.:'*':.Eddsworld and Off Oneshots .:'*':.

Radiation (Paultryk)

Gore.  No more,  no less.  The bite on his right leg won't stop bleeding;  the lights from arcade games illuminate the creatures he wishes he could escape from.   A barrel of a gun flashes in several directions,  but he can't hear the shots go off.   Blazing, searing heat burns the flesh  hot pink,  and his callused hands jolt forwards to feel something,  anything.  

"Paul,  can you walk,  and at the most," Patryk drops the shotgun and a pistol emerges from his left pocket, "run? "

The last word echos louder than the,  nearly constant,  gunshots. Demonspawn pollute the small arcade as the walls seemingly shrink at an exponential rate.   Pauls eyes flutter between two points, and a montage of monsters scrambling closer as a walking bass sets the tempo floods and overstimulates his mind.   Another kind of flood pours from the gnarly puncture.

Late.  Uninteligable natter reverbarates through the walls,  but that doesn't phase the oncoming hoard; they focused in on the iron odor soaking Paul's clothes from behind Patryk.  One shot became another,  and another,  and another,  until the pull of the trigger released an empty click. 

"Shit,  shit,  shit.   Hey,  Pau-paul. " Hesitation.   Patryks chest expands and contracts at twice per second;  he studies the room carefully,  yet briefly.  

"If we can get through the hole in the wall over there,  we can escape and I can...  Amputate your leg." Venom.

Paul nods and his skin lightens a shade from either blood loss or the dreaded words that forced gravity down his dry,  scratchy throat. 

"Fuck!"

Another crowd of tourists burst through the planned exit,  and they squeal with lustuous greed.   Patryk decrees that this shall be the final bite of the apple mentally.   It's red,  delicate,  yet delicious,  flesh being torn at bit by bit,  strip by strip.