Mr. Twisted suddenly shot up to the ceiling with a loud THWACK. He glared down at us and, realizing that he was pinned there, began to snarl as I said, “Okay, we got him up there. Now what?”
“The first step is always identifying your target. We need to figure out what he is exactly,” Mikey replied as he reached a hand around to the back of his waistband. “Abomination, demonic possession, or other.”
“Do you have like a P.K.E. Meter for that or something?”
“Or something,” Mikey said as he pulled out a large-caliber revolver and then fired two rounds into the gut of Mr. Twisted. The bullets tore easily through his rotted clothing and sickly grey flesh, briefly revealing entrails that seemed to be smeared with black ink. A moment later, those same bullet wounds began to heal before our eyes.
“Shit,” Mikey said. “Demonically possessed abomination… That’s the one I DIDN’T want it to be.”
“So what do we do?”
Mikey scoffed and said, “You ever seen The Dark Knight?”
