[Sparky, Part 3 -- Segment 3 of 4.]
As he walked up the stairs, Sparky snapped a fresh clip into his trust Uzi. Proceeding cautiously, Sparky poked his head just above the level of the second floor; he could see a large area of wight rooms and exercise machines. Three spandex-clad women were visible, working out on the machines; there were probably others out of sight.
Sparky took a deep breath, and made a quick mental countdown for further action. "One . . . two . . . three!" Sparky bounded up he last few stairs, and ran towards the three women on the weight machines, firing as he went.
Emily was peddling furiously on the exercycle, when a bullet hit her in the bare cleavage, directly between the cups of her black bikini top. As blood spurted from the wound, the tall brunette gasped and fell off the exercycle, landing on her spandex-clad buttox.
Twenty feet away, Sarah was working her pecks on the universal machine; seated, her elbows were spread wide and her forearms raised, pressed against the pads which she pressed together and pulled apart. Together and apart. The blonde's 36-C breasts, pressed flat by her colorful sports bra, were inviting targets. So Sparky shot them.
Phut-phut-phut-phut-phut-phut.
"UUUnnnnnngghhh. . ."
A neat line of four holes suddenly erupted across Sarah's chest, evenly-spaced, just below the line of her nipples, kicking up little bits of lycra, flesh and blood. As blood oozed from the wounds, Sarah slumped backward against the seat back, and her arms fell limply to her sides.
This was so much fun; Sparky really enjoyed the thrill of shooting attractive young women, directing streams of bullets into their breasts, watching their bodies react to the hits, watching them scream and fall. For a moment, Sparky pretended to be "The Terminator." His only mission: find and kill attractive young women. Another victim was just ahead.
> Target acquisition mode.
> Working.
> Target acquired.
> Range -- 12 feet.
> Female.
> Caucasian.
> 23 years of age.
> Height -- 5 feet 6 inches.
> Weight -- 130 pounds.
> Blonde hair.
> Chest -- 36 inches.
> Waist -- 26 inches.
> Hips -- 36 inches.
> Breasts -- C-cup. Target not wearing bra.
> Clothing.
> Upper body -- Tank top. White cotton fabric.
> Variant -- Tank top cut-off just below line of Target's breasts.
> Advisory -- Target's nipples visible through fabric of tank top.
> Lower body -- Stretch pants. Black spandex fabric. Cut-off at mid-thigh.
Kirsten was working the pull-up machine; arms down, inhale; arms up, exhale; down, inhale; up, exhale. Her bra-less 36-C breasts hung lazily within her flimsy cut-off tank top; the bottom curve of her breasts could be seen with each upward stroke, and her reddish nipples were easily visible through the flimsy fabric. Arms down, inhale.
> Target seated, operating weight machine.
> Target's arms outstretched.
> Target extremely vulnerable to rapid attack.
> Prime Directive . . . Maximize damage to Target's breasts.
> Target lock confirmed.
> Weapon operating at maximum efficiency.
> Laser sight enabled.
> Sight positioned over Target's left breast.
Just like Arnold in the movie (or at least the way the movie should have been), Sparky placed the laser targeting sight directly over Kirsten's left breast; the little red targeting light contrasted well against the woman's flimsy white tank top.
> Engage.
Sparky pulled the trigger -- and kept firing until the clip was empty.
> Target hit.
> through fabric of white cotton tank top.
> Left breast.
> 270 degrees to nipple; variance one inch.
> damage to Target's left lung; possible graze of heart.
> Target hit.
> through fabric of white cotton tank top.
> Center torso; just below sternum.
> damage to Target's liver, stomach, spleen; possible spinal injury.
> Target hit.
> through fabric of white cotton tank top.
> Right lower chest; one inch below breast.
> massive damage to Target's liver.
> Target hit.
> through fabric of white cotton tank top.
> Right breast.
> 300 degrees to nipple; variance one-half inch, through areola.
> significant damage to Target's right lung.
> Target hit.
> through fabric of white cotton tank top.
> Right breast.
> Directly through Target's right nipple.
> massive damage to Target's right lung.
Incredibly, Kirsten remained seated, tightly gripping the pull-up bar as bullet after bullet smashed into her chest. Her agony was indescribable, as her shoulders jerked left-right-left and her breasts quaked and vibrated with each new impact.
> Target's shoulders jerking with each hit.
> Target's breasts heaving with each hit.
> Difficult to fulfill prime directive.
> Target hit.
> through fabric of white cotton tank top.
> Right breast.
> 150 degrees to nipple; variance one inch.
> massive damage to Target's right lung.
Kirsten was killed instantly by the next hit; it didn't really matter, since Sparky was going to keep riddling her with bullets whether she was alive or not.
> Target hit.
> through fabric of white cotton tank top.
> Center sternum.
> At line of nipples.
> Massive damage to Target's heart.
> Secondary effect noted. . . blood spurting from hole in Target's sternum.
Kirsten's arms were still outstretched, holding the pull up bar with both hands. As she died, she held onto the bar in a sort of "death grip," but so no longer had any strength to pull on the weights. So the weights began pulling her, and her arms and hands were slowly lifted upward by the movement of the bar, causing her torso and breasts to stretch upward.
> Target hit.
> through fabric of white cotton tank top.
> Left upper chest.
> two inches above left nipple.
> minor damage to Target's left lung.
> Target hit.
> through fabric of white cotton tank top.
> Left breast
> 180 degrees to nipple; variance one-half inch; through areola.
> severe damage to target's left lung.
Actually, as Kirsten reeled under the bullets impacting her chest, the effect was less like "The Terminator" and more like the "board room" scene in another movie Sparky enjoyed, "Robocop," where the unfortunate (male) executive was blown away by the evil robot at point blank range. Sparky really hoped that that scene would be remade -- with a girl as the target.
> Target hit.
> through fabric of white cotton tank top.
> Left breast.
> Directly through Target's left nipple.
> massive damage to Target's left lung.
> Target's arms dropping away from weight bar.
> Target's torso reacting violently to successive impacts.
> Target falling backward.
> Target's breasts heaving with each hit.
> Difficult to fulfill prime directive.
At long last, Kirsten's dead hands finally released their grip on the pull-up bar, and her limp torso began to fall backward onto the bench on which she was seated, her legs to either side provided a measure of balance and support as she fell.
> Target hit.
> through exposed flesh of lower chest.
> Left lower chest.
> one inch below left breast.
> Severe damage to Target's stomach and kidney.
> Target rapidly falling backward.
> Target hit.
> through exposed flesh of abdomen.
> Center abdomen.
> one inch above naval.
> Severe injury to Target's intestines; possible spinal damage.
> Target hit.
> through fabric of black spandex shorts.
> Center lower abdomen.
> severe damage to Target's uterus; possible intestinal damage.
Kirsten's battered, dead body finally came to rest with her back on the bench, her limp arms outstretched to either side, and her legs still straddling the bench.
> Prime directive now impossible.
> Target lying on back on bench.
> Target's arms limp to either side.
> Target's legs spread to either side of bench.
> Target's feet flat on floor.
> Target hit.
> through fabric of black spandex shorts.
> Pubic mound.
> Severe damage to pelvic organs.
> Target's vulva, vagina, cervix damaged beyond repair.
> probable sterilization of Target.
> probable lodgement of bullet in Target's pelvis.
> Clip empty.
> No resistance noted from Target.
> Disengage.
The clip empty, Sparky looked over the young woman's battered torso, noting just how much "overkill" had been inflicted. Hey, that's his job; Sparky is The Terminator.
> Analysis of damage to Target.
> Working.
> Fourteen hits to Target.
> Fatal damage to multiple vital organs.
> Fatal damage to Target's right lung.
> Fatal damage to Target's heart.
> Fatal damage to Target's left lung.
> Fatal damage to Target's liver.
> Severe damage to Target's spine.
> Severe damage to Target's stomach.
> Severe damage to Target's intestines.
> Severe damage to Target's pelvis.
> Incidental damage to Target's breasts.
> Incidental damage to Target's ribs.
> 100% probability of fatal injury to Target.
> Target acquisition mode.
> Acquire new target.
Kirsten's gruesome death had taken only a few seconds; an eternity to a computerized killing machine. Sparky snapped back to real life; time to move on. Sparky quickly reloaded the Uzi and continued his search for additional victims out in the weight room and common area.
Sparky didn't have to wait long; a few seconds later Julie came running around the corner, following the perimeter oval track. Sparky fired.
Phut-phut-phut.
"OOOOOHHHHH!"
The tall brunette screamed as a round smashed into her sternum, between the cups of her light lycra sports bra. She grabbed at her cleavage with both hands, staggered a few steps forward, and collapsed on her side, limp and unmoving.
A few seconds later, another woman -- Becky -- emerged from around the same corner. Realizing that something was terribly wrong, she abruptly stopped near Julie's body.
Phut-phut-phut-phut.
Without any audible sound, Becky simply collapsed as three bullets ripped across her chest, striking her right breast, sternum and left breast, in that order, the breast hits probably through her nipples, kicking up little gouts of fabric in her colorful lycra sports bra. A second later she lay on her back, spread eagled and quite dead.
Sparky waited for more women to come running along the track; nothing. Then he looked around the weight room. Nothing other than the bodies of the five women he had just killed. It looked as though the second floor common area was secure.
Time to pay a visit to the aerobics rooms.
* * *
The sign said "Aerobics Room #1." Recalling the view from he surveillance cameras, Sparky expected to find a room full of leotard-clad women within. He snapped a fresh clip in the Uzi, pulled back the bolt, and kicked in the door.
Inside the room now; Sparky quickly took in the situation. Seven women in leotards and various workout clothes in the middle of an aerobics routine; some kind of instructor on a low platform in front; six others spread out in front. Arms flailing; hair twirling; breasts bouncing. Garish techno-pop music blaring. That was the worst part; anyone who liked that kind of music deserved to die anyway. Sparky liked the Rolling Stones.
Advancing towards the group at a brisk walk, Sparky opened fire, opting to spray the crowd rather than targeting any particular woman.
Phut-phut-phut-phut-phut-phut.
A round hit Michelle in her 36-C right breast, opening an ugly, bleeding hole in the fabric of her pale blue leotard. The blonde grabbed at her bleeding breast and collapsed.
A bullet struck Caroline in her bare midriff, tearing through her intestines and out her back. Another round clipped her upper arm, tearing an ugly furrow in the flesh. A third round impacted her sternum, directly between her bouncing 34-B's. As blood drenched her white cut-off tank top, Caroline's arms flailed wide, and the young blonde quickly collapsed.
"OOhhhhhhhh. . . ."
Brandee, the brunette to the right, staggered and fell, grabbing at the two bullet wounds to her abdomen, near the naval and obviously through her intestines. Each of the bullets had kicked up a little fabric tear in her yellow leotard.
Even as their companions were ruthlessly blown away, the surviving women were slow to respond to the danger. Over the blaring techno-pop music, the barking sound of the Uzi was almost impossible to hear; indeed, it almost seemed like part of the music.
Arms out, back, out, back. Leg kick. Knee bend. Mary's breasts bounced within her new floral leotard, and sweat began to bead around her cheeks and upper chest. This was her first day at the gym, and she was already getting tired.
Phut-phut-phut-phut-phut-phut.
"Unngghh. . . uummp. . . oohhoo."
A line of bullets ripped across Mary's midsection, mangling her intestines, kidneys and spleen. With blood spurting from the fresh holes, Mary staggered backward, her arms flew back over her head, and then she collapsed onto her back, arms still high over her head and her legs askew.
Paula, the 21-year old blonde aerobics instructor, was justifiably proud of her awesome body; tanned skin, tones muscles, great conditioning, and perky 34-B breasts, all sexily-packaged in a royal blue leotard. Going through the motions of the aerobics routine that she knew so well, her mind wandered as she daydreamed of starting her own line of sportswear; then she should buy a house in the country, and live like a queen. An instant later, a bullet struck her directly between the breasts. She grunted and collapsed backward, spread-eagled, dead.
Arms out, back. Out, back. Step up, step down. This was Taylor's first day back at the gym after an absence of a few weeks; she wanted to show off her new silicon-enhanced 36-C's and had deliberately worn a skimpy (and hopelessly impractical) outfit -- a tight white tank top, no bra, nipples plainly visible, bare midriff, and colorful lycra shorts -- so that her perky breasts would get as much attention as possible.
Her plan worked, in a fashion -- Sparky shot her in the breasts.
Phut-phut-phut-phut-phut-phut.
Taylor's blonde ponytail bounced, almost playfully, and her arms flailed to her sides as round after round peppered her perky 36-C breasts; right breast, through the nipple; right breast, two o'clock to the nipple, right breast, just below the nipple. As he continued to pump bullets into her wildly vibrating body, Sparky thought to himself, "This is so easy!" Indeed, it was almost as if Taylor was asking for this bloody fate; it was she, after all, who wanted attention to be focused on her breasts. More bullets entered Taylor's chest; right breast, at the intersection of breast, rib and sternum; center sternum, in her deep cleavage and obviously through the young blonde's heart; left breast, eight-o'clock to the nipple and through the bumpy pink areola; left breast, just above the nipple; left breast, four o-clock to the nipple; left breast, through the nipple. Her breasts heaved and shook violently with each bloody impact, her shoulders jerked, and she involuntarily staggered backward as the bullets violated her chest, almost doing a dance, her outstretched arms shaking like marionettes. The silicon bags implanted in her breasts ruptured and burst, offering no added protection. Finally tripping over her own feet, Taylor fell to the floor with a loud thump, and lay there quite still, arms outstretched to her sides, knees raised and her legs slightly bent; her flimsy white tank top a mass of fabric tears, dark holes and spreading circles of red blood.
The last standing woman, Paige, abruptly stopped and looked on in horror. She had perhaps a half-second to contemplate her situation; then it was too late. A bullet struck her between her 34-B breasts, tearing a dark hole in her pink leotard. The 18-year old blonde gasped and looked down at her chest; blood was already spilling out of the hole and dripping down her torso. With a last cry that sounded more like one of fear than of pain, she fell to her knees, toppled over on her side, and died.
Just for fun, Sparky reloaded and began to rake the bodies.
Phut-phut-phut-phut.
Brandee's body shook as a bullet hit her in the right breast; another hit her left breast, each bullet tearing through the fabric of the brunette's yellow leotard.
Michelle moaned as two bullets ripped open her uterus and left ovary -- Holy shit, she was still alive! Sparky advanced on the pretty blonde, firing as he went.
Phut-phut-phut-phut-phut-phut.
Michelle's back arched and she moaned again as two bullets struck the young blonde between her 36-C breasts, ripping open the fabric of her pale blue leotard; a third shot impacted her left nipple. Two more hit the left breast to either side of the nipple; another hit her sternum. Michelle's body finally went limp, and her arms dropped to her sides. Okay, now she was dead.
Resolving to be more careful, Sparky continued spraying the women with bullets.
Phut-phut-phut.
Taylor's hips rolled as round tore into her vulva, and two more hit her pubic mound. No reaction. Not surprising since, with nearly a dozen chest wounds already, it was safe to assume that Taylor was dead. Taylor's arms were still outstretched to her sides, and her knees bent. Standing over her body, Sparky put his foot between her breasts and used his toe to push back the flimsy fabric of her white-tank top, until both of her breasts were fully exposed. Four hits to each of her perky silicon-enhanced 36-C breasts; both nipples shot through; blood and gel-like materials slowly oozing from the dark, ugly holes; one additional hit to her sternum. Cool.
Phut-phut-phut-phut.
Paula's hips shook from side to side as three bullets tore across the blonde instructor's lower abdomen, between her hip bones, ripping large holes in her royal blue leotard, on their way into her uterus and ovaries. Heart penetrated; no reaction to the three pelvic hits; Sparky was pretty sure that Paula was dead. So he shot her again, putting a bullet into each of her 36-C breasts, dead center, through her nipples.
Paige's breasts quivered and shook with four more impacts; a raged line of holes suddenly appeared just above the nipple line, two in each 34-B breast, the fresh holes erupting in the tight fabric of her pink leotard. Five in the chest, including the previous heart wound. Paige was certainly dead.
Two bullets smacked into Mary's cleavage, between her 34-B breasts, difficult to make out in the floral patterned leotard. Her arms, still stretched high over her head, bounced up and down with the impacts. No reaction from the brunette; she was dead.
Caroline's arms shook and her breasts quaked as bullets tore across the young blonde's chest, kicking up new holes in her tight white cut-off tank top; right breast, through the nipple, center sternum, near the existing chest wound; left breast, just above the nipple. Dead.
The techno-pop was still blaring, but nobody was dancing. In less than a minute, Sparky had expended two clips ammunition -- three dollars at the local sporting goods store -- and seven more women lay dead. Hmmm. A mere forty-two point eight cents per kill. Indeed life was cheap. That is, if you happened to be an attractive young woman and anywhere near Sparky during one of his rampages. Sparky smiled and reloaded. One more aerobics room still to go.