Mug Shot. Who: Shawn. CLOSED, ONE-SHOT. What: A mugger gets in over his head. Where: Alleyway near Shawn's apartment. When: Saturday Night. Warnings: Intense gore, murder, language, and probably some nightmare fuel.
Shawn didn't care much for walking home in the dark. He wasn't scared, necessarily, but it did tend to bring the creeps out in this neighborhood. Creeps might try to speak up. Talk to you. Maybe more than that, but it was the talking that concerned Shawn more than anything. He hated talking to people when he wasn't prepared for it.
Hands shoved in his pockets, hood up, he walked squarely towards his building. He looked like a thug. That was good. Usually, thugs tended to be less likely to go after other thugs.
Usually.
"Hey. Buddy." The voice came from the alleyway, gruff and with an edge. He didn't look up. He tried to keep walking. He only stopped when he heard the click of a gun, eyes flicking over to see who it was. Another thug, aiming a pistol right for his head, grinning with crooked, tobacco-stained teeth. "Can't you hear me talking to you, buddy? Get the fuck over here."
For a moment, Shawn took a deep breath through his teeth...and then let it out as he obeyed the order, expression deadened. The stranger grabbed his shoulder as soon as he was close enough, and he allowed it, letting himself get pushed against the brick wall. The gun pressed into his throat, cold as the night air. Stale cigarettes dominated the thug's breath. "Give me your fucking shit. Anything you got. Wallet, watch, iPod, phone."
After a beat, the young man finally spoke, voice barely above a whisper. Calm. Too calm. "...I don't want to." His face seemed pitiful as he said it, however cold - the thug just laughed, shoving the gun harder against his neck.
"You don't want to? Boo fucking hoo, fag. Turn that shit over before I take you out and take it myself." The mugger was dressed simply. Hoodie, thick jeans. Shawn's dark eyes flicked down towards the front pockets of the jeans, making out the outline of something in each. A smartphone in one. An iPod in the other. He focused on the phone, brushing his hand across the outside of the pocket while appearing to reach into his own. A surge of code rushed through his head, down his arm -
He breathed a shuddering breath, big eyes curiously unafraid as they met with his assailant's.
"You shouldn't keep your phone in your pocket. Jeans don't breathe enough." The thug looked angry for a moment, opening his mouth to question what this had to do with anything...when suddenly, there was a loud pop, and he fell screaming to his knees. Blood soaked through the front of his pants, and while he fumbled desperately with his pocket, his would-be victim was picking up his gun, voice still calm as can be. "There've been cases of phones exploding."
Shawn stood over the other man for a moment, watching him pull the now-shattered and smoking phone from his pocket. He was sobbing, the front of his pants saturated with blood by now. His manhood had taken the brunt of the explosion, it seemed.
He could hear SHODAN laugh, humorless, in the back of his head. Face blank, he kicked out, knocking the man on his back and placing a foot on his throat. He pressed down, and he listened to the gasping, the crunching. "You shouldn't have done this."
The thug gasped, trying to beg. Shawn took his foot off of his throat, crouching down to listen. There was no threat now. He was a neutered dog.
"...Please...I'm...sorry...?"
The pistol pushed up under the man's jaw, jamming into the soft flesh. Shawn's voice was even softer. He didn't smile, looking the mugger right in the eyes.
"No, you're not."
The gun fired, and the man's brain and bone sprayed across the concrete.