I step out of the roof door of the apartments and spit on the ground. The soft cotton from my over coat brushes up against my neck, but the wind from the speedily passing cars in the sky whip past me in the almost abysmal like city. Two suits are following me up here, and they walk up behind me as I approach the roof's edge and lean my hands over and look over the side, a bit of shakey vertigo pushing me back. The two are right there on me, smiles on there faces as I return the smile, and shake their hands.
The three of us turn back around and head across the gravel roof top and back through the neat roof side door, and past some benches and a small playground area up top, along with a grill that sits up upon the apartments underneath, and the shops with the built in medical center and the small church in the basement. We skip down the carpeted steps down to the floor beneath us and walk through the door to the nice hotel like apartments, which were very quiet and well kept. A light piano course plays through the hallways very softly, with the occasional reminder of what activity is happening the next day, but our purposeful stride keeps up as we three head down the end of the hall. We make it to the the door that reads number "247" and we stop, both of these buffed, balled Chinese men with their white and black suits and sun glasses on both sides of me. We stop and all is quiet for a moment, as we stare at the blank door... I shrug my shoulders and close my eyes, taking in a deep breath. I take a step back behind the two men as they step forward, reaching into their jackets and pulling out two massive handguns, pointing them both at the door knob.
Two muffled shots ring off as the recoil is snuffed by their arms and the blasts being held in by the extra lining space in the gun's massive barrel. The loudest sound was the two crunches of metal against metal, and the door knob is shot through the door, letting it flow wide open, revealing a mass of other men, all dressed almost alike to my two friends, suits and all. They are putting machine guns, pistols, rifles, and you name it into these huge nylon plastic cases, and the guns fit firmly in the comfortable foam. The two Chinese men move in and their eye brows grow behind their sun glasses and I slowly walk in, the first thing I could think was "We should have brought more men." Crucifixes rest on the wall, where as the lack of a TV seemed absolutely bizzare in a day like today.
The Chinese men don't wait to begin pulling the trigger as bullets go flying in both directions, ripping through walls and knocking folks over couches, and blood splattering the walls as such. I walk calmly to the other side of the wall, squinting my eyes as everything seems to happen in slow motion. The walls in front of my path explode into splinters as there is another on the opposite side, walking just the same. Dark black hair he has, a polo shirt on, and is clean cut. A familiar scar across his left brow, ripping down his cheek and across his chin. He has a smile on his face as he walks past the bar as glasses and liquor bottles explodes from the onslaught of bullets. The lamp I walk past seems to explode from a machine gun spray upwards from one of the dead goons that my now bullet riddled comrades managed to shoot before he fell bleeding to death on the ground by the front door. My other friend fires off his last five rounds into two other unlucky folks that easily get holes blown through their chests. The bullets fire through them and through the sliding glass door that the dark headed man is walking past... He quickly leans down as if in slow motion and picks pushes down a younger goon that narrowly leaves them both dodging a bullet as I still lay in the darkness from the exploded lamp. My two friends dead, tons of wet screams from the Roman Catholic arms dealers that are clenching their cross necklaces and saying their last prayers.
I step out of the shadows and the other man tells the younger one to stay pressed to the floor, and I see him pull the cross out of his shirt and kiss it, and tuck it back in, as he glares at me. He extends his arm, and my eyes grow even wider. "Oh."
Riddled in a spiral and criss crossing each other are bullets.. Tons of 9mm bullets that wrap up his arm like snakes feed into a dual barreled pistol resting in his palm as he pulls back on a nub, registering the two bullet belts into the pistol. He pulls the trigger and lets loose as the snake bullet belts unwrap from his arm and begin spinning around in a helicopter like motion, pumping bullet after bullet in my direction. I brake off in a sprint and hold out my shoulder, bursting into the next room and hit my back against the bedroom floor as a clean sweep of bullets tear in a clean across the room. I can hear the whiring of the dual bullet belts steping closer to the room. I pick up the small bed stand and let the bible and rosary slide off, and the lamp crashes on top of it, darkening the room as I toss it full strength as the door way as soon as the other hitman walks in. His bullet feeding whips rip and shred it straight in half as the bottom half collide with his nether regions. The bullet snakes fall limply on the floor as he groans and I run over, kicking him harshly in the gut. I step over him and past the teenage Catholic arms dealer and lean outside as about twenty cars fly by in the air. Outside on the side of the building is a extended "Slow" sign that lets the speeders know they are in a residential area, and to not collide with an apartment in a drunken stupor. The metal is easily worked off and broken off with a grunt as the sharpened edge of the square part at the end of the sign is brandished in the light. I spin around and feel a sharp kick to my ribs from the young man, and a new whiring sound, as my "competition" whips up another steady stream of bullets flying past me.
I dodge and pull back, swinging the sign at a bottle of communion wine and shattering it, sending it in the spray across the room, and sending glass shards in every which direction. I use the opportunity to run and swing the edge of the sign at the hitman. "Fuck you, Paltrow." I mumble under my breath. He swings his bullet snake around and whips the edge of the sign, wrapping all of the bullets around the sign. "Fuck you too, Palmer..." We snarl at each other and pull back on our opposite weapons... Staring deep at each other's eyes.
I pull hard on mine, stripping all the skin off his arm and whipping a sharp end of a round past my arm, making a deep cut on my shoulder. I swing the sharp edge of the top of the sign behind me and feel little resistance, as I feel a light spray of the young Catholic teen's blood spray across my face, and I look down, seeing the gush of blood on the otherwise carpet. I glance behind me and see the head by the sliding door, resting comfortably on a bed of shattered glass, the body trying to grip the side of the couch, then just falling over limp. I turn back to Paltrow and shove the top of the sign, bullets still wrapped around and all, into his stomach and press him against the stove and turn it on high, instantly heating it up to 600 degrees. Paltrow tries to turn it off but I press his down on his hand with the top of my boot, crunching a few fingers. I use my foot to lower the oven door and stick the top of the sign into the oven and I kick the door partially closed and make a break out of the room, and out into the hallway, quickly diving over to the right side of the wall and covering my head, laying flat on the floor as an explosion of a hundred bullets fire in every direction and through the walls and floors.
The next thing I knew is that I was stumbling out of the cab that narrowly avoided the police back home and I was resting in the shower, trying to wash the blood off. All that I could think was that the war between the Catholics and the Illuminati was under way. I guess the highest bidder wins this war. Wait... Was that a knock on my door?
The three of us turn back around and head across the gravel roof top and back through the neat roof side door, and past some benches and a small playground area up top, along with a grill that sits up upon the apartments underneath, and the shops with the built in medical center and the small church in the basement. We skip down the carpeted steps down to the floor beneath us and walk through the door to the nice hotel like apartments, which were very quiet and well kept. A light piano course plays through the hallways very softly, with the occasional reminder of what activity is happening the next day, but our purposeful stride keeps up as we three head down the end of the hall. We make it to the the door that reads number "247" and we stop, both of these buffed, balled Chinese men with their white and black suits and sun glasses on both sides of me. We stop and all is quiet for a moment, as we stare at the blank door... I shrug my shoulders and close my eyes, taking in a deep breath. I take a step back behind the two men as they step forward, reaching into their jackets and pulling out two massive handguns, pointing them both at the door knob.
Two muffled shots ring off as the recoil is snuffed by their arms and the blasts being held in by the extra lining space in the gun's massive barrel. The loudest sound was the two crunches of metal against metal, and the door knob is shot through the door, letting it flow wide open, revealing a mass of other men, all dressed almost alike to my two friends, suits and all. They are putting machine guns, pistols, rifles, and you name it into these huge nylon plastic cases, and the guns fit firmly in the comfortable foam. The two Chinese men move in and their eye brows grow behind their sun glasses and I slowly walk in, the first thing I could think was "We should have brought more men." Crucifixes rest on the wall, where as the lack of a TV seemed absolutely bizzare in a day like today.
The Chinese men don't wait to begin pulling the trigger as bullets go flying in both directions, ripping through walls and knocking folks over couches, and blood splattering the walls as such. I walk calmly to the other side of the wall, squinting my eyes as everything seems to happen in slow motion. The walls in front of my path explode into splinters as there is another on the opposite side, walking just the same. Dark black hair he has, a polo shirt on, and is clean cut. A familiar scar across his left brow, ripping down his cheek and across his chin. He has a smile on his face as he walks past the bar as glasses and liquor bottles explodes from the onslaught of bullets. The lamp I walk past seems to explode from a machine gun spray upwards from one of the dead goons that my now bullet riddled comrades managed to shoot before he fell bleeding to death on the ground by the front door. My other friend fires off his last five rounds into two other unlucky folks that easily get holes blown through their chests. The bullets fire through them and through the sliding glass door that the dark headed man is walking past... He quickly leans down as if in slow motion and picks pushes down a younger goon that narrowly leaves them both dodging a bullet as I still lay in the darkness from the exploded lamp. My two friends dead, tons of wet screams from the Roman Catholic arms dealers that are clenching their cross necklaces and saying their last prayers.
I step out of the shadows and the other man tells the younger one to stay pressed to the floor, and I see him pull the cross out of his shirt and kiss it, and tuck it back in, as he glares at me. He extends his arm, and my eyes grow even wider. "Oh."
Riddled in a spiral and criss crossing each other are bullets.. Tons of 9mm bullets that wrap up his arm like snakes feed into a dual barreled pistol resting in his palm as he pulls back on a nub, registering the two bullet belts into the pistol. He pulls the trigger and lets loose as the snake bullet belts unwrap from his arm and begin spinning around in a helicopter like motion, pumping bullet after bullet in my direction. I brake off in a sprint and hold out my shoulder, bursting into the next room and hit my back against the bedroom floor as a clean sweep of bullets tear in a clean across the room. I can hear the whiring of the dual bullet belts steping closer to the room. I pick up the small bed stand and let the bible and rosary slide off, and the lamp crashes on top of it, darkening the room as I toss it full strength as the door way as soon as the other hitman walks in. His bullet feeding whips rip and shred it straight in half as the bottom half collide with his nether regions. The bullet snakes fall limply on the floor as he groans and I run over, kicking him harshly in the gut. I step over him and past the teenage Catholic arms dealer and lean outside as about twenty cars fly by in the air. Outside on the side of the building is a extended "Slow" sign that lets the speeders know they are in a residential area, and to not collide with an apartment in a drunken stupor. The metal is easily worked off and broken off with a grunt as the sharpened edge of the square part at the end of the sign is brandished in the light. I spin around and feel a sharp kick to my ribs from the young man, and a new whiring sound, as my "competition" whips up another steady stream of bullets flying past me.
I dodge and pull back, swinging the sign at a bottle of communion wine and shattering it, sending it in the spray across the room, and sending glass shards in every which direction. I use the opportunity to run and swing the edge of the sign at the hitman. "Fuck you, Paltrow." I mumble under my breath. He swings his bullet snake around and whips the edge of the sign, wrapping all of the bullets around the sign. "Fuck you too, Palmer..." We snarl at each other and pull back on our opposite weapons... Staring deep at each other's eyes.
I pull hard on mine, stripping all the skin off his arm and whipping a sharp end of a round past my arm, making a deep cut on my shoulder. I swing the sharp edge of the top of the sign behind me and feel little resistance, as I feel a light spray of the young Catholic teen's blood spray across my face, and I look down, seeing the gush of blood on the otherwise carpet. I glance behind me and see the head by the sliding door, resting comfortably on a bed of shattered glass, the body trying to grip the side of the couch, then just falling over limp. I turn back to Paltrow and shove the top of the sign, bullets still wrapped around and all, into his stomach and press him against the stove and turn it on high, instantly heating it up to 600 degrees. Paltrow tries to turn it off but I press his down on his hand with the top of my boot, crunching a few fingers. I use my foot to lower the oven door and stick the top of the sign into the oven and I kick the door partially closed and make a break out of the room, and out into the hallway, quickly diving over to the right side of the wall and covering my head, laying flat on the floor as an explosion of a hundred bullets fire in every direction and through the walls and floors.
The next thing I knew is that I was stumbling out of the cab that narrowly avoided the police back home and I was resting in the shower, trying to wash the blood off. All that I could think was that the war between the Catholics and the Illuminati was under way. I guess the highest bidder wins this war. Wait... Was that a knock on my door?
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