From The Smoke (Marvel)

Chapter 23

Disclaimer: If you recognise it, surprise, I don't own it.

Chapter 23– Targeted.

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"Not so tough now, are you, little bat? Did you feel big and tough, scurrying around in the shadows and hiding like a rat? Haha, it should be rat man, yeah?" Bullseye laughs above me, and I feel my blood run cold before the blood leaves my body, seeping through my grievous wounds.

"And nobody likes rats, do they? Disease-carrying rodents, running around spreading illness and ruining everything they touch. Rats need to be exterminated with prejudice, and they need to be stomped out!" He slowly places the bottom of his boot on my chest, just above the rebar and slowly presses down on it, causing me excruciating pain as the ribs of the rebar scrape against my insides. But I don't scream, and I bite my lips to keep from doing so, drawing blood. I can't afford to show pain in front of him, this madman, because he will enjoy my suffering, and he will drag it out.

"Ahhh, there is nothing quite like beating a stupid piece of shit and showing them their place, gives me a real wholesome feeling. You know, it's too bad I killed my mother in high school... She would have loved this. Joking. She wouldn't a' cared." He starts to monologue like the psychopath he is, his foot still pressing down on me. If I wasn't panicking before, I definitely am now that Motherfucking Bullseye is standing above me, and I am at his mercy.

One of the most psychotic fuckers in this universe has me pinned down, and I really don't want to stick around to see what sort of sick things his mind can come up to do with me. My mind is racing, frantically sorting through my options and anything I can do to escape this situation, but I keep hitting a brick wall. He has me stuck down with a piece of metal penetrating me. Not only am I weak from the pain and the blood loss, but my adversary is skilled and lethal, and no half-baked plan is going to stave away his brutality.

"Not talking, eh? Well, that's no fun. Come on, give me a little scream? Can you scream for Uncle Bullseye?" He clamps his hand down onto the rebar and starts to wiggle it around, throwing it to and fro as if it were a joystick or the gearbox of a car, widening the hole in me. Blood leaves my mouth, not only from the internal damage from what he is doing but from my own teeth clamping down on top of my lips to keep from giving this asshole any satisfaction.

"Aww, so you are just going to be boring then? Oh well, you can lead a man to pain, but you can't always make him scream. Let's end this then, shall we? And then I can go and find something more fun to do." Saying so, he presses down even harder onto my torso, making me scrunch my eyes closed from the pain. And then, when the instance of pain diminishes, I open my eyes, and... there is a barrel pointed directly at my face.

"Well, I would love to say it has been fun, but it hasn't. And that was your fault." I am so stunned by the sudden gun pointed in my face that I don't have time to react, and my mind goes blank. I should be doing something, but this life-ending weapon has drawn all my attention, and I find myself unable to move, pinned under its menacing gaze. I have faced guns and bullets before, but always at a distance, and I have never been in such a position before. Dead to rights.

"Bye now." I can see his finger move to pull the trigger, and at that moment, my life flashes before my eyes. And it is so dull. There was no excitement, no fun, just fear and cowering and worrying. I'd wasted my life, and the only bits of fun I had were with Felecia and when I wasn't caring about consequences... I'd wasted it, this life.