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Visions of Nothing.

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Brad stared at the man who looked at him. The man Brad was looking at had an icy stare, and an unwavering stance. Blood seemed to be a staple of his attire, with its shape hugging the dark overcast eye shadows. This man was a failure.
After he was done analyzing the man, Brad uncupped his hands, and the reflection full of the brackish liquid seeped back into the water. Brad stood up, wincing. Despite what his friends had told him, time was an enemy, not a friend. With a quick puff, Brad pushed himself up and started shuffling on the beach shore. Bottles of booze littered the beach, with all of the containers drained of any alcohol that was once there. Putting a couple of the bottles in his bag; Brad soldiered on across the forgotten wasteland. Off in the distance, a small hole in a wall was just barely seeable out in the distance. The entrance was nigh impossible to see: one must be looking for it.
After an eon, Brad finally made it to the entrance. The opening was cold, and an air of staleness screamed at anyone entering to stay out. Checking his surroundings, Brad made sure no one was following. Out of the corner of his eye, Brad saw a small figure standing alone by the dunes. Rubbing his eyes, Brad did a double take, and looked again. It was a girl: a mere child, sporting an oversized ghost white shirt and jet black hair. In an almost hypnotic trance, Brad shuddered closer to speak to this girl.
When Brad approached the edge of dunes, the wind became fierce, with the sand kicking and screaming at this change in atmosphere. Brad took another step, and the girl started to shake. Through the sandstorm, her lips mouthed a sentence, but no sound escaped. A big gust of wind powered through, and Brad was forced to shut his eyes; when he opened them again, both storm and girl were gone.
Brad journeyed into the cave; Stalagmites were close enough to scrap his hairless head. Adjusting his eyes to the gloom, Brad started to make out the interior. Blue pills trailed inside the cave, leading to a huddling small gir- “Buddy”. Disregarding whatever else was there, Brad immediately made a beeline for the quivering girl.
Brad called out as he approached: “Buddy, are you okay?”. However, Brad bumped into something. Something stood in the way of him, and when Brad looked down at what blocked his way, his blood turned ice cold. An old couch, ripped and beaten, was planted square in the middle of the cave. On the couch, an older, more ripped and beaten man sprawled on it. The man’s name was Marty. To compare, if Brad was a failure, then Marty was the monster that molded him into one.
Brad slowly spoke, with his fists balling into fists.“You… I can’t believe your still alive”. Brad took a fighting stance, and prepared to kill the man that had ruined him. Before Brad could end Marty’s existence, Buddy jumped in front of the disgusting man. “No! Brad stop! Don't hurt him, he saved my life!”. Brad looked at the girl that he loved like a daughter, but was silent. How could he relate how terrible Marty was? The rape, the abuse, the hate. The pain: Lisa.
“Move...” But Buddy did not waver. “Move!” But Buddy did not waver. It seems Brad would have to relate to Buddy the pain Marty caused… directly. Brad wiped a tear off, and taking a look at his fucked up family, steeled himself up to hurt. Brad reverted back to his fighting stance, and faced Buddy. Gearing up, Brad struck Buddy, and sent her flying. One punch was all it took, and Buddy was dry heaving on the cave floor.


Chapter 3: Gray Morals
“HEY!” “Don’t you hit her!” Marty yelled from his couch. Brad wheeled to face the man glued to the couch. Brad’s once ice cold blood turned red hot, and stormed closer to close the gap with the monster. Revving up his fist, Brad unleashed his clenched fist into Marty's ugly face. Marty reeled from the blow, and staggered over his couch. Marty sprung up again, and kicked some sand into Brads eyes. Through the stinging pain, Brad could see the girl from the dunes, pointing at Marty. It was Lisa, and Brad saw this as a sign. Lisa was reaffirming the justice he was giving.
Brad screamed, and charged Marty. Tackling Marty to floor on the floor, Brad delivered blow after blow to the old bastard, beating Marty's face into a purple pulp. With every blow, Brad was giving this man thirty years of pain and suffering in thirty seconds. Buddy tried to stop it, screaming:“WHY ARE YOU DOING THIS!” but another punch shut her up.
Marty no longer was fighting, but instead, trying to protect himself from the armstrong-style beatdown. For a moment, Brad almost felt bad. Almost. Buddy had asked why he was doing this. Marty had disapproved of his love for karate, beat him, degraded him, made him commit terrible crimes against his loved ones and driven his sister to suicide. Suddenly he was supposed to drop all that? Even now, Marty had attempted to fight Brad, and the only reason why he was groveling was because he couldn’t beat up Brad. If Brad had any doubts, they were discarded, like his dead sister. Suddenly, Marty was supposed to be the good guy. If the good guy is someone who doesn't bother showing up to their daughters funeral, then Brad was content to be the bad guy.

Chapter 4: True Justice
On his last leg, Marty said quietly: “Lisa, baby… I’m sorry”. Hearing this scum of the fucking earth saying that enraged Brad. This man had no right to act like a better person. Brad got ready, and prepared his last and final move. It was his fireball stance, and it’s a move that has a killing intent. With one last look, Brad winded back, and with a guttural scream, punched. The punch made a snapping sound when it connected on Marty’s face, and Marty stopped breathing.
Brad looked up, and through the tears, sand, and blood, saw the frail young girl again. Lisa mouthed something, and Brad could hear her:
“I hate you.”