Preface

Welcome to Blood and Cupcakes.

Blood and Cupcakes is a story I began writing back in high school. It was never finished. It likely will never be finished.

I thought instead of letting it collect virtual dust on my hard drive I would put it up here for anyone to read if they like.

Just bear in mind that I haven't touched this story since probably late 2008/early 2009.

Some backstory on where the ideas for this story came from is this; my junior year of high school I was in a group that needed to make a video.

Here is that video: (I cringe as I reveal this to you all. I haven't actually watched this in a loooonnnggg time.)

We had fun making the video so we decided to make a 'sequel' on our own outside of school. It was to feature the same main characters, Joe, Joe, and Courtney, but have a plot and be more action packed.

I wrote out a script and we filmed some test footage of our homemade bullet squib machine, and that's as far as we got.

Well eventually I decided that I would use the script as a guideline and rework the story as a novel instead of a youtube video. 

That's where this story comes in. 

I hope you enjoy it. But if you don't I understand. It's.... Interesting to say the least. 

Prologue

The van sped down the empty country road at a blistering speed. The speedometer was touching 95 mph. Prayer of the Refugee by Rise Against blasted out of the speakers.

“Don’t hold me up now! I can stand my own ground!”

                Headbanging at the wheel was Joe. Joe was a stunningly good looking fellow with blue eyes that it is rumored people have killed over. He stood 6 feet tall could pwn the shit out of anyone at Gears of War. He wore a black baseball cap with an image of a skull with angel wings on it. On his white t-shirt was yet another skull with two guitars crossed behind it. On his manly legs was a pair of normal looking jeans held up by a black belt with metal lined holes all the way around.  Joe’s majestic voice sang along perfectly with the song playing in the van.

                In the passenger seat was José, one of Joe’s good friends. He sat in the seat cool and collected. One had to look intently to even realize the he even was aware of the loud music. José was Hispanic and could fuck you up and not think twice. He used to be a boxer in the underground rings of the big city. He won’t tell anyone, not even Joe, why he doesn’t box anymore.  José had a spectacular black moustache with a hint of blonde in it.

                And finally, sitting in one of the chairs in the middle of the van was Courtney. Despite the name, Courtney was a man. If you were Hitler you would want him to help populate your perfect race of humans. Courtney was tall, blonde, and blue eyed. Courtney had yet another unique feature, one that Hitler probably wasn’t even aware existed. Not many people know it does…

“Hey stop the van!” Courtney shouted at Joe. Joe looked at Courtney in the mirror and new what was going on, so he stopped the van as fast as he could. The van screeched to a halt in the middle of the road. As soon as it wasn’t moving Courtney threw open his door and burst outside. José turned down the music as they waited for him to return. In the side mirror José could see Courtney running down the side of the ditch into the long grass and pick up a flat white box. He smiled.

When Courtney climbed back into the van he placed the white box on the little table between Joe and José. Just as he put the box down Joe stepped on the accelerator again and they took off.

“So what we got this time?” José asked.

“I don’t know yet, I haven’t even looked in it yet,” Courtney replied.

José opened up the lid of the box and inside he saw close to a dozen frosted cupcakes. “Bingo.” He said. You see, Courtney’s special ability was that he can sense pastries; be it cupcakes, doughnuts, cakes, brownies, on a good day cookies, and he’s even been know to sense milk every once and a while. No one quite knows how he does it, some think he just has an exceptional sense of smell, others think its some sort of sixth sense, and some have gone as far to say that it’s supernatural or a gift from aliens. Whatever it may be, no one knows, and perhaps no one ever will. But the fact remains, Courtney can sense pastries, his strong suit being cupcakes.

“All right!” Joe shouted as he looked down from the road to see the cupcakes.  

The van whipped down the road with three men enjoying music and cupcakes, the three of them completely unaware that a grim surprise awaited them in their future…

Chapter One: Taken

Through the van’s windshield the three friends saw the town approaching. The town was Buhmhik. It was a small country town with a population of roughly 5,500 people.  It was the kind of place where people waved at you when you drove by each other even if they didn’t know you, the kind of place where nothing bad could ever happen. Or so they thought…

                Joe pulled the van into an average looking driveway leading up to an average looking house. The house belonged to Joe and José. There were totally not gay, but they saved money this way and sharing the house served other purposes. Once the van stopped, they all got out and went up some average steps, through an average door, and into the average kitchen. The whole house was very average, except for the basement. No one was allowed in the basement.

                The three of them walked into the living room. Courtney dropped himself onto a big comfy chair while setting the box of cupcakes on a coffee table in the middle of the room. Joe went over to the entertainment center and turned on his Xbox 360. José turned on the HD TV as Joe handed him a controller.  A few minutes later the room was flooded with the sound of revved chainsaws cutting through flesh and skulls popping as Joe and José played Gears of War.

                “Damn! I jammed a reload!” José shouted at Joe.

                “I got you covered man!” Joe yelled back.

                They were so engrossed in the game they barely noticed that Courtney was no longer sitting in the chair where he was sitting just a moment ago.  

                “Hey where’d Courtney go?” Joe asked.

                “Don’t know, prolly to the bathroom. Look out frag!”

                They both keep playing the game; narrowly avoiding explosive tipped arrows, lobbing frag grenades, and turning people into mush when they got close enough.

                “Whoo! We won that round!” Joe proclaimed.

                “Dude, look…” José said. He was pointing at a half eaten cupcake sitting the Courtney’s chair.

                “Oh fuck,” Joe said. Joe knew that Courtney would never leave a cupcake uneaten. Something must have happened to him.

                “Look at this,” José said as he handed a piece of paper to Joe. On there paper was a bunch of letters that looked like they were cut out of magazines and newspapers.  It said this: WE HAVE COURTNEY. UNDER NO CIRCUMSTANCES SHOULD YOU TRY AND GET HIM BACK. OR ELSE.

                “Or else what?” Joe wondered aloud.

                “There’s a second paper. Here,” José said as he handed Joe a second sheet. It read; YOU WILL DIE.

                “Oh okay. Who do you think could’ve done this? ” Joe said.

                “I don’t know, man, but I think I just found a clue,” José said as he held up the half eaten cupcake and pulled a hair off of it. “I bet whoever’s hair this is, is from the guy who nabbed Courtney. If we can run a DNA test on it we can find out who it is.”

                “Good idea dude. I think I know who can run the test for us. C’mon.” 

Chapter Two: The Analysis

Joe placed the hair into a Ziploc bag and sealed it up. José and him got into the van and headed to the other side of town.  As they were driving down Main Street towards the other side of town, Joe noticed that a black SUV in the rear view mirror had been there for a while.

                “I think we’re being followed,” Joe said.

                “Yeah I think so too. Lose that sucka,” José replied.

                Joe quickly turned the van off Main Street at the next possible right. They saw that the SUV didn’t turn to follow them.

                “I guess he wasn’t following us after all,” Joe said with surprise on his voice.

                Joe continued on towards their destination taking back alleys just to be completely sure the black SUV wasn’t following them.  Five minutes later they arrived.

                “We’re here,” Joe said as they pulled into a driveway of a small house on the edge of town. The house was only one story and was painted in an appalling shade of yellow.

                “That is a truly appalling shade of yellow,” José said with disgust as he stepped out of the van.

                “Yeah I know, dude. Just don’t bring it up, okay?”

                The two of them walked up to the front door and José rang the doorbell, still eyeing the house warily. A moment later the door opened revealing a young woman who could have been no older than 25. She wore dark rimmed glasses and short, straight black hair draped down around her sharp face. Upon seeing Joe standing on her doorstep she instantly whipped around back into the house and threw the door back shut, but before it closed Joe pushed it back open.

                “Aly, wait! We need your help,” Joe called after her. She stopped, turned around, and came back to the front door, obviously not one bit happy about her current situation.

                “Give me one reason why I should help you,” Aly demanded.

                “Someon-“ Joe was cut off.

                “Who the FUCK painted your house?” José said, not being able to stand in silence any longer. Aly shot him a look that could tranquilize a hippo and slammed the door again. Joe managed to stop it with his foot.

                “Someone kidnapped Courtney!” he yelled after her desperately. She stopped and slowly reopened the door. She peered out at him with deadly serious eyes.

                “Are you lying to me? ‘Cause if you’re lying to me, so help me…”

                “Look,” Joe said and he held up the cupcake from which they found the hair.

                “Okay, come inside. Quickly,” Aly said to them.

                They followed her into the house and closed the door behind themselves.

                “Take off your shoes,” Aly ordered. They obeyed.

                The first thing that Joe and José noticed was that the colors on the interior of the house somehow managed to make the exterior look good. Joe eyeballed José, silently warning him not to say anything.

                “So what do you need from me?” Aly asked cynically.

                “We found a hair on Courtney’s last cupcake. We think it might be from the guy who took him,” José said.

                “We need you to run a DNA test on it for us,” Joe added.

                “Fine,” she snooted, “As long as it’s for Courtney. Follow me,” she led them over what seemed to be a coat closet and opened up the doors. She gestured for them to enter. José gave Joe a concerned look. Joe shrugged and they both stepped into the closet. There were some coats hanging in the closet and a lot of shoes on the floor. Aly entered the closet with them and closed the doors behind her. It was pitch black, the only comfort in the darkness was the jackets up against them. Then a low hum was heard and the jackets started to lift off of them. In reality it was actually the floor that was moving down.

                “Clever,” Joe thought out loud.

                After what felt like what must have been two stories down the elevator closet finally stopped. Aly pushed the doors back open and they were greeted by a large open room full of many scientific looking devices and computers.  

                “Bring the specimen over here,” she said.

                They followed her over to a device that looked like it was half microwave, half computer, and half something else that made it qualified to claim to have three different halves.  Aly gestured for the hair and José handed it to her. She removed it from the Ziploc bag, put it into the strange machine, and pushed a button which caused it to whirr. Then she walked over to a different computer and pushed a button. Immediately after doing so the room was filled with the most abhorring music ever devised. Joe and José instantly cringed when the sounds entered their ears. It was some mix of horribly done screamo backed up by electrically distorted kazoos and broken bagpipes all of which was fronted by a lead singer who could only be described as a satanic Elmo-Gollum.

                “Can you turn that off?” José shouted over the cacophony.

                “No,” she smiled at him as she sat down in a chair and spun around in it, humming along to the music.

                José went over to Joe and took him to the other side of the room. The music was only slightly quieter over there.

                “How the shit do you know this chick?” he asked.

                “It’s a really long story, dude,” Joe answered.

                “Well tell me a short version then,”

                “Trust me, I’ve tried, and the shortest version of the story I can possibly conjure up takes about 3 hours to tell,” Joe said in all earnesty.  José just shook his head and looked past Joe only to see Aly sitting at her computer typing away at the keyboard. José’s jaw dropped. His jaw did not drop at the sight of her typing on her computer, but at the sight of a man dressed in black, head to toe, standing behind her holding a silenced pistol to the back of her head.

                “Hey!” José shouted as loud as he could over the music at him, causing both Aly and the masked assassin to turn and look at him.  Aly never even saw the man standing behind her, because less than a second after José shouted at them he pulled the trigger. Pewp: the sound of a silenced bullet exiting the barrel of the assassin’s pistol. The bullet then found its way into the side of Aly’s head right bellow her temple, mulled around in her brains for a millisecond, and then burst out of the other side of her head, brining plenty of brains and skull fragments with it. It finally came to rest in the wall after missing the computer screen by millimeters.  Brains dripped down the screen.

                “FUCK!” Joe yelled as he and José leapt aside to take cover behind some tables. Pwep pwep pwep! Bullets destroyed the equipment on the tables above them. They were in a tough situation; they were unarmed and they were between the assassin and the elevator. Hold on, Joe thought. There’s no way that guy could’ve got down here on the elevator without us seeing him.

                “There must be another way down here!” Joe shouted to José over the still blaring music.

                “Yeah I think so too!”

                After a moment they realize that the shooting has stopped. They both stuck their heads out to check if the assassin was still there. He was gone.

                “C’mon! Let’s go!” José yelled to Joe. “You go turn off that shit music and see if we got a result from the hair, I’m going upstairs to see if he’s still there, there’s prolly some stairs over there or something.”  

                “Okay!” Joe acknowledged as he ran over to Aly’s body, she was still sitting in her chair, slumped over the keyboard.  When Joe got to where Aly rested he straightened her in the chair so he could have access to the computer. Then he pushed the chair away with his foot. The chair rolled away and hit another table causing Aly’s body to fall off the chair. Oops.  Joe then looked around for something to wipe all of the brains off of the computer screen, spying a lab coat laying on the table he grabbed it and used it to wipe down the screen. 

                Meanwhile, José was inching his way up the stairs on the other side of the room. When he reached their apex he slowly poked his head around the corner. Everything was still. He hustled over to the front door and looked out just in time to see the black SUV peeling away down the street. Well fuck me, he thought. He then went back downstairs to see what Joe had found out.

                “What you got?” José asked as he approached Joe, being careful not to step in any blood, or on the body as he did so.

                “It’s not finished yet. Almost done,” Joe replied.

                The two of them watched incomprehensible information flash by on the screen as the progress bar inched its way towards 100 percent. When it finally finished, the screen produced the information on the owner of the hair immediately.  It showed a picture of a very large, yet muscular man. The man had a very short haircut and had long thick sideburns and a moustache. In the picture there was a cigar hanging out of his lip. It said he had grown up in Russia. His name was Daniel Wosikov. 

                “You’ve go to be shitting me,” José said dumbfounded.

                “You know that guy?” Joe asked, surprised.

                “Oh, I know that dirty son of a bitch all right. Let’s get outa here. We need to get strapped.”  

Chapter Three: The Fight

Four Years Earlier

                The fight was taking place in the metropolis of Grand York.  Grand York was notorious for being overrun by organized crime. Sometimes these crime organizations liked to involve themselves in the underground boxing circuit that stretched across the city. The crime families would pay boxers much more for fighting under their name than they could make fighting independently. Often if a boxer lost a fight the family used that as an excuse to force the boxer to join their mob and work for them or else get killed. This particular fight had a lot of tension behind it. Each fighter was sponsored by one of the two the largest crime families in the city, who just happened to be the two families who hated each other the most.

                José shifted his weight back and forth between his feet. His head rolled around over his broad shoulders. He was preparing himself mentally for this next fight.  José was fighting for the Linguini crime family. They paid well and he had fought for them before.  He wasn’t worried about the consequences of losing. He was good. Some hailed him as the best. He stood alone in a back room of the warehouse where the fight was to take place. Armed mobsters stood outside the room. Then there was a knock on the door and a second later Mr. Wallace, José’s long time trainer and good friend stepped into the room.

                “How you doin’ kid?” he asked.

                “I’m doin’ just fine,” José replied.

                “I just thought I’d let you know, there’s a lot of heat in the crowd tonight. If you lose, things could get pretty ugly. Hell, even if you win things are probably gunna ignite,” Mr. Wallace informed him. José nodded in acknowledgement. “I’ll see you out there then,” Mr. Wallace said and then he walked out.

                There was another knock at the door, except this time no one came in. Only a voice was heard. “Ya got one minute.”

                José took a deep breath and then walked over to the door and pushed it open. He walked out past the guards towards the boxing ring. There were a lot of people watching this time; more than usual. And José could make a safe bet that all of them were members of the mob, one side or the other. There would be a lot of bodies if anything happened, the likelihood of this unnerved José, but only because there was a chance he could be one of those bodies. As he approached he saw his friend Mr. Wallace standing next to the ring. There was no sign of who his opponent was. It was unusual for the boxer not to be informed about his opponent. He hopped up onto the boxing platform, separated the ropes and stepped into the ring. He took in his surroundings as he waited anxiously to see who his opponent might be. There were many wooden boxes on the ground in the warehouse in a seemingly random order. Many of the mobsters sat on top of these to get the best view of the fight. Some of the mobsters looked relaxed, taking long drags on their cigarettes. Others looked uneasy, as if the slightest sound would tip them over the edge.

                The sound of a door getting slammed shut echoed through the warehouse.  José’s head turned in the direction of the sound. What he saw was a gargantuan form of a man flanked by two armed guards moving toward the ring. It seemed as though with each step he needed to exert himself to lift each of his massive legs. The man was built like a tank, a really big tank. The image of all the layers of fat and muscle would almost lead one to believe that he was impenetrable to bullets. The behemoth of a man had big mutton chop sideburns hugging each side of his big meaty face; a face that stuck fear into lesser men.  The man looked up at José from the ground below the ring.

                “Hello. My name is Daniel Wosikov, and I’m going to kill you tonight,” he said with a very heavy Russian accent.

                José just stared back into his big beady Russian eyes, saying nothing, feeling nothing but power building up inside him, ready to put this opponent down as he had put down so many others before him. José looked to his left and saw the heads of the opposing crime families having what looked like a very unfriendly little chit chat. The exchange ended with both men walking away in frustration with one another. José looked back over to Wosikov and was surprised to see that he was now in the ring with him.

                “Start the fight already!” a heckler in the crowd shouted.

                “Shut the fuck up asshole!” a visibly tense Mr. Wallace shouted back at him.

                Five minutes later the referee showed up. The referee was essentially useless in these underground matches anyways; they never made any calls or stopped any illegal actions by the fighters. The referee was met by each of the crime lords who each gave him their own little warnings and then he stepped into the ring with José and Wosikov. Moments later the match had begun and José and Wosikov started moving in slow circles around the ring as the crowd cheered them on. Wasikov made the first move, taking a thundering step toward José and swinging a might right hook in the direction of José face. But José was to fast, he dodged out of the way in time to see the wrecking ball of a boxing glove fly by. José was quick to counter this with a left hook of his own, slamming his gloved fist into Wosikov’s side, sending ripples of fat flowing across his body. That seemed to be the only effect it had, as Wosikov barely even flinched, he just smiled back at José. Oh shit, José thought. Whoosh! Another avoided blow from Wosikov, followed by another ineffective counter by José. This back and forth pattern was beginning to irritate José, and from the sounds the crowd was making, it was irritating them too. He decided to make a bold move. José mustered up all the strength he could and wound up to deliver a big blow that he hoped would strike home on this mammoth of a man. He brought his right fist far behind him to get as much momentum behind it as possible. Just before he let it fly at his opponent, Wosikov took advantage of José’s temporarily let down guard. He let loose a furious sucker punch to the gut, nearly lifting José off his feet. José’s stumbled back into the ropes, out of breath. The crowd erupted, half with excitement and the other half with outrage. Wosikov shot a look at the referee making sure he wouldn’t throw a penalty on him, or else suffer the same fate as José.

                Wosikov slowly moved towards José, who stood panting, leaning on the ropes. José took his weight off the ropes and got back into his fighting stance. Seeing that José was wearing down fast, Wosikov delivered a hard blow to the kidney nearly knocking José over. Not one to give up, José let loose on Wosikov with everything he had left, throwing lefts, rights, uppercuts, and jabs. This sudden volley of attacks took the big man off guard temporarily. Wosikov was getting fed up with all of these punches and decided to end it. He brought his huge had behind him and threw it into the side of José’s face with a speed that José didn’t even see coming. The blow put him on the floor.

                José stared up at the lights hanging from the top of the warehouse, they were bright and out of focus, accentuated by dampened sounds of the riotous crowd of mobsters. He knew the fight was over for him. He couldn’t get up; he was having a hard time holding onto consciousness. One of the lights shining on him went dark, blocked out by a large form of a man now standing over him. Fuck fuck fuck, José screamed in his head. Then he heard a strange noise, it sounded like a mix between a tyrannosaurus rex and a wet jet fighter. He then realized what it was, through the muffled filters his ears were now plaguing him with the sound must have changed. He knew that if his ears were working normally, he would be hearing the sound of someone gargling a massive amount of spit in the back of his mouth. I’m gunna fucking kill this guy if it’s the last thing I do. José promised himself. And then a cannonball of spit landed on his upper lip followed by the crowd’s reactions filling the air. José tried his best to prevent the disgustion from entering his mouth but he could do little more than roll his head back and forth and try and blow on it. Futile. José was fading out of consciousness. The rest of the lights in his field of vision went dark as Wosikov now stood right over him. José could tell Wosikov had his back to him. God help me. José pleaded inside as he saw the large man lower his boxing shorts to expose his massive ass. The last thing José remembered before losing consciousness was the sensation of being between two butt cheeks and the sound of a gunshot. 

Chapter Four: The Basement

Joe pulled the van into the driveway and put the gear in park. José hopped out of the van while Joe stayed inside to look for a pack of gum he dropped. José noticed that his shoe was untied and bent down to rectify the problem. When he stood back up a surprising site faced him.  The assassin who had blown Aly’s brains out stood right in front of him, with a gun aimed at his chest.

                “Oh hell no,” José said as he introduced his mighty fist to the assassin’s face. As he was hit his finger closed on the trigger. Pewp. Luckily the punch had shifted the assassin’s aim, and the bullet slammed into José’s shoulder, safely above and away from his heart. The bullet passed all the way through José. Just a moment earlier Joe had found his gum and was holding it up when the bullet entered the van and blew the gum to oblivion. “Aww Come on!” Joe then ran outside to the other side of the van to see if José was alright. When he got there José was standing over the motionless form of the assassin.

                “One punch,” José stated proudly.

                “Nice, due. Hey, you’re bleeding.”

                “I don’t got time to bleed,” José retorted.

                “Lest see if this guy has anything useful on him,” Joe said as he squatted down and started searching the assassin. All that the assassin had was his pistol and a Razr cell phone. “Looks like this is all he’s got.”

                “We’d better get him off of our driveway,” José said. Joe nodded and they threw him In the bushes next to their house. They then went into the house.

                “I’m gunna go clean myself up,” José said.

                “Aight, I’m gunna go gear up.”

                José went into the bathroom and started up a shower while Joe made his way to the basement. Joe and José never let anyone other than themselves into the basement.  This was for a good reason. Joe punched out a 5 digit combination on a keypad near the door to unlock it. He started to walk down the stairs, flipping on a light switch as he did so. The room filled with light revealing racks upon racks of armor, equipment, explosives, gadgets, and guns. Lots of guns. Joe then started loading him self up with anything that would fit on his body, from body armor to grenades. José entered the room to do the same.

                “How was your shower?” Joe asked.

                “It was pretty good. I think we’re running out of hot water though,” José replied.

                “You smell good,”

                “Thanks, I used that new shampoo you bought. Hand me that flak jacket.”  

Chapter Five: Waking Up

Four Years Earlier

                Consciousness slowly flowed back over José. Groggily he attempted to stand up. His head felt as if someone had driven a railroad spike into it. He walked over to the side of the boxing ring to hold onto the ropes for support. He looked out into the warehouse and saw a disturbing, yet not completely unexpected sight. What could very well have been the whole crowd was lying dead all over the warehouse. Bodies were everywhere. By some miracle or just plain luck José had managed not to get shot. Maybe the mobsters forgot about him when the firefight broke out, or maybe they assumed he was dead. It didn’t matter. He was alive and they were dead. José hopped off of the platform and landed on the ground with a squish. Squish? José looked down and saw he was standing in what used to be Mr. Wallace’s head. Those bastards. José figured it was high time to get out of there. He made his way through the scores of bodies until he got to a small door that led outside, he pushed it open.

                Rain blanketed him once he was outside. He didn’t care. He just needed to get away. He didn’t know if the crime lords survived or not. Regardless, he knew that someone would be showing up on the site soon, a firefight like that doesn’t stay quiet for long.  He had no way of knowing how much time had passed since he had blacked out.

                José started walking fast down the empty dim rain soaked street. As he was passing by an alleyway a man stepped out in front of him pointing a gun at José’s head. You’ve got to be fucking shitting me, José thought in utter frustration.

                “Don’t move or I blow your fucking head off,” the man said. “Mr. Linguini wants to talk to you.”

                “I bet he does,” José replied with a hint of sarcasm.

                “Okay, bub. Let’s not keep the bos-” the man stopped talking right there because something else entered his mind at that moment. It was a bullet.  The man’s brains erupted out of the opposite side of his head, leaving José tense and looking for the gunman. José saw him. Across the street a man was running towards him through the rain. The man was wearing a long black leather trench coat and a black turtleneck sweater underneath. He was holding a pistol in his right hand. But then the man did something that José didn’t expect. He turned the gun around backwards in his hand and held it over his head. This man didn’t want to shoot José. Nonetheless José bent down and picked up the dead gangster’s gun.

Chapter Six: To the Lab

This probably isn’t good, Courtney thought. He was sitting in the back seat of a car. He couldn’t see a thing, he deducted that this was most likely due to the fact that there was a bag over his head. He could tell it was raining hard outside, and every now and then he heard thunder ring through the air. He knew that something unpleasant awaited him, but he managed to keep his cool. His friends would come for him.

                The car was rushing through the near empty streets of the industrial district of Grand York. They drove by countless warehouses and past massive complexes that were seemingly strangled in a random order of pipes and dominated by towering smoke stacks. Through the rain splattered windshield the destination came into view. It was a huge grey building. It was nearly ten stories high and somehow managed to seem even more ominous and eerie than the rest of the buildings in the district.  It had very few windows and almost seemed abandoned.

                The car pulled up to the front of the building and the two men in the front seat got out, ignoring the rain. The driver was just under six feet and of an average build, the man who got out of the passenger seat however, was a massive form of a man. The large man opened up the back door of the car and yanked Courtney out into the rain. They entered the front of the building and walked down a long hallway, stopping in front of two large metal doors at the end. The skinnier guard pushed a button on the wall and the two large metal doors slid apart revealing an elevator. They all got inside.

Once the elevator had reached the top floor, the two heavy metal doors slid open and through them walked two guards dragging Courtney along behind them.  The room was large and filled with machines, blinking lights, other sorts of equipment. It was in fact a large scientific laboratory. Courtney’s hands were still tied behind his back and the bag was still over his head. The two guards threw him to the floor. Courtney could do nothing but lay there and wait.

                The sound of footsteps on metal stairs filled the room. The two guards looked up at a long spiral staircase that extended down from the ceiling. The source of the footsteps soon came into view as the guards saw their boss slowly taking each step, as if he were savoring each one individually. He was not a tall man; five foot nine at the most. He wore the finest Italian suit you had ever seen. He had straight black hair that was slicked back over his head. His face revealed no emotion. As he slowly neared the bottom of the steps another set of footsteps filled the room. The guards, as well as the man in the suit, looked up to the top of the metal staircase to see what was causing this extra noise. The footsteps were moving down the stairs fast. The onlookers saw a long pair of legs coming down the stairs. Attached to these legs was a tall woman in a short black dress and underneath a head of long wavy brown hair.

                The man in the suit got off the last step and stood with his hands on his hips. A look of annoyance crossed his face. The woman hurried down the stairs to catch up, making a ruckus of noise as she did so. When she finally caught up to him she leaned on his shoulders and tried to catch her breath.

                “Sorry I’m late baby,” she said.

                “C’mon, babe! You ruined my evil entrance,” the man in the suit put a pout on his face, and crossed his arms.

                “Awww. Honeykins. I’m sorry. We can do it again,” she said sympathetically.

                “No, it’s too late.”

                “Awww…” she said as she went over to him and gave him a hug. “Better?”

                “A little bit,” the man shrugged.

                “Good,” she said with a smile. “So is that him? The one who can sense cupcakes?” she said as she grabbed onto the man’s shoulders and raised her foot into the air behind her excitedly.

                “Yes, that’s him, Mari,” the evil man said. He brushed Mari off of him and walked towards Courtney and the two henchmen. Once over Courtney he stopped and looked down at him. The man squatted down and pulled the bag off of his head. A look of fear fell over Courtney’s face once he saw the man.

“Jon,” Courtney said astonished.

“Yes, it is me. I go by Baron von Jon these days.”

                Baron von Jon, still stooped down over a frightened Courtney, took out a handkerchief out of one of his pockets and shoved it into Courtney’s mouth, assuring he couldn’t talk anymore. Then he stood back up, took one more look at Courtney, and then kicked him hard in the stomach. Courtney moaned and recoiled in pain, curling up into a little ball on the cold metal floor. The man then turned to the large man.

“Welcome back Wosikov. Did you have any trouble brining him here?”

“No trouble at all,” Daniel Wosikov replied in his heavy Russian accent.

“Good. And you?” Baron von Jon said looking at the other crony “Did you leave a warning note?”

“Yes sir. Yes I did sir. After reading it I highly doubt they will try to rescue him,” the man replied confidently.

“Hmm. That’s funny, because I had one of my assassins monitoring them. He followed them to Aly’s house. He said they were trying to analyze a hair that they found at the scene. He killed Aly,” Baron von Jon paused as though it was hard for him to say that part, “And the last thing he told me was that he was about to kill them too. So…. I’d say your note didn’t do the job that it was supposed to. Wouldn’t you?” the baron said with a raised eyebrow.

                “Yes sir. I’m sorry sir. It won’t happen again,” the man said with a little fear seeping through his professional voice.

                “No, it won’t,” Jon reached underneath his suit coat and drew out a gloss black Desert Eagle pistol. He points it at the man’s chest and pulls the trigger. The impact of the bullet knocked the man backwards onto the cold lonely floor where he slowly bled to death muttering something about invisible potatoes.

                Wosikov, ignoring the fact that his partner was just killed, stepped over Courtney and hoisted him to his feet, face to face with Baron von Jon.

                “Ah, Courtney, Courtney, Courtney. My old friend. Its been so long,” Baron von Jon said putting on a smile as if this was a happy reunion.

Five years earlier

                There was a room filled with talkative people, anxiously awaiting the spectacle that they were about to see. At out in front of this crowd was a table. The table had a draping pink table cloth with blue dots placed over it. Sitting atop this table were two plates, each with 12 frosted cupcakes on them, along with two glasses of milk beside each plate.

A door behind the table opened up and two men walked out. The crown hushed. Taking their seats behind each plate were Courtney and Baron von Jon, at the time he was still just Jon. Both men stared at the plate of cupcakes in front of them and waited.

“GO!” a voice rang out.

Both of the men started eating the cupcakes as fast as they could. Frosting found a new home around their mouths. In the time it took Jon to eat one cupcake, Courtney had eaten two. When Jon made it to his third cupcake he was struggling to keep it down. With a strained swallow he pounded on the table with his fist in exasperation. He reached out in front of him and grabbed the glass of milk, tilting his head back, opening his mouth, and pouring the milk down.  He moaned and leaned over the side of his chair heaving, trying his best not to bring the cupcakes back into the world.

Meanwhile Courtney was just about to finish his plate. He had not even touched the glass of milk. As he finished the last cupcake on his plate the crowd erupted with applause and rushed the table. The exuberant crowd pushed their way towards the champion. As they flowed around the back of the table to hoist Courtney into the air they seemed to not even notice Jon sitting in his chair with milk all over his face. Jon’s chair was pushed over and he fell to the ground, although he tried to get back up he was pushed back down by so many feet trying to get to Courtney. As he looked up through the bodies pushing him around on the floor he saw Courtney’s smiling face illuminated by a shimmering golden trophy as he was lifted into the air by the crowd. That was the moment his soul died.

*     *    *

The smile that had previously occupied Jon’s face was now gone. His face was now overwhelmed with hate.  He looked down at the floor for a moment. Then he looked Courtney square in the eye, after a moment he slugged him right in the gut.

“Oompf,” Courtney groaned. He couldn’t move because his arms were still held behind him by Wosikov.

Baron von Jon then punched Courtney hard in the face. Blood flew out of Courtney’s mouth from the blow. Satisfied, he turned his back on Courtney and Wosikov.

“String him up and get him connected to the machine,” Baron von Jon said to Wosikov.

“Yes sir.”

Wosikov picked Courtney up by the collar and hauled him off into the depths of the laboratory. Baron von Jon turned and looked at Mari, who was still standing in the same place, twirling her hair in her fingers.

“I think I’ll call my assassin and see how he’s doing with the other two.”

Chapter Seven: Warehouse 23

Four Years Earlier

                He woke up that morning feeling very relaxed. He got out of bed and took a long hot shower.  Then he went back into his bedroom and put on a pair of normal jeans and a black turtleneck sweater.  This is going to be a good day, the man thought. Then his cell phone rang. He looked at the number; it was a quite familiar number.

                “Hello?” he answered.

                “I have a job for you. It’s important and I need it done fast,” the caller said.

                “Okay, how fast are we talking?” the man asked.

                “I need it done tonight,” the caller told him.

                “That’s pretty fast. How come you didn’t tell me before? This is kinda short notice,” the man in the turtleneck said, slightly irritated.

                “It just came up. Yes or no?” the caller said coldly.

                “Sure why not? I’ve got nothing else to do today. What do I need to do?” the man said casually.

                “You need to go down to the shipping district. Go to warehouse 23, ask to speak to the foreman. He’ll be expecting you. Just say you’re Mr. Brown. Once you’re alone in his office kill him and get out of there. The less witnesses the better.”

                “What’s my payment?” the man asked.

                “500,000.”

                “Sounds good to me. I’ll get right on it.”

                Click. The caller hung up. The man decided to go prepare himself for his next assignment. He put on a shoulder holster harness equipped with two holsters for two pistols. He then went into his closet and pulled out his two pistols. They were Ruger Mk1 “assassins”.  Each was silver with black trim and had a suppressor attached to the end of the barrel. He placed each one in its own holster under his arms. Then he went into the living room, plopped down on the couch and turned on the TV. He figured he didn’t have to head out until around four o’ clock. Until then he’d just sit around watching TV and playing video games.

                The man arrived at warehouse 23 at four thirty. He had parked his jet black, brand new, 2004 Mercedes Benz a few blocks away. It was began to rain lightly. He didn’t mind. Before leaving home, he put on a long black leather trench coat to conceal his weapons. A worker confronted him when he entered the building.

                “Hey, who’re you?”

                “I’m Mr. Brown. I’m here to see the foreman. Where might I find him?” the in the turtleneck man replied coolly.

                “Yeah yeah, he told us about you. He’s up there,” the worker said, pointing to the foreman’s office protruding from out of the back wall a few stories up.

                Something’s not right here, the man thought, but he carried on anyways. He ascended a flight of metal stairs at the back of the warehouse until he made it to the catwalk in front of the foreman’s office. Before knocking on the door he looked out over the warehouse. It wasn’t particularly big, but there was about 10, maybe fewer, workers, and he couldn’t tell what work they were actually doing. It seemed as though they were just standing around. Oh well, I’m not here to make them work. I’m here to kill this guy. The man looked at the windows of the office but he couldn’t see inside. The blinds were closed. He knocked on the door.

                “Come in Mr. Brown, come in.” a voice hailed from inside.

                The man turned the knob and pushed the door open without stepping into the room. His instincts turned out to be right; for once the door had swung open into the room a giant hole was blasted into it by a ferocious shotgun blast. Fuck, somehow he knew I was coming. The man drew both of his pistols and tried to think of a plan.

                Thwack! A bullet hit the wall beside him. The man turned his head back down towards the warehouse floor. The workers were now brandishing guns of their own and firing on him! Not good. Not good, the man thought frantically. The only cover available to him was inside the office, where a man with a shotgun just happened to be. Thinking fast, the man raised the gun in his left hand and shot out the office window farthest from him, the one where the foreman likely sat near. The man then quickly ducked into the door of the office. What he saw was completely expected. He saw the foreman sitting at his desk at the other end of the office holding a shotgun, but at this instant he wasn’t looking at the door, he was looking at the newly shattered window fearing that his enemy might attack him from there. Before he could turn his head back to the doorway he took two bullets to the chest followed by one to the forehead. He was knocked over backwards in his chair, hitting the floor with a thump. 

The man quickly made his way to the foreman’s desk and jumped behind it, ready to face anyone who might come through the door. He also picked up the foreman’s shotgun. It was a nice gun. This is a nice gun, the man in the turtleneck thought. It was a Benelli M4 combat shotgun. It was a semi-automatic and held 8 shots, one of which had already been fired.

                The man wanted to know how they they had been warned about him. The man noticed that the computer on the desk was turned on and the foreman’s Facebook homepage just happened to be open on the screen. The man didn’t have time to search the computer, but he did take the time to change the foreman’s Facebook status to: is dead. He then searched the dead foreman’s pockets and found a cell phone and three extra shotgun shells. He didn’t have time to look through the phone now; that would have to wait for later. First, he had to get out of this place. The man peeked out of the window and saw the workers on the ground aiming up at him. Shit, he thought. He ducked back down just before a volley of bullets assaulted the empty window.

                The man frantically tried to think of a way out. The floor. The office he was in was essentially nothing more than a large box stuck to the back wall of the warehouse. There was open air underneath it leading to the warehouse floor. If he could blast through it with the shotgun he might have a chance. The man aimed the shotgun at the floor and buried his head into his shoulder to avoid any debris.

Boom! Boom! Boom! Boom!  The man looked down to see a nice hole in the floor in front of him, large enough for him to fit through. He kicked away any wood and metal poking out around the edge and peered through. It was a long way down to the floor. Luckily there was a stack of wooden boxes directly below him. It would still be quite the fall though. He hopped out through the hole, falling at least ten feet to the box beneath him. He hit it hard. His only option was to land on his feet because of the way he was forced to exit the hole in the office floor.  The box he landed on must not have been constructed very well because when he hit it he crashed right through the lid and the side closest to the back wall of the warehouse broke out. He now found himself sitting in a box full of straw padding and… he felt around in the box… hand grenades. Nice, he thought. He put as many of the grenades as he could find into his coat pockets, grabbed his shotgun out of the straw and climbed the rest of the way down the boxes as fast as he could, ignoring the pain that now ran through his left leg.

Not a moment after the man planted his feet on the ground did one of the workers walk around the corner. Raising the shotgun up with one arm, the man took aim at the worker’s head and pulled the trigger before the worker could do anything about it. The worker’s head exploded into a starburst of blood and brains. A second later the decapitated body fell motionless to the floor. The man quickly loaded his three extra shotgun shells into the gun. Five shots left, he told himself.

He took a quick peek around the corner and saw three men inching towards him. Idiots, he thought. He took one of the grenades out of his pocket and pulled the pin. He let the grenade cook for a couple seconds before popping out around the corner and sliding the grenade in between the feet of the three men.

Boom! The grenade exploded sending body parts and guts everywhere. The man used this opportunity to make a break for another stack of boxes. He found himself right behind another one of the workers who was staring in shock at what used to be three of his fellow workers.

                “Holy shit, that’s fucked up,” the man in the turtleneck said to the worker.

                “Yeah man. Fuck, fuck,” the worker replied. Then wide eyed he turned around and saw who was talking to him. Before he could do anything, the man in the turtleneck had drawn one of his pistols and put a bullet between the worker’s eyes.

                Whiz crack! A bullet flew by the man’s head and slammed into the wood box behind him. The man quickly moved to another box to take cover and lobbed a grenade in the direction of his new assailant. There was an explosion and he was pleased to see an arm come flying out from all of the resulting wood splinters that were flying through the air.

                The man spied three more workers left in the warehouse. He was almost out. To the man’s satisfaction, another grenade throw took care of two of the men,. Running over to a different box for cover he noticed something in the pile of wood and body parts where the last grenade had gone off. A riot shield had fallen out of a box that blew up. Sweet, the man thought as he ran over to it. Bullets slapped the ground around his feet as he ran towards it. Now he knew where the last worker was. When he got to the riot shield he picked it up on the run and quickly turned behind another box as the bullets followed him.

                He could easily get out of the front door of the warehouse now, the worker wasn’t in his way, but he wanted to finish the guy off. After all, the worker wanted to kill him. And he didn’t want to leave any witnesses. Holding the riot shield in one hand and the shotgun in the other he turned the corner and ran towards the last man left. The last worker hopped out from behind his cover and started unloading his pistol on the man charging him. The man in the turtleneck unloaded the last of his five remaining shots like a madman, tearing the last worker to shreds.

                The man let out a sigh of relief and dropped the shield and the shotgun to the ground.

                “Well that was fun,” he said to himself.

                “The fun is just beginning my friend.”

Chapter Eight: The Call

“That aught to do it,” Joe said smugly as he placed one last pistol magazine in his vest.

                “I’m not quite done yet,” José said as he searched through the huge basement arsenal for anything he might need.

                Ring! Ring!

                Joe, not recognizing the ringtone, looked at José, expecting him to pull out a phone and answer it.

                “It’s not mine,” José shrugged.

                “Oh!” Joe said as he remembered, “It must be the phone I pulled off that guy who tried to kill us,” Joe reached into his pocket and pulled out the phone and answered it, “Hello? Who is this? Hello?”

                “Who is it?” José asked curiously.

                “I can’t tell; too much static. I’m going to go outside for better reception,” Joe replied.

                “Okay, I’m going to finish up down here.”

                Joe quickly jogged up the stairs and through the front door emerging into the sunlight. He put the Motorola Razr back up to his head and answered again. “Hello?”

                “Who is this?” asked a voice on the other end of the call.

                “Who is this?” Joe asked back. Before a reply was heard he noticed something peculiar: the body of the assassin was no longer in the bushes where they had put him. Oh snap. Just as he finished that thought the assassin came up behind him and wrapped his arms around Joe’s neck, trying to choke the life out of him.

                Thinking fast, Joe spun around, putting the assassin between him and the house, and backed up hard into the wall, successfully breaking the assassin’s grip. In the commotion Joe dropped the phone to the ground to free up both of his hands for the fight. With the assassin off of his back, Joe leapt away and reached into his vest for a pistol. He quickly aimed the gun at the assassin, but before he could pull the trigger the assassin kicked the gun out of his hand in a very skillful move. Before the gun even landed on the ground, another kick landed in Joe’s stomach.

                “Oomph,” Joe staggered backwards.  He immediately collected himself; ready to continue the fight. Joe stared the masked assassin straight in the eye. Joe took up a fighting stance with his right arm behind him and his left hand outstretched in an open palm.

                Joe motioned his four outstretched fingers towards himself in a ‘come here’ motion. The assassin charged at him. A flurry of attacks was unleashed by both Joe and the assassin. Each was countered by a skilled block. The assassin would throw a quick strike at Joe’s face, only to have Joe knock the blow out of the way with his arm. Joe would attempt to land a blow on the assassin’s body, only to have it countered in a similar manner. Kicks, punches, strikes, and jabs; only a few made their mark in the ferocious fight.  But Joe was having a hard time keeping up with the speed of the assassin’s strikes. He would have to think of some new strategy fast if he was to be the victor. The phone, Joe thought.

                Joe then pulled a quick spin move and got around behind the assassin. He landed a quick punch to the assassin’s back before dropping to the ground where the Razr cell phone was resting. Seeing Joe lying on the ground, the assassin leapt towards him, landing on Joe with a thud. But the assassin put up no further fight. He laid on top of Joe motionless. Joe rolled the assassin off of himself onto his back.

                “Can you hear me now?” Joe asked to the dead assassin as he looked at the Razr cell phone Joe had stabbed into the assassin’s chest when he had fallen on him. Joe then reached over and pulled the bloody communications device out of the dead man’s chest. He wiped it off on the assassin’s clothes and then brought it back up to his ear.

Remember These? I had one at the time I was writing this. 

                “Are you still there?” Joe asked. He was surprised by the reply.

                “Joe?” a hint of surprise escaped the calm evil voice on the other end of the call.

                “How do you know my name?” Joe asked with concern.

                “I know a lot about you, Joe,” Baron von Jon replied snidely, regaining his composure, “It seems apparent that you’ve killed my assassin, since you have his phone.”

                “Yes, that asshole is dead,” Joe said with a sneer. “Who are you?”

                “I see. Well. Who I am is not important. What is important is that I have Courtney. Now, how about this; I will meet you tomorrow at the old abandoned McCandle farmstead. You know it?”

                “I know it,” Joe said without emotion.

                “Good, I will bring Courtney and we can arrange some kind of deal. Noon tomorrow. Goodbye, Joe.”

                Click.

                “Damn it,” Joe closed the phone and put it inside his pocket.

                Just then José stepped out the door and looked at the bloody body of the assassin on the ground.

                “What happened? I thought I killed that guy.”

                “I guess he wasn’t quite dead,” Joe shrugged.

                “Let’s see who this bastard is,” José said as he squatted down by the body of the assassin ready to pull off his mask.

                “Why didn’t we do this before?” Joe asked.

                “No idea,” José said as he pulled off the assassin’s mask to get a look at his face.

                “Plehw!” that was the sound of the assassin spewing up blood out of his mouth all over José’s face.

                “Aww fuckin’ shit!” José shouted. He drew a pistol and shot the assassin twice in the stomach. “Stay dead!”

                “You seen that guy before?” Joe asked looking at the dead assassin’s face. The he appeared surprisingly content for someone who had just been killed with a cell phone.

                “Nope,” José replied as he put another resentful bullet into the body.

                “Me neither, but I talked to his boss.”

                “Really? Who is it?” José asked slightly more upbeat.

                “I don’t know, but he knows me. He wants to make a deal; a deal to give us Courtney back.”

                “Where at?”

                “The old McCandle farm, noon tomorrow.”

                “Well we better be there.”

                “Yeah, but there’s something fishy about this,” Joe said concernedly.

                “Yeah I know, but we don’t have much of a choice. We’ll just have to be on the top of our game.”

                The two friends got up and threw the body of the assassin back into the bushes before they went back into the house to see what was on television.

Chapter Ten: Rondezvous

That's all that is written in my story. Just the chapter title. So I hope you enjoyed it if you read this far.

If you really liked it enough maybe you can convince me to continue it.

Maybe.

Chapter Nine: Headshot

The man in the black turtleneck turned around slowly, only to see yet another worker pointing a gun at his head. Shit balls.

                “You move and you’re dead. Put your hands up and keep them there,” the worker ordered.

                “But you said I couldn’t move,” the man said.

                “Fine, you can move, but only to put your hands up,” the worker admitted. The man in the turtleneck raised his hands into the air, frustrated at himself for letting one live. Then the worker reached into his coat pocket and procured a small tube that appeared to be made of bamboo. He brought the tube to his lips and pointed the end at the man. Phoot. The worker blew into it causing a dart to fly out of the end and hit the man in the neck.

                “Wha, whuda fuck…” the man stuttered as he fell to the floor slowly losing consciousness.

                “Awesome!” he heard the worker exclaim just before he blacked out.  

Four Hours Later

                The man in the turtleneck slowly regained consciousness. The effects of the toxic dart were strong. He could tell he was sitting in a metal chair with his hands tied behind his back. His vision was out of focus; all that he saw was blurry. Then he heard gunshots and explosions. But there was something different about these sounds. They sounded far off almost. Something wasn’t quite right with them. Ah. Well I’ll be damned, the man thought. The sounds were coming from a TV. The worker who captured him must be playing video games.

                “What the FUCK was that!? I shot him first!!” the worker shouted, confirming the man’s suspicions.

                The man’s vision was coming into focus. He saw that he was in a large room, perhaps some kinds of storage place. He was sitting on one end of the room and he saw the worker sitting in front of a TV placed on a table on the far end of the room. As he sat there he heard the worker get killed over and over again. He could tell the worker was getting really frustrated.

                “You fucking suck!” the man in the turtleneck shouted at the worker.

                “Shut up! You’re in no position to talk!” the worker shouted back.

                “You can’t even get a headshot!”

                “I said shut up! It’s hard!” the worker said getting irritated

                “You’re a fucking noob!” the man said with a smile on his face.

                “Fine! You think you’re so good, you do fuckin’ it!” the worker shouted at him.

                “Fine! I will. I’ll win the whole match for you!”

                “Fine! if you don’t I’m going to shoot you!” the worker got up from his chair in front of the TV and walked across the large room towards the man. He went behind the chair and pointed the gun to the back of his head and cut the ties with a knife.

                “Don’t try anything funny. Now go over there and win. I can’t wait to get to shoot you” the worker said with a snicker.

                The man nodded, got up, and walked over to the TV. The TV was sitting on a large table, and the chair was just like the one he had just been tied to. There was an Xbox sitting on the table next to the TV. The large black box hummed away as the disc spun around in its drive. Then man sat in the chair picking up the controller as he did so. Immediately he was raking in the kills. Headshots and frag kills put him at the top of the scoreboard. As he was running around a corner another player wielding a shotgun blasted him and killed him.

                “Ah damn!” the man in the turtleneck said.

                “That was your first death, you’re pretty good.”

                The man in the turtleneck could tell that the worker was paying more attention to the TV than he was to keeping his gun on him. The man looked at the TV screen, but not at the images on it, on the reflection. In the reflection he saw that the worker’s gun was slightly lowered and off to the side. Bingo. The man spun around and grabbed the gun, twisting it as he did so.

                “Ahhh!” the worker cried as his finger broke inside the trigger guard of the gun. Once the gun was free of the worker’s hand the man backed away and aimed it at the worker’s head to make sure the worker wouldn’t try and lunge at him or anything.

                “Oh, come on man,” the worker begged.

                “Boom headshot!” the man shouted at him just before he placed a bullet into the worker’s skull. The man dropped to the floor like a sack of potatoes, blood quickly forming a pool on the floor. “Noob,” the man said as he dropped the gun to the floor. He saw his own two pistols sitting on a table near the wall. He grabbed them and then ran outside.

                He emerged outside in an alley. It was raining. The rain was slightly refreshing to the man. He walked through the alley and out onto the sidewalk. The street was dim. After a second or two he figured out where he was and how to get to his car. Then something caught his eye across the street. There was a man pointing a gun at another man’s head. I’ve had enough of this shit for one day, the man thought. He drew one of his pistols out from under his jacket and took aim at the man’s head. After a second to steady his aim he squeezed the trigger and let loose a small piece of metal death flying towards the man across the street. The bullet connected with the man’s head nicely painting the wall beside him a new shade of red.

The man in the turtleneck started to jog across the street to see if the guy he just saved needed help. He turned his gun around backwards in his hand and held it over his head to show he didn’t want to shoot him.

“You alright dude?” the man shouted at him through the rain as he approached.

                “Why should I trust you?” José asked with noticeable frustration at the situation.

                “Because I just blew that fucker’s head off, and with amazing accuracy if I do say so myself,” he replied smugly.

                “That was a good shot,” José admitted. There was something different about this guy. José decided to trust him. “What do we do now?”

                “My car is that way. I’m Joe by the way.”