Sunday, April 03, 2005

146. The omniscient narrator

"What a joke," Rob said.

"Let's beat the crap out of him," said the other thug, whose name was Tom.

"Great idea," his partner replied, and the two of them delivered a series of kicks and blows in such rapid succession that their costumed victim had no chance to think about how to react. Strange wanted to melt into the cement--and the way things were going, that looked like a distinct possibility. He'd assumed for some reason that the costume alone would magically protect him from anything and everything an attacker might attempt, but it wasn't turning out that way at all. In fact, the weight of the suit slowed him down; the outfit was more of an impediment than a salvation. He grunted and groaned as he tried to escape.

"P-pl-please..." he begged. "N-no more..."

"WHAT'S THIS???!!!" Rob shouted, genuinely surprised. "The Batman, pleading for mercy?!"

"I think he's really just into getting beaten up," Tom suggested. "Whatta they call that--a masskisst?"

"Sounds like an ass kiss!" his buddy answered, laughing and planting one of his high leather boots squarely on the center of his victim's chest as if to stamp out the bat insignia beneath the sole. "I think he likes this kinda treatment. That right, Batbitch? You enjoying this?"

"Batman" squirmed under the boot, trying in vain to push it away. His erection was more prominent than ever.

Tom watched the prone man wriggle for a while like a worm on a hook, then kicked him in the side of the cowl. "I'd stay STILL if I were you," the thug said.

"He wants to move so bad, let's move him," Rob said. The two thugs lifted Strange off the ground and planted him back down again so that he was kneeling before them, obviously terrified. Rob reached down and grabbed the bottom edge of "Batman's" cowl in his hand and began to lift it up.