Post by Brom Naomo on Jul 4, 2009 21:16:36 GMT -8
Brom made into the corridor, wielding a long katana and an electric razor. The razor was just a buzzing as he set it to his head, shaving through the middle of his head. Now sporting a reverse 'hawk, he moved through the hallway, dragging the tip of the blade along the floor, leaving along a trailed cut.
Another pass through the man's hair. He was leaving behind a small trail. He was heading towards room fifty three. Where he stored all of his cardboard cut outs of all of his previous selves. A third pass through. He could have been an old man balding if his hair were grayer.
Hr looks around as he shoves the blades of the razor through more hair. Seventy five, seventy three. He was just over halfway there. rolling his eyes back forward, Brom swung the blade out in front, slashing through the door into room sixty nine. Wielding the blade out in front, the razor sets to trimming out the rest of his locks. By the time he reached room sixty one, Brom was completley bald. Only sporting his facial hair.
Turning to face the door keeping him from his destination, he let's our a feral snarl and slices through the wall, the door, and into the opposite side of the frame. Leaving behind a long slash, he enters through the doorway right after the piece of cardboard simply falls over.
He looks around. At all the faces. Different expressions. Different Brom's from times that seemed so long ago. In all reality though. Broman had only been in this city for just over a year. But still. There seemed to be so many different hims.
He let out a blood curdling scream at them all. Wielding the blade he dives in at them all, hacking and slashing. So many faces. So many that people hated. That he hated.Slicing off the head of one, he turns and cuts another one right through the middle, if it were an actual person, it's intestines would be spilling out, but instead, it just fell over in half.
He just kept hacking and slashing. He had no clue how much time had passed by the time he fell over from sheer exhaustion. Thousands of cardboard clones lie about the oversized room, diced and sliced.
He wasn't done yet though. He turned over onto his back and picked the katana up by the blade. As he gripped it in his hand, it started tearing into the flesh of his fingers, causing blood to drip over his face as he picks it up and puts it to his own head. The man starts pushing the blade into his skull, letting out another scream as he slowly started carving.
What seemed like an infinite torture finally died as he dropped the blade. His face was covered in blood. and his fingers barely connected with their tendons. It didn't take long though, for the wounds to start healing, but he had cut deep into his skull, making sure there would be a scar left.
The man lied there. In a pool of his own blood as the target formed on his forehead. Standing once more, he picked the katana up by its hilt and hurled it through the door. He smirked. So many people hated him. Despised him. Looked down on him. Well. Then he'd give them something. He'd even put the target on his own forehead. The madman was tired of people words against him. He wanted actions. Brom would be damned if he wouldn't take it upon himself to make sure so himself.
[] Please note that the following took place in Brom's home in Insanity. Just wanted to clear up any confusion about the numbers and junk.
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