Stacks
I couldn't stand. What was left of my arm remained on the ground, a tangled mess of flesh and machinery. Zonta stood a meter away, her weapon pointed directly at my heart. What she didn't see was my finger on the red button, ready to release.
The anatomy was like nothing I'd ever seen. His intestines were visible, all of his organs for that matter. It was bizarre. We'd pulled up in the truck no less than an hour ago and he'd not made a move since. His silver ship was still seemingly glowing. Suddenly, his mouth moved and he...it began to speak.
I look at the last revised quote. Two hits, three swipes, and four knock jobs. I'd been working for the mob for years but something sat wrong in my gut about this one. I knew someone was playing with the books. Now I'm realizing the cop across the street has been staring at me for far too long.
I collapsed on my bed black out drunk, again. It has been the fifth time this week I finished a fifth of whiskey in a single night. This was the toughest case I'd ever had to crack. A whiskey addiction wasn't helping things. Who was the woman in red? Who killed John Murphy? A knock at the door quickly sobered me up.
I am a captive in the bottom of the musty, old ship. The boards are rotting and the food is even worse. We were somewhere in the Caribbean, that's all I knew. The wounds from the sword of my enemy are still open. I have to make it out before nightfall, I have to find her.
I stare up at the fans in the colosseum. My opponent is facing me. His blade is sharp, mine dull. My wounds seep through the cracks in my armor. I am spent. Nothing left to do but fall to my knees in defeat. That is, until a bright light suddenly appears from above.
I walked into the dark, dusty reserve. Old revolvers and broken muskets lined the walls. I hadn't been down here in...200 years. There's no reason I should be alive now but I have to pick up where I left off. I have to fight for the side I pledged to fight for long, long ago.
The formula couldn't have been any easier. We were to break in at midnight, find the ghost, tag and bag it. It wasn't that easy. Before we knew it the formula blew up in our face. Dawes was dead and we couldn't have been prepared for what the light really was at the end of the tunnel.
writing since 2015 · 9 entries · 8 days shown up
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