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MK Kilmarnock
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Hate, hate, HATE!!!
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"Get the fuck off me!" Brook growled through ragged breaths. His face hurt... Jason certainly knew how to throw those fucking punches, but things could've been far worse. Jason had shot back shortly after Nathan hit the ground, much to the surprise of the gardener. How the guy could have thought that he somehow had the right to fire back was beyond any manageable thought Brook could come up with, and yet he had. The fact that the rushed shot had managed to miss and get caught in a tree somewhere in the distance came to some relief... but the relief tended to be mitigated when your face was sore as hell.

"Ha... h-heh heh, what do you mean I don't get to do this to you?" Brook panted, backpedaling to increase the distance from his former friend and currently stunned adversary. "Things d-don't always go like you want them to! They just... they just don't!"

The statement didn't sound cool, much less glamorous, but it was true. And what more should Jason have expected? He was the uncredited monster, the killer nobody seemed to focus on or care about. If... no, when Brook got his way, he'd be sure to rub the fact all over Jason's face before killing him. He would be the one placed closest to Tiffany, to feel her pain the most vididly. It had to be better than feeling nothing at all.

"I think after what you did, I get to do aaaaaaaanything I want!"

Jason's stagger wouldn't last long, and Brook knew it. That pummeling hard jarred him up a little, though. Shit, that wasn't good... for a moment, he nearly dropped his gun, and that probably could have been the end of the run right there. Of course Jason would be a bastard and take advantage of it. Fortune instead found it fit to keep the gun in his hand, even if he had lost pretty much ninety percent of his grip on it, to the point where he couldn't be sure if he was holding it by the trigger or the barrel at this point without looking.

Run. Hide. Position yourself and shoot the bastard... spill it everywhere! Spill it everywhere!!

Brook managed to press himself behind one of the thicker trees surrounding the clearing as a bullet chipped away some of the bark.

"Seriously!?" He screamed through the oak. Who gave a shit what kind of oak it was? It was an oak. A stupid, soon-to-be-rotten oak that paled in comparison to this point in Brook's life. It all banked on being able to take care of just one more person... one more plant to perfection. "Can... C-can you really keep shooting at your good ol' buddy Brook, Jason?" The taunting likely wouldn't work, but DAMN was it a glimmer of fun in a moment of crisis.

Jason didn't appear to find it as too much fun, though. Brook dared to take a look around the tree, and had to jerk back before he caught some chips of bark, and possibly a bullet, to the face.

Fucking bastard! Where the hell are you? You don't win... you can't win, nobody wins! We all lost a long time ago!

Too much. This was becoming too much. Brook had been forced out of his own garden and, to make matters all the more insulting, it was by the person who had needlessly necessitated its creation in the first place.

"Fuck..."

Jason wouldn't get away with this slap in the face, this vile transgression.

"Fuck you..."

Die... Die... DIE... DIE! DIE!! DIE!!!

"FUCK YOU, JASON!"

A being of nothing but fury left the relative safety of the oak, and the trigger on the gun depressed. The lingering memories of Tiffany, and anybody else in the garden, were shredded away in a leaden hail that filled the air. Brook screamed, but he could not hear himself over the automatic weapon splashing the clearing's edge where Jason was, where Jason had to be. Flashes of the boy appeared to Brook, only rekindling the self-mutilating torch of hatred as he made every attempt to kill him.

And then, as quick and sweet as the shooting began, it stopped.

"No... no no no, come on, I have to..."

Brook plunged a blood-soaked hand into his pocket to fish around for the clip. He pulled it back out to find, there in his eager clutch, the complete opposite of what he was looking for: absolutely nothing.

"F-Fuck, you d-damn..." Brook gasped, only to pause when a terrible pain washed over him. That blood on his hand looked a little fresher than usual. A few spots of it weren't like the caked iron mud that found itself embedded into every line of his palm. The warm, sickly wet fluid upon him now was fresh, distinguishable from the rest of the coating only through heat and vivid color. Then he looked down to find that a puddle of the same stuff had congregated around his lower abdomen, punctuated by three neat little holes in his shirt that he somehow never noticed until now.

His blood. Jason had shed his blood.
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Bloodgarden · The Woods: Coastal