(in twelve years, a piece will be a part of him. he'll find it too easy and numb to pull the trigger, much easier than hitting with kicks and punches. right now, the weight and feel of the metal against his hand feels wrong, but he knows it has its benefits in a place like this. he's no longer putting order in the streets, this is against a higher power that he doesn't fully understand, and every help should be cherished and welcomed.
still, it feels kind of fucked up. he never liked them. in manjiro's mind, if one wants to kill, be his guest, but do it with one's own hands, watch the light leave.
a shot misses the target, hitting the tree rather than the bullseye he put up. he's too in his thoughts.)
but that was when i ruled the world
still, it feels kind of fucked up. he never liked them. in manjiro's mind, if one wants to kill, be his guest, but do it with one's own hands, watch the light leave.
a shot misses the target, hitting the tree rather than the bullseye he put up. he's too in his thoughts.)
Fuck, how many bullets do I have...