∇ Earth ∇
A single slam of a car door was all it took to secure his spot in the vehicle. He rubbed his face, letting out a loud, heavy sigh of reluctance. Was he really going through with this crap? To live, like always? He might have not fully needed the money offered to him in this instance but, the security it'd bring for the next three months of his life would be a godsend at this point and time. Pure, hard cash. He may be a small-time thug, but that was about to change if this went tits-up.
He looked in the rearview mirror of the vehicle he was in. Tired, brown eyes stared back at him. His dirty brown hair was unkempt, but at least he showered before he got into the vehicle. He didn't style it in any way but kept it short and let it grow naturally. He was overdue for a haircut, his bangs almost coming over his eyes. His face didn't have much fat; his cheeks were a bit sunken. He had tanned flesh from living out in the sun most of the time, working out on his homemade gym on the roof of the apartment complex he lived on. Of course, the owner didn't care; he bought her off long ago when she found out about it. But the rest of his features were hidden by a medical mask.
The rest of him? He had a tattered white shirt with a few holes in it and a black hoodie covering his arms. A pair of leather gloves. He looked down; his gun was secure underneath the hoodie on a belt. His torn jeans and worker's boots were the only thing really looking up at him. He looked back at the parking garage in front of him, seeing it was empty other than other residents' cars. He looked over to the side. This was the main reason he was nervous. Why he hoped to God above, this wasn't supposed to be some sort of fucked up game, and he was to be disposed of afterward.
Perhaps it was just too much media he consumed on the daily? Light Novels, Books, Manga. This was too good to be true, right? 60-fucking-grand. That's how much he was getting for just -delivering- this stupid fucking briefcase to the local leader's drop point. Why him out of everyone? Sure he did some jobs for them before, but he mostly dealt narcotics for fuck's sake. He raised a hand and rubbed his face slightly, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Come on, Dalton. It's simple, just bring it to a guy scarier than you. Get paid there. Then fuck off. Don't look at anyone. Speak only when spoken to..." He takes a deep breath, then exhales.
He puts the key in the ignition and turns on the Bluetooth radio in his car, turning it into a playlist with a bunch of smooth jazz to calm his nerves. They couldn't just off his ass for no reason, right? Right? He didn't do anything wrong to any of the major players in this stupid town's underbelly. He puts the car in drive, leaving the garage several minutes later. Even fewer - he was soon following a highway out of town. North. He put the location in his GPS, some sort of kid's pizza place about an hour out of town, almost in another small city.
He didn't look at the briefcase next to him the whole ride. Whatever the hell was in it didn't concern him. Like the Boss said, 'under no circumstances are you to look in the briefcase.' He had no reason to disregard the warning. The man was intimidating. Once shot someone in the knees in front of him because the guy was being a mouthy little shit. You don't live long in this sort of business for being mouthy. You learn to shut up and do what you're told.
Whatever. Dalton's musings on his ride go back to what got him on this in the first place. It was just a typical day, really. One that he had just finished his routine workout on the roof gym and freshly showered. His phone was going crazy. One of his friends in the Boss' gang had just texted him about a possible life-changing task his Boss wanted him to undertake. This friend of his, one who taught him how to fight and shoot a gun, was trustworthy. Honestly, they were his closest friend, so there was no reason to worry when it came to him. But the Boss knew about him, his skills in getting to places casually and being able to sell drugs anywhere and anyhow.
But when the actual meeting between him and the Boss came, it was too much for him. Sure, he knew how to run a drug trade around his block and the town he lived in. But this was out of his comfort zone and in a spot he still needed to thoroughly look over. Still, the Boss made a sweet deal. He'd be able to live cozy for months with the money. Pay off some debts. Get some folks off his back...maybe even take a vacation. Hawaii sounds nice. Still, though, 60k for just dropping off a briefcase? There had to be more to it.
He looked back over the suitcase and shook his head. Nah. Not opening it even to sate his curiosity. Some guy - Stephen Busch - is the recipient. Some other gang about two cities away that the Boss needed to give this to. He loses himself in the music, silently moving through traffic and getting to the location a little early. He got there about 20 minutes early. It was nighttime, silence. He turned off his car's headlights as he drove into the parking lot, stopping his car and getting out with the briefcase. Supposedly they wanted him to wait for them in the fucking kid's play area out of all places.
"Alright, it's go time, Dalton. No pussying out. I need this. Money's always good."
He ensured his gun was secure and where he liked it, along with his spare mags. His phone came with him, too, stuffed in a hoodie pocket. The employee entrance around the back should be open. Security cameras should be dealt with today too. They'll be wiped. He turns the knob, finding it just like advertised, unlocked and free for him to go in. So he does so, depending on a small hand-crank flashlight to help guide his way through the dim lighting of the back rooms. It seemed like he was in the kitchen. The smell of old pizza and cheese was in the air. Even if they tried cleaning, it looks like one couldn't get rid of the stain that is the smell of pizza.
He moves silently, a skill he's learned quite well. Some sort of movement thing his buddy taught him. He didn't really get the gist or reasonings as to why it did what it did. But in his mind, it just worked, so why bother with the details? He swept the beam of light across in front of him as he walked forwards. Though, he didn't need his flashlight too much. He switched it off. The reason why? The play area had a huge arcade. While it was dead silent, the machines gave off bright neon lights that flooded the room with blues and pinks. Sometimes even purples. He came out behind the game corner where kids might've turned in their tickets for piss cheap baubles. Shit, everyone knows the conversion rate from cash-tokens-tickets-prize is God awful. He silently takes a free Hershey's Kiss from one of the baskets they had down below and eats it. No one would miss one of those. He lets the cheap chocolate melt on his tongue before walking in further.
He knew some of the games, but since it was a kid's place, some of his favorite arcade games were elsewhere. House of the Dead, Jurassic Park shooters...come on. They were classics, right? Whatever. His footsteps brought him to the 'playpen' area, around the stage, with a talking animatronic mouse on the top. Dalton never liked this place as a kid, if only because animatronics were weird. He decided to sit in the darkness on one of the plastic steps that led up to the higher branches of the kiddy-crawlspace. He just...waits. He looks at his phone. It was supposed to be at 2 AM. It was 01:49 right now. Ten minutes or so.
He sets the briefcase down right next to him, frowning. Were they just punctual, or did they come through some other means? He had to silently stew in his thoughts, looking at the time countdown. Tick tock goes the clock. Where were they? If they were punctual like him for such a critical dea-
BANG, BANG, BANG!!
Three shots from some sort of firearm were heard. Oh -fuck- no. Oh, HELL no. His brain frazzled. He shouldn't have taken this job if it was going to send him to the fucking hospital. It came from the parking lot out front. There was a barking of at least two other handguns joining it. Here he was, stuck inside the damned place. He quickly unholsters his weapon, a Beretta 92. It felt heavy and cold in his hands. He removed the magazine to check if it was fully loaded, satisfied, he pushed it back in and unlocked the safety of his weapon. He can't believe he's gotta deal with this crap.
The lighting in his area was still dark. He grabs the briefcase and keeps a good hand on his gun. He's got to go out the way he came in. Dalton moves quickly and quietly back up to the gaming counter, trying to keep himself low to the floor so anyone looking in couldn't see him. His footsteps were nearly silent. There was some yelling from outside and several people talking, punctuated by a gunshot. With the adrenaline and panic burning his brain, he couldn't tell what it was. Where would he even go, though? His car was outside. If he could hop the back fence near the garbage dump, he'd be able to leave without being noticed.
He moved fast. His footsteps light. He got to the back door just in time. Without his prompting, he was staring straight into the barrel of a gun instead aimed right at his chest. There was a second between him and the firearm, drawn out by the adrenaline pouring straight into every goddamn fucking nerve he had at that moment. In the darkness of the night, the hand holding it...
Was his friend.
"Sorry, Dalton."
Three shots. One from Dalton. Then came two burning hot, bright stars of pain in his chest. His only solace as his vision turned to red was that his shot had entered his friend, well, ex-friend's stomach at the same time as the two shots in his own chest. He doesn't actually cry in pain. No, his brain was so scrambled from the hot bullets tearing his insides that it didn't even comprehend to release noise of distress out of all things it could do. He dropped like a sack of bricks on his back, feeling hot fluid soak into his clothes from two decently sized holes in his clothes. The briefcase? It flew out of his hand and smacked into the establishment's wall.
There was no grandiose fight. There was no solace in what was about to happen. The man in front of him clenched the hole in his stomach with a loud cry of pain and aimed the gun up. "Son of a BITCH! DAMNIT! FUCK!" Dalton couldn't respond. How could he respond? The shots he was given were definitely lethal. It was strange, feeling your body in burning pain yet going cold at the same damn time. Unfortunately, he wasn't allowed to pass peacefully.
His ex-friend aimed the gun down at him. If there was ever a rule to make sure someone was dead, you double-tapped. The man before him made sure of that. Three more shots, two ripping through his torso, while the third? It found a purchase on the right side of his skull. There was a sickening, dirty feeling of something penetrating something precious. This single, tiny moment was all he had left to hold on to. His pitiful life flashed through his eyes. His parents dying when he was 12. He had to fend for himself, getting on the wrong side of life. Education took a nosedive. He couldn't even pay for school, let alone want to be in it. He had to survive; to survive, he needed to make money. A life of minor crimes here and there, some more prominent, some smaller.
All he ever was, was some two-bit thug who made enough to scrape by. Then a sickening -crack- was heard...
And his consciousness was no more. Or at least, it should have. Instead, there was a feeling of vertigo, enough to wrench apart someone's entire stomach through nothing but the sense of being shifted beyond time and space beyond what could have been possible. Stars and blackness passed through his vision, never stopping. It was like a universe moving before his eyes. The vast cosmos and unexplainable lay bare. It felt like ages before he stopped, and one voice rang through his head.
[ System Booting Up. . .]
NaoIsTheBest· Nov 27, 2022
Mintyfeel· Author · Dec 3, 2022
