The way his cheek is torn, you could almost swear it was a grin. Teeth exposed and ripped gums mindlessly crunch the hand. Every few bites, a finger pops out and gets stuck for a moment in the ripped cheek before it is sucked back in. The grinding fills your ears, deadening the sounds of the distant forms still creeping toward you from the outfield. Your vision becomes a tunnel as you swing with a hard right cross. His jaw cracks and hangs limply as the remains of the hand half slips from his mouth. He looks mad, but this could be due to the middle finger now sticking out from the side of his face. He strikes you with a backhand. It was slow but more powerful than you imagined, lifting you off the ground, and you land a few feet back. Do you…
Cock back your arm, and attempt to wipe that smug grin off his cold, dead face. Go to Card #106
Get the hell away! That kid can hit! Time to head for home. Go to Card #598
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