Crash II: Highrise Hell
them.  
    Crunch!  
    Crack!  
    They fell without resistance.  
    Heaving, Ravi went off like an alarm. "What the fuck? What the fuck? What the fuck?" Each question coincided with another deadly blow.  
    Crack!  
    Crack!  
    Crack!  
    Skulls were shattered like plates at a Greek wedding. Another member of the choir was silenced with every swing. Blood stained the road.  
    Hawking up bilious phlegm, George then spat it out of the window.  
    Turning back around, he saw a boy of no more than fourteen fall to his knees and raise his arms. Lifting his sharp tennis racquet, Ginge went to work on him. It cut straight to the bone, opening dark wounds that oozed thick blood.  
    In the insanity of the massacre, George saw Dean hone in on the man that had told him to stop. It was impossible to hear what the man was saying over the noise, but he clearly hadn't learned to shut up yet.  
    Crack! The hammer came down. Gavel on block. Order!  
    The man turned pale and then crumpled like the rest of them.  
    Screaming, Dean rained blows down on his corpse.  
    Crunch!  
    Crunch!  
    Each one sent up a shot of blood. Each one turned his already crusty suit darker. Each one broadened his grin, his white teeth standing in stark contrast to his dripping red face.  
    A girl had separated from the crowd. She was aged between eighteen and twenty-two. She was a pretty girl. Brown hair. Fit body. George looked around. Had anyone else noticed her? She darted down an alleyway. Get as far away as possible, girl. There's nothing here for you anymore.  
    Fire burned in George's guts as Dean walked towards him with condensation forming from his ragged breaths. He was a little boy inflated from bullying the weaker kids in the playground.  
    When he got close enough, George saw the teardrop of blood swelling on his hooked nose. It grew pregnant and fell to the floor.  
    After running his sleeve across his mouth, Dean licked the blood from his lips and shuddered as if an orgasm had just shimmied through him.  
    Leaning forwards, Ravi then turned to George. "Did he just—"
    "Yep. What a sick fuck." Hot saliva ran down the back of George's throat.  
    When Dean was next to the truck, George lowered the window and was hit with the rancid tang of his suit. It was both metallic and rotten. In the past few weeks of bloodshed, he hadn't washed it once.  
    "I ain't having no do-gooder cunt talk to me, or any of my boys, like that. Fuck no." Grinning, Dean then jumped into his truck and started the engine. It let out a throaty roar that suited its battered appearance.  
    The gang, who were as blood-soaked as their leader, hopped on the back.  
    Once all of the men were on board, Dean howled again and floored the truck, its wheels spinning as it snaked away.  
    Watching Si follow behind, George then lifted his heavy arm and turned the key. The truck shook to life. He looked at Ravi.  
    Ravi looked at his own lap.

Driving Home

    Staring straight ahead, George looked at the sad faces of the caged women in the back of Si's truck. Lethargy ran through his veins, and the vibrations from the wheel shook his tired arms. The hum of the road was the only sound he heard. That and the cage in front rattling whenever they hit a pothole.  
    Over the past few weeks, Dean's behavior had become much worse, and George had done nothing to challenge it. If anything, he'd condoned it by not standing up to him. And for what? To hopefully get reunited with his sister?  
    A classroom's worth of children had died. The truck in front of them was full to bursting with women that were destined for abuse and most likely death. Houses had gone up in flames with people still inside. Reliving the memory of the little boy at the window of the burning house, the image of his petrified face etched in his mind's eye, George wondered if the impact of it would ever diminish.  
    Throwing Ravi a sideways glance, George looked at the women in front again. "Did you ever think it would

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