a crack of gunshot stopped everyone in their tracks, even more so for 29 year old furniture designer Richard Patterson as he was about to bite into his first meal of the day. it wasn't breakfast he was having, as many people dont have breakfasts at 3pm on a hazy tuesday afternoon. Richard just completed a huge deal the day before, which meant he could finally afford to treat himself to something more substantial than instant ramen. but the high powered 5.56mm round from the business end of a very wet and very black colt commando blew the back of his skull wide open, rendering what used to be contained inside to a very fine red mist.
a pair of legs clad in black chinos, ending in scruffed combat boots, stepped through the shattered glass caused by the first shot that so quickly ended the designer's life. another pair shod in the same style followed a beat after. they took up positions right in the middle of the fast food restaurant, taking quick unhurried steps. calm calculated paces that spoke of premediation. the Two who stepped in surveyed the shell-shocked afternoon patrons of Burger King, reading in their eyes the kind of fear that they've only read about in newspapers and watched on the evening news, as they sat, safe and sound and warm in their living rooms. later, eyewitness accounts would peg these two as males in their early twenties, clad in starched white business shirts and maroon ties, with pants. looking almost like middle managers who're supposed to be attending another boring meeting, the only mismatched accessories being the rifles they had tucked very securely in hollows of the shoulders. heads that were topped with medium length black hair and eyes very safely hidden behind mirrored sunglasses. the second person who stepped through the shattered window swung to his left, and trained the front and rear sight posts of his rifle to the general cluster of children who were just previously speaking very loudly and annoying their neighbours, but now on the verge of bursting into tears, and squeezed the trigger.
hot brass shells tinkled upon the waxed floor of the Burger King, floors which were, ironically, designed to be easy to clean. and now that very same feature would facilitate the cleaning up of the blood that was spilled in this massacre. the first assasin let loose another volley of shots straight ahead, one round entering the chest of a teenager who was about to dash out of his table, and two more going astray, richocheting off the steel beams of the swivel chairs and finally finding a resting place in the meaty thigh of a plump woman sitting the next table over. three rounds were parked, courtesty of assasin two, in the belly of the group of children's mother, the recoil of the rifle bringing the barrel up towards her face, where another three rounds made her identifiable only through her dental records. a group of girls were screaming by now, and many shouts of surprise, shock and absolute horror engulfed the scene.
many people tripped over each other, in the mad dash for safety. nobody was helping another, as their primitive impulse of self-perservation took over. the two assasins assayed their quarry without as much as a sign of emotion, even though their pulses were racing. but only because of the thrill that such an act is presenting to them. each of them reloaded another magazine, but never both at the same time.
they were firing in full auto mode now. the deafening roar of death was greeted by each individual on the receiving end with a slow sick realisation that time really does slow down as u approach your end. it is like being strapped front and centre in a horror movie that closing your eyes wouldn't help as u meet with the inevitable.
heads were blown apart like over-ripened fruits, arteries were severed and the living dead were bleeding to death. the color of the assassins' maroon ties matched with the tributeries of blood on the floor, often the blood would pool in some part of the floor that wasnt as well levelled as the rest. when they were sure that most of the diners at the fast food restaurant were dead, dying or comatose - so shocked that they would need years of post-traumatic-stress therapy, did the second assasin take a step back, dropped his weapon and closed his eyes.
afterwhich the first, and older, assasin turned on his heels in the blood, and shot his associate in the face.
a pair of legs clad in black chinos, ending in scruffed combat boots, stepped through the shattered glass caused by the first shot that so quickly ended the designer's life. another pair shod in the same style followed a beat after. they took up positions right in the middle of the fast food restaurant, taking quick unhurried steps. calm calculated paces that spoke of premediation. the Two who stepped in surveyed the shell-shocked afternoon patrons of Burger King, reading in their eyes the kind of fear that they've only read about in newspapers and watched on the evening news, as they sat, safe and sound and warm in their living rooms. later, eyewitness accounts would peg these two as males in their early twenties, clad in starched white business shirts and maroon ties, with pants. looking almost like middle managers who're supposed to be attending another boring meeting, the only mismatched accessories being the rifles they had tucked very securely in hollows of the shoulders. heads that were topped with medium length black hair and eyes very safely hidden behind mirrored sunglasses. the second person who stepped through the shattered window swung to his left, and trained the front and rear sight posts of his rifle to the general cluster of children who were just previously speaking very loudly and annoying their neighbours, but now on the verge of bursting into tears, and squeezed the trigger.
hot brass shells tinkled upon the waxed floor of the Burger King, floors which were, ironically, designed to be easy to clean. and now that very same feature would facilitate the cleaning up of the blood that was spilled in this massacre. the first assasin let loose another volley of shots straight ahead, one round entering the chest of a teenager who was about to dash out of his table, and two more going astray, richocheting off the steel beams of the swivel chairs and finally finding a resting place in the meaty thigh of a plump woman sitting the next table over. three rounds were parked, courtesty of assasin two, in the belly of the group of children's mother, the recoil of the rifle bringing the barrel up towards her face, where another three rounds made her identifiable only through her dental records. a group of girls were screaming by now, and many shouts of surprise, shock and absolute horror engulfed the scene.
many people tripped over each other, in the mad dash for safety. nobody was helping another, as their primitive impulse of self-perservation took over. the two assasins assayed their quarry without as much as a sign of emotion, even though their pulses were racing. but only because of the thrill that such an act is presenting to them. each of them reloaded another magazine, but never both at the same time.
they were firing in full auto mode now. the deafening roar of death was greeted by each individual on the receiving end with a slow sick realisation that time really does slow down as u approach your end. it is like being strapped front and centre in a horror movie that closing your eyes wouldn't help as u meet with the inevitable.
heads were blown apart like over-ripened fruits, arteries were severed and the living dead were bleeding to death. the color of the assassins' maroon ties matched with the tributeries of blood on the floor, often the blood would pool in some part of the floor that wasnt as well levelled as the rest. when they were sure that most of the diners at the fast food restaurant were dead, dying or comatose - so shocked that they would need years of post-traumatic-stress therapy, did the second assasin take a step back, dropped his weapon and closed his eyes.
afterwhich the first, and older, assasin turned on his heels in the blood, and shot his associate in the face.
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