((Roland picked up and activated the grenade with his other arm.))
Even though Roland Thomas Kelly could have counted the number of times has had been smashed by a barrage of noise and then plunged into silence on one hand, he had apparently lost count as the flashbang detonated at such close range he could've sworn that God had robbed him of his hearing and very nearly of his sight. That he was facing away from the flashbang did little to stop its effect, and he found himself "staring" at the wall for more than a few seconds as Dan let him go.
Roland felt his left hand trying to escape the arm it was half-attached to, and it was not good.
He crouched low and still for a few moments (his left hand hitting the floor and sending another rush of pain up to his head), concentrating hard to regain his bearings. He knew that his scepter was nearby...and if he could find it he could wield it...but with his arm injured and God's miraculous grace obviously not available to a citizen of this near-hell, there would be no healing in time for him to use it at full strength. As his vision started to clear, he spotted something else lined up near a shelf...
...a hockey stick of sorts. Probably Damien's death-scythe, but he couldn't tell in his vision's current state. He waddled toward the shape and grabbed it, finding it was just light enough to be wielded with one arm...but would it be enough?
Dr. Dan the Medicine Man
OPEN
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"You fucker! You sonofabitch!" Dan was making perfectly clear just how infuriated he was. He felt nausious, but there really wasn't enough in his stomach to throw up...and this was hardly the time.
He heard swift footsteps to the right. Where did this shithead think he was going? Dan's sight eased back in again, but it did little to help his balance; he staggered down the seemingly revolving corridor towards the open doorway where the other boy had dissappeared. Considering the state he was in, fighting hand-to-hand would be like fighting drunk, so he was glad that he still had the trusty stun gun. He knew first hand how much of a punch that little sucker packed.
It had just occurred to him that his ribs didn't hurt anymore. They tingled a little, like there was some miniscule electric current running through his side, but either the painkillers or the comparison to his throbbing head blocked out the sting altogether.
Dan all but threw himself against the doorframe, stopping himself with his arm, and stormed towards the other boy crackling the stun gun. Enough fucking around; this was going to end now.
He heard swift footsteps to the right. Where did this shithead think he was going? Dan's sight eased back in again, but it did little to help his balance; he staggered down the seemingly revolving corridor towards the open doorway where the other boy had dissappeared. Considering the state he was in, fighting hand-to-hand would be like fighting drunk, so he was glad that he still had the trusty stun gun. He knew first hand how much of a punch that little sucker packed.
It had just occurred to him that his ribs didn't hurt anymore. They tingled a little, like there was some miniscule electric current running through his side, but either the painkillers or the comparison to his throbbing head blocked out the sting altogether.
Dan all but threw himself against the doorframe, stopping himself with his arm, and stormed towards the other boy crackling the stun gun. Enough fucking around; this was going to end now.
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Roland could feel only those small tingles from his left arm that told him it was going numb, and it was a feeling more dreadful than the raging fires on his mutilated cheek. If he didn't get rid of Damien soon (he somehow figured he could destroy this scythe when it was done and use it to splint) then he'd literally be carrying deadweight, and that wouldn't benefit his chances of reaching paradise very much. His only reassurance was that the scythe he picked up with his other hand wasn't too heavy...but it worried him that it might not work as well when wielded and/or guided by the forces of light.
Roland's vision wasn't quite clear yet, but one didn't need 20/20 vision to spot Dan's relatively hulking figure storming toward him (or 20/20 hearing to hear where Dan was, per se). At least when he could see it coming this early, he wouldn't have to make the same mistake twice.
As soon as he figured Dan was close enough, he ducked swiftly to the side...and at the same time jabbed the scythe into Dan's side...or underbelly...or whatever looked like the center of that mass.
Roland's vision wasn't quite clear yet, but one didn't need 20/20 vision to spot Dan's relatively hulking figure storming toward him (or 20/20 hearing to hear where Dan was, per se). At least when he could see it coming this early, he wouldn't have to make the same mistake twice.
As soon as he figured Dan was close enough, he ducked swiftly to the side...and at the same time jabbed the scythe into Dan's side...or underbelly...or whatever looked like the center of that mass.
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The fuzzy blob of a figure receded down into the corner of Dan's eye, but due to the nature of his temporary half-blindness it was very hard to register. Something solid and flat jabbed into his ribs, hard, and Dan let out a cry of pain. Was it the hockey stick? Whatever it was, it effectively undid the remedy of the painkillers, sending a white hot sting up into his side. It didn't help that he'd basically just walked right into it, either.
The pain was brutal, worse even than the electric surge that had wrought the tender area, but ultimately just not enough to take the big guy down. Quite the contrary, this direct attack served as a potent catalyst for Dan's girthy rage, as it always did when some ambitious forward took him to the boards. He cursed at the other boy through gritted teeth, snatching the end of the hockey stick furiously and tugging to pry it loose from his hand. He didn't expect a whole lot of resistance, given the sudden wrenching motion and his superior muscle.
'That's right, there's no way out of this one. Nice try, you shit-eating bitch.'
The pain was brutal, worse even than the electric surge that had wrought the tender area, but ultimately just not enough to take the big guy down. Quite the contrary, this direct attack served as a potent catalyst for Dan's girthy rage, as it always did when some ambitious forward took him to the boards. He cursed at the other boy through gritted teeth, snatching the end of the hockey stick furiously and tugging to pry it loose from his hand. He didn't expect a whole lot of resistance, given the sudden wrenching motion and his superior muscle.
'That's right, there's no way out of this one. Nice try, you shit-eating bitch.'
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Roland bristled with confidence as Damien's scythe returned its pain to its owner. But this pain for pleasure was all too temporary. Just as he was feeling the slightest sense of complacency, he felt a sudden yanking sensation on the scythe...and before he knew it Dan had yanked it out of his hands and spun him around, causing him to fall to the ground on his rump end.
His left arm thudded limply with the floor, sending what felt like a sword of pain straight up to his head via his shoulder and brain, causing him to cry and cry out in pain. In his thoughts, he could form more coherent words to describe his current condition, and it wasn't pretty. Dan was practically looming above him, tall dark and ominous, now armed with both his scythe and what looked like his tazer, ready to give Roland just a sampler of pain before sending him on a cargo-hold trip to damnation.
I have failed...God...what do I do!?
Roland's right hand scrambled and trembled before finding its way onto a rather cylindrical shape. He didn't take his gaze off Dan, though his mind was deciphering what it was his hand found.
Is this...this can't be...
As his left hand felt pain and suffering, it was if his right hand suddenly felt a wave of relief, hope and courage. All holy connotations aside, he had been given so many chances, and God had seen fit in His mercy to offer him one more chance at justice. There seemed to be nothing after that...and Roland was already feeling that.
With a forcedly geeky cry, he picked up whatever it was in his hand, propped himself and jumped up and lunged at Dan and hoped to God several times over that he'd - of all things - get lucky.
His left arm thudded limply with the floor, sending what felt like a sword of pain straight up to his head via his shoulder and brain, causing him to cry and cry out in pain. In his thoughts, he could form more coherent words to describe his current condition, and it wasn't pretty. Dan was practically looming above him, tall dark and ominous, now armed with both his scythe and what looked like his tazer, ready to give Roland just a sampler of pain before sending him on a cargo-hold trip to damnation.
I have failed...God...what do I do!?
Roland's right hand scrambled and trembled before finding its way onto a rather cylindrical shape. He didn't take his gaze off Dan, though his mind was deciphering what it was his hand found.
Is this...this can't be...
As his left hand felt pain and suffering, it was if his right hand suddenly felt a wave of relief, hope and courage. All holy connotations aside, he had been given so many chances, and God had seen fit in His mercy to offer him one more chance at justice. There seemed to be nothing after that...and Roland was already feeling that.
With a forcedly geeky cry, he picked up whatever it was in his hand, propped himself and jumped up and lunged at Dan and hoped to God several times over that he'd - of all things - get lucky.
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Dan had all but forgotten about the surgical syringe deposited somewhere in his daypack, which had been knocked over in midst of the altercation and spilled its contents on the floor. Was it really that important? The odds of Dan's foe getting his hands on the unimpressive "weapon" had been slim at best anyway, but now...
...with every inch of that dull needle buried in his inner thigh, just above his bad knee, maybe he should have just left the damn thing sticking out of Edgar Judah's neck.
Dan let out a cry of surprise and immense pain, but mostly surprise because this bastard had hit both of his weakspots by sheer luck. Maybe he would have hit higher up if Dan hadn't began taking a step back reflexatively, the moment he saw his opponent spring forward. But no, this was close enough to the joint and angled just right so that it shot a mind-numbing pain through the once-healed hockey injury.
Subconsciously freeing his hands from their previous endeavors and reaching down to remove the sharp instrument from his Achilles' heel, Dan realized too late that he'd let both of his weapons slip out of his grasp. The hockey stick clattered on the stone floor, and the stun gun fell right into the other boys lap.
...with every inch of that dull needle buried in his inner thigh, just above his bad knee, maybe he should have just left the damn thing sticking out of Edgar Judah's neck.
Dan let out a cry of surprise and immense pain, but mostly surprise because this bastard had hit both of his weakspots by sheer luck. Maybe he would have hit higher up if Dan hadn't began taking a step back reflexatively, the moment he saw his opponent spring forward. But no, this was close enough to the joint and angled just right so that it shot a mind-numbing pain through the once-healed hockey injury.
Subconsciously freeing his hands from their previous endeavors and reaching down to remove the sharp instrument from his Achilles' heel, Dan realized too late that he'd let both of his weapons slip out of his grasp. The hockey stick clattered on the stone floor, and the stun gun fell right into the other boys lap.
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Roland's vision was still fairly blurry as he jabbed that needle into something...but Dan's cry of pain (which actually rang out above the flash bang) was enough to tell him that he had hit him. Of course, for the first few moments, that was little solace as he was quickly reminded of how the previous blow seemed to barely have an effect. It was the severely-muffled clattering of "Damien's" weapons on the floor - the tazer sliding off of him and near his right side that told him that God had given him that opportunity.
All he had to do now was use it. His left arm was going numb, feeling like he literally had some kind of robotic electricity generator attached in place of his hand.
After a few seconds to further reorient himself, he stooped down to the ground (his left hand colliding with the ground to provide him an extra "boost") and picked up Dan's tazer. He stared at the device, and had to turn it around when he pressed the button only to find the little burst of white electricity pointed dangerously close to him.
"Damien...you die tonight..." he growled, before erupting into a yell. "DIE!"
In a crude, upward and semi-circular motion, Roland's hand jammed on the button and flew upwards to what he could just make out as "Damien's" torso. Had his mind not been engulfed in his rage, he would have seriously sworn (and prayed) that God was guiding his hand.
All he had to do now was use it. His left arm was going numb, feeling like he literally had some kind of robotic electricity generator attached in place of his hand.
After a few seconds to further reorient himself, he stooped down to the ground (his left hand colliding with the ground to provide him an extra "boost") and picked up Dan's tazer. He stared at the device, and had to turn it around when he pressed the button only to find the little burst of white electricity pointed dangerously close to him.
"Damien...you die tonight..." he growled, before erupting into a yell. "DIE!"
In a crude, upward and semi-circular motion, Roland's hand jammed on the button and flew upwards to what he could just make out as "Damien's" torso. Had his mind not been engulfed in his rage, he would have seriously sworn (and prayed) that God was guiding his hand.
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Within an instant the needle was withdrawn from Dan's leg. Although the sharp instrument had firmly pinned muscle to cartilage, it really would have taken only a very slight pull to dislodge. Dan instead tugged it desperately like it was the legendary Excalibur embedded in stone, but to be fair he was in tremendous pain. There was a small spurt of blood that trailed the hasty exit of the shaft, followed by a generous amount of it ebbing down under his pantleg and soaking his wool sock. Dan pitched the troublesome thing behind him the moment it was out, unable to hear it shatter against the floor. He would probably be effectively crippled for the rest of the game.
Now that the syringe had been hastily dealt with, Dan could focus all of his attention on the familiar surge of about 60 Hz of electric current coursing through his body. This was now the third time this had happened to him--this one was in the belly--but he certainly hadn't gotten any more used to it. In fact, just thinking about it after the first two times had given him the chills. In fact, coupled with the dehabilitating effects of the two flashbangs and syringe, this third occasion suddenly gave rise to the horrifying realization that Dan was going to be killed. This had been the deciding blow.
He immediately felt his body go limp, as it had back in the school utility shed, pinning down Edgar as the lethal injection took effect. That had taken all of Dan's strength and then some...just staying awake...
...but now...forget about it...
This time there was no lapse between the punishing electric current, and certainly no way for Dan to fight the white fuzzy lights. His legs felt like jello and gave way. He was fortunate at the very least to be so far gone that he couldn't feel his nose and forehead crack against the cold stone floor as he fell clumsily forward. Now, his last bit of consciousness spilling quietly out of both nostrils--or was that blood? Christ, it was--Dan's biggest regret was that his last meal had been shitty crackers.
B92: JOHNSON, DAN -- DECEASED
Now that the syringe had been hastily dealt with, Dan could focus all of his attention on the familiar surge of about 60 Hz of electric current coursing through his body. This was now the third time this had happened to him--this one was in the belly--but he certainly hadn't gotten any more used to it. In fact, just thinking about it after the first two times had given him the chills. In fact, coupled with the dehabilitating effects of the two flashbangs and syringe, this third occasion suddenly gave rise to the horrifying realization that Dan was going to be killed. This had been the deciding blow.
He immediately felt his body go limp, as it had back in the school utility shed, pinning down Edgar as the lethal injection took effect. That had taken all of Dan's strength and then some...just staying awake...
...but now...forget about it...
This time there was no lapse between the punishing electric current, and certainly no way for Dan to fight the white fuzzy lights. His legs felt like jello and gave way. He was fortunate at the very least to be so far gone that he couldn't feel his nose and forehead crack against the cold stone floor as he fell clumsily forward. Now, his last bit of consciousness spilling quietly out of both nostrils--or was that blood? Christ, it was--Dan's biggest regret was that his last meal had been shitty crackers.
B92: JOHNSON, DAN -- DECEASED
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Roland didn't know or even care to know if "Damien" was screaming as he sicked the larger body with a dose of holy electricity. He was currently too focused on just getting rid of Damien as soon as possible. The lack of any counter-offensive from Dan somehow told him it was working...and Dan's collapse told Roland it was working all too well.
Roland could feel Dan's collapsing mass push his taser arm out of the way, and slowly recoiled accordingly. He watched as "Damien" seemed to fall in slow motion, eventually culminating with a sickening crack and lack of bodily movement. Small puddles of blood formed around Dan's head as well as the part of the leg where he'd jabbed that syringe earlier.
Dan was dead. As Roland knelt down before the body, he was sure Damien was still alive. He let that thought play over and over in his head as he too fell forward from the burden of his own physical anguish, falling across Dan's bulk just above the tailbone to form a rather coincidential cross of flesh on the floor.
And it was while his body weight lay cross-wise across Dan Johnson's that Roland Thomas Kelly sobbed and moaned. He knew that God knew that he knew that he was crying like an infant through all the pain (and even more "painful" lack thereof.) He knew that Damien wouldn't have died until God told him, and even then he didn't know if that was all he really needed to do to attain redemption anymore, since he had just "killed" Damien out of blind, instinctual rage and not faith. He'd always been educated that faith was the way to get to salvation but always felt there was something more to that.
Maybe killing Damien over and over again was really his eternal punishment.
It was a revelation he would have preferred left to John as the world seemed to turn white around him.
"Hello, Roland."
"You...can't be..." Roland looked up to find what appeared to be the pitch-black silhouette of what appeared to be a man in a suit.
"I might be...I might not be..."
"I know who you are...you'r- ARRRAAAAGH!" Roland tried to get up and face the shadowy silhouette before him, but he could only manage to prop himself just above prone with his uninjured arm. He was still slumped over an equally-black shadowy mass.
"Please! Relax. You'll be here a while, better not make yourself uncomfortable."
"Why not? I'm in hell, aren't I?" Roland choked through tears.
The figure laughed softly. "Not quite."
Words Roland was half-thankful to hear, whether or not the shadowy figure before him was Lucifer.
"Then what am I..."
"You already had the answer, you just lost it."
"So I was...and all this was..."
"Bingo. I'll be checking back on you soon."
"Wait! Who are you?!" Roland begged as the silhouette turned and started to walk away. "Wait! Get back here! AAAARGH!"
But the figure was gone.
And the black shadowy mass seemed to rumble to life.
"Oh God..."
Roland was thankful to wake up. Alive. Unharmed (at least in comparison to when he passed out.) On top of a confirmedly lifeless manifestation of his greatest evil. In a state of relative comfort. His cheek appeared to have scabbed over, so it was in no mood for motion for a while. And after his initial gasp, in silence, without his collar beeping or steps creeping up to exploit him.
He basked in the silence for several more minutes, interrupted by the occasional groan and moan as he tried to get himself back into a one-armed crawl, toward the clinic shelves. His left hand tingled as it was dragged across the ground. He could still move it, but only barely. It would need splinting ASAP in order to get even substantial motion back.
At least there were what appeared to be a few thin "planks" of sorts to work as a splint...and his "first aid" kit - somewhere else along the floor - probably had some bandages to hold it together.
===
Again, like always, the sun seemed to be setting just as he finally managed to get himself on his way. But this time, Roland really felt like he was on his last legs (Or maybe Christ as he approached Golgotha...no offense...), depending more and more on the tall brass scepter for support. He found that even with his one good arm and all his faith he could barely lift it from the ground and manage a turtle's pace, let alone carry his lightened daypack, which had but one canister left and Damien's tazer mixed in with whatever supplies were left.
The rays emitted by the sun as it finished its daily tour felt warming and somewhat healing...but the comfort was hollow even as night fell.
"God...grant that I..."
Roland was at a loss for words as he left the hospital...but he did hope that God would know the rest.
((Continued Elsewhere))
Roland could feel Dan's collapsing mass push his taser arm out of the way, and slowly recoiled accordingly. He watched as "Damien" seemed to fall in slow motion, eventually culminating with a sickening crack and lack of bodily movement. Small puddles of blood formed around Dan's head as well as the part of the leg where he'd jabbed that syringe earlier.
Dan was dead. As Roland knelt down before the body, he was sure Damien was still alive. He let that thought play over and over in his head as he too fell forward from the burden of his own physical anguish, falling across Dan's bulk just above the tailbone to form a rather coincidential cross of flesh on the floor.
And it was while his body weight lay cross-wise across Dan Johnson's that Roland Thomas Kelly sobbed and moaned. He knew that God knew that he knew that he was crying like an infant through all the pain (and even more "painful" lack thereof.) He knew that Damien wouldn't have died until God told him, and even then he didn't know if that was all he really needed to do to attain redemption anymore, since he had just "killed" Damien out of blind, instinctual rage and not faith. He'd always been educated that faith was the way to get to salvation but always felt there was something more to that.
Maybe killing Damien over and over again was really his eternal punishment.
It was a revelation he would have preferred left to John as the world seemed to turn white around him.
"Hello, Roland."
"You...can't be..." Roland looked up to find what appeared to be the pitch-black silhouette of what appeared to be a man in a suit.
"I might be...I might not be..."
"I know who you are...you'r- ARRRAAAAGH!" Roland tried to get up and face the shadowy silhouette before him, but he could only manage to prop himself just above prone with his uninjured arm. He was still slumped over an equally-black shadowy mass.
"Please! Relax. You'll be here a while, better not make yourself uncomfortable."
"Why not? I'm in hell, aren't I?" Roland choked through tears.
The figure laughed softly. "Not quite."
Words Roland was half-thankful to hear, whether or not the shadowy figure before him was Lucifer.
"Then what am I..."
"You already had the answer, you just lost it."
"So I was...and all this was..."
"Bingo. I'll be checking back on you soon."
"Wait! Who are you?!" Roland begged as the silhouette turned and started to walk away. "Wait! Get back here! AAAARGH!"
But the figure was gone.
And the black shadowy mass seemed to rumble to life.
"Oh God..."
Roland was thankful to wake up. Alive. Unharmed (at least in comparison to when he passed out.) On top of a confirmedly lifeless manifestation of his greatest evil. In a state of relative comfort. His cheek appeared to have scabbed over, so it was in no mood for motion for a while. And after his initial gasp, in silence, without his collar beeping or steps creeping up to exploit him.
He basked in the silence for several more minutes, interrupted by the occasional groan and moan as he tried to get himself back into a one-armed crawl, toward the clinic shelves. His left hand tingled as it was dragged across the ground. He could still move it, but only barely. It would need splinting ASAP in order to get even substantial motion back.
At least there were what appeared to be a few thin "planks" of sorts to work as a splint...and his "first aid" kit - somewhere else along the floor - probably had some bandages to hold it together.
===
Again, like always, the sun seemed to be setting just as he finally managed to get himself on his way. But this time, Roland really felt like he was on his last legs (Or maybe Christ as he approached Golgotha...no offense...), depending more and more on the tall brass scepter for support. He found that even with his one good arm and all his faith he could barely lift it from the ground and manage a turtle's pace, let alone carry his lightened daypack, which had but one canister left and Damien's tazer mixed in with whatever supplies were left.
The rays emitted by the sun as it finished its daily tour felt warming and somewhat healing...but the comfort was hollow even as night fell.
"God...grant that I..."
Roland was at a loss for words as he left the hospital...but he did hope that God would know the rest.
((Continued Elsewhere))
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