun to the man's head. "I should fire. I should fire again, and again, and again for what you bastards did. What you do isn't right. It's not natural. It's sure as shit not morally justified. I can't think of a single reason not to pull the trigger and blast your brains all over this goddamn place."
Kylar frowned, and lowered his aim to the Phantom's chest. "But I can. Wouldn't be nice to leave you here for Jenny and her brothers to pick up. Wouldn't be, not at all. That would be rude, and impolite. And then the reason I really care about."
He fired, sending a bullet ripping through one of his lungs. He screamed, and began to gurgle when the blood filled his left lung. "Because you wouldn't have went through the same amount of pain as she did." Kylar pulled out a stimpack, and injected it right into the bullet hole.
Seconds passed, and he stopped bleeding. He could breath. Kylar lowered his aim again, and this time, shot him through the liver, and part of the spleen. The Phantom screamed in agony, begging for death. Kylar shook his head. "Nope. Three more times. One for how many parts you left her in." Another stim.
Another bullet. Through the gut. More howling. Most of the remaining crowd watched in horrified silence as Kylar slowly tortured the poor man. By the time he was finished, the Phantom had been shot in the heart, lung, liver, spleen, large and small intestine, and his pancreas.
But neither Kylar nor the Phantom knew that.
"You ready, Phantom boy?" Kylar asked, picking up the machete the Phantom had dropped. "You ready for one last round?" He smiled wildly, and swing the machete up and under the man's chin. He screamed, and screamed, and when Kylar left the machete there, he began to sob.
This pulled the heartstrings of one particular person, one Lucy West. "What are you doing!" She wailed miserably. Kylar looked at her blankly. "Exactly what I did to the last one of these guys that I found." He answered flatly. "Except that this one doesn't have any inscription on the blade." And then Kylar yanked.
He smiled. Done. I'm done. He realized the pain he was in when he couldn't move his legs anymore. He collapsed onto the ground in a heap, near the jawless Phantom. He grabbed a stim and injected himself. He panted. His guns were still in the clinic.
He got up. Slowly. Kylar looked around for his knife. It was underneath a piece of scrap metal. He picked it up, and shot daring looks at whoever still had the balls, or the lack of brains to look at him. Jenny was one of the former. She glared at him openly. Kylar nodded, and waved his hand. "Sorry." He muttered in a broken voice. Kylar tossed her a small pouch of caps. "Sorry." He repeated.
Kylar made to leave when he remembered the rifle in his hands. He tossed it over the counter to Jericho, who caught it and began to clean and reload the dinged gun.
Kylar wiped the blood off of his face as best he could. He walked for the door, and quite by chance, glimpsed a man in black in the corner. He, while Kylar had been on the ground, had walked over and taken the Phantom's bowler. He tipped it to Kylar.
He frowned. He was familiar. He knew that much. Kylar pushed the door closed, and walked hurriedly to the clinic. His mind was working to remember where he'd seen that face before. It was before he was Kylar, of course, and when he was still with Fell.
When he reached Doc Church's doors, thoughts of the stranger faded away. His second murder in half as many days. He grimaced at the thought of having to explain that to Marisa.
The shrouded man in the corner smiled. He'd always liked bowlers, and now that he'd finally found another, he was very happy. He remembered Kylar. He remembered the girl he'd been with back then too. Different than the current one.
Too bad that they beat him to the bomb. He'd never liked Megaton. He preferred Underworld, or Rivet City.
He lot out a short sigh, and drank his beer. He must be patient. Like the spider, or a slow-acting poison, he knew he had to wait. But also like the spider, or a slow-acting poison, the eventual effect was almost always deadly. But you had to wait first. The longer the wait, the deadlier the poison.
And Grim was very, very good at being patient.
I've nothing to say, asides from if you can't make out who Grim is, then I shall become very depressed.
Okay. My computer crashed BIG TIME, so I'm posting this so that you know. I'm writing on a friend's computer right now, but don't worry. When my computer's back online, I have a flood of stuff to publish.
My apologies.
Frost