The two colossal warehouse doors parted as a man dressed in an ‘up-town’ blood-red suit walked through. He walked through the warehouse until he came across what looked to be a man hanging by his leg from a chain suspended from the ceiling. As the man walked closer, he soon realised the man was indeed a victim, slashed and shredded, most probably with blades. Before dying, it seemed the man was able to write “I’m Sorry,” with his own blood. The man stood in front of the victim, bent forward a little and shook his head.
“Damn James. Looks like you’ve come out of this one second best my friend.”
The man out his hand in one of James’ pockets and pulled out his wallet, opening it up and taking the three fifty dollar notes from it, then taking what a strange ID card, one that is different from 99% of the world would see in their lifetime. His slipped the card and the money into his suit jacket, before pulling out what seemed to be an oversized revolver. His took out one of the bullets and smiled,
“Good bye James. You were the best man who never existed, I’ve ever known.”
The man stepped outside, closing the warehouse doors behind him. He walked around the corner before the warehouse erupted in an explosion of light and green flames. He walked another ten metres before being interrupted.
“You there, stop. What did you just do?!” It was obviously an illegit security guard working for the organisation, who messed up James. He should have been long gone, but obviously didn’t get the memo.
The man turned towards the guard.
“Dam stragglers,” He again pulled his oversized revolver from his suit jacket, pointing it at the guard. The guard knew what was about to unfold, but was unable to get his own sub-machine gun up in time. The man fired, the recoil from his gun throwing his arm behind him, forcing him to slide his right foot back to maintain his balance.
The man turned and walked away from the bottom two-thirds of what used to be an unlucky security guard.
No comments:
Post a Comment