.a/n. bit of a song fic. not sure if the song really fits, but it did at the time. written to overcome writers block, and it worked. i actually liked this at the time, which is pretty rare for me. oO
.disclaimer. i don't own the song. slayer does.

I can feel their eyes digging into my flesh. They’re blind, unseeing, but they’re searching my soul. They’re clawing my insides, killing me from within. I can see their faces, white and blank.

A soldier steps up beside me. I glance at him for a moment, but otherwise pretend he isn’t there. He’s holding a machine gun, fully loaded, and his eyes are determined as he salutes me.

“Sir?” his voice snaps me back into focus. I ignore him a moment longer.

“Do it.”

“Yes sir.”

Ambushed by the spray of lead
Count the bullet holes in your head
Offspring sent out to cry
Living mandatory suicide
Suicide

Rapid gunfire sounds around me. I feel perhaps a hundred bullets soar past me. Maybe more. Not one touches me, but not that it matters. I am immortal.

Screams break into the dawn air, their origin unknown in the heavy fog. I smirk, satisfied. I hadn’t expected there to be any survivors.

“The area appears to be secure, sir. The city’s yours. Shall I send troops to scour the area?” The soldier returned to my side. His tone crisp, business-like. Everything was business to these people.

“No,” I say flatly.

“Sir?”

“I’ll do it.” I step past him, my cloak swishing slightly with the movement. I can still hear the screams, but whether they are echoes of my mind or strangled cries of dying people, I don’t know.

Holes burn deep in your chest
Raked by machine gun fire
Screaming soul sent out to die
Living mandatory suicide
Suicide

The faces are everywhere. They’re haunting me, pulling me down into their Hellish world of pallid death. I shake my head, rid myself of the thoughts. No one can kill me.

“Help me…”

My eyes snap to the source of the sound. A man, probably not over twenty years old is laying the gutter. His eyes are wide and pleading, his hair an indistinguishable color in all the blood. There was a bullet hole in his head, just above the brain.

I reach into my cloak, pull out a small handgun. I didn’t even need it, but I supposed I should carry it around in case the need should arise to use it on myself. Not that I ever would.

“Please…”

I squeeze the trigger. The crisp sound of gunshot breaks into the still air. Crimson liquid surges from the man’s chest, his head falls back, hits the pavement. I stow the gun, continue my stroll.

Lying, dying, screaming in pain
Begging, pleading, bullets drip like rain
Minds explode, pain sheers to your brain
Radical amputation, this is insane

Laughter joins the screams. A few of my soldiers decided against taking orders. They’re torturing whatever life they can find. They were never truly loyal.

I catch a glimpse of metal, shining in the rising sun. The fog is clearing slightly. A soldier’s armour is easy to spot.

He’s beating a young girl with the handle of his shotgun. His eyes are uncaring, his laughter merciless. Blood is pouring all over her young flesh. Around ten others are watching, unconcerned.

I reach into my pocket and take out a small knife. I run my finger along the blade, blood dripping to the hilt. I savour the pain for a moment – I don’t often feel this. Of course, I don’t make it a habit to hurt myself. Carelessly, I throw the knife at the soldier with a flick of my wrist.

It lands on target. The dagger’s blade disappears into his neck, he falls over dead.

I hear the clicking – the loading and readying – of guns all around me.

Fly swatter stakes, drive through your chest
Spikes impale you as you’re forced off the crest
Soldier of misfortune
Hunting with bated breath

“You’d kill your own men, sir?”

“A death is a death. He’s just another statistic.”

Sounds of frustration, anger, and bullet shots. The little girl gasps.

Pellets of lead tear through me but I feel nothing. The wounds disappear in the blink of an eye. I can feel their terror.

I withdraw my small handgun again. They start to run and I shoot them off, one by one.

A vile smell, like tasting death
Dead bodies, dying and wounded
Litter the city streets
Shattered glass, bits of clothing and human deceit

“Thank you,” a whispered voice takes my attention.

My gaze falls back to the handgun. There’s one bullet remaining.

“Please don’t kill me,” the little girl begs. I can see their reflections in her eyes. White faces, screaming at me – when will they stop?

I raise the gun, point it at my head. I shrug. “You’re too pretty to kill.”

I pull the trigger.

Dying terror
Blood’s cheap, it’s everywhere
Mandatory suicide, massacre on the front line.