I don't know what makes me do these things, I just know I have to do them. It's like I'm the pawn of some bitch goddess, one minute she blesses me the next she makes me hurt people.
I hurt people a lot.
Sometimes I'm ripping them from their cars, tossing them to the street and then burning rubber while they lay dazed. Other times I just walk up to them and start punching, their blood staining my knuckles as surely as it stains the sidewalk. Their pitiful screaming is almost comical as I give them one last stomp to the groin before moving on.
It's not that I want anything from them, they're just there. I have this uncontrollable need to hurt them. Especially cops. They really piss me off. There isn't one I see that I don't beat up or mow down with whatever weapon I happen to find myself with. And when they chase me, as cops often do, I run. But only until I find the right weapon. Then I turn and let fly my tools of destruction that rip into metal as easily as flesh and bone, riddling the street with smoke, fire and blood.
Ever had road rage? Heh, I'm the king of road rage. It's not even so much about rage...I just like fucking people up. I get in my vehicle of choice and go. Stop lights? I barely notice them as I fly down side streets and open roads. They're more like the twinkling of stars than some law I should obey. I barely know the traffic laws. Left side, right side..I drive where I want to. I'll drive on the sidewalk if I so choose. It all depends on my mood.
There's nothing quite like running someone over. You can feel the vibration as the car crunches over their soft, pliant flesh with its boney structure. I've done it so often now, I don't even look in the mirror to see the carnage I've inflicted. Just feeling it is enough to know it's done. I don't often seek out the pedestrians, it's only when that bitch that controls me points me towards some scantily clad Malibu slut that I find any real pleasure in the action. Childhood jokes of "5 points for that one" and "10 points for the geezer with the dog" zip through my mind as the Eurythmics is keyed up on the radio and I plow down another moving target.
On occasion I head home to my mansion. Yeah. I'm rich. I'm a criminal, all criminals are rich. I take what I want from who I want. If I need cash I rob a bank. If I want a helicopter I steal a cop's uniform and casually walk onto a nearbye military base, blending in until I finally knock out the pilot and take off in my new toy. What are they gonna do to me..kill me?
I'm sure it'll happen eventually.
My bitch goddess watches over me though. She wants me to be destructive. She wants me to create red hot flames and clouds of black smoke to paint the sky in her honor. I know because just when I'm cornered, just when I think I've finally seen the last of Miami's blue skies and sandy beaches, she blesses me with a surge of energy. It's like my life force has been given a boost.
I never question her motives. She must want me around. I've always got the right weapon for the situation. I always escape with my life, though I have many battle scars. It's like she's got her hands on the controls and she's playing me, I'm just a character in her game. I'm a slave to the killing.
One of these days the cops will catch up with me, there will be too many of them and they'll splatter me all over the sidewalk like a spilled milkshake. Until then...I would stay out of Vice City if I were you.
Inspired by disgruntledwren's masterful skills at Grand Theft Auto: Vice City.
Thanks to Lennon for a pipe link suggestion.