Tem vezes que eu solto o taco de baseball. Já não consigo mais rebater, já estou de joelhos e não sei direito o porquê de estar tentando desde o começo. Não sei. Não tenho mais forças pra erguer o taco pra voltar pra briga, mas ainda assim não solto.
Isso é coragem, ou é burrice?
—Drop the bat kid.
He dropped the bat, that voice was the only thing that seemed remotely close. The world vanished with every passing second. It was over. He didn't want to let it go, but it wasn't much of an option anymore. For better, for worse, it was over.
The hulking figure positioned itself at his side. Right leg a bit backwards, arms stretched. Whatever came unto him, would have to pass through it first. It could be said that using that bat to crush their skulls was merely symbolic, as it didn't need anything more than its muscular fists to do the job. But it had the bat. And it would use the bat until no one else dared to step towards his master.
—I don't know what's going on. What I do know, is that in a few seconds, the rooms you guys are inside are going to complete darkness, and you won't be alone. I don't know what, where or when they are going to attack. But I'll be here, do. Not. Give. Up.
—But what do we do?
—Get ready.
—R-ready?!
—You heard him, prepare yourself.
—It's happening. Now.
—Where are they coming from?!
—I don't know, I can't see from the screens!
—What do we do...?
—Just swing the bat. Swing it for your life, don't stop swinging. RUN!
...
—DO NOT STOP HITTING!
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