Risky Business

Prologue

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1:04 A.M.

12.7.2001:

Footsteps echoed down a vacant alleyway. A figure emerged from the shadows.

Moonlight dimly lit his muzzle, the only thing actually revealed, partially hidden under incredibly tinted sunglasses that barely shown with a large hat and seven feathers—their 'stems' pointing up at the sky, like accusatory fingers in a mob—attached to the brim of his hat. They seemed to tickle the sunglass lens.

Calmly, he announced:

"Stavrós kardiá sas kai elpízoume na vretheí, kollí̱ste mia velóna sto máti mou."

A voice responded:

"Be so strong and never cry, boil in coils until they fry."

Another figure emerged from the opposite alley wall. He was armed with a grimy-looking mustache the color of diluted brown. "So you brought it?" he asked.

The other mysterious figure stepped forward. His cape fluttered sharply in the harsh night's breeze.

He slowly opened it, exposing a long-sleeved black shirt and long pants tied around his waist with black leather cord. The inside of the cape was comprised of multiple pockets, holding knifes, small, fat and long swords with the same leather cord around their hilts, spears in long, padded pockets, and fatal-looking sticks of red dynamite, maybe, with what looked like specks of dried blood on them. Three or four packs attached to

"You brought it?" the mustachioed man repeated.

Wordlessly, the silent figure unzipped a well-hidden pocket and brought out a cylindrical tube, the same shape and size of the dynamite sticks, except a forest green instead of rusty red. The number "8" was painted on the can in the color of blood.

The mustachioed man accepted the tube and cracked open the lid with curiosity and anticipation. His face grew twenty years younger as he extracted a glowing green rock from the tube.

"BWA-HA-HA-HA!" Rubbing the emerald on himself, the man became as athletic as a track star. Then the emerald cracked and streaks of black burst into the night air. "Wh-What?" The man became frail and bony, then skeleton-shaped, then, finally, the size of a whale.

"I-I can't see! What's going on? HELP!" he yelled frantically, searching for the caped trader. Then his eyes fogged up and he screamed, "I can't SEE!"

He collapsed and twitched.

Several hours later, an ambulance arrived. They took the emeralds and put them in a bulletproof underwater holding tank, big enough to hold all of the emeralds' energy.

Ten years later . . . .

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