Fake It Till You Ace It

face twisting into a mask of pure, humiliated r

occo spat. "B

red and charged forward simultaneously,

ine in his blood felt like liquid fir

verson's temple. Iverson simply dropped his center of gravity. The heavy fis

eft foot and drove his right fist u

ed dead center with

The man's eyes rolled back into his head instantly. His knees buckle

econd, his brain failing to process how f

nd was all Iv

to spin his body. He launched a devastating roundhouse kick. His

w backward, crashing hard against the cinderblock wall before sli

n. Five

aralyzed. The reality of the vio

to the elevator, sat a yellow janitorial cart. Sticking out

slammed the wet mop head onto the floor. He stepped on the plastic

inum pole. It was heavy, industrial

teel baton from his jacket and

etely. He gripped the pole with both ha

inum pole drove deep into

ntly dropping his baton. Before he could hit the ground, Iverson whipped t

floor, screaming in ag

was ju

de of his butterfly knife vibrated. He was ba

ncrete floor. Scrape. Scrape. Scrape. The sound was slow, rhythmic, and te

ed sound, and lunged forward, thrusting

pped slightly to the right, lett

n swung the heavy aluminum pole. It sm

apped with

e knife clattered to the floor. He grabbe

ped the pole horizontally across the man's throat,

wing uselessly at the metal

shed against Rocco's ear. His voi

on breathed, "I won't break your wrist. I

s and snot streaming down his

s erupted from outside the building. Heavy

ps wer