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MK Kilmarnock
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Hate, hate, HATE!!!
[ *  *  *  *  *  *  * ]
Jerry had an instant reaction to the creaking of the floorboards.

Several options were available to him. He had seen the environment; he knew the environment. He WAS the environment, and it was him. By mastering and successfully melding several forms of martial arts, Jerry Fury had all the tools necessary to make his move towards the threat and neutralize it. One possible route to take, he would have imagined, involved vaulting over the table using what parkour training he had amassed. From there, it would be a simple matter of balancing on his arm while setting his feet, pushing off with a fancy-yet-effective kick. Who said flashy was impractical? Losers, that's who.

And after this true display of skill, Jerry would be free to go to town on the intruder with a knife. Counterbalance the switchblade, quick slash, retract. Rinse and repeat, and the job was done. Any counterattack his enemy had should be stymied almost immediately but in a worst-case scenario, there's nothing that can't be fixed by hold #767: Armbar.

Of course, none of that actually happened.

Jerry jumped in shock, screaming in a wonderful falsetto. He stumbled from the landing, his heart kicked into full gear and pumping as much blood as it could pump so its host had what it needed to run like the dickens or fight like a lion, whichever he was about to choose. A pain shot up through his heel -- his ankle that he had twisted maybe a month and a half ago felt like pins had been inserted into it, and only through sheer luck had it not been twisted again. He had no time to be thankful for this little present, as it was still painfully clear somebody was in the cabin with him. His back swung to the stairs and Jerry planted his good foot, brandishing the knife and flipping the switch.

"WHOSSAT! WHO'DERE!" Jerry screamed in rushed fashion.

His brow snapped to the open door... the door he had just come in, and he was positive he shut it behind him. Somebody was peeking from behind the door. But that wasn't the direction the noise came from, was it? No, the noise was coming from INSIDE the house!

"WHO THE HELL ARE YOU!?" Jerry screamed again, his voice breaking harder than Frankie Munez at his sixteenth birthday party.
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Aaaaaand he's gone. · The Hunting Cabin