Point, shoot, reload. Point, shoot, reload. The only gun Alfred had ever held was the one he was holding now: in his video game. Hordes of zombies dragged towards him, groaning and moaning for brains. However, Alfred was quick with his Xbox controller, and shot them down the minute they appeared. This was how he spent every night, up until two in the morning with McDonalds bags and cans of soda littered around him, his stuffed animal alien, Tony, flopped somewhere on the pillows.
This was where Alfred was now, curled up in a nest on his couch, only his TV and moonlight illuminating his tiny space in the living room. All was quiet but for the zombies on his screen and the clicking of his controller. That is, all was quiet until Ivan got there.
Ivan was running. Not from the cops like he probably should have been, but from his sisters and their gang. He'd just had to abandon his car, after Natalya threw a grenade at it. He looked terrible, having been shot multiple times, thrice in the arm and once in the back, the bullet now nestled into his rib cage. Ivan was in tremendous pain, but that didn't matter right now, he just had to get away from Natalya and her crazy friends.
The first house the Russian saw happened to be Alfred's. He didn't have time to knock or ring the doorbell, so the powerful man just ripped a hose pipe out of the side of his house, and slammed it through a window. Hearing this didn't faze Alfred, however, who just thought it was part of his game. But when he saw a tall, ominous looking man jump through his window, the twenty-three year old's first response was to point his controller at him and wildly press on the keys. However, when that didn't work, Alfred was faced with the truth: someone had broken into his house.
Instead of leaving the house when he realized someone in there was awake, since Ivan's plan had been to hide out there until the coast was clear then leave without a trace, the man walked over to Alfred, putting a hand on the terrified man's shoulder.
"What the fuck, dude? Get out!" Alfred screamed, throwing his game controller across the room then whipping out his phone, ready to call nine-one-one. Seeing this, Ivan swiftly leaned forward and grabbed the phone, throwing it onto the carpeted floor and effortlessly crushing it with his boot. The owner of this destroyed phone was speechless, mouth open in shock. Sensing the opportunity, the Russian grabbed Alfred's arm, not being too gentle, and tugged him off his seat.
"Give me your car keys, shut up, and let's go," Ivan growled. His voice was hoarse from screaming, but still had a thick Russian accent, marking his nationality. Alfred was scared out of his mind, not even at the point where his hero complex could save him. He complied, leading Ivan to his kitchen and taking his keys off a hook, handing them to the intruder. Alfred was about to go back to his video game, when Ivan grabbed his arm.
Ivan wasn't planning to go this alone. He tugged Alfred along with him, coldly explaining as he went, "I said let's go, not I'm going." Once they were in Alfred's garage, the American grabbed a few boxes filled with snacks and drinks and shoved them into the back of his beat up American flag minivan, letting Ivan tug him in. After this experience, he'd be surprised if anything disconcerted him.
The minute both were buckled, Ivan opened the garage and floored the gas, driving surprisingly well for someone going over a hundred miles an hour. Alfred usually drove pretty fast in this car, but never with such urgency. Now, in this situation, he had to admit that he was terrified of the giant Russian who seemed to be kidnapping him, and for no reason.
Once they'd been driving for a while, and the sun was peeking out from the horizon, Alfred finally dared to ask his burning question. "Who… who are you, and where are we going?" When he said this, Ivan seemed to not hear, so Alfred tried again, leading to the car pulling over on a nearly empty highway.
"Shut up, will you?" Ivan asked, slamming a hand over Alfred's mouth. He pulled a bottle of chloroform from one of the many pockets in his jacket, pouring some onto a handkerchief and slamming it onto Alfred's mouth, regardless of his screaming and protesting. It didn't take long for the young adult to fall back, knocked out.
At this point, Ivan realized that there wasn't much more to do than drive in silence, so he did. At a certain point, he woke up, just as Ivan was nearing his destination. Ivan parked the car in a grubby alleyway, waiting a few moments before turning to Alfred. About to wake him up, the Russian decided on something better. He took a gun out of his pocket, smoothing his hand over its black handle. Finger placed on the trigger, Ivan roughly shoved the gun against Alfred's head. Just as the boy woke up with a start, Ivan's finger pulled back, and a bullet sliced through the early morning silence.
Before Alfred's body could even fall limp onto the car's seat, Ivan had left the van, never to be seen alive again, as the sound of another bullet shattered the silence yet again. He had his reasons.