November 8th, 2007
Central Park was the scene of a massacre. So far they've leveled off the death count to about twenty, but Central Park is big enough to store more bodies.
This is all Stark's fault.
I arrived there pretty late, and there had already been gunfire. Stark was there. So were the Fantastic Four. We seemed to have our own little team ready to stop the gang war.
But the Blackhood, they were merciless. They mowed them down, by the half-a-dozens.
And there was nothing I could do to stop the bullets from hitting the bodies. I watched, mortified. There was so much blood. It stained the grass and the walkways.
We went to disarm them. I kicked the guns from this one guy's hand--he ran off, and so did a lot of others--when they saw us coming.
And then I saw the Blackhood Gang leader. He called himself Stone. I chased after him, shouting, screaming, crying.
He fought.
He fell.
He snapped his neck.
And I didn't care. Gangs are going to be the end of the world as we know it.
So yes, the stolen weapons found their targets.
And now Stark has that on his hands. Serves him right, creating those guns like that. Who does that? Who makes weapons? Really?!
Ugh. I'm not in a blogging mood.
COMMENTS:
(subj:none)
Wow.That's...that's...
wow.
--Mary Jane