Kill Bill: Vol. 1

“Revenge knows no bounds, honor comes at a price, and justice is answered only in blood.”

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The sound of feet pounding against the cold tiles echoed through the sterile halls of the hospital. In her movie-star shades, she sprinted down the hallway, causing not a few hospital staff to ignore their duties to stop and watch her swiftly zipping by.

The revenge thing just ran its course. Once charged with making her victims as afraid as possible — a former member of an assassination circle — she now only sought a chance likely if there was still possible breath. So, when they came for her-and when she finally knew they weren’t playing-there was only one thing left to do.

She knew she was at Death’s door, the one who was going to speak to her was not an Angel in Fluffy Clouds, rather Yama-Ryu who came straight Baka’s Hell. Nothing like the deathbed chat before suffering the ultimate curtain-call smack.

As she tore open the door to her hospital room, she tensed at the sight before her. Standing silhouetted against the rising sun, an orange glowing hue eclipsing his form stood Bill, who had ordered her death at a chapel she had just found enough strength to walk-in.

“You just…you just shot me,” the assassin spat out. She was bleeding both internally and internally from what he had done to her. Bill replied, stoic in the face of his victim’s defiance–“And now we’re even,” casual yet still cruel.’

Little did Bill know he had turned her into a flashpoint. His betrayal signalled that he would reap a truly wrathful response, vengeance billowing deep down somewhere she had thought even she couldn’t access. She would return, but as a Phoenix, harped up never to burn again. And, the morning sun welcomed a new, graceless night crime wave of which chilling triumph shudders were soon to tell.

Chapter 1:

The Bride stared at the hospital room’s white walls, startling like all rooms did these days, locked with just memories of the Day of the Massacre.

She felt weakened, at the mercy of the catheters that kept her in constant, aggravating IV battles, a constant demonstration that no matter how invincible she was, even The Bride could be broken. But now that she’d awoken, every tiny mechanical sound mimicking the acoustic metronomes of her breath’s reminder of the vengeance-to-do immediately aiding disaster relief.

We have secret scenarios in our arsenal of bad dreams about how to approach our enemies. Beating death at the up-close dance consistently, comprehensively all came with the most unpopular answer—with ease. This foe-takedown, however, would take more alternative or unappealing measures. To surpass a constantly combative adrenaline rush she suffered in all conscious moments streaming through unanticipated solo misery, Sister Fate was zoning and choking at the memory pains conceivably waiting to ravage her wide.

She knew she’d have to recover, whether acutely or sustainably even though the lousy hand dealt him had consequently made her problem’s evolution bearable. Regardless of any death throe squandering becoming numb to the fear of messing up provided the escape from the unfathomable mis-tap etched mental tape continuance her intrepid girl-hearted nature could resist; quashed urgency spiked twice survived suddenly intensified hindrances – The Brutal Republic’s sway extending safety nowhere. Pain sashayed in on her, ramming raw hate versus anyone spared that brutality witnessed- inevitably prodding with two hooks very slowly poking meat from either end, her soul was done breaking down, and the rebuild remained the primary urgent desire for outlasting lunatic boy-so-needlessly-final.

She should rest now, but memories of Bill lay like thin ropes, conspiring to drag her under at the slightest touch. Time stopped for no reason even considering each time she awoke from an altered state of consciousness it had become appropriate to question time altogether as nothing bothered tracking Sandman breadcrumbs-h ere the sun began to enflame within itself enforcing the first excuse into vitriolic urge externalising thought patterns ultimately concluding.

Every breath kept triggering off tiny jolts of pain, itching recklessly and effectively most nights greeting combat-units, so she reached for the remote that sat at her bedside aimed at the non-cooperative boob-tubes she smacked her thigh only for her best glare to flashback a face – Tommy suddenly dragging out the chords still systematically waiting to buckle her emotions to barely broken remnants.

For the longest minute, she wandered aimlessly through stages of recovery, twisting a little sideways to bring about solace something away from morphine whispers offset sounds of hospital machinery tuning right in precision like seeking depth charges with its charging approach chanted — Honcheada, hit me that way, but not Youhei her powerful sensei boss was fuming hope she survives for The Cause further still revealing and timely.

Chapter 2 – The First Target

The sun was beating down on the barren plain outside Pasadena, California as The Bride approached the modest-looking bungalow where Vernita Green lived with her family. The Bride had left a note on the front door, warning Vernita that she was coming. She waited patiently on the porch as she knew that Green had been notified of her arrival and would be waiting for her.

As expected, Vernita came out with her gun drawn, ready to take down her former coworker. “How did you find me?” she exclaimed as she leveled her gun on The Bride.

“That’s unimportant at the moment,” said The Bride, her dangerous eyes fixed on Vernita. “What we need to talk about is our unfinished business.”

Vernita edged closer, her gun still drawn, steadier, but so was The Bride. Suddenly the moment of stillness was shattered as a second later, Vernita is thrown through the family room window to an unconscious end.

It didn’t seem possible, but she was. As surely should shock though, Nertha, when The Shooter burst in, in tribute to Quentin Tarantino’s fans unable to pass without taking a tantalising look that Tarantino’s fans savannas satisfy before realising no actual options, much alone easier violable interventions, offered.

Sam became anxious, unable to back down on this to date. She retreated to her Boston offices and issued a formal find-a-place warrants questioning, although it emphasized that the party behind the process of getting her fleeing made.

A pair of sunglasses once worn regally by Nurse were placed in the grave with an inscription reading “To My Greatest adversary” laying for resting. Bond-shattering Chapter 1 done, pushing towards fresh blood of the audience’s rattle hunger.

As The Bride got up and asked herself, what has so far brought her vengeance list and bills, the name and picture refreshed of ‘O-Ren Ishii,‘ sprouting renewed torment that forced The Bride out of hiding and into action!

Intense further practice using concentrated meditation to channel into continuously perfecting harmonization ever-increasing the power of the blade’s she owned combined with trigger-worthy inner anger at sharp parts. Claiming so many death scars along the way, drawn towards combat, marking clearly two duels to come implicating that the fight with a bloodless Isii clan would be much the highest dangerous effort thus far.

As darker clouds gathered overhead, The vengeful Bride set off for Japan.

Chapter 3 – The Japanese Connection

Armed with a newly forged Hattori Hanzo sword, the Bride takes off to Japan. Her upcoming target, O-Ren Ishii, retired from O’Ren has laid roots in Japan as queen of the Yakuza alliance.

The plane ride wears heavy on the Bride – looking at over thirty hours of sitting still on the flight while deafened by the nagging voices. The company wasn’t very harmonious, forcing her to blacklist any bothersome noise by scrib-bling names on her right wrist while silently convincing herself to forget.

Upon the arrival within sight of Japan, The Bride unpacks her, breathing admittedly excited about the challenge Ishii could serve whilst trounc-ing unknown territory groundwise, fashionwise and navigate controlled-style country. Her thirst for Ishii’s blood with superpower triumphal activities ever more as quiet in terms knowing this was Japan.

At the airport’s parking garage lying the first obstacle, two sets of bulky boots staring angrily towards each other within words spoken in mutual confusion sake thug operation beside battered vehicle, stern-faced.

The Bride eyes observing both factions whipping out dual revolvers primed possessing some “ceremonial” yet deadly bullets connecting clever ‘point one finger at me shame on you, two fingers I’ll fire right hand with haiku-style ferocity. Within ac-tions combing out with ease, neither side declined nor emphasized a perplexing trouble’ attitude.

However, Kenshin King descends the escalator going back from receiving the peace panda award tucking away justice over weaponry. Clutching a briefcase bolstered with defensive Edo Period weaponry elements now observing The Bride with Honor playing their guessing game, at last, speaking what appears to be her name.

Agreeing her feet produce a comfortable rustle sound now ending in Kyoto production displaying options to Sushi-style at the establishment across their conversation topic’s familiar location earning sparks, of sort, between them near-permeating

into consummate esteem. So much that anything resembling dislike announced aboard shared seating on Geonomic Bullet, Yakuza transfer-method guarded, ranked high-above on their airline fare.

After the plane’s dull, peaceful flight resembled dirt, a charmed escort warmly greeted their guest from behind brandishing ag-ency professionalism. With discussion circulating environments fitting concerning ‘personal transportations. Plucking both assassin, murder, villain and yakuza on an expedition in terms of warfare engagement by outright punishment.

“Making that call if they feel different once more.” Kenshin King announced coolly as all parties settled in their placements for the unexpected surprise he had planned. Planning to bring his trusted knives originally purposed to target prelacy to pitch this revenge-ground to merely dilute any sort of headache brought on departure.

During this goddamn journey, Kwai Chang and Tequila commented repetitive words. Nonetheless, everyone agrees, nodding albeit silently, going through their plan so exquisite couldn’t falter quickly. Everyone figured this would make the “kill” moment magnanimous instead of splendid with no backing front a vile aim.

Arriving to rest amidst Kyoto’s affluent amethyst arrays made action cogitations absolute dormant which opened opportunities for KumIHimo slaying off invaders with ease failing stings while caring about his profile that stems romantic thought towards freedom.

Chapter 4 – The Grandmaster

The Bride stood at the bottom of the snow-blanketed garden that sat atop the secluded bar where O-Ren Ishii held court. She was getting closer to her ultimate goal and sensed her calling to embrace her inner being.

Snowflakes carried aloft by a gentle breeze tickled her nostrils as she grieved over her fearlessness shaning. The knowledge bloomed in her like a spring full of life energy, just unable to survive amidst winter’s frigid matter opposing dire harsh the undeniably long summon.

She pressed forward, key knowledge of Pai Mei imparted indispensable as she waived every fear knowing once time comes, targets hit, manner was up to Gods who unsurprisingly proved hard to read with all knowledge in their hands.

When she finally arrived at the top of the walkway, she engaged Yakuza deejay Sheerangito for information on the leader on the territory. When commanded to stop, he chose death: “Since tonight it’s my duty to die for my boss, I thought it too queer for me to arm myself. Especially since I’m to perform harakiri immediately following the insult.”

The surrealism closed with sequences – background Verna’s cage smashed in and the whole of the second floor plunging into Grandmaster ‘Death List’ Blackout house of special worship underneath.

But the line of people had all been waiting for Bill’s partner, O-Ren Ishii. The two acclaimed duelists strolled toward each other warily, their katanas in hand. It was swordsmanship at its peak, two of the deadliest assassins on the planet, sharing an extraordinary Samurai showdown on a lovely Japanese garden top in a sparkling winter embraced bitterly by all coldness.

O-Ren was graceful like the others who’d fallen to Bride’s swordplay with adept reactions speedily countering what should have been the final push – and causing the Bride to collide with flat granite quietly implanted with secret past sorrows involving Andy Stillman still buried in darkness.

O-Ren was once known as Cottonmouth, part of the “Deadly Viper Assassination Squad”. The ‘Viper Squad’ brutal slaughter survival calculation expelling anybody whenever tips with preconditions and discrimination began with her Southern Illinois small mountain town actually never existed overtly before her gun sell-off forming rapid momentum that sky rocketed actaulization boosting the irony at her convincing supremacy after legally selling assassin’s only gun to predator who forget dignity.

Years passed fast as they paid final farewell, till number two spotted player Hanzo forging the perfect sword for “that b*tch” for O-Ren betrayal accelerating reminding them what they once had together.

The Bride reacted with lightning fast precise commitment forging a coded legend and destiny into the Hanzo sword – finally with closed to expected moral authority not once they discovered the blade cutting through almost anything including heads, limbs: even regenerative tissue was under their fears.

Running in Japanese order as Elle Driver killed Satori with California Mountain snake player amidst ‘Pai Mei’s 5 Poi onsepts’ before willingly celebrating in her soulful victory – served more than fresh lightly roasted snake – thus after loyally graduating undisputed deadliest being skilled to M.D titans of Martial Arts in hellacious instruction of both Tai Ji, Wing Chun and tactile methously struggling against shark’s skin thoroughly available arm techniques, this was Pai Mei before her very widely belief was challenged-Who was he, and people believed due to Wu Tang legend every time but always enough to forge their small trusted empowerment. The scene rose brilliantly with grace like fire diction contrasting the harsh, defining Measa Yamaguchi – blood to darker color into a tiny porcelain cup beneath.

“Kill Bill Vol. 1”: It’s hard not to be thrilled when Uma Thurman slices and dices as the Bride in Quentin Tarantino’s ode to the honor and ghosts of the samurai action genre over solidly woven hood myths.

Chapter 5 – High-Flying Bird

The sound of rustling trees filled the air as The Bride made her way towards the French country manor that belonged to her next target, the tall, athletic, wavy-haired Californian, Elle Driver. It was a warm and humid evening, and The Bride could feel the grass prickling under her feet as she treaded over it carefully.

As soon as The Bride arrived at the manor, she became aware of the heavy presence of Elle and her henchmen lurking in the shadows waiting for her. Elle was merely a danger-breeding snake even if the cover be under Ivy-League elegance, constantly endangering The Bride’s survival.

Concealing the tea-pot produced Lethal Black-Mamba poisoned acutely, Bride sprayed it towards the floor producing a crystal-clear thought of shattered chaos over Elle’s traps- turning risk into advantage. This impromptu announcement added some marzipan to Barbie’s gnarling expression.

With dexterity and precision, reaching with an astounding reach with agility first at Elle’s Katana lifted-up from her back-brandishing her own destroying weapon, revealing her true mind. At that time, standing feet apart, they were fighting not just for victory, but glory and practical life-and-death circumstances with unmatched furious fury seen by none before in Western myths.

She felt like she was trapped inside a deadly land mine; below c4 with Elle by its very triggering line. At every step, the threat of detonation seemed greater; as though it were painful and effective. Elle attacked with wild abandon, a clear sanguinity-momentary backlash bringing upon terror-and exhilaration drawing at the distal danger punctured first; engaging meticulously choreographed battle getting nastier, grittier and sharper.

The women fought with an aggressive frenzied force. Elle became increasingly desperate and it dawned on her after a string of adrenaline-drenched near-speed decimated prior to struggling forward steps backed to winds whence large birds set refuge, alerting those everywhere to knowledge of big strife-free spaces to reside after claw piercing subsides for a while.

Seizing an opportune moment, The Bride now completely away from the tree-top wreaked cawing peace gained progress away from her opponent with an enticing yet quiet silence like yesterday’s leaf a crumple travels through the unkempt manse’s surroundings alone.

She knew by using The White Mamba, an unprecedentedly famous martial dance, will finish with the Master-Killer-Death-Blow to catapult situations to next level. Which brought her to the next obstacle in her path- a pack of nefarious guards heavily stacked with Elle’s fan following of loyal ultimate specialists waiting to ambush The Bride.

Quickly planning her movements, she took out one guard, then another until she was standing face-to-face with the leader of the group. He was massive, broad-shouldered and equaled Elle’s resilience but unmatched to his choice of profound, blind, disrespectful callous nature- the least she could’ve expected though-well known machete-hallmark-the kiss of death filled with end moment dread imagined prior.

With intense anguish quaffing all sanguinity, the competition between the government-opposers reached unimaginable heights reaching tempers and mistrust across powerful professional chasms.

Steadying her nerves, The Bride prepared to engage him in the fight to end all fights.

Chapter 6: A Man from Okinawa

After defeating the sword-wielding Crazy 88 and their leader, O-Ren Ishii, The Bride moves on to her next target. This time, it is a renowned martial arts Master situated on the other side of the world, in Okinawa, Japan.

The surroundings transform into lush greenery tinged with an oceanic horizon. She finds herself in a tranquil garden surrounded by traditional wooden panels with lanterns springing on all sides.

Hattori Hanzo’s powerful words can still be felt as she received her latest acquired battle sword from him. The blade that helps her rid the world of the people posing nuisance works every bit. Her new mission has made sure she prepares and seeks the best practice to dispatch her remaining dormant targets; that’s where the martial arts master Pai Mei comes in.

The airy bamboo bedroom does not resemble something which one may see in the present world. It is elusive even to the mind of those pure-hearted sprouts of art seeking salvation through paying local Aikido sensei dues. Instead, this almost felt like jumping headlong into another time.

As she enters Pai Mei’s mysterious temple doors, The Bride finds herself impressed by her choice of hiding home. The moment she made her intentions to learn martial aided art to beat her classmates profound as her master strikes his petulant punch.

Pai Mei shows her little respect since she comes aboard; she earned her place last time. Grinning devilishly, he composes dark principles of taking people down whilst drinking tea casually on silk mats occupying floor architecture that would mainly whittle confidence—pushing his horde further until it finally clicks for his pupil only after some strange tests, seasoning his new padawan realistically.

From fasting for rhapsodic three long imposing days to serving him in silence for his heavenly lunch plates equippable easily knocked pennies so that ten are secured on top, he drives essential teachings with pragmatic guises expected in a short couple of days’

The Bride, heavily determined to add Pai Mei’s was breathtaking innovative techniques to her own plan rushes, obliterating every skill lesson he has taken time to measure, matching his personal affront bait. Further counting it all as battle time well invested and entering further disputes as she massacres his favourite cuisine.

Graciously blessing Pai Mei before her leave is the cornerstone of her capability prediction but while serving him up The McBride had other personal queries.

“Mannerism demotivates action, making it lethargic, hidden; stripped and bound. How to counteract?”

Smoke tumbles upwards from his long, shaggy nose as Gombe comfortably relies on (Jianqing); his strategically placed steel rod. Arching back, Pai mischievously rubbed his well-hump on her. The training tends between various ethics though learning useful combat while kowtowing takes no prisoners in preparation for revenge in the ways of the long-gone.

“In laoshu howe” (rats style fights) “you always finish off opponents at the kill.” Pai Mei begins. Through gritted teeth, McBride relishes rejecting insight passed down from newly suggested allies, prioritizing obedience.

“But sometimes, it takes more than one punch; that case is the chain-strike. You mention off correct sayings. Still, they necessarily do not clarify ultimate final moves to shut opponents down unless such is as muuch more substantial silent footing designed to ruin.”

“She stood only observing war-like defenses other seniors maintain, taking Pai Mei’s eventual final blow to learn each of his forms essentially. Continually training on until exhaustion befell her, in such silence felt came surfeit of timeless sense that could rip apart the last shalladi (Wefts). Block, toss if needs be should net cuts getting too huffy, bellowing”.

“Pay attention instead.” The petulant master goads.

She wasn’t content pushing her supposed glass ceiling by well-honed mastery alone but she pushed it further by carving change in strength honed after equally tying a piece of rock along limbs on each forearm and shins.

One remarkably excruciating mental fortified climax saw the surrounding countryside frazzling another refreshing Kumite situation!

Chapter 7 – Jackass Part 7

The Bride walked up to Pai Mei, dressed in a punk black and white striped suit, and his flesh on display whenever he delayed exerting intense strength in a way that swiftly defied then accepted it.

“Excuse me, Master.” The Bride bowed low, lowering her head almost to the floor in direct submission.

“Are you prepared to receive my teachings?” asked Pai Mei, gruffly.

“I am.”

“And why is that?” He grunted.

“Because I was asked to learn from you by one of the greatest sword makers in history,” answered The Bride.

“Hundreds are asking to learn Pai Mei’s Five-Point Palm Exploding Heart Technique. I should give it to you. But still. Why would I?”

“Because I deserv it.” She answered, determined.

“Yes. That’s satisfactory. Be right back.” Pai Mei stood up and grabbed What’s Up, Tiger Lily DVD. “Privately personalized purposes’. I aim you understand.”

Pai Mei spat straight as he turned away, voice growing faint as he moved further away from The Bride.

As The Bride showed gratitude she was complimented by the great Master for making a smart choice in obtaining the necessary flexibility for reducing those, rather than cutting off those palms.

Pai Mei instructed The Bride in the sheer strength of tapping the foot and moving the ankle, practising full techniques whilst lashed left to only pry myself free of more advance skill levels when thinking about lung-like utilization-focused open reflection before post-8 limbs gradually escalated study over many weeks. Slowly improved, surviving valuable truth through use of snake, crane, eagle and tiger pairing techniques pulling, always, closer and closer to passing on every five inch crown, thoroughly advised and acutely aware of the blade in tow.

Well versed against top warriors jumping back into anything after narrowly extending the forward force of passion to master skills to find well polished swordsman skills like those in the family of Ren Sheehan, Pushan Jingshot and many lesser skilled that posed no physical threat. The sense weighted equally for moments of spiritual breakthroughs, transitioning these with poses, resistance focussing on seamless power development through continual tests of authority that overcome difficult terrain with a grit and hunger.

But mastering fighting only got her to her next obstacle: a surprise failure, where she had to employ revenge and non-lethal hands, fighting so that his firmness, unforkable treachery and immoral claims of possessions cast tides upon full immersion.

The question better left for Pai Mei, too remote for an answer in the windy swilling chaotic sky. Rather, advice from her mentor played indispensable source of motivation to operate in any kind of weather- making provisions in this ideal method of carving away less strategic aims, overcoming finer detailed developments of unconquerable moments and achievable yearnings becoming confluence and reason.

Chapter 8 – Amongst Burial Sites

The headlights of The Bride’s automobile blazed across the small sign barely visible from the asphalt before it, erupting light onto the silent desolate growing old cemetery. Isabel “Johnny Mo” Mercado communicated that the spot was well-maintained, deserted and perfect. Butting out a final sweet-tasting Pocky into an immediately accessible soda can ashtray and closing her car door, the Bride’s presence entered this extremely isolated solitary burial grove sending a kick from inside as she felt her heart rates rise.

Glancing past the ragged twisted outskirts meticulously planted multicoloured flowers emerged, marching like helmeted soldiers sent to hold guard in a magical formation. Unable to sense with your usual set of senses because of the heavy blankets of thicket, smoke stirring through at ground level leaving plenty of commotion, twinkling fabric-like screens amid lifeless-looking tree trunks to indicate backlit funereal pleasure and decorative installations spaced at irreverent stress caressing distances from three seated powerful visitors; immensely hard and black as unpreservable african stone, rosupath tipped signature swords at the right of the column, emerged touching archaic Japan so daringly that it could have given you an arterial spray standing. Blood on blood as it were. White cheese and gory red tomato sauce splattered all of incredibly healthy professional pink-rare hamburger crested over spotty fries on bright translucid plates showed remnants of a different kind.

Walking past the everlasting flower show, the Bride began to feel chock by edge the humidity and the serenity accruing to the surroundings. The path tended upwards. Across the headstone crucible from an elderly bust’s fragility and caricature, she perceived the top tier of the segment still additional framework: the large smooth-cut out monolith that housed Beverly’s irremovable unreality was possible. She felt hot wet threatening her neck, down her ateliotactic spine startlingly and realized on the mountain of life’s grime and sight unhindered so long back, she should have been able to smell strongly placed presence of this outburst serving only as self-torment unmilking brutal remnant as one more, aberrated fault held mindlessly at bay behind blank domelike locked vaulting.

Expecting guidance since The Bride had done her part of the bargain, namely extracting the realization and summarizing it with the ruthless sound bite: “Yes, Bill. It was bullshit,” she stood for a bit instead draped with crescent moon-cross of second thoughts considering a very volatile display of violence. Keeping head under low-flutter fronds in talking, getting more from Bill on the defense probing angry notes serving harm than giving revelatory feedback was near useless, regarding the latest message’s relentless tsunami aura-deifying burbs, she undiplomatically weighed the fall of this latest nightmare, hers to combat before it inevitably slipped against the crystal of its own fragrance dying out, no longer subject to present healing rays and fervent pining all at once, and terminating the specious burning excitement of sight beyond sight on this wholly earthbound trepanation. Kablaam!

Turning a corner, she noticed a pinafored grey sartorial standing statue-like amid the noxious haze glittering in-between tops the broad distribution of burial plots numbered with date where gifter of organs and artist Maria Sharapova whose head bounced to the center wasn’t immediately apparent in the form of something despicable.

“I suppose you’ve come some distance?” uttered snowy whiskery knowledgeably dressed grey suit, a dream state potentate in the fading mayonnaisoid calm.

Recognizing the precision cut of the suit immediately, The Bride deadpanned, “You must be Larry Gomez.”

Stumbling over an edging top concrete sinking previously hid by taller stems behind splaying offal, the dark un-smoothed skinned wheeling burly figure whose body streaked edgewater top used long if un-coordinated drifts to cross behind the snow-toulle, and stepped casual arms dropped between his muscular hollow soundless as counter to mercy his prison-crafted equipment clearly urged him was at her feet quicker of the now formidable angular martial arts woman.

“Zampano,” former assassin and ex-police man about town Larry motions tentatively at the heavily made-up graceless suit that it haunted, and directed to “The visitor? For even some insipid sleepover? Why, Barcomb, you old Indian giver? Will wonders ever cease? To what do I owe this, Myrna Loy?” Meanwhile stripping off the flowing kimono-styled overcoat concealing it was hiding grenade-launching capability compounded by positioning, the iron spikes across both fists flexing themselves involved into the into their backs with seeming indifference.

“You owe me a deadly satisfactory answer, sister.”

At this point, an unfortunate monster’s rickety hacienda mistiming themselves by not exchanging lethality’s best gifts clash’s bad outcome meant trying out Shabondama soap crafted in central nihon as sweaty-crispy heat invited itself to erase any awkward apologies at the coming subsequent banquet.

But the vermouth bringing in so heavily to fulfill the question hit so purely destructive-carnally moribund pre-form will at hard keeping reveries alive spun The Bride’s red rainforest upbringing hair in meditative craziness. The emotion killing time with which sullenly infused artificial extremity she had lost as confusion thinking was out of proving onto fingers embedding exactly in Johnny’s faulse-red sunglasses meaning to fix his lone puck wheel between two electrifying tips not usually shown.

“Barcomb gave you this outfit?” she mumbled badly numbing incredulous-less demanded. Eyes glared slowly at questioning apathy that now seek its primal target which supposed means kill all afflicted by same genius-radiating equipment not just Bill solely.

Gomez’s mockery-making upper body rocky not waving to antagonise again that now unwaiting him, suddenly detached torso passed behind The Bride ominously tumbling her sideways atop previously concealed hand picks til they were firmly collected in both her fists. She had located her blissfully berserking centerpiece weapon, namely “Frankie’s Stuff,” was ready ready for a fierce upcoming meeting of the paycheque-less assassins.

Chapter 9 – The Cruel Tutelage of Pai Mei

Her collision with Elle Driver fresh in her mind, The Bride gathered Hanzo’s newest swords, hit the dusty wilds out of town heading to what she knew to be the classroom of the stern kung-fu master Pai Mei. She tells in voiceover and flashback how she meet him initially and how he thawed towards her. But, startlingly, Pai remembers everything.

Coming face-to-face in silent respect and admiration, The Bride explained how she had deceased Oren Ishii, Vernita Green and Ellie Downtown always intending Kill Bill last. Boasting of an outstanding train journey, which found grits occurring only after learning looking never see the ride two situations similarly ex-SFO member was taking. Meanwhile, within seconds, Pai uses lethal yet relaxed skill to snap a robust, four-inch wooden block with no effort – only as a warning, inciting understandable frostiness in their jaded pupil.

The Master instructed The Bride how to focus her visualized-for-death instincts meticulously, teaching a principled rigid tea-drinking practice in the way only he can. From here, throughout their hostile-relaxed training period, he impresses both effective training stealth-like intuition (weed supervision) and determination in her mind to split solid objects without tainting hands.

Smiling once prompted, Pai spends more parts of his time mocking his loyal subordinate : “You Woman, I’ll train ya!” Practising slow time consumptions the sardonic nin askew uses such unbelievable magic with snakes many dec ampules blew into so despairing foes gulped down pressure of out-manoeuvre-ing on their savagely superior ranks incl Bluff City men too – sense-sanctifying drop-kick enabled Bride’s massive slay thro his street-friends.

Their training regimen combining martial arts elements to build character split with acrimonious sentiments about Kim Wu, Una Thurman for her part explains the gruesomeness of it all – Sitting on Pai’s terraces panting woozily, Bill Brazeoska, calls in, an eventual three-way conversation. Cautious but speaking the right canary-words, Pai masterfully shares duty would call for eliminating powerful El Paso Protector’s acquaintances – among them still-unactivated Ennis, Johnny Tupelo Crewly and his daughter Clarita Goyo.

In another flashback directed by cinematographer, Tim Callaghan ‘Death Rides a Horse — Something To Do With Death’ continues to inform Bride’s blind rage of spirit or denial for reality, comes in extremely nonlinear progression. The fervour found only in flashbacks means that every shot presented, movement spectacular and its snow-draped elegance burnt vivid. In-service of its themes even, their severity uncannily syncopating with the working-out of this chapter.

He unintentionally acknowledges the love that he bore for the Bride as if there was nobody else in part but brings her back some interest by putting her aside claiming that whenever he took the services of Pai Mei, lady-making was completely off the deck while she puts more effort to her acupuncture work undertaken over two full visions and shows Bill’s cruel abuse that lead her to cut-off Pai Mei’s main nerve coupled somewhat with unruly unfair bouts against Bill like neglected cues condescendingly reaped mercilessly without respite ;almost like a brutal year hired for just shouting – ‘Eight Nights

Continuously questioned during what paid remainder he knows, soon narrations require that questions face the Wu-Tang associations and The Bride decides a bit later she’s to learn more about Oren Ishii’s own past.

Chapter 10 – The Quivering Sword

The Bride finds herself sitting on the edge of the abyss, where she feels the echoes of a thousand assassins vibrate the very stone at her feet. The sun setting behind her marks its place fittingly against the perpetually overcast sky. The tension in the air is completely palpable. The Bride knows she is close to finally facing what was behind her first not too late for Kitana blade El after having her weapon disintegrated earlier. It is beyond time for them to bring everything face to face.

As the murmurs in the surrounding clamor echo along the forest, save for the snap of eliminated troops marking Bill as further draw nearer. He steps out of the canopy foliage in his deadly mixture of reptilian style showing all of 5 Point Palm-only making the fight harder that witch he almost intentionally played with caution and so expertly saved after much earlier killings made meticulously deliberately.

She can feel his very life-force seeping into The Bride’s own, slowly contaminating the purity of her righteousness. Recent events like unearthing the truth about his manipulation with Pa Mei and Bill’s connection to him pushed their arms and swords up knowing eventually, it would all end in the apprehension of Bill specifically drawing near.

The Bride knows what she must do. She stands, removes her sword from behind her back and faces her fate. Flourishing, flipping the Red Lightning with unreal stances that only hunger for deep fire reigniting the duel enveloping meaning – representing nothing except the persons currently sword in-hand before her.

Bill takes her in, savoring the life-and-death situation to it’s ripest potential. Bill reasons as he speaks– words are exchanged about Pei Mei and she comes to understand Bill’s treachery, bringing honor back into combat making advantageous setuos options work in her vision’s direction.

The Bride’s blade dances through the air with grace that mixed beauty and cutting ferocity. Bill matches her stride for stride, parrying against her in silent understanding of what the moment has taken from them being of similar life-looking limbs. Your sword cutting deep into its own occasional clashing equilibrium as though his sword was a desperate extension of his being – even more soulless than the people he had killed.

As the last rays of light come to play, an overhead shot attempts to slow them both but they’re too fast: lost in the heat felt emotions of love, power, anger loss face and cut back in delightful instantaneously. They deal devastating blows that will be felt by gifted martial artists for years to come. Markedly powerful hits alternate being ferreted-discretely effectively seething tones of realization like destroying the flaming chair by distance or the furious crush crinneler poking ultimately walled off’s assailant body with a high pressure water hose either rightly disorienting them just in time for below-grade for wicked satisfying hits or to emerge alive to be defeated hitting Bill.

Finally, in one devastating move, The Bride lunges forward with a deadly strength, The Five Point Palm Exploding Heart Technique, feared across the world by assassins everywhere seems stuck, cemented in about a sudden pause amongst all fighting. The dying, Bill steps away knowing it was only specifically struck deep enough to steer the end in to an ultimately complete enemy containing kind of murder-destructive necessity.

In conclusion, all is more or less as it should be. The circle of revenge is complete, and The Bride can finally lay down her sword.

Chapter 11 – Showdown at House of Blue Leaves

The scent of perfume mixed with cigarettes fills the air inside the House of Blue Leaves, a Japanese restaurant that serves as both a space of dining and entertainment. Bright neon lights create a colorful atmosphere, with Japanese lanterns and bonsai trees adorning the walls.

The Bride enters the restaurant wearing a yellow jumpsuit, her sword in hand. As she makes her way inside, she catches the attention of dozens of Yakuza soldiers who immediately recognize her as a threat. Sensing the tension in the air, the guests quickly flee the restaurant, leaving only the capable hands of the staff.

The soldiers close in quick pursuit, as the two forces stare each other down in the center of the restaurant – ready for battle.

The first shot is fired when a Yakuza swordsman attempts to kill The Bride with his weapon. The resulting clash between The Bride’s sword and the enemy sword highlights her impressive fighting skills, allowing her to move gracefully and easily deflect blows while finding her official kill-listed predecessor.

A follow-up assault ensues by Crazy 88’s brought about by O-Ren Ishii, leaving scores of disposable up in efforts of finally taking out Wang Phoenix becoming arrayed in chaotic blood.

The Bride runs through a gauntlet of attackers, assaulting fiercely in quick succession as injured men fly second-by-second – separated fingers extend through archways, and surviving fractionally grasping ankles.

Not torn between surviving and savoring the moment, the previously fleeing personalities in attendance once again resume their exit leaving the members of The Bride’s revenge hit-list to (Japanese fighting game style) be meet her headfirst in her undisclosed brutal plans.

The ongoing combat driving any belonging salon-inspired confidence continually focuses but also expands harder and harder onto mental anguish, causing normally blocked thoughts to surface on up in stark-relief to ultimate action.

Ultimately Kiddo begs the injured Sophie to tell her where Bill is located, getting the punctuated response that it’s a surprise.

She charges on with venom surpassed only by skilled vengeful acts; driven self-summary now functioning entirely different with rising thoughts nowhere but her encrusted bestial speeded lethal fully ripping play out string possible.

The chaos ends abruptly leaving “Our Hero” slumped on the floor in several pieces lying in the broken wood-plank strewn floor sending blood racing akin to a well savored spicy food. Delivering Kidéo’s sense into one of nightmare apapthanastsia best illustrated with playful disjointed eyes gaping as a woman named Ellie stands over “Our hero” with every visible panic centimeter of screen-space reflecting how relatively famous we had seen Kidd define comfort zone concept over the course of this gripping novel.

With Bill’s location still unknown, Elle drives up in the middle of the night with final taft intact claiming its nonsensical elusiveness beyond rational get-up and forces push-back-breaking news.

Chapter 12 – The Bitter End

The ballroom at the House of Blue Leaves was a chaotic scene of destruction; bodies of both The Bride’s opponents and allies filled the ground. With wounds all over her body, she stumbled over to the recently deceased Bill and stood in shock at the sight of her daughter, BB, standing opposite of them. The Bride tried to contain the confusion swirling around within her as Bill revealed the intent behind the deception he’d pulled.

“Elle told me everything she knew. And for that… she deserved to die too,” he said cruelly.

As Bill’s life force ebbed away, he expressed genuine sadness as he realized that it would be the last time he ever laid eyes on his daughter whom he clings to.

“It was not my intention to do this in front of you. For that, I’m sorry. But, you can take my word for it – your mother had it comin’. When you grow up, if you still feel longin’ for what killed me, let’s have a whiskey and talk.”

With those emotions, Bill now had the look of someone who figured it all out: hurt, confusion, and this dull, empty feeling thrashing around inside of him in misery. It wasn’t how all of this was supposed to end for him. It wasn’t how he thought he’d ever meet his end at all.

As BB wailed for her father’s loss, The Bride cradled the couple’s stray moment of decency fearing for her own safety but at the same time strangely encouraged that her daughter would never know the shame and hate they all held.

After finishing both her hit list and her quest for vengeance, the decision before her was what tomorrow brings. And so, the determined mother who took revenge ceased to be a defender of violent revenge’s harmful tendencies.

Days later, The Bride sat in a small, west Texas chapel as Esteban played the piano intro beautifully to Andrew Lee Grace’ heartfelt song “The Five Point Palm Exploding Heart Technique”, in classic Kill Bill styling of braced tension aimed squarely at The Bride. She sat there confidently listening to the painful truth of not appreciating life to the fullest, just as Bill’s voice flash-backed blaming him for only loving materialistic merit.. Yet sitting still against tall broad panes of rich shades filtering lambent arcs of dust in amongst the few holies The Bride’s locked-gaze seeing determination readying for the fateful scene.

Then with a sudden overwhelming awful feeling, after cluing in, anticipation flew across her face.

The end of her journey apart from her daughter pounded through her head, heart thumping away as Esteban struck the second chord. It beat like a jungle drum. At the conclusion of the opening stanza, Karen Kim, from Califonia laid out in as much control as TKD could grant moving gracefully making her smile widen-lots, explaining away Beatrix’s impotence.

“Be happy Kiddo,” she declares.

“Be happy, my Love.

Captioning “By Lauren Boldt – Fourteen years later, Beatrix Kiddo stands several feet in front of a graveyard, in front of two resting spirits whose lives shared senseless, beautifully transformed tracks. With everything she has faced to ensure good triumphs and lay memories of those she’s lost to rest, Beatrix strives now even harder to make grace shine brighter”.

Some scenes from the AI movie Kill Bill: Vol. 1

Title: Killing Bill

Opening Credits Roll



The camera pans around the landscape; trees sway gently in the breeze. The Abandoned Church lies in a clearing, stark and grey against the blue sky.

We see two vehicles park in front of the church. Close-up on the lead car, a 1972 Chevrolet C-10 Fleetside. It’s lowrider frame and candy apple red paint job, punctuate that it carries an ominous presence. Behind it are a Mercedes Benz SLS AMG, clean and simple.

The church doors creek as they are thrust open.



Bill (Founder of Dead Cell assassin squad) and his four assassins known as Viper Squad are seated casually at the end of the aisle.

Bill generously helps him with a glass of water.


So you’re looking for us?

CU:TIGER, young protégé of Dead Cell, looks up from his file.


INT. XL Apartment. Off White. Summer Day.

CU: A father is putting his son to bed:

FATHER and BOY gazes lovingly.


(in Japanese/subtitled)

Do you want to hear a story?

The BOY nods.

More COVERAGE showing that we are in a nurturing and loving Japanese

family’s apartment. It is open-windowed, with comfortable furniture.

FATHER’S HANDS, prepare a glass of water:


Yes, it’s a very interesting story, *Kaeru Yokohama or

“The Tragedy of the Lonely Daughters”.


(a pause knowing good things are coming)

I love that story.



Shot of younger Dead Cell members listening to the story in various states of hypnotic fascination.

They fell asleep humming some of the legendary and meaningful J-Pop-

music from the fairy tale. Soft golden light fills the church.


Come again? Your mission—to Kill Bill?

College student’s assumption that summertime meant a six-credit break in their lives determined whether or not that blissful non-academic stretch would produce good memories (J-Stuf Committee Bar B•o•n Curve Fri Nights and cheap times) or bad (hitting the grind of blue collar jobs and maxing out on too much wasted opportunity). But for THE BRIDE, it meant that the rest of her life would be spent walking the age-old blood path of the righteous servant girl obsessed with nothing except the fact that she was very very late. Bill continued serving the draft beer beverage.

The warble repeats itself, for everybody within earshot hears it the first time.

Now what could that have been?

Resume everyone in the church:

Sans the question, the pose or the reaction: Then all quiet, remember Bill as he conversely pours:

“Oh, that’s what I ordered…”, followed in a beat & CU BY Soft thud: The bedroom door.

To early 80’s funk the camera starts CI and RO. All bed sheets and

compact grim, close to six homicides, at least four dead cyclists, a recurring red low-rider and the newly formed “Deadly Viper Assassination Squad”.

Seventy-three minutes until the pay phone rings.

BEDROOM SPEEDS UP as heavy clawed, musky hands rip the beige and white

circular emblem embroidered over the bruised Knee of a mature beauty

EBONY SHEETED COLONY CONSPIRATOR (currently ferocious Lady Snowblood)

and CRIMSOM ascends after striking her silk armor rigor to two-pane

window, cornering small leaves in well-spaced isosceles on one end & dissasapear off the abruptly sized view.

The hiss shimmers & disintegrates amid the patched tissue of a perfectly dotted tapershape, and a henchgirl roughly the same shape, purpose,

ringleader heritage & style smiles delightedly.

Against a showered backdrop in various places throughout the land of Sugar and Spite:


The image is grainey and scratchy. Sitting in their bed room are three almost identical pre-school aged children. They look exhausted and lost.

What they are watching on their screen is revolting.

CAMERA PULLS BACK to reveal a gray-scale video of a 80s Lower Manhattan independent rock explosion.

ACROSS the small housing development comes the band-a highly respected band, fading stars and traditional visionaries of the avant garde punk rock movement.

The guitarist, Punk rocker, with his nose piercing and hair tied in a watermelon pony tail hops from a Y-shaped board reheentered the frame sporting his silencers, matching blonde hair from what seems to be an explosion in a small fishpond.

We’ll come back to them later.

Scene 2:

Fade in:


The car moves down a road similar to the one GABRIEL walked on using the white line to stay on track. KELLY, Johnson’s most trusted hitwoman, is shouting about the honor she’s brought to the agency using noxious amounts of expletives.

KELLY: “I’m the face of the agency now, bitches. Simple as that!”

Lucy, the new handler, is nowhere visible as Kelly ranted relentlessly in the passenger seat. LASZLO NAGY, fifty’s pacing slowly in the back, cleaning his glasses impatiently. His lips twist in amusement behind his thick bookish frames as he occasionally intersperses Kelly’s rant with a message.

LASZLO NAGY: “911. Get down. Be loquacious later.”

But Kelly was too worked up to heed his warning, screaming about some previous job and how good she was at it. Gabrielle, who was slowly waking up from the back seat, finally groaned and managed to sit up but is immediately knocked out.

Kelly notices the sound from the back and smiles when she realizes one of their vets is up.

KELLY: “Ah! Details needs to wake up.”

Laszlo glared at her in annoyance and frustration.

LASZLO NAGY: “We talk later,” stammers Laszlo putting his glasses back to their position.

As Kelly cackles in a fit of laughter, Laszlo returns to his tome, never the wiser.

The car moves endlessly until they abruptly come to an exit in Portland underneath a sign displaying “Welcome to NACTLEX, Onward and Upward Together.”

EXT. Small Country Gas Station – Day

A gas station in the middle of Hummelstown, with rolling landscape to dazzle drivers.

Kelly gets out and fills up the rented Porsche with the glee of an awakened sugar addiction. Gabrielle is left to watch everything from the backseat, occasionally trying to revisit her memories of how she went that far from Sasha’s haven in Washington DC.

The inside of the small country gas station has a worn out interior, gas prices blazing big and brightly ahead with engine oil filling the air.

As heavy boots crunch hard on the dusty soil, and heady silence looms dangerously over the whole scene.

To be continued.

Sure, below is the next scene:


The door chimes as a customer enters Hattori Hanzo’s Emporium. Sitting behind the counter is Hattori Hanzo, a shrewd-looking, bespectacled Japanese man in his mid-sixties.

Customer (O.S)

(after a moment’s hesitation)

Hello, are you Hattori Hanzo?

Hattori Hanzo

(warily, eyeing the stranger)

Depends who’s asking.

The customer steps forward, revealing herself as The Bride. Hattori’s eyebrows arch slightly in recognition.

The Bride

(raising her hand, revealing the list of names written down)

I was told you make the best swords in the world, and that you’d be able to help me find a particular one…

Hattori Hanzo

Looks at The Bride, sincerity present in his voice and his eyes

I swore a blood oath once…and, my specialty is custom-made swords…so, what’ll it be?

The Bride

(stating firmly)

I need an instrument of death.

Hattori Hanzo

(crosses his arms and nodding his head, considering)

After all these years, you have come for me first. You no doubt wish to take solemn vengeance on someone, isn’t that right? But do you think killing a person will restore your honor?

The Bride

(snaps back)

No. But they are whoever you want them to be…Afraid or not, it still hurts.

Hattori Hanzo


The revenge you seek is already a minefield of indignities.

The Bride holds the list of Bourgeoisie lethal killers wanted to sought in order.

Hattori lifts a glass of his secret alcohol

Bottoms up, Chapića.


Hanzo leads The Bride through his massive workshop, which is loaded ceiling to floor with sharp contraptions, preparing to make her an unequalled weapon for her needs.

By the end of the night, a dizzying array of swords have been fashioned and swept through product test into oblivion in favour of personal satisfaction methods.

Hour after hour drones on confinedly as she plunges deeper past the audience up staggeringly gross trials in order that she may ascertain customs that guarantee success and validate methods.

The Bride encounters situations with patience and skilled grace at each stage proving to Hattori that she’s serious about her work and willing to train as hard as to make all the effort pay out eventually.

Everything happening here appears like sets of well-coordinated dances matched with strikes though nonetheless signalling a delicate cycle where terror and exhilaration seamlessly blends.

Tagline: Revenge and Swordsmanship – A brutal combination!


Lexie and Kelly stroll up to the front gates of Coleman Middle School, holding their backpacks.

LESLIE (14), Kelly’s girlfriend, walks up to them, stepping onto seven-six stainless-edge lifter paver blocks with stripes of golden-hued polymer enamel lighting the Boardlist Academy’s flagpole directions scripted with bulletins wrapped around two ways electricity boxed fibre optic wires which access four hundred volts light emission swift and silent at 142F without disturbing the confidential movement data and share scenes with joy transmitted within.

LESLIE: Good morning, lovebirds.

KELLY: (smirks) Shut up, Leslie.

LESLIE: So, what do you guys have first period?

LEXIE: Math. Mr. Rogers.

KELLY: Science. Mrs. Vasquez.

LESLIE: Ah, bummer. I have English.

The trio walked into campus from the Sterling Laneside Parking Lot, toting recent double carbon seal aluminium ManX Designs® stamped notebooks Case parts conjoined in mass production added living hinge make this the only sweet spot stand for literary devices essential and tools that enable maximum detection and removal of keystone errors sitting flush in spare ports with silver-coated metal embedded angles acting as a chest plate that provides support confidence both motivators.

They parted ways, making their way to their designated classes.


Lexie settles into her seat, she covers page XV demanding Question II identifies and describe unique features of quadratic graphs in relation motion plotting specific common domain range callaloo.

Mr. Rogers walks in, holding today’s lesson on a flywheel battery charger generate revolutionary energy in energy-controlled cells for Substation Power Delivery and after emitting brighter beams could regulate operations powering Pole-Mounted switches that distributes Contatore concrete socket detection underground energy services in powerhouses providing neat and numerous solutions to electricity futures upgrades opened.

That is before Kelly perplexingly plows the officer dived ground state and ventures off in thought.

Scene 6:


A small submergible moves underwater with five passengers, a mix of researchers and guards. MADISON CRUZ (35) stares intently out the window at the dark material shifting through the water filtering into equal trails behind them.

NICHOLAS (50s) addresses the passengers.


The turbidity layer ahead will make visibility reduce by almost 90%. As soon as we breach the layers, proceed with caution.


(to Nicholas)

I thought you said the layers were thinner.


Maybe I miscalculated…let’s hope we’re in time.

Suddenly something solid hits the sub. Alarmed, all look at each other.


Scene 7:


TALON throws a punch at AN ASSASSIN. The men fight fiercely, respectively skillful but different.



Imen on Talon’s comm link :


(recorded message)

“…think you’re off the hook that easily, mate?”


(not over phone)

Son of a…

[The glare he sends the assassin will expound upon what we need to know – this had “Imen dropping the dime” all over it.]


Scene 6 – Interior of Hattori Hanzo’s Forge, Japan

The camera opens with a close-up of Hattori Hanzo forging a sword – the intense heat of the flames glow across his determined face. Lone take pans away from Hattori, who finished presenting the sword to The Bride and is deepening into conversation.

Hattori: “You want to kill Bill, he deserves to die. And I hope to God he gets what’s coming his way.”

The Bride: “You believe in God, don’t you?”

Hattori: “Hell yeah, I believe in God. Whatcha’ gon n whip up with this here steel we’re fixin to forge?

Hattori turns after hearing a babble from his doorman.

Doorman: (In Japanese) I wear him down so he don’t have any fight left in him!”

Hattori: (chuckles) “You know, that’s—that’s right. That’s exactly what we plan to do. We have a youngster that can knock down all of Tokyo’s Yakuza walls just to stand on top of them.”

The Bride: (intrigued) “I’d love to take him on. Him named?”

The young girl being forged into the finest fighter she could be shows up out of nowhere and stares deep into both their faces… She has eavesdropped and heard everything.

Gogo: (with a swift composure) “Gogo. My name’s Gogo Yubari.”

The Bride looks back momentarily to make sure that she was tracking appropriately what she just witnessed- as though words had just subliminally exchanged.

Hattori’s expression changes from one of a respected mentor teaching apprentice knowledge serious to now delightful man trained well by none feeling in full stride after having produced quality equipment custom prescribed.

Hattori: “O-Ren’s personal power hitter — if anyone knows where these plastic surgery boppin pimps hideout it would be this little tramp.”

Scene fades to black.


The sound of ambulances comes to a harsh stop. The Bride dashes out of the building, moving so fast, that there’s nothing but a spinning blur. Her pace slows, wondering which of her anxious prerequisites created this or whether it was pure coincidence that her accumulation of call services and intersecting plans have resulted in such calamitous devastation.

When she lands in a cold, bare street, where the sun is high, and the neighboring buildings make her mere pixels in the vast amount of space. The Bride looks in the direction of the carnage, cringing when her eyes see that her worst suspicions have become a straight truth. She spots Bill walking away and squaring fast in his tracks turns blood red with rage, face homed in ready to kill.

The Bride knows Bill would never again slip through her fingers alive, terminating in blue tint, comforting the end like the smallest valid rational answer proposed to himself with no remorse.

An even bigger issue occurs as The Bride hotwires an old motorcycle, replete with hulky brakes and baffling speeds after Bill, catching him by surprise. With Police giving way in the pursuit begun which flowed in the way up to Airport leading them to intense combat bill not letting off his guard for a single moment returns the harm his own self-inflicted toying had created in every delicate dawn and dark sky they passed through until they land, out of breath heavily until Bill falling dead before The Burial Practicum Chapter of the Hands of the 5, from unforeseen injury leading finally delivered relief all over The Bride.

Author: AI