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Wimpification250 was slouched on the sofa, absently channel surfing. 300 read a book, his feet kicked up in 250's lap. Suddenly, God spake unto them.Wimpification in Humor
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"Guys!" His voice reverberated from the ceiling. "Guys, I just found out we've been doing this all wrong."
300 looked up from his book, brow furrowing in confusion. "What in the world?"
250, who had already glanced upward at the first 'guys,' flicked wide eyes back to his partner. "Wait, you mean you can hear God too?"
300 double-taked at the American. "You mean you can talk to God?"
God's voice boomed down at them. "Guys, focus!" The agents snapped to attention, staring at their ceiling in confusion. Satisfied, God continued in a normal register, "I was checking up on the latest trends, you know, and I found out that I kind of messed up with you two."
250's expression bordered on panic. " 'Messed up'? What do you mean, 'messed up'?"
Meanwhile, 300 gazed flatly at the ceiling. "If He's about to break us up, I swear, being God will not protect him."
Old Broken Heart250 gazed wearily at his reflection in the bathroom mirror. With a sigh, he prodded the weathered lines in his face with a finger, his eyes drifting to his receding hairline. His graying hairline.Old Broken Heart in Drama
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He thunked his forehead against the mirror and sighed again. God, he felt so old. He was still muscular, still in shape, but fatigue seemed to settle further in his bones during every idle moment. When he called for his body to work, it worked, but how much longer would that last? Every step was a chance for some joint to creak, every stretch a chance to agitate a scar. Today he was being plagued by a mild headache that made him dizzy when he turned too fast and heartburn turning his chest into a pressure cooker. Tomorrow it could be arthritis or something worse for all he knew.
With a final, heavy sigh, he shuffled out of the bathroom and down the stairs. 300 was already awake, seated on the sofa with his usual newspaper. The question was out before 250 could consider its consequences:
Pressure300 dumps 250 on the sidewalk, fumbling for the phone buried somewhere in his jacket pockets. His bloodied fingers skid on the silk lining and bump against his mobile without catching. "Damn it!" Seizing the hem of his pocket, he rips it partway off and digs out the phone.Pressure in Drama
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"300..." 250 attempts, one hand gripping his stomach as he sits up, blood oozing out from between his fingers.
Somehow 300 succeeds at flipping the damn thing open and speed-dialing the police department. Slapping the phone against his ear, he drops to his knees by 250's side. "Put pressure on it," he pleads, pressing his free hand against the gaping hole. "You need more pressure on it."
"300--" 250 repeats, but an officer picks up the call.
"Agent, for the millionth time, this line is for--"
"My partner's been shot," 300 interrupts, the words stumbling off his tongue. "Bleeding from the stomach; please, I need an ambulance."
The cop's shift in tone is immediate. "Where are you both?"
"In front of Gyldensted's recycl