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Featured Author - October

Bruekmann
Stories: 14

Story of the week:
'The Real Deal

View past Author's of the Month.

She was laying in a pool of broken safety glass. Interspersed amongst the crunching pieces of glass were a variety of tiny pieces of metal. Minute springs, like those you’d find inside any given pen, and little gears and cogs were mixed with the glass. There were also small slivers of skin-colored plastic scattered everywhere. So too were tiny fragments of melted metal that had cooled and solidified long before I had arrived at Pennsylvania Avenue’s apartment. The little blobs dotted the floor. The floor was peppered with tiny scorch marks where the superheated metal globules had burned it.

The entrance wound was exactly in the middle of her chest, right between the collarbones. Exactly where I had aimed. James saw where I was looking. “16.8 millimeter diameter entry point,” he explained. Her skin was cracked all to hell in the region surrounding the injury. It was also blackened and coated with tiny bubbles of melted plastic. The bullet had bored through her almost completely, but it didn’t have enough force to punch completely out of her because of the small caliber of my weapon. The bullet was still rattling around loose in there somewhere. I peered into the cavity in the robot that the super-sonic projectile had created. In its wake it left melted metal. A confused jumble of wiring was protruding from the entrance wound. Beyond it, there was only a charred profusion of damaged electronics.

Her smile seemed to imply that she had knowledge that although she was the one who had been shot, and in effect, killed, I was the real victim. Her smile was cynical. She had the last laugh.

“She was a decoy, man! She was just a dummy all along!”


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