The setting sun's rays colored the Los Angeles sky. It surrendered the world to streetlights, enticing music from clubs, and half-dressed ladies that modeled their entrances. Across a deserted street, a neat black limousine glided to a halt in front of an old warehouse. "Darling, we've arrived," Mellisa, a lady with eyes the color of the ocean announced. John looked at the sagging windows of the proposed building, its overgrown bushes and stairs with too many broken edges with a raised eyebrow. "Honey, are you sure this is the right place?" Melissa leaned in, caressing John's laps. Her fair skinned cleavage showed and the subtle perfume she used on her dark-brown hair drifted into his nose. It made him smile. “My brother's ready to discuss the price for a share in your app," Melissa trailed off, her voice dropping to a seductive whisper as she slowly pulled up the end of her black dress. “Once it's sold, we can finally get married, and you'll get to savor -" "Alright," John int
He drifted. His eyes opened to view the whiteness of a ceiling and the coolness of the room. Three times his eyes opened and each time a day passed. He saw Melissa smiling at him, drawing him into a room filled with armed men. He couldn't resist her pull; she was stronger than him. The men were all laughing at him. When he finally pulled his hand away from Melissa, they all opened fire. It was a nightmare. John opened his eyes. Everything around him was spinning, but it began to settle and come into focus. In the background, he could hear voices that sounded like they were coming from outside his door and approaching his room. "Sir, I need to know why you moved him from the hospital. This is our major hideout, and that man is a stranger," a female's voice spoke in a frustrated tone that held a sting of anger. The second voice, a deep clear-cut male's voice, responded in plain words, he seemed used to her character and spoke as one would to a daughter throwing a tantrum. "Yes,
Days after the little room incident. Consistently. John was pulled into freezing cold showers, made to lift weights he thought would amputate his limbs. Backed by a calculated diet his fats give way to actual muscles. Hair grew till its length covered his face and a clipper was taken to it. He was barbed bald. Between events, he watched the news with rapt attention but saw nothing about Melissa. He would see Richard in the halls and they'd ghost walk past each other. One day, after his usual drills, he stood in front of his bathroom mirror feeling the spamic effect of the weights racing up his spine. Scars decorated his face and body; remnants of his fall. A thin scar, about the size of an eraser, ran down one side of his cheek. On his body, they resembled the works of long-clawed rats. There was a knock at the door but he ignored it. A bald muscular man who tilted toward the scary stared back at him from the mirror. Alice kicked his door open, she was dressed in a black crop
But there was no gunshot. He lowered the gun because Alice held his arm and shook her head. John stood up, breaking the tension in the air. He stared out the window, relieved to see no police presence outside. The bartender lay lifeless, Sam bled on his own floor, and Alice, well, she stared hard at Sam. Her knuckles were pale from how tight she held them. Alice sat on the floor with her legs crossed, her gaze locked on Sam's bleeding wounds as he held them covered with a rag. She shook her head, struggling to accept the truth. She didn't want to believe what she had just heard. "Why would you want to betray Richard? He's your friend," Alice asked, her voice trembling. "We need to get out of here," John said, the edge in his voice reflecting the urgency of the situation. "We cannot be here when the police arrive." Sam wheezed and coughed, struggling to speak. "I had no choice, my darling. They have Sara with them. They have my daughter, my little bunny." He coughed again, blood
The fuel light in the car blinked at the red zone as they sped down the highway, a Chevron station with its bright lights spilling onto the road was up ahead. Alice eased the vehicle and pulled into the gas station. They had left Sam behind to hunt down the whereabouts of Sara with only Sam's research as their guide, and with the silence on Richard's end, John felt like he was chasing the wind. The night felt tense, and uncertainty loomed in the air. John reached for the black box containing Sam's research papers, knowing that this brief stop was a crucial moment in their mission. They needed a destination, a lead to follow, and he hoped that within the contents of the box, they would find their path forward. Together, they sat in silence beside the gas pump, the bright overhead lights casting long shadows. "Will he make it?" Alice's voice broke the heavy silence, tears glistening in her eyes. John glanced up from the scattered documents he had picked up, his thoughts returning to
John opened Sam's box and placed the last set of documents in an organized pile. He then closed the box and shifted his gaze to the passing scenery outside the window. In the rearview mirror, he observed Sara methodically loading bullets into the shotguns, while Alice maintained a rhythmic tap on the steering wheel. The information he absorbed from Sam's documents weighed heavily on his mind. It painted a grim picture of an organization known as the Dark Arts, that successfully infiltrated significant sectors of the government and was now seeking to exert control over major underground groups. John couldn't help but feel a sense of pride for the Drakens, knowing that they were not easily swayed by external forces. However, the emerging power struggle was far from ordinary, as the Dark Arts had been operating in secrecy, steadily growing in influence. Their recent alliance with Spectre was a troubling development, and John suspected that his own work might be at the center of their rap
John entered the kitchen with the rifle strapped to his shoulders, he heard the faint screams coming from the men Richard had under his grip. It echoed in the kitchen. "No more, no more, please, I'll talk," one of them said between sobs. John forced his attention away from their voices and took in the view of the kitchen. It was spacious, the cabinets and walls were a striking white color. He watched Alice and Sara help themselves to a few slices of bread and jam from the fridge that stood tall in a corner of the kitchen. Sara took some sandwiches from the fridge, placed them on a plate, and slid them across the kitchen counter to John. He looked at the plate, picked up a sandwich, and took a bite. There was no taste in it for him, but he kept eating for the energy he'd need. Alice paused to watch John force himself to eat. Beside her, Sara acted merry about the slices she'd taken but teardrops gathered at the edge of her eyes. "I'm here with you," Alice whispered to Sara. "I won't
John hurried into the computer room, quickly taking a seat in front of the system. Alice, closely behind him, was entranced by the intricate codes flashing on the computer screen. She observed John, who was completely engrossed in his work, typing in a series of codes that altered the patterns on the monitor until it went blank. Once John removed his flash drive from the system, he looked at Alice and asked, "Have you tried to reach Richard?" Alice shook her head, her attention now on the blank laptop screen. "What did you do?" Alice inquired, her curiosity getting the best of her. The laptop's emptiness revealed nothing about John's actions. John studied her before explaining, "I shut it down after I erased their database. They had accumulated information about important figures. I'm certain they were investigating hidden transactions by these individuals. With data like that, they could blackmail or disrupt the government." Puzzled, Alice asked, "Why would they want to do that?"