"Stay inside," I tell her, putting my hand behind me, gently pressing against her hip before stepping forward.
I don't want this confrontation, it's why I took this job. How often does a security guard have to fight people? I'm supposed to be a deterrent just by being here. Already I'm starting to assess my situation though. Almost unconsciously I've kept my face out of the cameras in this area and I'm moving so that my back is to the shop to prevent them from attacking me from more than 180 degrees. Part of me wants this fight, wants the violence, wants to hurt anyone that would dare attack me.
"Rent-a-cop, you here?" one of them shouts and the rest laugh. Eight of them, more than usual. Not enough, especially not when they're drunk.
"Go home," I tell them, keeping my flashlight pointed at the ground.
"No, asshole, you go home," the same one shouts, causing the rest to laugh.
My lips curl back in a sneer I can't hide. A predator gesture, showing my killing teeth. Not that they're smart enough to know what it means. Two are holding bottles of alcohol. Liquid courage.
They circle around in front of me and one of them lunges toward me with a crowbar. I shine my light if the face of another as I move to meet the attacker. I don't even have to speed myself up, they have no training or tact. Just stupidity.
I grab his wrist and twist. He screams in pain and the crowbar drops to the ground with a loud clang. I shove him back and turn to face my next attacker, smacking him in the nose with my flashlight. There's a loud crack and another scream as he stumbles back. Broken but not badly, enough to take him out of the fight.
It's all instinct now. Assess and eliminate the threats. Action reaction. The animal side of me is howling for blood but the training is so ingrained the animal side doesn't take over.
Then one of them, the leader, raises his hand and throws one of the bottles of alcohol at me. Inhumanely fast I catch it and throw it back. Only too late do I realize my mistake. The bottle isn't for drinking, it's a molotov cocktail.
"No!" I scream, but it's too late. It hits him in the chest and shatters, the alcohol drenching him and lighting him up on fire like a match.
Stupid. Stupid fucking mistake. The training and the animal side don't care about casualties like I do and because of that some punk kid is going to die and I'll have killed him.
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zvi and
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Date: 2013-06-02 05:13 am (UTC)I don't want this confrontation, it's why I took this job. How often does a security guard have to fight people? I'm supposed to be a deterrent just by being here. Already I'm starting to assess my situation though. Almost unconsciously I've kept my face out of the cameras in this area and I'm moving so that my back is to the shop to prevent them from attacking me from more than 180 degrees. Part of me wants this fight, wants the violence, wants to hurt anyone that would dare attack me.
"Rent-a-cop, you here?" one of them shouts and the rest laugh. Eight of them, more than usual. Not enough, especially not when they're drunk.
"Go home," I tell them, keeping my flashlight pointed at the ground.
"No, asshole, you go home," the same one shouts, causing the rest to laugh.
My lips curl back in a sneer I can't hide. A predator gesture, showing my killing teeth. Not that they're smart enough to know what it means. Two are holding bottles of alcohol. Liquid courage.
They circle around in front of me and one of them lunges toward me with a crowbar. I shine my light if the face of another as I move to meet the attacker. I don't even have to speed myself up, they have no training or tact. Just stupidity.
I grab his wrist and twist. He screams in pain and the crowbar drops to the ground with a loud clang. I shove him back and turn to face my next attacker, smacking him in the nose with my flashlight. There's a loud crack and another scream as he stumbles back. Broken but not badly, enough to take him out of the fight.
It's all instinct now. Assess and eliminate the threats. Action reaction. The animal side of me is howling for blood but the training is so ingrained the animal side doesn't take over.
Then one of them, the leader, raises his hand and throws one of the bottles of alcohol at me. Inhumanely fast I catch it and throw it back. Only too late do I realize my mistake. The bottle isn't for drinking, it's a molotov cocktail.
"No!" I scream, but it's too late. It hits him in the chest and shatters, the alcohol drenching him and lighting him up on fire like a match.
Stupid. Stupid fucking mistake. The training and the animal side don't care about casualties like I do and because of that some punk kid is going to die and I'll have killed him.