Part 05 – It’s a vicious cycle.

“Hi!” I called out wittily to the group of three Minmatar protesters I was sent to ‘eliminate’. “How about we talk about your concerns? I think we can come to a reasonable resolution that will ensure all parties are satisfied.”

I stood there, eyes bright and hands resting at my side. I had offered conciliation to these people, smiling in wait for their undoubtedly friendly reply. Suddenly, a strange feeling seemed to grip me. Their eyes met mine, and they all stared silently and intently, in the same manner a wolf stares at sheep. I felt as if they were locking onto my poor, soft body.

Immediately, the group charged forward, lunging ferociously. Spittle exploded from their lips as they went into a completely unexpected fit of aggression. I looked to the CONCORD police officer still walking by, completely uninterested by the fact that I was about to get beaten upon. No help would from that guy, it seemed. My taxpayer dollars sure were being well spent.

The rusted steel protest signs reading ‘No Blood for Amarr’ started bashing down on me. I did the only thing that I could, and started randomly flailing to hurt them back first.

In a daze, I fought those dirty rats, kicking their surprisingly incompetent hides without much trouble. Snatching one of the rusted metal signs from the smallest one, I began to swing with wide arcs. I fought one off, taking him out of the fight with a swift chop… and then the next. I realized these three had barely laid a scratch on me, so my fears of my own death faded. Dispatching the last protestor and heroically smashing his face upon the ground, I finally tossed aside the weapon. I was covered in sweat now. I had killed.

A sudden sense of guilt struck me, and I closed my eyes. Three lives extinguished by the whims of the Barnes and Noble mega-corporation, at my hand. I decided to sate my disturbed soul the only way I could.

I looted their bodies for money.

Not bad. I had now made twenty five bucks, and even found a new pair of ‘Arbalest’ Medium Socks. As I sat and counted my newfound loot, and tried on my newfound footwear, I barely noticed a Quafe Truck driving by to the intersection. Before the truck stopped at the light, it ran over one of the now penniless bodies, creating enough of a bump to dislodge a box of Quafe.

I looked over to the fallen crate, standing up then. “Oh look… refreshments.” I smiled to myself. I really needed something to drink after all that carnage and murder. I casually walked away from the pile of corpses to take a single can from the box. I was so distracted by my thirst, that I didn’t notice the small warning post-it note about stealing that floated down featherlike from the sky, telling me that I had stolen from the driver and was now 'fair game'.

The driver stepped out of the truck, staring down at me. I meanwhile, popped the top off a can and drank it down contently. The taste of ice cold Quafe was refreshing enough to distract me from the sensation of having my lungs shot out by the driver, now firing a very large handgun repeatedly into my chest.

Precious life fled my body. Things grew dark around me, and I knew I was dead. Things became blacker and I felt serene… as if in a safe, tranquil place. The feeling vanished however, once I felt the hands of the truck driver taking my newly fattened wallet, and those expensive named socks. I swore silently, before a white light engulfed me…

(to be continued?)