Coroxn
An extremely equivalent exchange.
~Five Seconds~
Ashawn walked into the brightly lit ballroom. His camera flashed like all the other reporters', capturing every moment of the President's visit. Ashawn's own president eagerly shook the famous leader's hand. He saw the bodygaurds, tall and intimidating, analysing everything. He gulped.
One walked over to the reporter's corner, eyes staring at them all. The brute shifted his position, leaning against a pillar. Ashawn gulped again.
If he were going to do anything, he had better do it now.
He slipped one hand from his camera to his pocket, and pulled out the grenade's pin.
Five second timer. Five seconds to live.
Ashwan's face portrayed nothing of the swirling emotions within.
He took a step past the reporters and the bodyguard stood up and stared him down.
Five
Five Seconds Left, Five Seconds to Live.
Five years being groomed, five years, being raised for the slaughter. Five years under his father's thumb, five years gone forever.
Ashawn walked briskly to the huge bodyguard, wearing a nervous, inquisitive look, like he wanted to ask the man a question. It must have worked, because relaxation flowered across his face. Maybe he dealt with a lot of stupid questions from reporters. Maybe not.
It didn't really matter.
"Hey-" Ashawn began, hearing his own accent slip into the English.
Four
Four Seconds Left, Four Seconds to Live.
Four siblings raised for the same purpose, told the same message, fighting for the same war. Learning how to deal damage, how to hide feelings, how to work a bomb. How to kill.
Ashawn headbutted the bodyguard in the nose, and kneed him betwixt the knees, driving him back. The bodyguard staggered , hands up too slow to stop Ashawn's heavy camera catching the side of his head. And the ape went down.
Three
Three Seconds Left, Three Seconds to Live.
Three hours of sprint-training a day, because his revolutionist father knew that you could go only so far using false identities and stealth. Only so far, before people would see he was too close. He'd have to run the rest, and avoid the desperate grabs of men paid to risk their lives to stop him.
Ashawn broke into a sprint, past the mix of somebodies and nobodies, barging past them all. He broke out of the crowd, just meters away. Some men turned his way, he aimed the camera directly for them and clicked. Light erupted into their eyes, forcing their pupils to dilate, earning him another precious second.
Two
Two Seconds Left, Two Seconds to Live.
Two murders under his belt. Two evil, evil, politicians, both fighting vehemently against everything he should believe in. The first in a dark hotel room, hand quivering as he pulled the trigger, body trembling as he felt the blood wash over him.
The other during a bright, festive parade. Crowded street, public occasion. Ashawn had tossed a clunky green canister under the car and ran. A bright flash, a loud bang and a rain of steel, fire, and-
Blood.
The bodyguards reacting wildly, stunned pupils making it impossible to be effective. Ashawn leaped into the stage, clawing up like years of training had taught him.
One
One Second Left, One Second to Live.
One beautiful girl who would only love him if he died for the cause, one beautiful girl whose hair shone even brighter than her eyes, a girl who was witty and clever and wonderful, but who could never return love to anyone but a martyr.
Ashawn wondered, now, if this was a lie on her father's part to manouvre him here. Too late now, if so.
Bodyguards fired mad bullets at him, too late, and he cried out in pain as they entered his skin, splintering bones and severing muscles.
The two presidents gaped at him as he staggered to them, taking them to the floor with a lunge. The pain brought him to tears, but he knew it wouldn't last long. His president gaped at him, open mouthed, trying to figure out what was happening.
Ashawn was sure he never would.
A bang.
A flash.
And then nothing.
Ashawn walked into the brightly lit ballroom. His camera flashed like all the other reporters', capturing every moment of the President's visit. Ashawn's own president eagerly shook the famous leader's hand. He saw the bodygaurds, tall and intimidating, analysing everything. He gulped.
One walked over to the reporter's corner, eyes staring at them all. The brute shifted his position, leaning against a pillar. Ashawn gulped again.
If he were going to do anything, he had better do it now.
He slipped one hand from his camera to his pocket, and pulled out the grenade's pin.
Five second timer. Five seconds to live.
Ashwan's face portrayed nothing of the swirling emotions within.
He took a step past the reporters and the bodyguard stood up and stared him down.
Five
Five Seconds Left, Five Seconds to Live.
Five years being groomed, five years, being raised for the slaughter. Five years under his father's thumb, five years gone forever.
Ashawn walked briskly to the huge bodyguard, wearing a nervous, inquisitive look, like he wanted to ask the man a question. It must have worked, because relaxation flowered across his face. Maybe he dealt with a lot of stupid questions from reporters. Maybe not.
It didn't really matter.
"Hey-" Ashawn began, hearing his own accent slip into the English.
Four
Four Seconds Left, Four Seconds to Live.
Four siblings raised for the same purpose, told the same message, fighting for the same war. Learning how to deal damage, how to hide feelings, how to work a bomb. How to kill.
Ashawn headbutted the bodyguard in the nose, and kneed him betwixt the knees, driving him back. The bodyguard staggered , hands up too slow to stop Ashawn's heavy camera catching the side of his head. And the ape went down.
Three
Three Seconds Left, Three Seconds to Live.
Three hours of sprint-training a day, because his revolutionist father knew that you could go only so far using false identities and stealth. Only so far, before people would see he was too close. He'd have to run the rest, and avoid the desperate grabs of men paid to risk their lives to stop him.
Ashawn broke into a sprint, past the mix of somebodies and nobodies, barging past them all. He broke out of the crowd, just meters away. Some men turned his way, he aimed the camera directly for them and clicked. Light erupted into their eyes, forcing their pupils to dilate, earning him another precious second.
Two
Two Seconds Left, Two Seconds to Live.
Two murders under his belt. Two evil, evil, politicians, both fighting vehemently against everything he should believe in. The first in a dark hotel room, hand quivering as he pulled the trigger, body trembling as he felt the blood wash over him.
The other during a bright, festive parade. Crowded street, public occasion. Ashawn had tossed a clunky green canister under the car and ran. A bright flash, a loud bang and a rain of steel, fire, and-
Blood.
The bodyguards reacting wildly, stunned pupils making it impossible to be effective. Ashawn leaped into the stage, clawing up like years of training had taught him.
One
One Second Left, One Second to Live.
One beautiful girl who would only love him if he died for the cause, one beautiful girl whose hair shone even brighter than her eyes, a girl who was witty and clever and wonderful, but who could never return love to anyone but a martyr.
Ashawn wondered, now, if this was a lie on her father's part to manouvre him here. Too late now, if so.
Bodyguards fired mad bullets at him, too late, and he cried out in pain as they entered his skin, splintering bones and severing muscles.
The two presidents gaped at him as he staggered to them, taking them to the floor with a lunge. The pain brought him to tears, but he knew it wouldn't last long. His president gaped at him, open mouthed, trying to figure out what was happening.
Ashawn was sure he never would.
A bang.
A flash.
And then nothing.
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