Wednesday, June 23, 2010 Oh look. I'm bleeding. I'm shopping, getting ready to disappear if the government catches onto our plan. I'm at what's supposed to be our house, shared with the people I'm conspiring with. I'm outside on the front steps, cutting up blocks of styrofoam cement with a chainsaw. A woman comes out to talk to me. She looks like Michelle Rodriguez. We talk about something, she warns me about the Agents that might have followed her here. Then she explains that the box of nails next to the steps are actually explosive rounds that she uses in her gun. The Agent shows up. I play dumb, but eventually confess that the weapon he's looking for is that box, beside the steps. He goes to look, and when he looks up, I'm holding an air nailer pointed straight at his head. He rushes me, knocks me off balance, and I fire six nails. I think one might hit him, but the other five go straight into my left forearm. I'm sitting on the ground, still holding the cordless nailer. I stare dumbly at my forearm. The nails have been impaled along the center, an inch apart from each other. Blood, everywhere. The agent is running off and I'm babbling about how I thought there weren't any nails in the gun. Michelle shows up and helps me inside. I'm staring at my arm, fascinated, and picking at the nails, pulling them out one at a time. Michelle slaps my hand away and pours a mix of soapy water over my arm. I hiss, but more in reflex than actual pain. She says she'll take them out; I'll do too much damage if I do it myself. "There's only one left," I say, holding up my arm. She looks a little sick. Air Nailers. Scare Factor: 4.
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