Tuesday, July 22, 2008


            Dr. Brainstorm’s teeth made a clinking sound as they hit the sidewalk next to the broken-down, smoking mecha-walker he had previously occupied.

            “Get up, shitbag,” Red Razor said with a growl.

            “Wait a minute.  Wait a minute,” Brainstorm replied, trying to kill time as he regained his balance.  “Fine, fine.  I’ll go quietly.  Just let me get acclimated.”

            Razor slammed the toe of his boot into Brainstorm’s gut, sending the teeth-spitter back onto the pavement.  Crowds had already gathered, but by now the cheers for Red Razor had died down.

            “I said get up, shitbag,” repeated Red Razor, this time with more animosity.

            Blood coughed out of Brainstorm’s mouth as he gasped for air, holding his stomach.  He began to stand again, his knees wobbling.

            “Alright,” he wheezed,” Alright, just don’t . . .”

            With that, Razor kicked him back into submission.  As Brainstorm lay there on the street next to his mecha-walker and his teeth, the crowd stood there, stunned.  No one did anything to stop this.  And it went on for another hour.







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