Expected Via Breech-Birth from MorbidbookS, Early 2017!
Sample from: Paroxysm Sixty-Five by Justin Hunter.
“Your collateral on the loan was my life?” asked Samson, “You mean you bet with my blood?”
“And lost,” Terminator said. “Insurance policies for near pensioners are expensive. REALLY expensive. They don’t automatically close when an old guy becomes a pensioner, but they lose money in payout on death. Each day you’re still alive costs us twenty-five grand. We aren’t waiting any longer.”
“You’ve come to collect,” Samson said.
“Not us,” Terminator said. “Your son. You see, he still owes us the three hundred grand, but the policy is down to two-twenty-five. He can let you die on your own and then he would owe us the balance. OR, he could kill you and we’ll call it even.”
“I’m not worth seventy-five grand,” Samson said. “You might as well let me live and get the rest out of him another way.”
“No,” Terminator said. “This is worth it. People hear this shit and they’ll understand what happens to people who rein on their bets.”
“I see…” Samson straightened in his chair as much as his aching body and bonds would allow. “What the hell were you thinking, Ichabod?”
“I didn’t know. You have to believe me.”
“Okay, I believe you. Does that do either of us any good?” Terminator handed Ichabod a four pound mini-sledgehammer.
“You turn that on us,” Terminator warned, “and you’ll be shot down before you finish your first swing. Get it over with.” Terminator gave Ichabod a short shove. He stumbled forward, almost falling at Samson’s feet. Samson’s body slumped. His head felt impossibly heavy. He tilted his head back and looked his son in the eye.
“Just do it,” Samson said, his voice sounding hard and even. “My life is over anyway. You might as well end it. Hopefully you’ll knock out the part of my brain that remembers the last ten minutes.”
“I can’t do it, dad.” Samson saw the sledge handle slip down a couple inches in his son’s grip.
“Don’t drop that hammer,” Samson ordered.
“I can’t do it.”
“Stop saying that, boy. Do you really think they will let me out of here? I’m done. I’ve been done since the government took possession of my life. I never thought you would have done something like this, but it’s done. It doesn’t matter anyway. Do it.”
Ichabod dropped the hammer.
“Your life isn’t worth nothing,” He said. His face was firm. His hands clenched into fists.
“Pick up that fucking hammer and let’s do this!” Terminator said. He took a step forward and shoved Ichabod again. Ichabod didn’t move.
Pick up that fucking hammer,” Terminator punched Ichabod in the kidney. Ichabod fell to his knees. His son sobbed. He reached over and picked up the hammer. He held his arm back with the hammer. His arm trembled. Samson closed his eyes. Ichabod swung the hammer over Samson’s head and spun around and smashed Terminator in the face. The other two men stepped forward, Ichabod started swinging the hammer. He caught one of the men in the shoulder. He fell sideways and hit the room wall. The third man tackled Ichabod, slamming his face into the ground and pressing his cheek into the concrete floor. Samson was screaming, tugging at his bonds that wouldn’t budge. His chair rocked forward and fell, the edge catching the man on the back of the head, cutting a thin slice that bled freely from the back of his skull.
Ichabod pushed the man off and hit him with the hammer over and over. He struck his arms, legs, and body. The man held up his hands, taking several shots with the hammer, but saving the tool from splitting his skull in half by sacrificing his hands to shattering blows. Ichabod stopped smashing him and went after the man who was clutching his shoulder at the wall. Ichabod’s face was a grim line of shock as he destroyed the skull of the man. He then turned on the Terminator. He kept hitting the Terminator until the man’s face was nothing but pulp and blood.