John McClane puffed slowly and steadily on the cigarette butt dangling out of the corner of his mouth. He was inside a cheap café, owned by a cheapskate who racked up money by selling people overpriced meals that weren't worth a dime. He was waiting for an old friend to stop by, talk about this Christmas. His friend arrived 30 minutes late, calm and casual in a dark blue suit.
"Frank, how you doin'," McClane asked, letting the smoke of his cigarette drift out of his mouth like fog.
"McClane!" Frank said enthusiastically, "How are you?"
"Been better," McClane smiled.
"That's just like you McClane, never satisfied," Frank joked.
"So how are the kids," McClane asked.
"Derek just turned 13, thinks he's the coolest kid in town."
"Sounds like a teenager," McClane joked.
"But that's not what I came hear to talk you about John," Frank's voice suddenly grew cold.
"Well no need to get hostile about it buddy," McClane said, concern in his voice.
"Here," said McClane, "I'll buy you a beer and we can talk about it-."
"No McClane," snapped Frank, "I need to tell you something right now."
"Ok man, just calm down-."
"McClane, a group of terrorists want you dead."
"Who's the group?"
"They call themselves the Dark Angels."
McClane shuddered. He had before taken on the Dark Angels, and he had ended up in the hospital. These guys were tough.
"And let me ask," McClane interrupted, "How do you know about the Dark Angels?"
"They kidnapped my daughter, and said that if I didn't kill you, they would kill her, me, and you."
"Aw s**t," McClane swore.
"Help me McClane!"
"Don't worry I'll help you out."
"McClane I didn't want to do this!"
Frank reached into his suit and pulled out a gun. McClane leaped across the table and hit the gun out of his hand and onto the cushioned café seat.
"McClane, I have to do this!"
"No, Frank you don't! You are going to come with me and help me find these sons of b*****s, and I'll get back your daughter."
McClane grabbed the gun and concealed it in his coat pocket. He grabbed Frank by the shoulders and helped him walk out of the café.
"They probably already know that I told you! They have people everywhere!"
McClane scanned the street, the buildings, and the stores for anyone suspicious. No one matched the Dark Angels look. But then that was what they wanted him to think. Suddenly a muffled gunshot sounded off and McClane turned to see Frank lying dead on the sidewalk. McClane saw a hooded figure run down the street and he immediately gave chase. The hooded figure ducked into an alley and McClane put his hand on his gun and stopped in the alleyway. He could see the hooded person duck into an apartment. McClane pulled out his gun. He walked quickly and silently over the apartment door.
"This is the police, come out where I can see ya," McClane snidely yelled.
No response.
"You asked for it," McClane smiled.
McClane broke down the door and ran inside.
"WHAT YOU DOIN' IN MY APARTMENT YOU DIRTY COP!" a voice screamed. Probably female.
"GET OUT OF MY APARTMENT!"
That was when the gunshots came. Walls became riddled with bullets and McClane dropped to the ground. He began to crawl across the floor and saw a man firing a machine gun into the room that McClane had been in. McClane fired his gun at the man's foot and he went down with a scream of pain. Luckily, he also dropped the gun. McClane got on his feet and ran over to the man.
"Hey buddy, how's Dark Angels," McClane smirked.
The man groaned.
"This one's for Frank," McClane menaced, and he punched the man hard in the face.
The man lay still. Not dead but unconscious.
"Let's see how my friend's at Dark Angels are doing," McClane said as he grabbed a cell phone out of the man's pocket.
The phone was a cheap one, but McClane managed to view the recent calls. One name stuck out. Viktor Kreatuyyt. He was the head honcho of Angels of Darkness. McClane saw the number 555-5654. He dialed.
"Yes," a voice said.
"Hey, this is John McClane, remember me buddy?"
"McClane, how do you have this number?"
"Well I just kinda beat the crap outta one of your guys and he told me."
"McClane, if living is in your best interest I suggest you hang up the phone right now."
McClane smiled, "Oh it's in my best interest is it? Well guess what. I think it's your best interest to watch your back. Because I am going to trace this phone number, come over to your place, and beat the s**t out of you."
McClane hung up and traced the phone number. It turned up to be an abandoned warehouse in the shady part of Manhattan.
"Yippi Kay Yay," McClane smiled, and he reloaded his gun and set off.
Die Hard Part 2
McClane parked his car outside of the warehouse. He stayed in the car, taking a look around the area. Several buff bodyguards hung around the main entrance, doing their best to look serious and muscular. McClane lit up a cigarette and relaxed in the seat of his car. He considered putting some music on, but decided against it. Viktor would be expecting him, and it was better to keep the tension at a maximum high. McClane saw a security camera looking at him and he winked at it. Better to keep a positive attitude. A security guard put his finger on his earpiece and nodded. Then he turned to face McClane. McClane took out his gun and put it on the seat. The guard walked towards McClane's car. McClane put the car in neutral and loudly revved the engine. The guard jumped back, and McClane laughed. The guard, feeling humiliated grabbed his gun and fired a shot at McClane. The bullet narrowly missed the car and McClane picked up his gun and fired it at the guard, who immediately dropped dead. That was enough to make all the security guards fire at McClane. But the one thing that he had that they didn't……a car. McClane stomped on the gas pedal and flew towards the main entrance. The guards chickened out at the last second and jumped out of the way, before McClane came crashing through the wall. When McClane was through, he could see nothing but miles and miles of boxes. Each of them had thick lettering that said: HAPPY WONDERS TEDDY BEARS. What the heck?
McClane grabbed his gun and got out of the car.
"I'm back," he whispered slyly to himself.
A voice came on through a loudspeaker, "Mr. McClane, how nice to see you. Too bad it will be the last time that we ever meet."
"I have a feeling that we will be seeing each other very soon Viktor," McClane yelled.
That was when dozens of guards jumped out from behind piles of boxes.
"What was that you said Mr. McClane?" Viktor taunting voice loomed in the air.
"Viktor, I am a man of my word, and it looks like you might have to learn that the hard way."
Part 3
Security guards formed a circle around John McClane, each one equipped with high power machine guns. And plenty of bullets.
"Goodbye Mr. McClane," Viktor's voice faded away.
The guards aimed their weapons. However, McClane thought up a great idea. It might end up with his own death, but hey, it was worth a try. McClane turned around and fired a bullet at the gas tank of his car. A huge fireball erupted, and McClane felt his hair singe from the heat. He of course dived forward and hit the ground to avoid the explosion. An overwhelming breath of hot air spread over him and McClane closed his eyes, waiting until he was absolutely sure that it was over. When he got up, it was clear that the guards were not as lucky as he. His back felt badly burned, but not enough to slow him down. He walked forward and heard Viktor's voice again, from behind him this time.
"McClane, when are you ever going to learn to give up," Viktor sounded annoyed.
McClane took this to his advantage, annoyed terrorists usually did not have as good of an aim.
"When are you gonna learn to shut up?" McClane snapped.
It wasn't his best comeback, but Viktor was easily annoyed.
"Turn around please Mr. McClane, I would like to see your face before I kill you." Viktor chimed.
McClane turned around but remarked, "You have realized by now, Viktor, that I am not an easy man to kill."
"Which is exactly why I shall take such pleasure in pulling the trigger," Viktor snidely replied. Viktor began to walk toward McClane with a handgun pointed right at McClane's head.
"It is too bad you had to die Mr. McClane, you would have made such a good henchman!"
"Oh yeah," said McClane, "It has always been my dream to work for some wannabe crimelord in a warehouse stacked with Happy Wonders Teddy Bears."
That ticked Viktor off. So much that by the time Viktor had walked over to McClane he was so furious, that his gun was shaking in his hand. McClane looked at the gun. It was a Beretta, but one that looked as though it was cleaned every other minute. It sparkled in the dim light of the warehouse and McClane remembered; Viktor hates dirt. Anything filthy. He likes everything clean. So McClane had an idea. He had cut his lip when he dived to the floor and a small trickle of blood was coming out. He mixed the blood with some saliva in his mouth and spit directly into Viktor's face. Viktor looked horrified and he wiped his eyes, therefore leaving the gun open to McClane. McClane didn't waste a second. He grabbed the gun out of Viktor's hand and clubbed him in the head with it. Viktor fell to the floor unconscious.
"Yippie Kay Yay," McClane said, and he carried Viktor's limp body to the nearest police station. He taped a note onto Viktor that read: ARREST ME. He then went back inside and retrieved Frank's daughter who thanked him a million times for rescuing her.
"A job well done," McClane later said out loud. He had just finished bringing Frank's daughter to her grandparent's house. He was sitting outside of a bar puffing on another cigarette. He stood up and began to walk home, aware of the many adventures ahead.