He’d lift his hands up slowly, looking frustrated. “Oh, of course you would be a pussy and pull that damn wild-west shit on me. Who the fuck uses a revolver?” He would glare.

“Alright, you got me there. I’m no snitch, put the damn Glock down. Besides, we are IN NYC. You’re damn lucky no heroes swooped in yet. Put the gun down.” He’d stare into his eyes.

bed

“Alright, alright. I’m sorr-“ He’d suddenly rush at him, pulling out an extendable baton he had in his belt and shoving him to the ground, slamming the baton into his wrist where he was holding the gun. “PSYCHOTIC PIECE OF SHIT!”

He’d mount him, and starting full force punching him direct in the face. “HOW ABOUT I FUCK UP THAT PRETTY FACE? HUH?” A crowd would start to form, as Bateman’s nose would start to break.

He’d grab the gun as he moved it to him, trying to wrestle away. “OF COURSE YOU’D GO FOR THAT, YOU GOD DAMN PUSSY!”

“AH, FUCK!” His glasses would break as his face would get bloodied, he’d use his training to remain conscious and not compromised as he reached into his back pocket, pulling out a switchblade and shoving it into Bateman’s kidney area. “AHHHHH!”

“GYAH!” He’d stab the knife into his hip, this time pulling it all around, gashing his side open as he slowly became weaker. Bateman would be bleeding a LOT.

He’d weakly grab onto a column nearby, lifting himself up. “…We’re filming a show, everyone. Go away.” He’d pick up Batemans gun, limping away into the distance. Destination unknown, why did he not finish the job?

//busy