The thugs shared a laugh at Clarke’s expense, until he finally retorted with, “Oh, you’ll have to forgive me. I was thinking about last night, when I was busy ‘plowin’ yo mama’ over a trash bin.” The phrase was vulgar and Clarke had to drop his accent for a moment for it to sound right, but it worked.

The thugs looked stupefied at first, then they quickly changed to rage when the lead thug took out a handgun and aimed it sideways at Clarke. “What’d you fucking say bitch-ass?!”

“You mean about your mother having sex with a homeless man or how she preferred it in the back door?”

The thug wasted no time in retaliating. He pulled a gun out of his belt, held it sideways and shot five bullets wildly. They were hard to see in the dark, but they all seemed to hit. Clarke flew back against the generator, knocking his head into it. Five spots of blood began to pool in his chest and stomach where the bullets hit.

“Gotcha bitch!” the thug taunted, putting his gun back in his waistline.

“Nice shot Big T!” a second thug congratulated. “That guy was some kinda retard for pissin’ you off.”

“Course he was,” Big T said. He walked up to Clarke’s corpse and gave him a swift kick in the gut. Blood shot out of the open wounds like squirt guns. He patted his handgun. “Ain’t no one can take me on!”

“Probably because no one finds you intimidating enough.”

The three thugs looked down in a mix of surprise and horror as Clarke stared up at them, holding the five bullets that “hit” him in his hand. Now that one of the thugs was close enough, he was able to freely drop the illusion.

“The sight is on top of the gun for a reason, you know,” Clarke said. “I had to guide the bullets in myself. I don’t think you could have even hit the generator, shaking your gun like that.”

Big T was the most shocked at all. Clarke didn’t seem hurt at all. The blood was gone and there were no signs of injury. “But… what the fuck…”

Rather than stand, Clarke just leaned against the generator, using it to rest his back. Big T took a step away, but that was all he got. He found his next step entirely impossible as his legs were immediately paralyzed. He tugged at his legs, trying desperately to get them to move, but they just wouldn’t budge.

“What is this?” he demanded. “How are you doing this?”

“Why did you come here?” Clarke asked. “Is terrorizing civilians and doctors really that important to you?”

“We… we just needed… some stuff,” Big T pleaded. “We weren’t going to hurt nobody, I swear!”