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Droog
Topic Started: Sep 14 2010, 04:45 AM (257 Views)
Spencer
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Better Than You
[ * ]
The rugged and gritty streets of Iraq; full of sunshine and color, yet gloomy and depressing. Children playing cautiously in the streets, vendors selling food; full of life, yet devoid of any real emotion beyond uncertainty and undying tension. In the midst of all that, big daddy US soldier, stomping the dirt further into the ground with an asserted superiority. That was Vic Connor, just a mere two years ago.

It was like any other patrol the squad was assigned. Survey the area for undesirables, hostiles, anything that may cause problems in the future. Alongside him was a new recruit, whom the squad quickly labeled as “Droog.” The nicknames in themselves were an interesting subject. They were more than often chosen by one of the eldest members of the group; a real entertainment buff, knowledgeable of anything and everything having to do with movies. For every Droog there was a Tyler Durden…for every Tyler Durden there was a Daniel Plainview …and for every Daniel Plainview there was a Mr. White. That was Vic Connor…just a mere two years ago.

“Eh, White. You see that guy over there?”

Droog nudged Vic and motioned his head towards the side of the street.

“He’s fuckin a bunch of chickens.”

Vic stared for a few seconds before spitting on the ground and continuing his surveillance of the area.

“…You don’t see something wrong with that?”

“Of course I do…but I’m not here to watch a grown ass man fuck a bunch of chickens. Keep your eyes open.”

Droog smirked.

“That’s what I’m doing, man. I’m observing just like you said earlier…but I just observed a man fuckin a chicken and I don’t think I like that. Maybe we should do something…”

“No… let the man have his fun.”

“You call that fun?”

“Look, there’s a certain mindset you need to have when you see shit like that. A man needs his pussy. You’re young, you know that. If he needs to get it from a chicken, then so be it. The women around here aren’t exactly putting out. So… let him fuck the goddamn chicken.”

Droog shook his head.

“I still think we should at least yell at him or something…pump out a few rounds near his feet.”

Vic laughed quietly and stared up at the sun.

“We stop that man from fuckin that chicken and the next thing you know, we’re gonna have twenty of his arab friends charging towards us with bombs strapped to their chests. Do you want that?”

Droog had no response to Vic’s seemingly rhetorical question, up until the point where Vic put his hand on Droog’s chest and stopped him dead in his tracks.

“I said…do you want that?”

Droog sighed and looked at the ground innocently.

“No, sir.”

Vic removed his hand from Droog’s chest and allowed him to continue walking.

“I didn't think so.”

They continued walking together. The conversation had grown sparse, and understandably so. There was only so much left to talk about after witnessing a man fucking a chicken, and none of it was even remotely interesting. There were only a few more steps to be taken, a few more words to be spoken before they could return to the safety of their base. What happened next though, happened before all of that. It happened within the blink of an eye.

Droog’s head popped like a cherry. Blood, pieces of brain, they were everywhere and nowhere at the same time. All of Vic’s core senses were brought to a complete stop for a moment, before he lunged himself behind the nearest cover and screamed bloody murder into his glorified walkie talkie. And then…

Crunch. Crunch Crunch Crunch.

Vic was forking down spoonful after spoonful of cereal. There was no cold sweat, no nightmares...just another morning at the breakfast table.

Date: September 6th, 2010… The day Vic Connor decided to enlist his services to Troy Turner.
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