Joseph Keyes - Journal Entry #027

I plough the coffee pot into the deathly visor and it shatters, soaking #1 with its torturous payload. I dive straight past him with the knife but #2 is ready for me, he’s backing off but I can’t afford to hesitate, not that I could anyway, I’m lost in a vein of adrenaline - he lands a hit, a good, solid hit with one of those three-foot sticks they carry - a giant, electric scorpion might have jabbed me with its stinger, left arm, just above the elbow - I scream, but I don’t stop. I lunge through the ruined door frame at him and plant my knee into his solar plexus, sending him heavily against the opposite wall. Slipping a switchblade from the sleeve of my good arm and opening it with a flick, I go for the kill. He dodges, but not well enough - the blade neatly severs his right breathing tube on the upswing. Checkmate. He drops to one knee immediately, trying to close his breathing valve while taking a feeble swipe at me with his deadly wand. I kick his elbow and he drops it. Biting my knife and snatching it up, I deliver a revenge blow to his midriff. He curls and shudders into the foetal position. It looks like he’s crying out, but I hear nothing but soft friction against the hallway carpet. They never make a sound. I stoop quickly and puncture his second breathing tube with my blade. Out pours his soul, as I like to imagine the white vapour that oozes through their respiratory support systems. Why are the tubes so vulnerable? I think they need to filter oxygen in with whatever else they breathe. Just a guess. The breathing tubes are peppered with weird little holes.