Losing Control

Lefty took another step.  It put the nefarious suited man within striking distance, so Damian swung.  Unfortunately, in his haste, he had forgotten to unplug his weapon of choice from the wall.  As the weighted base arced toward his assailant's head, the cord went taut.   Then, just as suddenly, it snapped free from the wall, flinging Damian forward.

The lamp clanged harmlessly against the floor, sending a jolt up Damian's arms as he toppled.  Some part of his body must have been expecting the fall, for he felt himself tuck into a roll.  One with the momentum, he let it carry him back to his feet.  Then, he realized his attackers were behind him.

Damian spun, lamp-weapon in hand.  Or, rather, what was left of it.  The base had snapped off and rolled away.  It clunked into the baseboard, causing Damian to flinch.  His eyes went to Lefty, who was still standing a step away, only now the man appeared even more menacing than before.  Damian wasn't sure how that was even possible, but it likely had something to do with the two fresh cuts across the man's cheek.

The plug, Damian reasoned.  It must have caught the man.  Lefty didn't acknowledge the injury, but Damian was sure it had to hurt.  It was bleeding, after all.

"Sorry, I- ah... yeah," Damian stammered.

To his surprise, Left grinned, though it fit about as well as a dragon in a dollhouse.

Damian didn't have time to marvel at the expression, however strange, because with the smile came a step and a grasping hand.  Damian ducked with a speed that surprised him.  Even more surprising, he thrust the top of the lamp out in front of him like a spear.  It jabbed into Lefty's gut, pushing him back slightly.

The man grabbed the weapon, trapping it and crushing the shade.  For one awful moment, Damian was staring into the man's burning eyes, blackness with a dash of flame.  The perfect recipe for an arduous death.

Damian let instinct control him again.  This time it told his arms to yank away from the suited stranger.  Damian didn't expect the weapon to budge, but the crumpled shade ripped free.  Lefty looked down at the remains he held.

What happened next, Damian would one day find even harder to explain.  Still, he had a great view of the events, perched as he seemed to be high in his own head, viewing it all from a distance.  He was the audience in his own action film.

With the removal of the various parts of the lamp, all Damian had left was the long, skinny midsection with a naked bulb in a socket on the top.  His hand gripped the implement at the bottom and tested it for weight.  Then, his arm brought it up in a circle even as Lefty was raising his eyes back to his prey.

The bulb caught the man flush to the side of the head and popped.  A bit of white powder puffed.  Glass rained down on the suit.  The man raised his knife, but whatever controlled Damian was quicker.  Even as the shards of glass were bouncing of the man's wide, muscular shoulders, the lamp was whizzing back around.

It raked across the man's face from brow to chin, tearing the skin.  Blood oozed out of the cuts and down into Lefty's right eye, partially blinding him.  He swung with his knife where he thought Damian was, but Damian's body had already vacated the spot, swirling to the left.

The dance ended when Lefty stumbled forward and Damian brought the broken bulb up under his jaw.  He rammed it home.  The fire was snuffed out.  A red flood burst from Lefty's mouth.  As the man fell back to the floor at the foot of the bed, Damian's hand darted out to grab the knife.  It came easily out of the lifeless fingers.

A new weapon in hand, Damian turned to face Righty.  The man wasn't laughing anymore.