Lyla & Mickey

by Ironlumberjack

Danger, mystery, heartbreak, and betrayal in this neo-noir about a young lounge singer.

Union City, a sprawling web of towering high-rises and congested highways. A place where the greedy and corrupt quickly become the rich and powerful. A city built on back alley deals, shady politicians, and sadistic cops. It is a world devoid of heroes. A world where even the bartender may be harboring some horrible secret. In this city, the saying goes "Everyone is connected in Union City and everyone has a story to tell."

The smoke hung heavily in the air that night, the piano's notes floating through the air subtly as her voice perforated the surrounding darkness. She glanced around at the shadowy people surrounding her. She couldn't make out their faces, but she knew that all eyes were on her, everyone's attention solely focused on her. As her sultry tones filled the room, she felt another rush of endorphins. She loved the attention, hundreds of people watching her every movement. The feeling made her heart race with excitement, under those white hot lights she was a queen. The smell of cigarette smoke mixed with the sting of cheap bourbon and sesame chicken as waitresses and busboys moved quietly around the room. Typically the room would be abuzz with perverse old men flirting or dishes clattering against each other. However, when the house lights came down and that spotlight illuminated her supple figure, everything else stopped. The world dropped away, all that mattered was her and she loved it. As she moved her shoulders and hips seductively to the music, a lock of brunette hair fell in front of her eyes. She easily brushed it aside with a gloved hand as the music built to the final stanza. The song ended with a final sorrowful note from the piano, fading away into the sea of faces before her. She sat there, sweat dripping down from her right temple. For a moment, the rush wore off as she stared into the crowd, desperately she sought their attention her eyes darting from shadowy face to face. After an eternity, the room erupted in applause from the audience. As the house lights came back up, she gave a little bow; her red sequined dress sparkling in the light. Daintily she stepped off the stage as the pianist started his next set. She traced the grain of the wood on Frank's piano as she passed him, her black, silk gloves gliding smoothly along the flawless wood. Frank looked up from his sheet music for just a second, his deep, blue eyes glimmering in the light.

Her heels clacked against the floor as she strode up to the bar. Her boyfriend, Mickey, greeted her, his slender frame outlined by the countless amber bottles behind him.

"Wonderful set baby, anyone ever tell you your voice's like an angels?" He complemented while pouring a double vodka. Gleefully, he handed the glass over to a customer while never taking his eyes off of her.

"Only you, every night." She shot back playfully as she took a seat at the bar.

"How about a freebie to celebrate?" Mickey slid her a shot of cheap whiskey.

Lazily she picked up the glass with her thumb and index finger, eying it disapprovingly. "You know that I'm not allowed to drink on the job, besides whiskey messes with my voice." She giggled and shot him a wink. In one slick motion, Mickey scooped up the glass and drank the amber liquid down. "You shouldn't be drinking on the job either, sweetheart." She teased.

"Yeah, but I get so much more clever when I drink." He quipped.

"Oh yeah?" Lyla raised an eyebrow at his claim.

"Oh most definitely, and you get cuter with every shot." He leaned on the bar, his elbows brushing the empty glass aside.

"You mean until your fifth and you pass out." She leaned in, the tip of her nose touching his.

"That's only when I drink alone, baby." He smiled, leaning in to plant a gentle kiss on her soft, ruby lips.

As the two finished their public display of affection, Lyla noticed something to her left. Out of the corner of her eye, she spotted an old, balding man. The way he was looking at her, she could tell he was transfixed on her cleavage, tracking them with her every breath . She looked up at Mickey who had noticed her admirer as well. Gently she placed her pale hand on his ever tightening fist. She looked deep into his pale green eyes, silently begging him to leave the old man alone. That was the one thing that she never could excuse about Mickey. Behind his boyish charm and good looks, he had a fiery temper that had a bad habit of landing him in trouble. Other than that he was so kind and caring when it came to her, she knew that deep down he was a good man, but that temper of his. It terrified her. Mickey's fist uncoiled, his knuckled going from white back to their usual pink color as the blood returned.

"Take you home after work baby?" He finally asked after a deathly silence.

"I'd love a ride, but not back to my place." She giggled again, planting another kiss on his lips.

"Alright, I'm closing up so it'll be pretty late before we leave. That alright with you?" He asked, a goofy smile replacing the scowl that was once there.

"Wouldn't have it any other way." She turned to return backstage. As she left she could feel his eyes glued to the movement of her swaying hips. As she passed the dozen or so tables between her and the door, she could feel eyes turning to look at her. She didn't even have to look anymore; she knew that they were staring at her. Every man, and even some of the women in the restaurant wanted her, and she loved it.

It was later that night and the restaurant had all but emptied out. As far as she knew the only people left were her, Mickey, Frank, and the bouncer: Hugo. Lazily, she traced circles of condensation on the hardwood bar, waiting for Mickey to finish up in the back. She had been waiting for Mickey to close up for an hour now, and the night was pushing three AM. With a sigh, she tiredly picked herself up from the bar stool and pushed her way past the big doors into the kitchen.

"Mickey! Hurry up! It's getting really late!" She whined as she stomped through the kitchen. Then she heard something, something unfamiliar. Wet packing sounds like someone punching raw hamburger and a man grunting. As she continued through the kitchen the sounds grew louder and louder until she found herself at the top of a stairway. Softly creeping down the steps she found herself in a basement lit only by a lightbulb dangling from a chain in the middle of the room. Cardboard boxes were stacked along the edges of the wall, making the place look like a gigantic, cardboard cell. In the room three figures stood. The man on the left was thin with a cigarette in his right hand, the man in the middle was the short but stocky, and the man on the right was a giant of a man at least seven feet. In front of the short man was a fourth, tied to a wooden chair his face swollen and bloody. As her eyes adjusted to the darkness she could make out the closely cropped red hair of- 'No.' She thought grimly, the man standing in the middle of the trio was none other than Mickey. His fists coiled in rage, he was in the process of delivering a powerful left hook to their prisoner's ribs.

Gruffly, he picked the man up by the collar, exposing his face to the light of the bare bulb. At first, his face had been so swollen that she couldn't tell who he was. However, now she could plainly make out those deep blue eyes that she had been staring at so long ago. "Listen you Dago-fuck, Mr. Liba is very upset. He's tasked me and my boys with getting some information from you. While I'd prefer not to be here all night, I'd have no problem keeping this up. Now, tell me. Where is Laszlo?" Mickey growled between gritted teeth.

Frank spat blood into Mickey's eye. "Go to hell potato face." His lips twisted into a crazed smile.

Mickey threw Frank to the ground, the chair landing on its back. Quickly, Mickey jumped onto his chest and began to pummel Frank's jaw with meteoric punches. "Where. Is. Laszlo?" He screamed between every punch.

The man to Mickey's right emerged out of the darkness and placed a hand on Mickey's shoulder. "Mick, calm down you're going to kill him." Lyla realized that the giant was the restaurant's bouncer Hugo, but she still couldn't make out the smoking man.

Mickey whirled around, his eyes wild with hate. "Do you want to try to get the info Hugo?" He snarled.

Hugo backed off, his hands raised in the air. "All I'm saying is if you keep on like this we won't have an informant for very long."

Frank laughed wildly into the air. "You're gonna have to kill me you carrot topped clown."

"Fuck you, Grease Ball." In a fit of rage, Mickey produced a revolver from his waistband.

For Lyla, the world seemed to slow down for a moment. Things became sharper, as if someone had taken a picture of this moment in time. She could smell the cold metal and gun oil as the barrel pressed against Frank's head. In the air she could taste the dust in the room, displaced by this foreign object. She saw Mickey's eyes go wide almost as if he felt some sick sort of glee from what he was about to do. She saw Hugo, vainly reaching out to rip the gun away from Mickey. She heard the click of the hammer as Mickey's thumb pulled it back. Then came the sound that shook Lyla back to reality. A brutal, mechanic eruption of the striking pin sending the bullet hurdling into Frank's head. Just like that, time sped back up to normal. Frank's blood splattered against Mickey, leaving little droplets running down his cheeks. Lyla could only cover her mouth to muffle her cries of terror. Tears streamed down her face as the sight of her boyfriend's crazed look played over and over again in her mind.

"What did you do?" Hugo questioned.

"He wasn't going to tell us anything anyway." Mickey tucked the gun back into his waistband. "Get the boys together, we're going to check all of his usual hiding spots. If it takes us all night, we'll find Laszlo and take care of him." He declared as he turned toward his compatriots. They began to file out of the room one after the other. Mickey spotted Lyla, crouched in the corner, frozen in fear. "Lyla?"

With that, Lyla bolted up the stairway, leaving her shoes behind her in the basement. She could hear Hugo behind her, his monstrous form struggling to keep up after her. Behind her she heard Mickey yell something but in her panic she couldn't make out what it was. Bursting through the kitchen doors she hurriedly grabbed Mickey's keys from the bar. Hugo followed closely behind her, sending some glassware flying in his chase. She kept running out into the alley where Mickey's bright red convertible was parked. She jumped inside as bounding footsteps of her pursuer drew closer and closer. Shakily she managed to get the keys in the ignition as Hugo jumped onto the hood of the car. Letting out a scream, she jammed her foot on the gas as Hugo's body went tumbling to the ground. The car's tires squealed as she turned onto the darkened streets before her and drove off into the night.

The car roared down the street, the smell of burning rubber filled the air around Lyla as the city whipped past her head. Ahead of her, a traffic light unexpectedly turned red. The car to her right lurched forward as she sped past him, just avoiding the nose of her car. Behind her, she could just make out what sounded like angry honking and shouts. Briefly she checked her review mirror, desperately searching for any sign of Mickey or Hugo. Narrowly, she avoided the white van in front of her before swerving out of the way. Something in her mind screamed. 'Take your foot off the gas Lyla or you'll get us killed!' Catching her breath, she managed to ease her foot off the gas pedal, the car slowing to fifty five. Slowly, she collected her thoughts as the panic faded away. The rhythmic beating of her own heart in her ears died down as she began to look around at her surroundings. She hadn't been driving for long, maybe twenty minutes but in that time she had covered a lot of ground. She was almost downtown, joining the rush of midnight workers, drunks, and ruffians that came out at this time of night.

'Alright think Lyla, where can you go?' She thought to herself, nervously searching for any sign of Mickey. 'I could go back home, ditch Mickey's car and take a bus out of town.' She began to perk up. 'Yeah, get out of town and never come back. Wait, Mickey's probably already looking for me there. The police! They can help me, they have to right?' Lyla was shaken out of her trance by the sudden stop of the blue sedan in front of her. Taking a deep breath, she drove herself to the police station.

The station had a sort of cold efficiency to the way it was designed. Obviously built for function rather than comfort. Steel chairs welded to the walls populated the waiting room, in one of them a junkie rambled absently to someone that wasn't there. Lyla noticed that his right hand had been cuffed to the arm rest of one of the chairs. The walls of the waiting room were a stark off white color, paint peeling off in long strips everywhere. At the far end of the room there was a metallic booth enclosed by a pane of bulletproof glass. To the left of the booth was a heavy wooden door that led into the station proper, behind its window of safety glass Lyla could see a dozen or so officers either at their desks or drinking coffee. In the booth, there sat a squat woman with dark hair tied back into a bun. She wore a navy blue beat cop's uniform, thick lensed glasses and was scratching something into her Sudoku book.

"Excuse me mam?" Lyla said meekly, looking over her shoulder at the junkie again. The officer gave no response. "Mam?" Lyla repeated. Once again, the officer didn't flinch, her pencil still hurriedly writing in numbers. "Mam?" Lyla called for the third time, now rapping her fingers on the Plexiglas.

Disparagingly, the officer looked up from her puzzle and slid it to the side. From the bags under her eyes and her sunny disposition, Lyla could tell that the officer was in no mood to hear her sob story. "May I help you?" She groaned, her glasses sliding down to the tip of her nose.

"I'd like to report a murder." Lyla shakily cried as the memories of Frank's murder came flooding back to her.

The officer was unimpressed, remaining unsympathetic and detached she slid out a form. "Can you please state your name and occupation?" Her voice was a sort of hoarse grunt, obviously ravaged by years of heavy smoking.

"My name is Lyla Winters, I'm a lounge singer at the Purple Dragon."

The officer's eyes went wide as dinner plates. Her thick rimmed glasses slid off the tip of her nose. She looked up from her paperwork she reached for the phone, never taking her eyes off of Lyla. "Detective Lowery? Would you please come up to the front desk? There's someone here to see you." She spoke into the receiver. "I know you're working on a case, yes I understand you're very busy. No it's not your wife. Alright then." The officer set down the phone. "He'll be right with you." She reported to Lyla. "Please take a seat." The officer gestured to the metallic benches behind Lyla.

"Thank you." Lyla took a seat in the nearly empty room, across from her the junkie's eyes shot around the room. All the while, he trembled and carried on with his conversation.

All of a sudden, his eyes snapped to Lyla. "The man, the man in the black suit." He chattered.

Lyla attempted to pay him no mind, instead paying very close attention to the yellow linoleum of the floor.

"The man in the black suit." He slurred between the three teeth he had. "He will come for you, he will come for winter." He babbled on again "He will come bearing darkness and pain." He shot up from his seat, his eyes intensely fixed on Lyla. "He's the one, he's the one they want!" He started shouting, taking two steps before his handcuffs halted his progress.

Lyla could hardly ignore him now. She looked up at the junkie, a safe eight feet away from her. She could now see the man clearly, his long brown hair was greasy and matted with an equally disgusting beard to match. He wore a ratty grey hoodie underneath a dark green military style jacket and a pair of ripped up jeans that seemed to be spattered with dark blood. Looking into his eyes, she noticed something off about them. Particularly their color.

The man's eyes were a deep shade of purple that almost seemed to glow beneath the incandescent lights. Lyla stared, transfixed by the man's eyes as they burrowed deep into her mind, penetrating her very soul. The irises almost seemed to shift colors with waves of indigo and lilac swirling against a backdrop of deep violet.

"He will come for you Winters, he is death, he is pestilence and famine. Beware of this man, do not trust his words. He will lie to you three times. He has stared into the abyss and seen the end of all humanity." The man bellowed at the top of his lungs, before collapsing on the bench.

The heavy door to Lyla's left opened, slamming against the wall. From the doorway, a man with dark hair and big dark eyes emerged. He wore a crumpled, grey suit, and a cornflower blue shirt with no tie. Coffee stains littered the shirt and from under his open grey jacket Lyla could see his shoulder holster. He looked disheveled; with dark, heavy bags hung under his brown eyes, he had a scruffy beard forming on his face, and his cheeks were gaunt. "Excuse me miss? I'm Detective Lowery; I heard you may have some information for me?" He asked, extending his right hand.

Lyla shook his hand. "Yes, I work at the Purple Dragon and-." She started.

"I'm sorry can I stop you right there?" Detective Lowery interrupted, striding back to the door behind him. "Will you please come with me? Please come into my office." He held the door for her as she stepped into the station.

Lyla followed Detective Lowery into a small office nestled in the back corner of the station. There were two chairs and a small wooden desk in the office, but you wouldn't know it at first glance. The office was covered in papers; dossiers, eye witness statements, and reports. One stack even stood taller than Lyla. The room was stuffy and smelled like mothballs and old coffee. In the corner a coffee maker stood surrounded by files on a local street gang. Lowery brushed off the papers littering the second chair into a nearby pile and motioned toward it with his hand.

"Please take a seat miss. Will you please tell me your name and what you saw?" Detective Lowery took his seat, a stack of papers on either side of him.

"My name is Lyla Winters. I work at the Purple Dragon as a lounge singer. Tonight, I was waiting for my boyfriend, Mickey, to take me home when-." Lyla choked up again, tears welling up in her eyes.
From his jacket pocket, Detective Lowery produced a white cotton hanky. "Please miss, if you could continue it would be most conducive to the case I've been working on." He stated bluntly.

Lyla wiped the tears away from her eyes, "Alright." She proceeded to tell Detective Lowery about the whole bloody affair, how she found them interrogating Frank, how Mickey was looking for someone named Laszlo, and how there were two other men with Mickey. "So why's everyone making such a big fuss about the Purple Dragon? It's just some shitty Chinese place."

"I'm afraid this matter goes much deeper than that Ms. Winters. Have you ever heard of the drug flux?" Detective Lowery lowered his voice as another officer passed by the office.

Lyla shook her head.

"Flux is a relatively new drug. It's said to give the user vivid hallucinations, heightened reflexes, metabolism, and dull pain. These are just a few known effects, but because it just hit the streets, there's no telling of all its capabilities." Detective Lowery informed.

"What does that have to do with the Purple Dragon?"

"We believe that the Purple Dragon is one of the main suppliers of flux, now you said that you were dating a man named Mickey Byrne is that correct?" Detective Lowery picked up a case file and examined it.

"That's right." Lyla was shocked, she hadn't told the detective Mickey's full name.

"Short guy? About five foot four? Bright orange hair? Really skinny? Has a bit of a temper?" He stated, never taking his eyes off of the file.

"Yes that's him. How did you know all that?" She questioned.

"Your boyfriend has connections to a local crime syndicate." He slid the file onto the table.

Lyla looked it over, the report stated that Mickey had been in and out of prison three times. Each time was for a different charge ranging from possession of a controlled substance to assault. She could hardly believe what she was reading, that the man that she'd known for two years, the man she loved, had hid this from her for so long. Tears welled up in her eyes once again.

"According to my informants, he's the primary dealer of flux on the eastern side of town. He's been running the stuff through the restaurant for months."

Lyla's tears hit the paper, smudging the ink. She didn't bother to wipe them away this time. "So what do you want from me?"

"I want you to help me catch Mickey, if we can use him to get to the higher ups we can take flux off the streets for good."

"I still don't see how I play into this."

"I need you, to help me lure him out. Presumably he's still hunting for you. He'll be at your apartment or maybe he's gotten in contact with your friends and family. I need to draw him away from the civilians and into police custody." He explained.

"So you're just going to use me…as bait?" Lyla was furious, she expected the police to protect her from Mickey. She thought that the detective was insane, that dangling her in front of a murderous psychopath like a worm was the craziest thing she'd ever heard.

"In a sense- "Lowery cast his eyes down in shame.

"There's absolutely no way I'm doing that, it's insane. He'd kill me." She protested.

"I didn't want to tell you this Miss Winters but the Union City Police Department isn't exactly the cleanest of our city's establishments." Lowery lowered his voice and head again as another pair of officers passed by. "This station in particular is crawling with corrupt cops. By this point Mickey's probably already alerted any of his goons he's got on the force and they know who you are. If you stay the night here you'll surely be killed." Lowery explained.

Lyla's eyes widened with fear. "Are you threatening me detective?" She shrilly asked.

"I'm simply trying to keep you safe, here at the station there'll be too many of them, they'll be too well armed. At least at your apartment we can easily escape. You have my word, I will never let them get you."

Lyla looked deep into Detective Lowery's deep, brown eyes. His eyes themselves almost pleaded with her, the way a dog did. Lyla couldn't help herself when she agreed to go along with the detective's plan.

In addition to his protection, Detective Lowery gave Lyla a fresh set of clothes. Unfortunately, all the station had was a t-shirt two sizes too big for her, a pair of grey sweatpants, and a black windbreaker. Lyla looked at herself in the mirror, finally realizing how disgustingly her mascara had smudged. Harshly, she scrubbed the mascara off, revealing her red puffy eyes underneath. She pulled her chestnut brown hair back into a pony tail. Emerging from the station's locker rooms, she was greeted by Detective Lowery.

Detective Lowery guided her to his car, a worn blue sedan that looked as if it'd seen better days. The rusted metal only offering the slightest of a threat for some of the paneling. Inside, the car smelled of cheap hamburgers and discarded coffee cups, the faux leather upholstery stained with spots of coffee. Lyla shut the heavy door with a creek, Detective Lowery reached over and turned on the radio. Some bad pop tune from the eighties blared at her, with a twinkling synthesizer assaulting her eardrums. She cringed at the music as the Detective turned down the music.

"What kind of music do you like?" Detective Lowery asked, adjusting the dials on his radio.

"I don't care, all kinds really." Lyla responded absently. At this point, she couldn't care less what music they listened to. Lowery's voice faded away as he searched through his presets for something interesting. Her mind was a thousand miles away as the bright lights of the city streaked by her window. Buildings and signs became multi-colored blurs that seemed to disappear in an instant. It hadn't hit her until now, but all she could think about was how Mickey had lied to her. She wondered if any of it was real, if he really loved her or if that was all an act to make it appear as if he was just a normal bartender. If the late night conversations had all been a lie. If every time he wrapped his arms around her and kissed her if he'd really meant it. If he'd been able to keep that side of his life a secret, what else was he hiding?

"Miss Winters? Miss Winters? We're here." Detective Lowery called to her, shaking her out of her thoughts.

It immediately became apparent to Lyla that the car had stopped moving. The grim reality of her apartment complex replacing the grim fantasies in her mind. Lyla's apartment had never been the best. Originally she was only living here temporarily until she got a better job at another club. However, since meeting Mickey they had toyed with the idea of moving in with each other. Since then, she'd felt content to stay in the same decrepit building that she'd always been in. The first floor lobby was decorated with a dark green carpet that had since crusted over with every bodily fluid known to man. The walls were this off shade of greenish-yellow from two decades ago that had since been subjected to all manner of mold and fungus known to man. As she walked through the filthy glass door, the mixture of piss, cabbage, and cigarette smoke assaulted her nose as she walked through the door. At the counter, her landlord sat smoking at his TV screen a news reporter bleating away about the ever rising murder statistics.

"Evening Mr. Giannopoulos." Lyla chimed as she began to climb the wooden stairs to her apartment.

"Morning." Mr. Giannopoulos grunted, never taking his eyes off the glowing screen.

As the two of them made their way to Lyla's apartment at the end of the hallway. Detective Lowery drew his gun and walked ahead of Lyla.

"No sign of a break in, but I'm going to go in first to make sure the coast is clear." Lowery turned the knob slowly, the door barely moving on rusted hinges.

Lyla's apartment was pitch black, she always liked to keep her curtains drawn since she caught the boys across the street peeking at her. The heavy crimson curtains kept out the light and any unwanted viewers. It wasn't anything special a narrow hallway let out into her dining room and kitchen while a side passage to her right opened to her sitting room. Beyond the kitchen was her miniscule bedroom and somehow even smaller bathroom. It wasn't much but it was home. Right now it was looking more and more menacing as Lyla followed Detective Lowery into her apartment. Lowery raised his hand, halting Lyla's progress before he disappeared into her kitchen. The lights flew on in Lyla's dining room, illuminating the aging flower wallpaper.

"Come in Miss Winters, it's quite safe." Detective Lowery assured from behind her wall.

Lyla stepped tentatively, expecting someone or something to pop out from the shadows. She found Lowery pouring himself a glass of milk, the refrigerator door propped open with his foot.

"I hope you don't mind, milk calms my kids down so I thought you'd like some." Lowery offered her the glass.

"Thanks." She sipped at it, now noticing the golden band on his left ring finger. "How long have you been married Detective?" She inquired.

He reached into his back pocket producing a wallet containing a series of pictures of his family. "Seven years, my eldest is five and my youngest is three." Lowery handed over the wallet.

Lyla took the wallet, the picture was of Detective Lowery. It was a family photo, Lowery was standing next to who Lyla assumed to be his wife. Two girls stood in front of them, wearing bright pink dresses. The girls had his big brown eyes but bright blonde hair. He had his arm around a stout woman with matching blonde hair pulled into a bun. "Your wife is very beautiful." Lyla handed back the wallet.

"Yeah, that's my Krista. She's-." The chime of Lowery's cell phone cut in. "Excuse me." Lowery drew a small grey brick out of his jacket pocket and held the receiver to his ear. "Yes sir, yes sir, I understand sir." Lowery put away his phone. From his shoulder holster, produced his menacing nickel plated handgun. Lazily he aimed it at Lyla.

Lyla dropped her milk, the glass shattering into a thousand pieces on the hardwood floor. "Detective? What are you doing?" She cried fearfully.

"I'm sure you're unaware, but there's a bounty on your head. My employer, Mr. Liba, just told me to disregard Mickey's instructions to keep you alive. Now he may be a little miffed at me, but I'd rather him than Mr. Liba. Sorry Miss, it's just business." He straightened his arm, leveling the handgun so the barrel was just in front of her nose when an unfamiliar sound breached the silence. There was a brief hiss of air, and Lowery had a puddle of blood forming on his shirt. Two more shots followed and Lowery dropped to the ground. Horrified, Lyla's eyes went wide as Lowery slumped first to his knees and then to the floor, the pool of blood slowly spreading across the polished oak. Lyla noticed three holes in the vinyl divider that served as her door. Smoke emanated from them as she stared vainly at her darkened room. With a rattle, whoever was in her room moved the paneling aside. In the darkness, she could now make out what appeared to be little flecks of glowing purple. Her apparent savior stepped out from the shadows revealing himself.

In this light Lyla could actually make out what this man looked like. He wore a finely tailored black suit with a white shirt and black tie. His hair was slicked to the right, and an almost orange shade of dirty blonde. His eyes were amber with what appeared to be flecks of purple in them. His face was chiseled, with a little scar on the top of his lip. In his left hand he held a pistol with a silencer attached to the barrel. In his right arm, he cradled Lyla's cat Percy.

It was then that Lyla noticed Detective Lowery's backup pistol, nestled in a holster in the small of his back. In a panic she scrambled for the gun.

"Ah, ah, ah." He scolded, leveling his gun at her head. "Can't have you shooting me. I need you alive."

"Who are you?" Lyla asked, her hands raised palms up.

"My name is Laszlo." He scratched Percy with his left index finger, the cat letting out a purr. "And I need your help."

"What do you mean? What do you want with me?" Lyla, rose to her feet palms still facing the stranger.

"I need you to help me find Mickey, I know he killed Frank and I intend to use you-." Laszlo couldn't finish his sentence as something broke the window and shattered Lyla's lamp.

"Get down!" Laszlo called to her, dropping her cat to the ground.

Lyla dropped to her stomach. Looking behind her, she could see that something had made a small round hole in the window. Another shot followed, destroying the window and ricocheting off of her refrigerator. Laszlo motioned to Lyla to stay down as bullets decimated her apartment. Above her, a light exploded in a shower of sparks and glass. The sniper fired blindly into the apartment, his vision impaired by Lyla's drapes. For a moment, the shots stopped. The shrill sound of shattering glass replaced by an ominous calm. Lyla reached up to her ear, she felt something wet. Blood, she guessed. A wayward piece of glass must have given her what felt like a nasty cut.

Laszlo looked up at Lyla. "He's out of bullets, but if it's who I think it is he'll try a direct assault. Are you hurt?" Laszlo asked.

"I got a cut on my ear, but I don't think it's anything serious." Lyla replied from across the room.

"Good, because things are going to get scary. Stay down, I'm going to try to ambush him." Laszlo crept behind the wall, his knees bent so that his head was below the windows. He checked his pistol, chambering a round before turning his attention to the door down the hall.

The door groaned as their attacker opened it. However instead of a man coming down the hallway, a small metallic object bounced toward them. Laszlo tried to cover his eyes before the flash bang went off, but it was too late. Blindly, he fired down three shots down the hallway attempting to hit anything. Unfortunately all he succeeded in was obliterating Lyla's photographs hanging on the wall.

Lyla had managed to look up only to see Laszlo. His arm wrapped around his eyes, clearly in pain. Lyla took this opportunity to grab Lowery's backup pistol and dash into her room. In there, she could see her cat Percy, hiding under the bed his green eyes glowing at her in the darkness. Beyond the vinyl panel she could hear the attacker rush down the hall and into the kitchen.

The attacker grabbed Laszlo by the throat, and slammed him against a window. Over and over he threw Laszlo against the wall. In the struggle Laszlo's pistol clattered to the ground.

"You won't be needing this." His attacker exclaimed, daintily picking up the gun and casually tossing it out the window.

Blood ran down Laszlo's face as he struggled to confront his attacker. He launched into a furious barrage of sloppy punches. A wild left hook followed by a clumsy right jab connected with the attacker's jaw. Only succeeding in making the attacker mad. In his rage, his opponent dodged Laszlo's attempt at a haymaker, grabbing onto his right wrist and forearm. The attacker slammed Laszlo's back against the window, his torso and arms just dangling out in the open air.

"Mr. Liba was very specific that he wanted you alive Laszlo." His stun gun crackled as he drew it from his pocket. "He never said that we couldn't rough you up."

Sadistically, he drove the stun gun into Laszlo's ribs as ten million volts coursed through Laszlo's body. He let out a horrible agonizing scream as the electricity practically cooked his skin. Lyla considered letting them take Laszlo, she thought that this whole horrible night would be over if they just had him. Mickey would gladly take her back, she could forget everything that she had seen. If he was dead, she and Mickey would move in together and live happily ever after. She then looked to the gun in her hand, realizing then what she had to do. Forcefully, she threw back the vinyl paneling and raised the gun. Over the screams, the attacker didn't notice her behind him until it was too late. The gun erupted in a thunderous noise and a flash of lightning. The muzzle flash from the gun briefly illuminated the room in an orange and white flame. The last thing their attacker saw was the bullet traveling at inhuman speeds towards him before piercing his lips, shattering his teeth and ripping through the back of his jaw. In a panicked state, Lyla continued to fire the gun until the slide locked back and smoke poured from the barrel. Limply dropping the gun, she dropped to her knees, tears rolling down her flushed cheeks. She could hardly believe what she had done. She was no better than Mickey now, a killer, a monster.

Laszlo groaned as he got back on his feet. "We have to get out of here, someone's bound to have called the cops." He explained, grabbing onto Lyla's hand. Walking down the hall, Laszlo handed her a white cotton handkerchief. "Wipe those tears from your eyes, we can't arouse suspicion." He instructed coldly.

Lyla followed him down the stairs to find her landlord, still smoking away at his TV like nothing had happened.

"Goodbye Mr. Giannopoulos." She tried to appear cheery.

"Meh." He grunted before a coughing spell overtook him. His cigarette fell to the ground as he hacked at no one.

Lyla followed Laszlo to his car. He had stashed it in a back alley, tucked away from street view. He drove an expensive black muscle car from the mid-seventies. The car was in mint condition, a great contrast to Lowery's vehicle. Laszlo limped right behind her, obviously still reeling in pain from his fight. Under the street lights, Lyla could see now that he'd received a grotesque cut across his forehead and it was beginning to bleed profusely again. Both of them climbed into the vehicle, Laszlo's breathing becoming more shallow and labored. Laszlo reached across her to retrieve something from the glove box. He produced a small pneumatic needle, with a small glass tube full of glowing purple fluid.

"Is that…flux?" She inquired cautiously.

Laszlo jabbed the needle in its neck, the contents disappearing with a soft hiss. "How do you know about flux?" He questioned in pain, placing the needle back in the glove box.

"That detective, he said that's why Frank was killed. That it had something to do with flux." The car started with a monstrous roar underneath Lyla.

Laszlo's car squealed as he turned onto the street at great speed. "No, this doesn't have to do with flux. Personally I think flux is disgusting, but it dulls my pain and makes me faster. Right now I need every edge I can get." Laszlo headed for an exit to their right, traveling down into the Under-City.

"Where are we going?" Lyla questioned, becoming increasingly concerned for her own safety. She had heard stories about the Under-City, it was a haven for pimps, organ harvesters, and squatters. These days, not even the police would go down into the Under-City. Anyone down there was left to their own devices, forming small gangs that more or less kept the peace. The biggest of these was a vicious band a killers known as The Reapers. Brutal savages that were notorious for beheading people and displaying their heads outside Reaper strongholds. The news media reported on the ever rising beheadings every night before bed. Lyla tried to pay them no mind, but they broadcasted the statistics constantly.

"They're going to keep coming after us as long as we're on their turf, we need to get some supplies. If we're going to go after Mr. Liba I'm going to need more firepower." Laszlo's car kept going down and down as the orange lights of the tunnel surrounded them, bathing Laszlo in their light.

"More firepower? What happened to your gun?" She blurted.

"It fell out a window." He shamefully admitted.

"It fell out a window?" She repeated in disbelief.

"Is there an echo?" The car emerged into the Under-City proper. A cluttered collection of ramshackle highrises and half destroyed brick buildings, most of them now without roofs.

"How did you lose your gun?" She shrilly scolded.

"I lost it in the fight, alright? Now can we please drop it?" Laszlo snarled through gritted teeth.

Lyla turned her head, she was fed up with the mysterious man in the black suit that had kidnapped her from her world of relative luxury and warmth. She knew that her life hadn't been perfect but it had a familiarity to it that she'd grown accustomed to. Out her window, she saw four youths gathered around a fire. From the looks of them, they hadn't eaten in days, one of them looking to be on the verge of death. They were dressed in heavy layers of nearly shredded clothing, mostly discarded and soiled hoodies that looked to be older than they were. Lyla had never been down here before, even though she'd spent most of her adult life in Union City. She always thought that the city streets above were bad, but down here it was like a third world country. Anyone that was still living in a non-dilapidated building had installed iron bars and barbed wire over their doors. Anyone not so lucky was forced out on the street, fighting for whatever scrap of land they could hold onto. They looked sickly, their cheeks were sullen and their complexions were pale. Their eyes downcast and downtrodden at their station in life. The car passed a group of young men walking along the side walk. They seemed different from the others, healthy; strong; confident. Lyla identified them by their distinctive red hoodies right away, Reapers. There were six of them in total, each of them armed. Some had chains or bats or pipes, but it was the man heading up the rear of the pack that Lyla paid attention to. Loosely cradled in his arms was a mean looking pump action shotgun. He stood a head taller than the other boys and suspiciously eyed his surroundings, ready to strike. Even though towered over his compatriots, she could see that he was still fairly young. By her guess, the boy was in his late teens given his round, acne marked cheeks. His eyes though carried with them a sadness and pain that no youth should ever display. Her mind floated away to who that boy was, where he came from, and what he was planning to do with that shotgun. She imagined him, faced with the impossible decision of having to kill someone. Would he hesitate to pull the trigger?

"Lyla. We're here." Laszlo reported flatly as the pulled up to a red brick building.

The building was an old style fire trap straight out of the 40s. A stout sort of building that had not yet succumb to the ravages of time that had claimed so many of its neighbors. Laszlo stepped out of the car and walked towards the building, all the while keeping a lookout for more Reapers. He descended down the concrete steps to a heavy wooden door. It had been repaired numerous times, patches of scrap lumber were placed haphazardly wherever the door had been damaged. Lyla could see that someone had tried to paint the door red, but since then the paint had peeled off in large chunks. Above her head, a green neon sign flashed. The neon sign read 'Dr. Teeth's Wax Emporium', but Lyla doubted that anyone in this neighborhood had a medical degree. Laszlo cautiously knocked on the door, his eyes still darting about as if they were going to be attacked.

"What's the password?" A muffled voice called from the other side of the door.

"Shit." Laszlo swore under his breath. "Uh…skullduggery?" Laszlo guessed, his voice full of uncertainty.

A gigantic hole burst out from the door in a shower of splinters, sending woodchips flying everywhere. Laszlo wrapped his arm around Lyla, pulling her to the ground with him.

"Goddamn it Floyd, it's me Laszlo!" He shouted at the door.

"Laszlo? Oh Laszlo! Hang on man, I'll let you in." A series of clicks and mechanical snaps followed as Floyd unlocked his door. Climbing to his feet, Laszlo kept his eyes trained on the door and waited for Floyd to emerge.

Out from the doorway stepped a man who appeared to be in his late twenties with dark hair and beady eyes. He wore a red Hawaiian shirt covered in yellow flowers, a pair of cargo shorts, and flip flops. In his left hand he carried a bowl of cereal, the milk spilling over the bowl. While in his right hand was the biggest revolver Lyla had ever seen. His dark hair was drawn back into a ponytail, showing off his receding hairline. His beady eyes glared around, searching for Laszlo. He eventually looked down at the two, still cowering for their lives.

"What're you doing down there man?" He asked absent mindedly, tucking the gun into his armpit so he could continue with his bowl of cereal.

"Trying not to get shot by you. You Pinko commie Psychopath." Laszlo growled as he pushed himself up from the dirt.

Floyd munched on his cereal, pondering Laszlo's statement. "Fair enough. Sorry about that man, I just hacked my way into ATLAS Corp's private e-mails and I thought you were a corporate stooge." He took another bite of his cereal, his attention drawn to the sound of a nearby cat.

"No harm, no foul. For now." Laszlo grumbled, brushing gravel off his suit. He offered his hand to Lyla as she got up from her prone position, still wary of the man before her.

"Well come on inside amigo, mi casa es su casa." He giggled stepping back inside.

As Lyla stepped into Floyd's apartment the smell of bad weed and molding pepperoni hit her like a truck. Inside, the room was lit primarily by several black lights scattered around the room, making the vivid posters on the walls come to life. To her left, there was a wall of televisions. Each tuned into a different news station with a different talking head jabbering away. To her right was an overstuffed couch that looked like it had been covered in every substance from mustard to vomit. Beside the couch was a stack of pizza boxes three feet high, the latest box covered in a thin layer of green mold. Before her was a bedroom, the door had been since removed and replaced by a series of beads that all glowed in the light.

"So, Laszlo I'm gonna guess that this isn't a social call." Floyd placed the gun on a nightstand next to the front door.

"Unfortunately no, I'm in a bit of a bind and I need some artillery." Laszlo answered, stepping over a half-eaten burrito.

"By all means, please step into my office mon frere. If you don't mind my asking, who's the babe?" He whispered.

"The babe has a name." Lyla interjected angrily.

Laszlo coughed embarrassedly, his face turning red. "Floyd this is Lyla. She's…a friend."

Floyd eagerly pushed his way past Laszlo. "Any friend of Laszlo is an acquaintance of mine." He quickly stuck his hand out at Lyla. "I am Floyd Welch, but you may know me by my internet handle Drexl." He beamed at sharing this revelation.

Lyla could hardly giggle at the pure absurdity of that name. 'Drexl? What kind of name is that?' She thought to herself, managing to nod in awe.

"That's right, I'm the daring cyber justice warrior that fights for the rights of the people. Currently, I've banded with some other digital rebels to find something on ATLAS Corp." He boasted, waving his arms wildly.

"What he means is that he spends all day on his computer, trying to prove that ATLAS is building a secret army of human robot hybrids." Laszlo quipped back.

"Cyborgs man! Cyborgs! They're coming for us, I can show you data and records of people going missing and ATLAS's jack-booted thugs being seen driving away from the scene. I'm telling you man there's gonna come a day when they come for us too, and you'll be sorry you didn't listen to me then." Floyd jabbed his milk covered spoon into Laszlo's black jacket.

Laszlo looked down at the cream running down his cashmere jacket and glowered at Floyd. Lyla could tell that Laszlo was fighting the urge to jab that spoon into Floyd's eye, his eyes were dark and his hand curled into a fist.

Laszlo took a deep breath in, pushing down his urge to gut the arms dealer. "Right, whatever you say man. Now, how about that gun?" He managed to fake a smile.

Flyod enthusiastically clapped his hands together. "Absolutely!" He piped up. "Shall we retire to my stock room?" He parted the beads with his left hand, inviting them into the bedroom.

Multicolored beads clacked rhythmically as Lyla stepped into the room. The wall to her left was covered with pictures and newspaper articles all connected with red string. Lyla looked them over carefully, squinting to make out their headlines. MYSTERIOUS BUS CRASH KILLS TWELVE one read, this was connected to a blurry photograph of a dark object moving between two buildings. It was obvious that Floyd had devoted an unhealthy amount of his life to this horrifying wall of obsession.

"Pretty impressive right? I'm so close to exposing ATLAS I can taste it, but enough about that time to get down to business."

Floyd directed her attention to the wall behind her. Distracted by the sheer madness of Floyd's conspiracy wall that she had hardly noticed the terrifying number of guns in the room. A veritable arsenal of weapons all hung on a pegboard mounted to the wall. Everything from small caliber derringers to fully automatic machine guns hung in various places.

"So Laszlo what'd you have in mind?" Floyd had since turned his attention to the teapot.

"You remember that one gun you always tried to sell me? The one that I always said was completely impractical?" Laszlo lazily looked over the weapons on the wall, picking up a semi-automatic handgun and checking the chamber.

"Oh the Little Russian? I think I've still got her, but this short notice shit's gonna cost you." Floyd began to pour the tea into three matching cups.

"That's alright I've got cash." Laszlo pulled out his wallet, retrieving what looked like thousands of dollars in cash.

Eyeing the cash, Floyd retrieved the Little Russian from under his bed. It turned out to be a Kalashnikov assault rifle with a grenade launcher mounted underneath the barrel. Carefully handling the weapon as if it were a child he handed it to Laszlo.

Laszlo held the gun up to the light, examining it closely. "Yeah this'll do nicely. Do you have grenades for the launcher?" He asked checking the magazine.

"At the moment only four, I wish you would've called a couple days ahead of time I could've gotten more by now." Floyd handed Laszlo a teacup and sat on the floor.

Setting the gun aside, he joined Floyd on the floor. "That'll be more than enough. I'll also need another sidearm, preferably a nine-millimeter and at least fifty rounds of ammo." Laszlo stated, smoothing out his tie.

"Man, you must've pissed off the wrong people bruddah. Far be it from me to be advising you on life decisions." Floyd chuckled. "Would you like to join us in a post-sale drink Sweetheart?" Floyd offered Lyla the last teacup and patted the floor next to him.

Tentatively, Lyla sat across from Laszlo staring deeply into his amber eyes. Lyla stared down at the small ceramic cup in her hands, the heat of the tea burning her fingertips.

"To health and bad decisions." Floyd toasted, raising his cup into the air.

Each of them drank the tea down in one gulp, the warm liquid situating itself in Lyla's stomach. Moments later, her head began to feel heavy and the room began to spin. The blacklight posters began to spring to life as demons and monsters jumped out at her. Her head snapped to Floyd who had begun laughing manically. His face swirled and twisted into vivid and ungodly shapes as time sped up and slowed down again. Frantically she looked to Laszlo for guidance.

"Lyla, everything's going to be ok. The tea may be a little strong for your first time but you have to remember to keep breathing." His voice was soothing, as if a cello had sprung to life and its baritone notes began to form words.

Lyla kept her eyes fixated on him as he remained the only fixed point of sanity in the room. His amber eyes glowed at her from the darkness, the purple specks more vibrant than ever. Floyd's apartment crumbled away, revealing an infinite void of stars all spiraling into one heavenly light. All that remained was her and Laszlo floating forever in the gaping maw of the universe. Laszlo's tongue snaked out of his mouth, curling itself around his head before scratching his eyebrow.

"Are you alright?" He inquired, his voice booming and echoing as if he was a thousand miles away.

Then, darkness.

Lyla awoke much later, blinking at the darkness surrounding her she sat up slowly. Keeping herself stable with her hands, she felt the mattress underneath her. Looking down she found that her sweatshirt had been covered in vomit and she was sweating profusely. Her eyes were blurry as the once sharp black light posters were merely brightly colored splotches on the walls now. Her head still spun as she struggled to not fall back onto the mattress. To her right she heard the clacking of beads and the sound of hard shoes on carpet.

"It's alright Lyla. It's going to be alright." A shadowy figure knelt beside her, pressing a cold washcloth against her forehead. The low, honeyed tones of his voice gave him away instantly. Everything around her was a haze, but she knew it was Laszlo.

"What's going on?" She called out in a panic, both of her hands reaching out for him.

He shushed her gently. "Everything's going to be alright, your sight should return momentarily. The tea's a homebrewed remedy that Floyd cooked up. In small doses it helps you control your fear, keeps you calm under fire. He says the Germans used to give it to their pilots during The War." Laszlo prattled on.

"Is she going to be ok?" Floyd's nasally voice cut in. His lips smacking as he chewed on Fruity Pops cereal.

"She's going to be alright. She's recovering now." He turned to Floyd, obviously annoyed by his presence.

"How long was I out?" She asked.

"About fourteen hours." Floyd stabbed at his cereal once more.

Lyla's vision began to return. She could now make out Laszlo's deep amber eyes and facial scars.

"They were talking about you on the news, said you killed a cop. Badass." Floyd chuckled, sending a red Fruity Pop flying.

"How are you feeling Lyla?" Laszlo asked, still dabbing the washcloth on her forehead.

"Like someone hit me with a truck." She groaned, rubbing her temple.

Laszlo pushed a glass of water into her hand. "Here drink this, it'll help." She took it graciously, taking little sips of the cool liquid. "Now I know that you haven't been up for very long, but I need you to call Mickey." He admitted shamefully. She nearly choked at this revelation, coughing violently at the prospect of calling her ex-boyfriend again. "I need you to invite him to a public place so I can isolate him and interrogate him." He sighed. "I have to find out who ordered the hit on Frank, if you can get him out in the open we can end this." He pleaded.

"There's no way I'm going to call him, he'll kill me. Why I just call him and stay here where it's safe?" She cried.

"He has to see you in the diner, if he suspects a trap he won't enter and I won't be able to interrogate him. I'll be just across the street, ready to strike at a moment's notice. After you order your food, go to the bathroom. That's when I'll make my move." He claimed.

She sighed, pondering the situation over. "I want a gun." She said determinedly.

"What?" He chuckled, caught off guard by her demand.

"If I'm going to be that close to Mickey, I don't want to take any chances. I want a gun." She repeated, her voice full of dread.

Laszlo reached down into what appeared to be his sock. There was a soft clicking sound, and he produced a silver pistol from his ankle holster. "This, is a family heirloom. So if you lose it, I'll never talk to you again." He joked, showing her the weapon. Laszlo pressed the release and the gun barrels opened, showing off the four rounds in the chamber. "This is a derringer. It's compact and easily concealable. So you should be able to hide it even in that ridiculous outfit." He mocked. It's a three fifty seven magnum, so that should be enough to stop anything coming at you. Each barrel is one shot, don't point it at anything you don't want to kill." Laszlo instructed.

She took the weapon from him. Despite it being so small the gun had some heft to it which surprised Lyla. She examined the weapon curiously, keeping her finger off the trigger. The gun itself had delicately inscribed designs running up and down the gun. She tucked the gun into her sweatpants pocket, the metal object nestling itself in a corner.

"Now, will you please call Mickey?" Laszlo pleaded, producing a cell phone from his jacket pocket.

Lyla took a deep breath in, steeling herself for the task ahead. Valiantly, she took the phone and dialed his number.

Lyla stared down at the cup of steaming, black coffee in front of her. The smell of French fries and hamburgers wafted past her nose. Dishes clattered around her, as a busboy hurriedly gathered up the remnants of the last patron's meal. Absently, she thought about getting something to eat. It'd been eight hours since she'd had anything and her dizziness was getting to her. That's when a little voice in the back of her mind told her to keep focused at the task at hand. Any minute from now, Mickey would walk through that door. She settled into the red leather seat of her booth, trying to forget the gun in her pocket. Rain pelted the window to her left, leaving little droplets of condensation running down the glass. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see what appeared to be an overweight man in a trench coat hurriedly splashing through the puddles forming on the sidewalk. In a flash of lightning, Lyla could swear that she saw a revolver clutched in his right hand. However, she dismissed it to nerves and returned to her coffee. Suspiciously, she peered around the Fifties style diner, the fluorescent lights reflecting off of the checker tile floor and red leather booths. Her eyes gravitated to a dark haired teen in the next booth over. He was a scrawny kid of no more than seventeen, his arms all bone. Currently, his pimply face was hidden behind three inch thick glasses and an issue of BlüdGore. His left hand was absently reaching into a basket of ketchup drenched fries, slowly feeding them into his mouth. In the booth before her sat a sobbing woman, picking at a piece of cherry pie ala mode. Her too red hair occasionally dipping into the melting plate of cream before her.

"Is there anything else I can get you, dearie?" The waitress' nasally voice cut into Lyla's thoughts, causing her to jump.

"No thank you, I'm still waiting on my friend." She lied through grinning teeth.

"Alright, sugar. You just let me know if there's anything I can do for you." She marched away, her heels clacking against the checkered floor.

The copper bells above the front door jingled vibrantly, startling Lyla. She spotted him, his slim figure barely filling the doorway. He looked ragged, with dark bags under his eyes and his once well-groomed red hair looking greasy. Exhaustedly, he slumped into the seat before Lyla. He had changed clothes since the restaurant, he now wore a pair of dark jeans, a white t shirt, and canvas jacket. For a minute, she forgot that he was a murderer and could only focus on the way that his shirt clung to his pectoral muscles. She was awash with warm feeling and rose colored memories. She remembered long nights when the two of them would just lie in bed and talk, the way he would whisper 'I love you' when he thought she was asleep.

Desperately, he took her hands in his. "Baby are you alright?"

"I'm fine, I just what this horrible night to end." She cried desperately, almost believing her own lie.

"I'm so sorry baby. I never meant for things to get out of control like this. I swear if that psychopath touched you." He squeezed her hands in anger, his blood beginning to boil.

Lyla wrenched her hands back. "Wait, I never mentioned anyone else." She claimed suspiciously.

Mickey sighed, running his hand through his hair. "Alright baby, cards on the table. We know that you've been running around with Laszlo all night."

Lyla's stomach sank in fear, her eyes widening. "What?" She nearly screamed.

"We figured that he's nearby, so my boys are ready to take him out when he strikes. What I need you to do is signal him, and then get down. There's a good chance things'll get hairy." Mickey explained.

"I need some answers, I don't understand. Why is everyone hunting Laszlo?" She asked, putting on her best begging face.

"I only know what my boss has told me, that this guy's dangerous. For some reason he wants him alive, and he wants him as soon as possible." Mickey withdrew his revolver from his waistband, the same gun he'd used on Frank. "Come on baby, we've got this in the bag. He comes in, I shoot him in the leg and we all go home happy." Mickey reassured.

Briefly, she considered it. If Laszlo was dead, she could forget this night ever happened. She knew that she could never go back to loving Mickey, but if she was lucky they'd kill each other in the ensuing fight. "Alright, when I go to the bathroom he's going to come across the street from that alleyway into the diner. He's expecting you to be alone." She got up slowly, making her way into the restroom. The bathroom was nothing special. White and pink checker tile decorated the walls, with pictures of old cigarette and coke ads breaking up the pattern. Lyla slumped against the wall, drawing her gun from her sweatpants pocket. She checked the chamber again, staring at the bullets in awe. That's when she heard the bells jingle above the door, the blood rushed to her ears and for a moment all she could hear was the deafening sound of her own heartbeat. The gun felt heavy in her hand, any minute now she expected the violence to begin. She expected the blood to flow like wine, with brain matter and viscera decorating the walls of the tiny café. However, for what felt like years there was nothing. The sounds of the restaurant bustled through the door, muffled and muted through the layers of drywall and tile. Then she heard it, the bells jingling once more followed by the blood curdling scream of a waitress.

That's when she heard it, a low thunderous noise as if a cannon had gone off. A blast from a shotgun. Then, it was absolute chaos. Lyla could only clutch her pistol tightly in fear as gunshots riddled the air. An automatic weapon responded to the shotgun blast, with the screams of its wielder drowning in the noise. A tremendous cacophony of destruction raged around her. Buckshot burst through the bathroom door, sending long splintery shards rained around her. In desperation, she dived to the tile floor below. The monochrome tile felt cold against her skin as she shut her eyes tightly and wished herself away from this place. Her mind retreated inward, taking her to the place that she always felt safest.

She was in her bed, safe and warm at home. Enveloped in her pink satin sheets, she could feel her cat, Percy, lying at the foot of her bed. She rolled over to see him. His normally over gelled hair was sticking out at all angles, and his eyes were barely open but Lyla knew it was him. His skin was uncharacteristically tan and seemed to have a heavenly glow. As he awoke, his pale green eyes fluttered open. A warm smile spread across his face, and Lyla could feel her heartbeat begin to pound.

"Good morning, beautiful." He whispered, planting a kiss on her nose.

"I love-." She tried to respond when a banging on the door shook her from the dream.

"Lyla! Open up! We have to go now!" Laszlo's muffled voice bled through the eviscerated door.

In shock, she picked herself up from the floor as dust and chunks of tile fell from her shoulders. Carefully, she leveled the silver gun at the door. Tentatively pushing the door to make sure Laszlo was alone. There he stood, covered in dust and glass his gun barely being held by his right hand. His left hand was buried under his suit jacket. On further inspection, Lyla could see the blood dripping down from the right side of his abdomen, staining the cuff of his shirt sleeve.

"Oh my god what happened to you?" She questioned in a panic.

"It's nothing, a through and through at best. Now come on, we gotta get out of here before more of them show up." He waved at her with his gun, motioning for her to follow him.

She stepped out into the diner to reveal the gruesome scene that had taken place. Blood and viscera painted the walls, the once simple diner transformed into an urban battleground. The grey haired waitress lied in a pool of her own fluids, a bullet hole decorating her once friendly face. The black haired teen's comic book had been destroyed by a round of buckshot. Looking beyond the piece of wood pulp, Lyla could see that the shot had hit him as well. Turning his once pimply and greasy face into a Jackson Pollock painting. Lyla stepped carefully over the pools of blood at her feet. She could taste the iron in the air as she walked past the blood sprayed, advertisements. Besides the wait staff and customers the bodies of four more men littered the dining room, each still clutched onto their firearms as if they would save them from eternal damnation. As Lyla was distracted by the carnage around her, something grabbed onto her ankle. Lyla turned, trying to wretch her foot free from her captor. She looked down to reveal an impossibly monstrous arm jutting from behind the counter. Sprawled out on the floor her old friend, Hugo, was practically drowning in a puddle of his own blood . He had wrapped his meaty hands onto her, digging his sausage like fingers into her Achilles tendon. Clutching onto her for dear life, there was a pain in his eyes that Lyla could not identify. As if he wasn't so much afraid of dying, as dying alone.

"Lyla, please. You have to help me." He begged. "Please, you have to get me to a hospital. Please, I don't want to die."

The squeal of sirens drew Lyla's attention away from Hugo. Just long enough for her to hear him draw his pistol. The black pistol was shimmered in the light, soaked in Hugo's crimson blood. The weapon looked like a toy in Hugo's meaty hand as he tried to level the pistol at Lyla's abdomen. Lyla barely knew what was happening, in an instant it seemed as if she was outside of her body all together. Time seemed to move in slow motion and the world around her became a blur of light. She could feel her arm raise up, almost mechanically. As if this was all just muscle memory and she had done it a thousand times before. She saw the first bullet pierce through Hugo's forehead, his face frozen in shock. She felt nothing but the recoil of the last three shots as Hugo's face was reduced to a bloody mash. Lyla awoke from her trance, shrinking back from the ghastly scene that had once been her co-worker. Laszlo wrapped his arms around her as sirens whined in the distance.

"Lyla, we have to get out of here." He winced.

Lyla followed him onto the city streets. The rain continued to fall in sheets, casting a thick fog in every direction. Laszlo had stashed the car in a nearby alleyway. "I'll drive." She spoke breaking the silence.

"What?" Laszlo gasped, briefly looking at his blood soaked hand.

"You can barely walk, much less drive. What're you going to do? Bleed all over the steering wheel?" She argued.

The screech of tires down the road, cut off Laszlo's further argument. In a grunt of pain he tossed Lyla the keys. "I hope I don't live to regret this." He slumped into the passenger seat.

"Look at it this way; even if you don't live to regret it, it won't be long." She chuckled.

"Not funny." He grumbled as the car lurched onto the slick streets. The tires kicked up a torrent of water as it sped off into the night.

The car soared down the road, smoothly sailing into the blood-orange horizon. Dark purple clouds broke up the blazing ball of fire before as the day transitioned from sunset to twilight. As she drove past the towering buildings, she could hardly help but begin to shake. Shadows grew longer, with every passing second. Making the city streets seem nefarious and malicious. At every intersection, she could see hitmen lurking in the darkness. Waiting to strike. In her rearview mirror she could see the malevolent faces of assassins. Following closely behind her, weapons at the ready.

'That car, they're following me I know it.' Her heart raced as she grabbed the pistol sitting on the passenger seat next to her. Even though it was empty, simply holding the gun gave Lyla some comfort. A bead of sweat ran down her face as she stopped at a red light, the bright lights of the car behind her penetrating her windows. Laszlo groaned in agony, writing in the back seat. He'd lost a lot of blood since the diner, the crimson liquid spilling onto the car floor.

'I can't take him to a hospital, if the police get involved they could find and kill me. I could just drop him off. Grab his gun and cash first, then take off for somewhere, anywhere. Where would I go that they wouldn't be able to find me though? I'd be running for the rest of my life.' The blaring off a car horn snapped Lyla's mind back to real life. In her initial panic, she stepped firmly on the gas pedal sending the car lurching forward. Behind her, she could hear Laszlo's raspy breathing in the back seat. Violently, he coughed sending something spraying across Lyla's neck.

"Lyla." He rasped. "Get…me…to…a…motel." He gasped, taking labored breaths between every word.

She nodded in compliance, spotting the glaring red neon sign of a motel down the road. Silently, she pulled into the near empty parking lot. Roughly, she reached over the bleeding Laszlo and retrieved his wallet from his back pocket. She attempted to reach into his shoulder holster and take his pistol when he groaned.

"What are you doing?" He gasped.

"You're in no shape to fight, my pistol's out of ammo and I'm not going out there without protection." She claimed, grabbing at the gun again.

He rolled onto his stomach in protest, the blood splashing beneath him. He winced in pain. "You'd never be able to sneak in my gun in that outfit, anyone'd spot it in an instant. I've got more ammo for the derringer in the glove box." He grumbled.

Lyla opened the glove box, finding a half full box of ammunition and two empty pneumatic needles. Clumsily she reloaded the pistol, tossing the four spent shells onto the floor next to her. With her gun reloaded, Lyla felt a surge of both fear and confidence. She thought back to the diner, and knew that if need be she could kill. However, she feared the fact that she was now prepared to do so.

Shuffling out of the car, a warm summer wind swept around her sweatpants clad legs. The parking lot was deserted despite a stray dog that was feasting from an overturned trash bin. Discarded newspaper swirled carelessly in the breeze, casting shadows as it flew by the streetlights overhead. She pushed her way past red wooden door that read 'Front Desk'. The lobby was nothing special, a modest room decorated with blue carpet and peeling floral wall paper. It smelled of cabbage and stale cigarettes, making Lyla's nose crinkle. Lyla approached the cheap oak desk to find a bleary eyed, fat man watching cartoons. In one hand he held a bowl of Fruity Pops, and the spoon in the other. Milk dripped from his bushy beard, droplets splashing softly in the bowl. He had long, curly, black hair went far past his shoulders. Sometimes strands would scrape the surface of the bowl, coating the end in milk. He ate absently, paying Lyla no mind. Annoyed, she loudly cleared her throat so he would be forced to acknowledge her presence. His weary gaze lazily crept to where she was standing before his eyes went wide as dinner plates. Quickly, he shot up from his chair as his mouth fell agape.

"Uh…how may I help you miss?" He stammered.

"I need a room for me and my…boyfriend." She claimed.

"Right, of course." He scrambled, retrieving a red leather bound book. "Alright, two people in a room. How long will your stay be miss?" He purposefully drew out the miss, obviously fishing for a name. His left hand fumbled with a cup full of pens as his eyes slowly slid down Lyla's supple figure.

"Maria, Maria Wood. We'll be staying for two days maybe more." She stated plainly, trying to ignore the way he was undressing her in his mind.

"Alright then, you'll be in room two twenty-three. I'm going to warn you, there's a fifty dollar charge upfront, and from there it's seventy five for every day you stay." He said hollowly, his eyes now transfixed on her ample breasts.

Even in this ghastly outfit, Lyla still looked lovely. Her womanly curves were still on full display even underneath her sweatshirt. This feeling, of having someone's attention again, to be desired by someone was somewhat alien to her. Even though it had only been a day or two since she was in the Purple Dragon singing for dozens of people, each and every one of them lusting after her. That scene felt worlds away, as if that girl had once been her but now she had no idea who she was. She gave the man a cutesy little smile. "That sounds fine." She handed the clerk a fifty dollar bill, and took a small copper key from him. Emerging from the office, she found that the sun had set. Now the only source of illumination came from the pale cones of light resonating from street lamps and the garish glow of neon signs. Under the cover of darkness, she carefully helped the wounded Laszlo into their motel room. The room was decorated similarly to the lobby with the same blue carpet and decrepit floral wall paper. However, this carpet was covered in dark stains and Lyla could feel her shoes stick with every step. Laszlo fell back on the cream colored bed with a groan, the cheap mattress creaking underneath him.

"In my trunk." He grunted through the pain. "There's a medkit, I need you to retrieve it." He opened up his jacket, revealing the blood soaked shirt underneath. Lyla walked out of the hotel room and back into the gaudy city before her. Now that the pounding in her head had been quelled, she began to notice the minor details of the city again. The smell of sewage and exhaust filled her nose as sirens blared off in the distance. Her head began to spin, never had the noises of the city been so loud to her. She could practically taste the poison in the air. She strolled over to the car, and opened up the trunk carefully. Inside, she found a small white medkit, a tire iron, road flares, and a cut down shotgun. Lyla's eyes went wide at the sight of the shotgun. Quickly she grabbed the square box of medical supplies and slammed the trunk shut, hoping no one had seen her. She practically ran back inside the motel, nervously wondering if her hurried steps were attracting more attention. Once inside, she noticed Laszlo. He was still lying on the bed, but now his once white shirt had been tossed aside like a dirty rag. There he laid atop the bedspread, shirtless. Lyla was practically entranced by the sight before her. Her eyes traced every curve and bump of his muscular torso. He was covered in sweat and blood, making every detail glimmer in the light of the bare bulb overhead. His rippling muscles are taught and statuesque, like something Michelangelo would carve. Beneath that tailored suit she could barely make out any details of his physique. Now, she could see every vein of his brawny, golden tanned arms. On further inspection she could see jagged scars running up and down his body. Souvenirs of a life of violence. Bullet holes, stab wounds, and bruises all decorated his seemingly perfect body.

"You just gonna sit there and gawk or are you gonna patch me up?" He groaned, holding his side.

Lyla picked up her jaw off the floor, and hurried over to Laszlo's bedside. "Right. Sorry." She stammered, her eyes still on his pecs as they rose and fell with every breath.

Laszlo wretched the medkit from Lyla's hands. Opening it up to reveal, a craft knife; a roll of gauze; a needle; thread; a travel size bottle of whiskey; and a pneumatic needle half full of glowing purple fluid. Taking the needle into his right hand he shook it up, the liquid beginning to glow even brighter.

It was then that Lyla noticed his eyes. They were still their beautiful shade of amber, but now the purple flecks glowed as his eyes followed the shaking vial. The amethyst flakes were now little shards, piercing his orange irises. She remembered the homeless man in the police station. How vividly violet his eyes were, how they seemed to emanate their own light source. "What are you doing?" She clamored in protest.

"Fluxx makes a great anesthetic, dulls the pain and sharpens the senses. Some people even say it can heal your wounds, but I haven't gotten to that point yet. This is my own recipe, partially diluted with a mixture of water, vodka, and adrenaline. Not pure enough to be habit forming, but enough of the stuff to work." He stabbed the needle in his neck, plugging it right in a vein. There's a familiar hissing sound and a look of pure ecstasy spreads across Laszlo's face. "Alright Lyla, listen. I didn't get too hurt in the firefight at the diner, it's more or less a graze but the bullet's still in my abdomen. I need you to take that knife and dig the bullet out." He stated plainly.

"What? There's no way I'm going to do that. What if we just take you to a hospital?" She protested.

"Oh yeah, and tell them what? I'm sorry doctor my hitman friend here was involved in a little row at a local eatery?" He mocked in a snobby accent.

"Well don't you know anyone that can help us? What about an out of work veterinarian or something?" She pleaded.

"An out of work vet? What do you think this is the movies? Besides, I'm not going to put my life in the hands of some greasy street doc. They'd sell me out before I even walked into the building." He responded sarcastically at her. "Lyla, there's no other choice. The fluxx is wearing off, please you're my only hope." He humbly admitted.

Lyla looked down into his eyes, it was the first time she noticed how soft and pleading they could be. She felt something stirring inside her, something she hadn't felt since she first met Mickey. "Alright, let's do this." She sighed.

"Alright, grab that bottle of whiskey and pour it over the knife. Don't pour all of it though we'll need it later." He grunted.

She followed his directions, carefully coating both sides of the knife in whiskey. "What do we need the last of the whiskey for?" She asked inquisitively.

He chuckled. "That's for you. I've seen you shoot, your hand trembles like a leaf. Take a swig to steady your nerves." He half joked, laying back on the bed.

Lyla did as he said, downing half of what remained in one gulp. "Now what?" She questioned, feeling a warm sensation spreading from her stomach.

"Now you cut out the bullet. Just make an incision and dig it out." He winced in pain once more.

Lyla took a deep breath, steeling herself for what she had to do. She positioned the tip of the knife just above the bullet hole, and looked to Laszlo. He gave her a thumbs up, feigning a smile. Then with teeth gritted she plunged the knife into Laszlo's flesh. A droplet of blood ran down his abdomen as she continued to cut into his stomach. With a clean, fresh cut in his flesh the small bullet hole opened up to the elements. Lyla could only look down, in horror. Her head began to swim at the thought of all the blood racing through his body. Her fingers were already slick with the crimson liquid. Just as she thought she was about to pass out, Laszlo took her hand.

"You're doing great." He smiled at her, reassuringly. He squeezed her hand in encouragement, trying to build up her confidence.

She looked deeply into his beautiful eyes, and absently reached for the bottle of whiskey. Without ever taking her gaze off of him she drank down the remainder of the booze, and continued with the task at hand.

Hours later, Laszlo was resting comfortably. His abdomen was tightly wrapped in fresh gauze, and his incision was; albeit clumsily; stitched together. Lyla sat on the edge of the bed, silently watching him sleep. Every time he inhaled he made little snoring noises, breaking the silence. She smiled warmly, her eyes once again tracing every bend of his muscular figure.

'Why did he go back for me?' She wondered. 'Could he have feelings for me?' She could not deny that there was an attraction there. He was tall, brave, and handsome. Through the night, he'd saved her life more than a few times. When she looked at him she could feel a stirring in her stomach, a sort of fluttering deep within her. Her heart began to beat faster and faster and she could feel her the blood rushing to her cheeks. Embarrassment washed over her, coupled with the fear of him seeing her like this. She felt silly for feeling this way, it was as if she was a teenager again. Almost like when she was with Mickey.

His eyes slowly opened, the amber spheres locking onto her. "Hey there. Good morning." He groaned, propping himself up with his elbows.

Her eyes snapped from his rising and falling chest to his amber eyes. "How are you doing?"

"Eh, the pain's still there but at least I know that thing isn't in me anymore." Laszlo jerked his thumb toward the blood soaked piece of lead on the nightstand.

A soft gurgling sound cut Laszlo off, that's when Lyla remembered how long it'd been since she'd had any food.

"Sounds like someone's hungry." He chuckled. "Why don't you go grab something to eat? I'm going to need some aspirin anyway." He winced once again as he shifted in the bed.

"Sure." Lyla stuttered, her eyes once again tracing his square, powerful, jaw. She could feel herself moving closer to him, her eyes once again fixating on his. She stared deeply into his eyes, purple shards broke and reformed like a kaleidoscope. They began to swirl together. S pinning round and round forming an almost hypnotic spiral pattern. Lyla leaned forward slowly, her eyes shut and lips ready to receive his. Her heartbeat quickened, as she neared him. It felt like a big bass drum, thudding louder and louder. That's when she felt his finger against her lips.

"Lyla, I'm sorry." He apologized softly. He put his hand on her shoulder, as if to comfort her. "I do care for you, but not in that way. I'm, I'm in love with someone else." He stammered.

Lyla was devastated, she could feel the blood in her cheeks drop. There was a pit in her stomach, her limbs began to feel cold, and her ears burned with embarrassment.

"Why don't you go down to that corner store and get some food?" He groaned ashamedly, rubbing his neck.

Without another word, Lyla rushed out of the hotel room and back onto the darkened street. The rain had died down to a light drizzle, however the ever present cloud of fog still obscured her view of anything more than a block away. The only thing that could cut through the grey haze was the great glowing neon sign of the EZ Mart before her. Lyla entered the brightly lit convenience store, greeted by a smiling snack cake standee. White fluorescent lights emitted a high pitched whine above her. The coffee machine chugged away, making the entire store smell of burnt coffee. A dead-eyed, woman sat behind the counter. She looked to be twenty years of age, with bright purple and pink hair, her eyes lazily scanning the pages of a magazine. Lyla slipped past her undetected to a shelf full of sugary confections. Lyla could hardly help herself from salivating at the site of the candy. As she reached for a chocolate bar, she felt something cold and metallic on the back of her neck.

"Do not turn around. Don't scream, don't try to signal the cashier or I will kill you." A deep voice, marked by a distinctive Southern drawl, warned from behind her. "I'm going to make this quick Miss Winters." Her captor slowly dragged the barrel of his gun to the small of her back. "Now, the police know that you've been hiding in the Undercity. They know that you killed Lowery, and that Laszlo is protecting you. That's why I'm here, there's a bounty on your head. A hefty one at that."

Lyla could feel him smirking at her. "So is that what you are? Another assassin?" She snapped, trying to retain her composure in the face of this rogue.

"No, no, no." He scolded mockingly. "I'm a bounty hunter. I'm called Logan, and I'm the best there is." He bragged. "I'm better than some thug with a gun, I'm a thug with a gun, and a license. Right now, it would be so easy for me to knock you out and take you in. However, I haven't. Which should speak to the caliber of thug I am." He snickered.

"So what do you even want with me?" She questioned, reaching into her pocket.

"First off, take your hand out of there. I know about that little derringer he gave you and I'd like to not shoot you. Secondly, all I want to do is warn you. Because of your actions today, other bounty hunters will come after you for the rest of your life. Hardened killers will track you down and they won't be nearly as cuddly as me." He joked. Lyla could hear him sliding his pistol into a holster and begin to walk away. "If I were you, I'd get out of town and away from Laszlo as quick as you can." His voice was solemn, as if he knew that only bloodshed was coming.

She spun around, finally seeing Logan. He was a tall, easily towering over Laszlo. Where Laszlo was lean, with a swimmer's build. Logan was a brawny, with thick, beefy arms. He wore a black tank top, navy blue cargo pants, and a pair of thick work boots. Around his torso, Lyla could see a black leather shoulder holster. Hanging just below his right arm was a vicious looking handgun. With every breath his massive trapezius muscles swelled. "Why are you letting me go?" She called after him.

He stopped in his tracks, looking over his shoulder at her. "I'm tired of gorgeous girls getting killed because they get involved with the wrong guy." He there was a twinge of sadness in his voice, as if he wasn't talking about Lyla at all.

"So does this make you a good guy or a bad guy?" She asked facetiously.

"As a wise man once said: Good, bad, I'm the guy with the gun." Logan chuckled, shifting the toothpick in his mouth to the other side. His big boots thudded against the floor as he walked out the door.

Lyla quickly gathered up her food and returned to the motel room. She found Laszlo, casually lounging on the bed and watching the news.

"A local diner was the locale for a grizzly scene last night. We warn our viewers that the following images are shocking and unsuitable for younger viewers. You have been warned." The talking head reported dryly, obviously disgruntled by her graveyard shift.

"Hey, you were gone awhile. Everything all right?" He looked up at her with those big, lying eyes again.

"Laszlo, I need to know what's going on." Lyla was nearly in tears again, her heart racing in fear from her last encounter.

"Lyla, what's going on is none of your business. I'm sorry I got you wrapped up in it, but if you get out of this city you can escape it." He pleaded.

"NO!" Lyla was furious. She'd been lied to, shot at, and manhandled all night. Now she was ready to put her foot down. "I don't care if you're sorry that you got me wrapped up in this. I am wrapped up in it now, and they're not going to stop! So far you're the only one I can trust, but I need you to tell me what's going on." She screamed, driven half manic.

"Lyla, it's really none of your-" Laszlo was interrupted by the sound of a shell being chambered. He looked up to see Lyla, rage in her eyes and his pump action in her hands.

"The police put a bounty on my head." Lyla grunted through gritted teeth. "And you're going to tell me why, or I'll take this twelve gauge and turn your face into ground chuck." She roared in her best action hero voice.

"Alright, please put the gun down and lower your voice. I'll explain everything, you see Frank and I-." A pounding at the door interrupted Laszlo, cutting him off.

"Room service!" A gruff voice called from beyond the motel room door. Lyla looked to Laszlo, her eyes wide. She flung herself to the floor, the shotgun gripped in her right hand. Laszlo rolled off the bed as the stranger kicked in the door. The assailant stepped through the splintery doorway. He was a heavy set man of about forty years of age. With his left hand he pushed away the obliterated door and held a stun gun in his right. As soon as he stepped into the room, Lyla gripped the shotgun with all her might. She narrowed her eyes and took careful aim. The last thing her attacker saw was the muzzle flash of the shotgun. Dozens of lead pellets ripped into his flesh, coating the wall behind him with blood. Scrambling to her feet, Lyla took cover behind the door frame. She racked the shotgun once more, a hollow, red shell clattering to the ground.

Laszlo peaked out from behind the bed, his gun drawn. "Lyla, we have to go now." Laszlo called to her. He stood up slowly, groaning from the pain. His left hand held onto his side, while his right shakily held his pistol. Slowly he approached the doorway, his pistol wavering with every step. That was when a pair of wires shot out of the darkness, hit Laszlo in the chest.

"Oh god not agai-." Laszlo was cut off by fifty thousand volts coursing through his chest. He screamed in pain as he crumpled to the ground.

Lyla could only stare as Laszlo writhed in pain, his arms twisting and convulsing into unnatural shapes. She looked up to see another man wielding a stun gun walk through the door. With one meaty hand he slapped her aside. Lyla felt her world spinning as she tumbled to the ground. The shotgun flew from her hands and over the bed. She landed on her stomach, blood running from her nose, her eyes wide with terror. That's when she felt it, a pair of hooks digging into her back. Electricity ran through her body, traveling from back to her legs and arms. Involuntarily, she coiled in pain. Her flattened palms turned to fists before she passed out. Then darkness. She felt a falling sensation, she could see something above her. A pinprick of light shining through the utter bleak darkness around her. She landed on a soft mountain of orange sand, carefully she picked herself up. Studying her surroundings, she found that she was on a beach. The sun was just setting in the distance, turning the sky a beautiful blood orange. Dark purple clouds sailed speedily overhead, briefly obscuring the ball of fire in the distance. The water was a cool, crisp mirror of the sky. With every turn of the waves it reflected and refracted the ethereal sunlight. She turned to see someone at the end of the beach. He wasn't too tall, but he was muscular. His hair windblown, himself a silhouette against the sky.

"Lyla." He cried out to her.

It was then that she recognized him. "Mickey!" She shouted in joy, as she began to run towards him.

"Come with me baby." He held out his arms to her, his shirt flapping in the breeze.

She ran faster and faster, but made no progress. She tried to run toward him, but with every step she sank deeper and deeper into the sand.

"Baby!" He called out to her. His voice was but an echo.

She tried climbing toward him, her hand sinking in the walls of her earthy prison. She punched at the walls in desperation trying to rise to him. She saw him above her, ascending to the clouds his arms raised. He spoke to her, but she was too far away. His voice was nothing but unintelligible noises.

"I love you!" She shouted, as the walls collapsed on her. An ocean of sand fell atop of Lyla as she was buried alive.

She awoke screaming in a bed adorned with red silken sheets. Sweat rolled down the back of her neck, she could hardly help gasping for air as her heart beat rapidly. The room she was in was very old, with intricately carved wooden furniture and portraits of people in what appeared to be eighteenth century style clothing.

"Ah good, you're awake." Chirped a man who hadn't been there before.

Lyla jumped at this man's voice, hiding beneath the covers.

"Oh dear me. I'm very sorry Miss Winters, I didn't mean to scare you. Please, do not be afraid. I'm not here to hurt you." He apologized.

Lyla looked out from under the covers. He was an older gentleman, with thinning blonde hair and icy blue eyes. He had a friendly demeanor about him, with a warm smile spread across his face. He was dressed in a tailored grey suit, with an emerald tie, and white shirt. In his right hand he held a bottle of aspirin, in his left a tall glass of water. He held out both to Lyla. She took them suspiciously, popping two of the aspirin.

"My employers would like to express their deepest apologies for our subordinate's unfortunate mistake of capturing you." He stated apologetically. "We'd like to thank you for helping us apprehend the man known as Laszlo Liba, we're willing to give you gainful employment in one of our facilities." He explained, producing a clip board from under his arm.

Lyla nearly choked on her water. "Wait, wait, wait. Laszlo's Mr. Liba?" She coughed.

"Well I suppose he's a Mr. Liba." He looked away, reflecting on Lyla's statement.

"But, I thought Mr. Liba was looking for us." She protested.

"Yes, Mr. Liba has been looking for you. Andrew Liba, Laszlo's father." He looked over his clipboard, obviously growing tired of Lyla's ignorance.

"So, Laszlo's dad; you're employer-." She began.

"My employer? Oh heavens no. I wouldn't go work for those thuggish cab drivers if my life depended on it." He chuckled dryly.

"Then who are you?" Lyla questioned, more confused than ever.

"Oh dear, I'm sorry I've forgotten to introduce myself. My name is Wesly J. Burnett. I represent a…business rival of the Libas." He explained.

"Who's that?"

"I'm not at liberty to say miss. My employers are very secretive." He turned to leave.

Lyla was mad now, all night she'd wanted answers, now the one person giving her anything was blowing her off. "Now, wait just a goddamned second!" She screamed at him.

"Miss, if I could tell you I would. However, my employers would-."

"That's alright Wesly, I'll tell the little lady everything she wants to know." Another man appeared from the darkened hallway. His dark hair was slicked back with a pound of mouse. He was a little taller than Wesly, but much more muscular. He wore a beat up leather jacket, jeans, and white shirt, and a gold crucifix hung dangled idly around his neck. He didn't appear to be much older than Lyla, but his tanned leathery skin betrayed his youth. He pushed his way past Wesly, and sat at the end of the bed with Lyla. "How do you do miss? My name's Luca, Luca Tarus." Gently, he picked up her hand and kissed it. "Now I know that tonight has been stressful, so I'm here to answer any questions you may have." He reassured, still holding her hand.

She stared deeply into his eyes, something stirring deep within her. She recognized the feeling as the same way she'd felt about Laszlo in the motel. She pushed that feeling deep within herself, removing any thoughts of romance. "All I want to know is: Why did Mickey kill Frank?" She asked.

His face went dark, his smile fading into a grieving grimace. "You're talking about my cousin, Francis. We don't know exactly why he was killed, but I have an idea." He revealed. Taking a deep breath in, he wiped away the tears in his eyes. "I think he and Laszlo had been skimming money off the top. That they had been stealing from Andrew. Somehow, Andrew found out and his boys tried to beat the location of Laszlo out of Francis. Mickey just took it too far." Luca was on the verge of tears once more, he buried his face in his arm. "I'm sorry, we were very close." His head drooped in depression, reflecting on his cousin.

"I'm sorry for your loss." She put her hand on his shoulder, trying to comfort him. "So, where's Laszlo?" She questioned, looking around the room.

"He's resting in the other room. Once he wakes up, Laszlo's agreed to go willingly back to his family's headquarters."

"Why would he do that?" Lyla shouted.

"So I can finally get some answers." Chimed in a voice from the other side of the room.

Lyla looked to see Laszlo, standing in the doorway. He had fresh gauze wrapped tightly around his abdomen, and wore only his suit pants.

"We've agreed to a temporary alliance in the wake of these unfortunate circumstances." Laszlo limped to the bed, still holding his abdomen.

She looked up and down at Laszlo. He looked like death, in the past two days he'd barely slept, dried blood still crusted on parts of his face, and by the way he walked, Lyla could tell that he wouldn't last two minutes in a fight. "I'm coming with you." Lyla boldly stated.

"Lyla, no. It's too dangerous."

"Look at yourself, Laszlo. You can barely walk. If you go in there, you will die."

Laszlo was about to argue, when a twinge of pain shot through his body. "You make a lot of sense Lyla." He sighed in defeat.

"Then let's do this together." She extended her arm out in friendship.

He took her hand firmly in his. "Together." He reaffirmed.

Lyla checked her pistol once more as the car rumbled down the street. Never had she been more nervous in her whole life. Here she was, ready to murder another man. She and Laszlo sat in the backseat of a beat up sedan. In the front seat, some Tarus lackey drove tentatively. From the look on his face, it was obvious that he expected to get shot. Despite this glaring risk, his employers only permitted Lyla and Laszlo to take the barest of weaponry with them. Laszlo's assault rifle and shotgun had both been confiscated by Luca. On the bright side though, each of them wore a vest of Kevlar. The vest itched under her sweatshirt. She kept tugging at it whenever she felt it pricking her shoulder. She looked over at Laszlo, he was practically hyperventilating at this point. His face was pale, sweat streamed down his face in droplets.

Lyla took his hand. "It's going to be alright." She tried to look reassuring, even though deep down she was terrified of what they were about to do.

He exhaled shakily. "I know, it's just going to be difficult to see him is all." Lyla could hear his stomach churning. Sharply, he inhaled and checked to make sure his spare magazines were in his holster. Lyla peered out the window as the car slowed to a halt in front of a towering skyscraper. She hid her silver derringer in her sweatpants, readying herself for what she needed to do.

"We're here." The lackey croaked.

As Lyla and Laszlo exited she could smell their driver lighting up a cigarette. He'd been instructed in case they needed a quick getaway. Lyla and Laszlo glanced at each other briefly before walking through the gigantic glass doors. The lobby was all white marble columns and obsidian floors. Shiny pillars towered around them, making Lyla feel unbelievably small. At the black wood desk, a fat security guard greeted them.

"Evenin' Mr. Liba. How're you this fine night?" He greeted them jollily. With every word, his stomach jiggled slightly. The grey button down could just barely restrain the massive girth of this man's enormous belly.

"Good evening Howard. How're the wife and kids?" Laszlo responded, putting on his best smile.

"They're good sir. Up to see your father? Let me just unlock the elevator for ya." He giggled. With a grunt he stood up from his chair. Clumsily waddling over to an elevator, he produced a ring of keys from his belt. The lock clicked, echoing off of the cavernous walls of the lobby. Elevator doors made of blackened steel rattled open. The elevator was a box constructed of golden mirrors, complimented by black granite floors. Tentatively, the duo stepped into the elevator. Once the doors closed before them, Lyla drew her pistol and checked it one last time. She knew that the silver derringer was loaded, it had been since they left the Tarus' house. However, it was the only thing that gave her comfort as the elevator climbed to the penthouse. Laszlo looked down at her, smirking.

"I still don't see why you didn't ask for another pistol." He groaned.

"I don't see why you didn't bring more than just your pistol." He smirked at him.

"If we'd come in here with an armory, we wouldn't have gotten past the front door." He chuckled.

"Exactly, the entire point of this thing is stealth right? So I figure, go light and this baby's pretty light. Besides it's got sentimental value." She held it loosely between her forefinger and thumb. "And you're the one that told me that if I lost it you'd never talk to me again." She began to laugh hysterically. Laszlo looked at her cynically for a moment before breaking down himself. Whether it was from fear or the two reminiscing at their inside joke they didn't care anymore. Nothing could fully prepare them for what they were about to do. Each of them expected a legion of Liba goons, each armed with automatic weapons pointed at the door. Mr. Liba knew they were coming and he'd stop at nothing to terminate them. As the elevator lurched to a halt, both of them took a deep breath in ready for the attack. However, when the elevator doors clattered open they were surprised. Mr. Liba's penthouse was largely devoid of life.

One man stood in the darkened room. He stood alone in front of a floor to ceiling window, overlooking Union City. He was short, somehow even shorter than Mickey. However his figure was not unimposing, his arms were thick and veiny. Under his white button down shirt, bicep muscles buldged. In the combination of the pale moonlight and streetlights below he looked like a shadow. A shadow overlooking his little kingdom, watching the peasants scrabble in the dirt. The penthouse was decorated similarly to the lobby. Ivory colored columns of carved marble stood on either side of the living room. To the left was a massive television and a brown leather couch. To the right a stained oak bar, filled to the brimming with bottles of all shapes and sizes.

"Father." Laszlo called, his gun still in his holster.

The shadow turned to look at his son. A sliver of light illuminated his eyes, revealing his cold cynical look. "Son." He called back.

Slowly, the walked toward each other. Both expecting the other to draw their guns and fire. They stopped, not five feet away from each other. Lyla stayed back, not wanting to intrude. She heard weeping echoing off of the stone columns. It was only when she saw that Laszlo's head was hung in shame did she realize that her former protector was crying.

Laszlo fell to his knees, glaring at his father's feet. With desperation in his eyes, he looked up at his father. "Why did you kill him dad? Why?" He sobbed uncontrollably. "I loved him. We were going to start a life together!" Laszlo screamed between his weeping.

"I didn't mean to kill him son, I never meant for him to die." Mr. Liba claimed coolly, looking down at his son. "But if you think I'm going to let some fucking faggot take my son away from me, you're dead fucking wrong." He growled.

Laszlo shot up, enraged at his father's slur. "Dad, I'm gay! Get over it! If you can't get over some ancient prejudice then just let me be." He bellowed at his father.

"I'm going to admit, when you first came out to me I didn't know what to do. However, I've come to terms with who you are, I want to apologize for being so close minded when you came to me. I'm sorry about Frank, but that's in the past. Can't we just try to talk this through?" Mr. Liba pleaded.

"Dad I don't know if I'll ever be able to forgive you, but I'm willing to try." Laszlo embraced his father.

Lyla stood in the back of the room, completely transfixed. In an instant, everything came rushing back to her. Her friends had been killed her boyfriend revealed to be a psychopath, herself hunted, and innocent lives slaughtered just because Mr. Liba wanted to talk to his son. She'd had enough, rage bubbled up inside of her. She thought back to the diner, back to that innocent waitress. She thought back to Lowery, how his kids would have to go the rest of their lives without a father. She thought back on Hugo, how even at death's door he still tried to kill her. How this man had orchestrated the misery of dozens of families all across Union City. She raised up her derringer, looked the bastard square in the eye, and fired. Lyla saw the bullet pierce Mr. Liba's skull, lodging itself in his brain. Limply, his corpse fell backwards. Laszlo looked at him in horror, tears still streaming down his face. In one fluid motion, he drew his pistol. The barrel practically pressed against Lyla's forehead. Laszlo's hand shook with fury.

"Lyla, I don't want to kill you. I care for you." He stammered. "However, I will never forgive you for this. I'm going to give you one chance to run. You'd better run far and you'd better run fast. Get out of Union City." Laszlo's voice quaked as he threatened his former friend.

Lyla chuckled madly. "I'm done running." She replied coolly. Then she turned on her heels and left.

EPLIOGUE

The restaurant was completely dark that night. Mickey entered quietly, his gun tightly gripped in his right hand. Since Mr. Liba's death, The Purple Dragon was temporarily shut down. Mickey creeped through the darkness, looking for her. Her text message had said to meet her here at two in the morning. She said that she was ready to forgive him that she wanted to resume their life together. He kept his pistol with him just in case it was a trap set by Laszlo. Behind him, he heard the cold clink of steel. He spun to see a lone flame in the darkness.

"Lyla? Baby?" He called out in desperation.

"Hello, Mickey." She responded dryly.

He couldn't see her, but he knew that voice anywhere.

She touched the flame to something, a cigarette, he realized. The cherry red dot of the cigarette illuminated only a corner of her plump, ruby red lips.

"Oh baby, I'm so glad it's you. Let's get out of here, I've got some cash in a car outside-." He stammered at a mile a minute.

"Wait." Lyla interrupted. "Toss the gun away, all this business with that psycho's got me all shaken up." She shivered in a breathy voice.

"Oh right of course." Casually, he tossed the gun to the ground. "Come here baby, oh God I missed you." He approached her with open arms. That was when a bullet shattered through his knee. "Ah!" He cried out in pain, collapsing to the ground. "Baby why?" He asked through the pain.

She stepped out from the darkness behind the bar and into Mickey's view. "Because the one thing I hate in this world, is lying psychopaths like you." She fired her pistol again, this time into his other knee.

"Ahhhh!" He cried out again in pain. "Baby, I'm sorry. I didn't want you getting mixed up with it. I was only trying to protect you!" He apologized while squirming on his back.

"Well now, I don't need protecting." She fired her last round into his penis, decimating it.

"Ahhhhhhhhhh!" Mickey cried out, louder than ever. "Baby, I'm sorry. Please forgive me." He cried out, trying to worm his way over to her.

"I wish I could baby, but I'm afraid that ship has sailed." She responded, tossing her cigarette onto the bar.

That's when Mickey smelled it, a sickening combination of alcohol and gasoline. Desperately he called out to her one last time. "Baby! Please! Don't do this!" He screamed.

She spun on her heels, walking away from the growing inferno.

"I love you!" He yelled over the sound of wood crackling.

For a moment, Lyla considered it. She tried to think back on all those rose colored memories she had. However, she could only remember the look of glee on his face when he'd murdered Frank. Dismissively, she continued walking out.

"No! Nooooooo!" Mickey wailed as the flames consumed him.

Lyla watched as the flames destroyed the last remainders of her old life. Lyla was dead, her job, loved ones, and friends were all dead. So, the woman once called Lyla, walked down the darkened city streets of Union City.