Categories > Games > Killer7

Quiet Suburb: Terry Street

by noisee 1 review

Dan wonders while disposing of some Heaven's Smile. (flashfic)

Category: Killer7 - Rating: PG-13 - Genres: Drama - Published: 2006-08-28 - Updated: 2006-08-29 - 459 words - Complete

Quiet Suburb: Terry Street

It's the ringing that does it. The little bell calling out to me, telling me that it's coming. Though, I've never seen a bell on them. Maybe it's in them. God knows what's in that ball they call a body.

I see it, now: turning the corner, rolling toward me, its fucked up grin here and then gone, then back again. I still can't fathom how that abomination of nature could have ever been human. Sure, it has a face- eyes, nose, mouth. Sure, it shows expression.

Actually, it's forced in expression; features eternally contorted into a look of false happiness. Fake joy takes its toll. There is no humanity in that smile.

It seems like it's taking its sweet time, going a foot an hour and jingling at every revolution. In one fluid motion, my gun is cocked and fired. The bullet hits right between the eyes, and the Smile bursts into a spray of scarlet. Normally, the one-hit kill would have been satisfying, but this time there's a problem:

The ringing doesn't stop.

A dark snicker lies in wait around the corner, and I grin.




Their blood is as red as mine. Or, at least as red of that of any human's. I cannot deny them that.

I stand stock still and wait for ringing. For laughter. Only then do I realize that I hate these Smiles the most. Those innocent bells, that warped giggle; the shot, the lingering cackle; it's like killing a child.

And children are much too easy. It's better when they're older, smarter. More strong willed. It's so interesting to see how much a person is willing to give up in order to go on living in this twisted world. I remember this one guy, begging through his own blood, crying all the tears he had left. He offered me so many things in exchange for his life. I asked him for his fortune.

"You might as well kill me," he said.

So I did. And just to spite him, I took his wallet. Chucked it out the window, sending it racing with the rain the thirty floors down.

I wonder how many people died over that wallet.

There is nothing left in this room, not even a drop of blood commemorating my kills. I crawl out the window and onto the roof of the garage. The house is yellow, like the sun, obscenely happy for all the wrong reasons. Like the Smiles.

210 is across the street. I dread having to hand the job over to that jumping fuck face. Grudgingly, I call him out. Just before I change, I point my gun to the side of my head.

I wonder if the effect looks good.
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