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Head of The Table We found him
Guns all corked and loaded, the armored vehicle fully gassed, the grenades all set, these are like little fireworks only bigger and more destructive Ben would speak to himself, imitating a British accent. They were set, Ben was set, this mole was the reason he nearly lost his brother, he was the reason he lost contact with Wu, he was going to pay every bit! He exclaimed taking heavy deep breaths as this thought played back like a cassette making him more outraged, more angry, more dangerous!“You go up front…” Ben paused addressing Mila, “…you stay out back…” addressing Risa “…I will go in!” he concluded pointing at the highly suspected residence. Ben uttered tightening his bullet proof vest, thrusting it near his neck, and lowering his pistol, locked to his British, soldier made track like trousers. Elizabeth was dressed, the blue, crystal, diamond shape necklace and the velvet, tight, skirt with a white, fitting, office shirt written bee power brought out her character. She look
Head of The Table The interrogation
The room was pitch dark, a dimming bulb hang in the middle of the room, below luminated it’s limited light around a circular form leaving the rest of the room in darkness, all lay in the shadows. There was dead silence, but later was more less by the pestering crickets, making their chorus linger in the wind. Strapped on an ergonomic, metallic chair, hands cuffed behind the back rest, legs strongly tied to the front legs seat by firm sisal ropes, impossible to tear unless maybe you were stronger than Hercules, he lay unconscienced. His head all dusty, blood dripped drop by drop, his black pollo shirt was all dirty and stained, it’s top buttons ripped off exposing his hairy chest, his trousers were all tarred and the charming black texture was no longer charming nor visible, on first sight you may presume him as some madman. But he was in the room, the Truth chamber, so sooner or later he was going to turn insane and if he doesn’t he will live to remember this experience till he dawn’
Head of The Table Laying low
Ben was pissed off, still in shock, he was in disbelief, how could they have caught the wrong person. The knights weren’t pleased either they just tortured an innocent man, Mila was rueing every moment and the cries of John saying he didn’t know we’re haunting him. He felt his consciousness’s being eaten inside out, the guilt, the cries, both knights were cursing every painful experience they put John through. Ben had to make it up to John, he lost two fingernails, has one premolar less, and just had a bullet burst through his left knee, Ben knew it would take more than money to bring John to listen let alone forgive them. “Take him to the hospital, have the best attend to him, I will take care of the bills.” Ben uttered addressing the knights who were heads down in regret, but they gathered themselves and in a minute or so they did as asked. They were to put their head back in the game, they had a mole amongst them, he was of greater threat than the Tang brothers.“It wasn’t him.”
Head of The Table Being a king
A seat with a smooth gold plated outline bars, the soft cotton seating in black and white spots, the legs crafted in the replica of the king of ancient Egypt seat, the seat for the worthy it was known, not every rookie was privileged to lay their hands on it let alone their asses. Only two people ever sat, Ben when building his empire, and Reuben when Ben chose him on his behalf, and now Brian, call it luck or consider it destiny but this seat was the last thing Brian thought he would ever possess as his. Brian was loving the life, all that multi millionaire business was his to manage, well at least for the time being, unless something else makes it otherwise. On the glass like office table lay shipment papers, he just signed to authorize the government that they had legally exported ‘timber’, even the government was his puppet, he loved the life, he savored every second with each puff of his freshly lit Canadian cigar. He was expensively dressed, a 15000 dollar tux, a gold pocket wa
Head of The Table The head men
It was blurry but they could see from the shady murky waters, four man like figures, instincts kicked like mother nature programmed them, they began surfacing the waters, moving in circles with their blade like fins cutting through the water exposing their presence and indicating they were ready, ready for what mother nature was about to give back. The gray whites and hammer sharks would oddly ever intermingle in normal waters but one thing unites these beastly sons of mother nature, blood, fresh meat, human meat, they were used to the occasional bodies dumped and this normalized their thinking to knowing this as haven of abundance, where any time a body would splash in the waters, what followed, blood turreted clothes of the victim and inedible chunks of meat sinking down, the victim never to be heard of again, ever! Gift from mother nature to her beastly sons, they lied in the deep. Bloody, lifeless, heavy, carried by four men workers at the shipment of Ben’s empire, the deceased he
Head of The Table Enough is enough
In black work pants and the official safety jacket, he was in line like the rest of the co workers. Health check was an essential inevitable weekly occurrence, well it wasn’t as before like 10 years back, but one co worker was found to have taken an over dose of cocaine he was found down the docks near the shipment base down, restless, blood flowing from his nose, his eyes looked faint as his mouth was all white, he had a pulse but he was out cold, the drug was clotting his blood causing a possible cardiac arrest, they tried as they could but his nervous system had been cut from the rest of the body system, the drug had clotted his nervous cells causing suffocation to the brain and unfortunate passing on of the co worker. Since it has been a random occurrence to do health checkups and Incase any is found to have taken an excess dosage of cocaine the near medics had a handful of antibiotics that counter attack the effects and reduce fatality risks. The razor sharp needle pierced his
Head of The Table Kill them all
Chaos reigned, brooms, twigs, torn shirts swinging aimlessly in the air, screams and a unified psyched energized chorus, “Justice for Peter!”, It went on again, again, and again. Divided in two, one side, sweating, tired but still pushing on, fired up by the will power for justice, sopranos, basses all unified, male female, in their luminescent orange work overalls that portrayed them as the justice seekers, they cried all aloud, the sun beating them hard mercilessly to force them to back down, but they couldn’t , if the sun can’t stop them can man do? The co workers had turned to protesters, jackals born to wolves with the bravery of a lion, the toughness of an injured buffalo fighting for it's life, and the courage of a honeybager. Enough was enough, time they paid, “justice for Peter”, Robins dream was framing it’s crust into reality, co workers stood there, No! They said repeatedly each louder than the last. Under the shade, staring right across them, they had their fair amount
Head of The Table Not yet over
His knees were still sore, he felt his neck break from it’s spine falling his head down, his head itself had a slight stream of blood flowing from his skull, down his ear, right through his bushy beard and down his neck, throwing his legs like some pissed off toddler, screaming “ Let me go!”. Struggles, but the lock was tight, trying to fall himself to loosen the grip but still tight, Risa talked to him at least he tried but the mood Mila was in, not even he can calm him down. So he just had to hold him down, and that wasn’t easy either, Mila was feisty, he was determined to go back, break him in half if he had to, if it wasn’t for the strong masculine biceps locking back Mila… he would have been on a rampage like an injured wild black bear, angry, dangerous. He couldn’t take it, not anymore, ever since he witnessed the cold murder of Peter by this tyrant, his had more than enough nightmares. Why! He could hear an echo in every dark corner, dejavous of Peter still in his stained blo
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- Head of The Table
Awake
This man who saved him, who made him the man he is from the immature boy he was boy, who made him be the living example of from rags to riches, at this moment he had the guts to brush this away and end his messiah without skipping a beat, without no hesitation, without remorse in his heart. But the countless death toll proved he had no heart, proved that yarn in his head had killed the man and made him the vessel of chaos and pain, the man died ages ago only demons floated inside his shell. Staring at him like his previous victims he increased the weight on his finger, the pressure on the trigger till eventually… “Click!”, is this broken, he wounded scanning the death tool in hand to confirm his suspicions. No bullets, the magazine was empty the echo sounded, but why, he wondered, he was lost by the turn of events like why threaten his sister with an unloaded gun, did he love her? Were they together? All these filled the gaps but still it couldn’t make the full sentence. As he tucked
- Head of The Table
Crossfire
“Faster.” He cursed, even with a HeadStart Brian managed to catchup to his men and out pass them, “You good for guns only, your feet are mere Pinocchio sticks.” He rebuked them highlighting the facts in comparison to the mahogany fragile softwood barks he assumed built Pinocchio. But he was right, upper wise, they had bulging muscles, chisel shapes, but down, their legs were low on stamina, speed and toughness, he now understood why women complained about the bed performance of men with mishandled, unmaintained, let loose legs “Pathetic!”, he cursed boosting himself onwards without the excuse of a team behind him. “Wait.” He paused, there was something odd, it took him ten minutes to notice the behavior, they were running in circles, the ten minutes he marked the direction he went and noticed the mushroom he passed moments ago, the dying tree he tripped on, the baby sticker one of his men dropped from his SMG, “Shit!” he cursed his men arriving at the same time he dawned this. “Let’s
- Head of The Table
The Barian Ghosts
The ghosts of the Barian ancestry they called the haunted abandoned chapel. Years ago, it was told of the story, carried from mouth to mouth on the man who was chased away from the house of whom they called the Messiah, how evil overpowered good. The month of giving, it was the month priests fattened themselves on the offerings of their congregation, “For charity.”, they preached though it was their bellies fundraised to meet their gluttonous needs. Amongst them was a believer, from his ancestors, the line of grand parents to the first man, he believed that this chapel was the house of the supreme being, “Father!”, he would pray every day, before dawn and hours after dusk he would recite. Barian he was named after his birth right ceremony, his parents were of the tradition and of the foreign religion, rich in spirit and wisdom but their richest was the grassed thatched dome rooftop, their cubical shelter they called home, and like true religionists they were satisfied. Barian like hi
- Head of The Table
Secrets unveiled
“Not much time… this condition may be permanent I’m afraid.”, the doctor dropped the disheartening news, “he may live with it but it will grow at a slow rate so maybe till his eighties will it be the size of a tumor.”, he concluded tying the note on his death receipt. His immature stupid decisions brought this condition, this unexplainable criticality, he recalled his struggles blinded by the love for his sister that he paid no attention to his own. In his initial hell life, when his sister was admitted amidst his scuffles and struggles for money, he attempted to rob the grocery saleswoman down the alley. He had planned everything knowing his sister’s bill was due the next day, he was aware of his victim’s behaviors, “First the fruits… then the wooden boards…” his scanning paused, “…Yes then the money.”, he gladdened his self, locked on the purse, its insides were unknown but it clinked with each swing. Starting his speed from far, he burst his left hand stretched as he neared his v
- Head of The Table
Blood is Thicker
“Who am I fighting for?” he questioned angrily, his brutal side took over, his left both hands roughly clutched on her bloodied white shirt, “I said who do I fight for!” he screeched this time colluding her with the wall, her spine was at its limit, her body enough of the brutality. As she gathered the last of her energy to answer the simple question, her last question, she recalled the ordeal, how her so called husband assaulted her beyond humane reasoning. “How will I tell him?” she tensed, after she gathered herself from her drowning self she called a cab, boarded, paid and with no instructions she told the driver, “Drive.”, in a light weak voice. “He will know eventually better I tell him myself.”, she reasoned, still healing on the sudden blunder she just did her thoughts were in a whirlpool of confusion, “But will he understand? I’m his wife he will have to.” She consoled herself again, “I’m more valuable than her sister.” She bragged amidst the torment, this courage braved her
- Head of The Table
Madman
“When will you be back?” she asked half conscious, “Soon.” He answered hesitantly, how could he answer something not even he knew the answer, a year, a decade, a day, he had no clue, al he knew was the only way out was through that door and once he was out, he was closing the one behind him till… well till forever he guessed. Forever was limited though, after a month or so she was released from hospital and like all alone women out there with tycoon brothers she was moved in the remote west of the island where few people lived the conditions unlike the rest of the island were dry, hot and desert like in some seasons. There with a built home courtesy of her brother, she began small growth development, visiting the upper region more warm than hot she ventured in the weaving sector, then gaining the skills the salon department within her lifespan of her youth she had enough skill to make her self-employed, an employed or an entrepreneur, she just had to choose. Ben and Brian took care o
- Head of The Table
Hostage care
He glared on the vast blue calm waters, the soft winds and gentle sun touches erased the reality, the previous night front seat row witnessing death juggle them like pins in a circus show. It was hectic, terrifying and self-enlightening, Brian became open that nature was the only thing he couldn’t control, at least the only thing he figured. After their escape from their death givers a near month at sea they were approaching the island’s shore, after conquering and wiping Ben’s power like it never existed, they docked welcomed by their remaining mercenaries who survived in one piece though some in crutches, walking sticks and wheelchairs. “Welcome home.”, he greeted, the second in command who was now first since his superior was blown courtesy of Mist’s giveaway gift. “Call this my home and I will end you.”, he hissed slapping the gestured hand cursing as he slithered by, followed by his remaining crew, the captain, and the disrespected mercenary left to feel the deep thorn of lookin
- Head of The Table
On Top Again
For his brother and himself he had to do it, he didn’t want to but did he have a choice? No, he didn’t, he wished it would have never come to this point. To the shackles again and this time heavier ones, tighter ones, this time maybe death can save them or relieve them at least. Like the game he normally played he stared at death again, it smiled at him, they smiled back because Ben knew how to pull the wire just at the right moment, and once again death failed to get him, a whisker close but not close enough for the death cheater. Mili seconds before Lee fired Ben clicked his detonator and just then the tables turned for the third time, and probably the last time. Underneath the doom weapons went off, the unlucky men at the top were the unfavored by the look. One detonated between two, the force blew their face clean off to atom pieces only their neck downwards was intact, another close to an unsuspecting culprit behind his back blowing half his back off melting it from his upper back
- Head of The Table
One Sided Loyalty
He cried for the third time, and history proved he rarely did. The body count was off the charts, first Ben’s committee ghosted a whole docking security guard, Eliz returned the favor but hers was more straight to the point. However, this time Ben’s tears weren’t of what happened but what was to come, what he knew if happened he will be dead both emotionally and physically. So let the wheel turn back, some playback on the betrayal saga, the fleeing, the death scenes, all of it. Ben disclosed to the knights, Mila broke down in the inside, Risa glare towards the fire summoned the deepest locked emotional valve he caved deep within, and there both the two brothers a tear flowed one on the right for one and another on the right for the other. But they were in the middle of a war, a war that will take more of their lives if they had a grieving season, they had to man up, soldier on, “Yes they died,” but grieving was the one thing the befallen bishops would want them not to do. With the ig
