CHAPTER 2
Hey again, thanks for the support and response i've gotten so far, its been great! this next chapter's a bit bigger than the last one, so try to have as much fun reading it as i did writing it! if anybody has any trouble visualizing what exactly the character of Springfield looks like, picture Kellogg from fallout 4, except younger and not bald. or don't, view him in whichever light you want, just have fun reading this chapter! cheers!
"YOU WANT ME TO DO WHAT?!"
Springfield glanced up from his phone conversation to be met by the image of a fragile old man with an apron looking with pure fright into Springfield's eyes. With noticeable embarrassment on his face Springfield turned away and embraced the veritable darkness of a nearby back alley.
"sorry Adam old buddy but you're gonna have to speak up" Springfield said with sarcasm dripping from his voice "i seem to be going a bit deaf in this ear, because i thought for a second there you said you wanted a hit on Weiss-fucking-schnee! But that would be ridiculous, wouldn't it?!
"I know you don't want to hear this now, but you DID hear me wrong. I want her alive, got it?" Springfield's contact replied with annoyance. It was clear his patience was wearing thin. "The pay is good and you've done it a hundred times over. This shouldn't be a problem for you; it's a simple jo-"
"BULLSHIT" Springfield deadpanned, cutting off the caller "you know better than anyone that the schnee are goddamn untouchable, especially with the vytal festival in town. In case you hadn't noticed, general ironwood and the entire fucking atlas fleet are on their way to vale right now! Did you not notice that detail, or were you too busy planning another terrorist attack with your barnyard animal friends?
Springfield's outburst was met with a few seconds of very quiet growling, which would probably shock Springfield if he didn't know exactly who he was dealing with.
"The 'general' and his fleet won't arrive for another 2 weeks at the very least. And Weiss schnee is a student at beacon, a TEENAGER. She's got no bodyguards, no backup, and no chance against a trained professional. That is what you are, correct? Or am i under the impression that you're scared of a little girl? Adam mocked; his growling disappeared and replaced with a low chuckle.
Springfield gripped his scroll tightly, the device creaking and breaking under the pressure of his vice like grip. Springfield channelled as much of his anger into his voice as possible. "Now you listen here you Faunus fuc-"
"NO YOU LISTEN TO ME!" Adam screamed with rage, his patience officially running out. "You're going to end this call, accept the funds in wiring to your account, kidnap Weiss schnee, and bring her to the warehouse on April Street within the week, or I'll have it so that every fucking contact you know won't want jack shit to do with you. Are we clear?"
"I don't have to stand here and listen to thi-"
"ARE WE CLEAR?"
Springfield held back a vicious remark and bit his tongue, drawing blood whilst his knuckles turned white with pure unbridled rage.
"Crystal" he spat out, specks of his blood spattering the alleyway and bringing a bright crimson to the otherwise dull area.
"Good" said Adam, all signs of his previous rage disappearing into his regular, casual demeanor. "Warehouse on April, within the week, ALIVE. You can go now. And remember Springfield, we never spoke." Adam all but finished the conversation, leaving Springfield to his own devices. As he was about to end the call though, he heard a final and swift remark from his employer. "Oh, and Springfield? You even think about double crossing me and i won't hesitate to kill you and that little brother of yours you got hiding in Vacuo"
Springfield's breath was caught in his throat as the call abruptly ended, leaving him standing in the alleyway with his thoughts weighing heavily on him, and one hell of a problem. Springfield slid down the wall until he hit the ground hard, jolting him from his stupor. He sat there in awe and shock for another few minutes, trying to catch and make sense of the millions of thoughts clouding his mind, yet they illusively evaded his grasp. Eventually he broke away from his trance and stood up, bringing a clammy palm to his sore eyes and rubbing them in order to alleviate the stress of the considerably large workload dumped on his lap.
"Fucking great. You've done it this time Springfield. You knew you couldn't trust that Faunus prick the moment you met him, but you did it anyway. Now look where it's got you. You're sitting in an alley talking to yourself with a boatload of problems and no fucking cigarettes." Springfield ranted to nobody, convincing him fully that he had hit rock bottom. He casually lifted his scroll to his face again and checked his recent messages. Adam had stayed true to his word and wired 50,000 lien to his account. That sly bastard. This is half of my starting price. Thought Springfield with frustration. He reluctantly accepted the transaction and wired 30,000 of the fee to a private trust fund in the bank of Vacuo, letting his thoughts wander to his home for a few seconds before focusing on the task at hand.
Springfield once again stood up and proceeded to make his way to the end of the alley, pulling up a dossier Adam also sent him on the schnee family, or more specifically, Weiss schnee. 'the schnee family dust company has held the monopoly in remnant for decades and are the leaders of dust manufacturing for blah blah blah questionable and unethical blah blah blah. Springfield skimmed through the pages for the next few minutes, barely paying attention and focusing more on the pictures. That is until he arrived at the section on Weiss schnee. Weiss schnee, heiress to the schnee dust company. Identified by her symbolic stark white clothing and hair, along with a slightly noticeable scar donning her left eye. Is known to maintain an uptight and proud attitude. Possesses a high level skill in combat and excels in the use of a multi action dust rapier held in her left hand. Also has considerable control over her semblance, being glyphs. WARNING. Approach with extreme caution. I advise goading her into a fight through challenging her, let her make the first move. She will undoubtedly believe herself to be flawless, and maintain a false confidence in her abilities which will be her downfall. Watch out for her speed as well, or you'll be impaled on the end of her sword before you can even blink.
Springfield once again folded up his scroll and proceeded to lean against a wall in exhaustion, the bad past couple of nights mixed with the new contract and nicotine withdrawal was most definitely taking its toll on Springfield. He would never admit it, and his outside appearance would undoubtedly refuse to betray him, but inside his mind the seeds of doubt had been planted. He was slowly starting to panic for his own life and the lives of… others he cared about. He hadn't failed a job yet, and this one shouldn't be any different, but he still felt like his cause was hopeless beginning to seem more and more hopeless. What the hell had he dragged himself into? Why the fuck did he falls in with this crowd? How in the name of dust was he supposed to find Weiss schnee, a single girl, in a huge city during the busiest festival of the year?!
"How dare you talk to me like that? I am your teammate!"
…
What.
"You are a judgemental little girl!" a voice replied to the high pitched outcry.
Springfield stood in awe for a few seconds as he watched the scene unfold 50 meters away from his location down the street, seeing the argument between two teenage girls, one of which matched the description of Weiss schnee both by appearance and personality, all down to the scar on her eye. The girl in black arguing with her seemed familiar to him somehow, though the other three clad in a multitude of different coloured clothing left him guessing, though he did note how they observed the argument and stood by awkwardly.
Truth be told, Springfield was only focused on Weiss schnee, the situation finally hitting him like a freight train hauling high quality dust. It took a while for him to regain his senses and the ability to form coherent thought though, not to mention retrieving his jaw from the floor in the aftermath of the Deus ex cliché moment.
"NO WAY" were the only words he could form. "NO FUCKING WAY". He exclaimed at the top of his voice, drawing the attention of the two members of the group awkwardly stood off to the side. Shit! He thought, his mind kicking back into mercenary mode and willing his body to dive behind a nearby park bench. The girls in yellow and red soon turned back to the argument, coming to the conclusion that the sound of a very disturbed man was actually just a trick of the wind.
Heh… fooled those two! He thought triumphantly for a few seconds before he stopped in his tracks, his mind reeling and nagging him for some reason he couldn't quite place his finger on…
"Who are we hiding from?" said the ginger girl with a pink bow and vibrant green eyes, crouching behind the bench next to Springfield. Springfield immediately clamped his hand over the girl's mouth, effectively silencing her and insuring he remained hidden. The cheerful girl made sounds that sounded similar to something like 'is everything okay?' completely oblivious of the current situation.
This day keeps getting weirder and weirder… Springfield thought before addressing the girl directly. "Listen lady, i don't know who the hell you are or how the hell you snuck up on me, but you need to understand that I'm trying to not be seen here, okay? That means if I'm gonna move my hand, you need to be quiet! Got it?" this line of questioning was received by an enthusiastic nodding from the girl.
"Okay then…" Springfield said unsurely, but nevertheless removing his hand, allowing the girl to speak once again. This was met with silence for a few seconds, perhaps even more, the entire time the girl just sat their staring with lifeless eyes into Springfield's soul. He shivered inwardly before beginning another line of questioning.
"So… what the hell are you doing?" Springfield asked, unsure of the reply he was going to be met with.
"Hiding!" the girl replied like it was the simplest thing in the world.
"Yeah, i can see that, but why are you hiding here with me?"
The girl stared for another few seconds as if she was processing the information. "That's an excellent question!" she exclaimed, once again. Once she saw that this response was met with a bewildered response from Springfield, she decided to change the subject.
"I'm penny! What's your name?" she asked politely. Springfield started to get the idea that this woman may have a few screws loose in her head for whatever reason, and came to the conclusion that getting away from her as fast as possible was the best plan in this situation.
"Well, penny, is it alright if you… go? it's just that I'm sort of in the middle of something…" Springfield said with the calmest voice he could muster, suggestion lining his tone.
"What are you in the middle of?"
Wow, this girl can't take a hint… okay let's try a different approach… "Listen 'penny', you see those girls over their-"
Springfield gazed back to where the girls were holding their debate, only to be met with an empty street. A Small tumbleweed rolled past him, solidifying the cliché moment in his mind. shock was quickly replaced with frustration as he turned around to fling his hate at penny, who was nowhere to be seen.
Springfield struck the bench in frustration and anger, splintering the wood and bruising his knuckles in the process.
"Damn it... "He sighed, sitting back and allowing the pain of a missed opportunity wash over him. 'Great work Springfield. Really, FANTASTIC effort! Tell me, were you going to get the jump on that schnee girl before or after she walked away?' said Springfield's self-loathing and sarcastic alter ego.
"Yeah, well, at least I'm a real person" Springfield countered. 'Yeah, a real person who's listening AND talking to the voices in his head. Don't worry; i hear vale's pretty accepting of crazy people.'
"yeah… okay I'm just gonna stop talking to myself for now, how about that?" Springfield concluded, before climbing to his feet and walking in the direction he suspected the group of leaving in. the voices in his head gave one last squeak of refusal before being shut off for the time being. 'You can silence me but you can't silence the truth-'
with the comfortable silence Springfield was met with, and the realisation that he had absolutely no clue where the schnee girl went, Springfield opened up his scroll again, and begun to filter through his contact list.
"Let's see here… one eyed joe? Actually, i don't think he likes me since i stabbed him in the eye… hey, Caesar's still around! Wait a second… did i sleep with his sister? Only one way to find out…" he trailed off before going into the contact details and phoning up his old acquaintances number. After a few rings the call was accepted.
"YOU'VE GOT A LOT OF NERVE CALLING ME AFTER WH-" Springfield hastily ended the call on realisation that he probably did sleep with Caesar's sister. In his defence, it wasn't his fault… the voices in his head made him do it.
Through continued analysis of his contact list, Springfield realised he's screwed over at least everyone in vale at least twice, maybe three times. 'Hmmm… probably not the best business plan, but then again, i kill people for a living, so who cares?' Springfield pondered, before stopping his browsing suddenly. A small glint appeared in his eyes as he hovered over the contact details.
"Bingo"
Springfield waltzed into the nightclub with a spring in his step and a gun in his pocket, strolling in like he owned the place. Barging his way through the twin doors, two unfortunate souls who were previously standing by the entrance soon found they unconscious on the floor. 'oops' thought Springfield briefly, before quickly losing interest and walking to the top of the stairs which gave a perfect view of the currently empty dance floor, and the club's owner who was seemingly preoccupied talking to a few men in black suits and red ties.
"Junior!" Springfield exclaimed cheerfully, arms out to his sides as if asking for a hug and a grin on his face as if meeting an old friend after a long absence.
"CRAP!" Junior busted out, jumping back a few steps before his henchmen formed a makeshift barricade between the two acquaintances. "Keep him away from me!" junior ordered, before placing himself behind two young girls. The henchmen appeared to be a bit apprehensive about this tactical decision, a few even being as bold to shake their heads and sigh. Springfield could have sworn he heard one person mutter 'not again' under his breath.
'Looks like somebody gets beaten up a lot…' thought the mercenary casually, before clearing his throat and using his world famous and masterful negotiation skills.
"Junior old buddy! How's it going? I like what you've done with the place! Wha- is that a new haircut?" Springfield asked cheerfully, pacing back and forth and feigning over the top interest in his surroundings. It didn't take long for the club owner to build up the courage and respond to Springfield's delightful nature with a tone that radiated uncertainty.
"What do you want Springfield?" he asked suspiciously. "The last time you were here, i needed a complete renovation. And i HATE dealing with contractors!" junior stated with a stone cold glare and accusatory tone.
"Hey, I'm not the one who decided to pull out his goddamn rocket launcher and shoot the place up! Seriously, if there's anyone to blame, it should be you!" Springfield retorted, pointing a finger at junior in defence, who scoffed and shook his head.
"You haven't changed one bit. You still can't accept blame, can you? This is why Caesar and Malone don't talk to you anymore!" Junior shot back, dredging up some of Springfield's old memories.
"Malone? I haven't spoken to him in years! What's he been up to lately anyway?" Springfield asked with genuine curiosity. Junior looked at Springfield with and expression of pure disbelief on his face.
"YOU SET HIM ON FIRE! AT THE CAFE! REMEMBER?!" Junior screamed in desperation, a hint of insanity glistening in his eyes. Springfield pondered that thought for a moment before his memories recalled his old events.
"Oh yeah… guess we know why his nickname was matches, right?" Springfield shrugged carelessly, before realising there was a job to do and he wasn't here for a trip down memory lane and idle banter.
"Anyway Xiong, I'm gonna need a favour. I need some info on some-"
"NO! That's what you said last time, and now the doctor says i have to take these pills every time i feel stressed! I ain't giving you nothin' Springfield! So you can just see yourself out, or my boys here will give you a helping hand!" Junior interrupted. His statement was met with little enthusiasm from his henchmen, who seemed to be tiring of the common occurrence of talented individuals with big guns walking in and knocking them down like bowling pins.
"Junior." Springfield said suddenly, his tone turning from his casual, if not cheerful state to a darker more serious note, effectively dropping the temperature of the room a few degrees. "Don't be an idiot, remember what happened the last time you made a decision like that?" Springfield deadpanned, his right slowly and gracefully inching behind his waist without anybody noticing.
"Of course i remember! I was their! I just brought that up!" junior screamed in rage, his patience finally dropping. "That's it! Get him boys! I want him out of here!" junior's orders were met with little movement from the henchmen, the defacto leader of which spoke up on behalf of the others. "Ummm, boss? Are you sure that's a good idea? I mean he looks pretty tough…" The Hench trailed off, examining Springfield's casual demeanour once again.
"Are you kidding me!? He's just a merc! He doesn't even have an aura! Just deal with him!" Junior stated before making a tactical retreat behind the DJ table, the twin girls acting as his personal bodyguards and last line of defence. Upon hearing that their target wasn't some hunter in training or teenage girl who was an expert in some form of martial art, the Henches started to feel better about their chances, quickly surrounding him in a ring, cutting off all exits to the dancefloor. A few of them even grinned; pleased at the idea they might win a fight for once.
It almost made Springfield feel a pang of pity and regret for what he was about to do.
Almost.
Quicker than any of the men could comprehend, Springfield unholstered his signature weapon, his pride and joy which he could not travel anywhere without; his battle scarred revolver, equipped with a comfort grip and Bull barrel for executing those pesky targets. He called her Victoria, named after his first girlfriend. A fitting name he thought, because it was pretty to look at, but could take your head off in the blink of an eye. As he brought his weapon up, he spun the barrel at a lightning fast speed, the frequency of the clicks steadily becoming slower and slower, during this time, the henchmen were froze in anticipation, fear, perhaps wonder until the chamber came to a gentle stop.
Click
As soon as the chamber came to a halt, Springfield dashed forwards to the nearest goon, who almost couldn't comprehend the events unfolding in front of him. Springfield waited until he was a few meters away from the Hench before he dropped into a slide, racing between his legs and taking out his shins in the process, the man's face had a quick introduction to the floor, breaking a few of his teeth. Not allowing any time to rest, Springfield was back of his feet and racing towards his next target. Unfortunately, by now the rest of the henchmen had awaken from their stupor and responded to the threat, charging forwards blindly with swords in hands and magazines in pistols.
Those with melee weapons quickly made a move to flank and surround Springfield, not allowing any breathing room. Ironically, Springfield then launched a quick jab into his second targets windpipe, crushing it and sending the man to the floor writhing in pain. A Hench brought his sword down in a vertical strike, hoping to catch the merc in the skull and bring the fight to an abrupt end. seeing this coming, Springfield simply sidestepped the strike before launching two quick left jabs to the Hench's chest, finishing him off with a right hook to the jaw which sent him flying into one of his buddies, the sword spinning in the air for a few seconds before Springfield gracefully jumped and caught it, before bringing the melee weapon crashing down on an unfortunate goon, who barely had enough time to block the strike.
Amazed by his luck, the Hench decided to test it further, moving on the advance and pushing Springfield back a few steps, forcing him to keep his guard up. The ranged men from earlier saw this as a good time to start shooting, peppering the area around the two combatants with dust infused bullets. 'with those ridiculous glasses on, I'm not surprised they can't hit anythin-' thought Springfield, before being interrupted as the man he was fighting suddenly found a rather large gaping hole in his jugular, shock adorning his face as he fell to the floor, choking on his blood and trying to limit the flow from his neck, clamping his hands down as hard as he could. Glancing over to the ranged Henches, he saw the others had stopped shooting and came to stare at a nervous man among their ranks, holding a smoking gun in his heavily shaking hands.
Not one to waste and opportunity, Springfield extended his arm fully, his revolver resting comfortably in his grip, as he brought the small sights perpendicular to his vision. Squeezing the trigger slowly, he savoured the powerful kickback which made his arm fly backwards quite a few inches, barely maintaining control of the raging bull rearing its ugly head. He savoured the sight of the nervous team-killers chest exploding outwards even more as his hollow point round found its way across the dance floor to the victim's heart. Not wasting any time, he indiscriminately continued picking off the remaining shooters one by one, twirling and dodging gracefully as bullets whizzed and cracked past the air around him, a few even coming so close as to graze his skin and rip the very outer layers of his jacket. In a few seconds, all 5 of the original shooters were lying on the floor in various states of disrepair, some had wounding shots and a good chance of survival, and other didn't have a snowball's chance in hell or were already dead.
In his admiration of his handy work, Springfield very barely missed the baseball bat swinging from the edges of his peripheral vision, twisting his body away from the weapon at the last second, taking the blow to the ribs and not the skull, which would have surely knocked him unconscious. Springfield crashed to the ground, which only worked to amplify the pain he was already feeling from his cracked ribs. Suddenly, he felt a hand on his collar as the baseball bat goon flipped him onto his stomach, a foot quickly found itself clamped down on Springfield's neck, the pressure increasing swiftly as he found it harder and harder to breathe. Springfield struggled which was met with little reward, hands clamping around the Henches boot in futility. The Hench grinned like a madman, before gripping his baseball bat like a golf club and lining up a swing to the merc's temple.
"BATTER UP!" he shouted, laughing like a madman as he started his swing, the weapon quickly descending and following its predetermined path. Suddenly the bat fell from the Henches hand, and the foot loosened from Springfield's neck as the goon staggered back, holding his slowly bleeding chest, the crimson of his blood disguised by the red tie. The goon's eyes rolled back into his head as he fell backwards onto the dance floor. Springfield spun his smoking revolver around in his hand before bringing it to his mouth and blowing the slight smoke trail away from the barrel in the most cliché move imaginable. He was suddenly very glad he had that extra shot in the chamber. 'Damn that guy needs to think of better lines to say before he kills people' Springfield briefly considered before examining the carnage.
The rest of the henchmen with swords were either tending to their wounded friends, the ones that would live anyway, or retreating and simply fleeing out of the club. Three men brought up the courage to stand in the way of Springfield and his quarry, all charging at once this time instead of one at a time. 'Impressive, they actually learned something' he thought briefly before counter charging. The two parties maintained eye contact the entire time, until Springfield made his move about 5 meters away from the group.
"Catch!" he suddenly yelled, flinging his revolver into the air. The helpless goons could help but stare, one of them letting instincts take over and reaching out to grasp the weapon as it descended into his waiting hands. This distraction gave Springfield enough time to close the distance to the guy who caught his six-shooter, jumping into the air and bringing his knees to his chest in what looked like crouching mid-air. As soon as his boots met with the Henches chest, Springfield extended his legs with as much force as he could exert, springing off leaping backwards, rolling back to his feet. The Hench wasn't so lucky, as he was sent flying back at a ridiculous speed, crashing into a pillar next to the dance floor and hospitalizing him for the next few weeks. Springfield's revolver spun though the air like the moon, glistening in the lights of the club before it gracefully landed in his hand with seemingly little effort.
Unimpressed by his antics, goon number two struck, swinging from left to right with no real strategy, hoping to catch the man with a lucky shot. Springfield dodged two of the swings, and when it came time for a third he maneuvererd his way inside the henchman's guard, grabbing him by the wrist painfully and forcing him to the drop the sword. Springfield then launched a quick kick to the henches leg, dropping him down on one knee, where Springfield twisted his revolver in his hands, grabbing it by the barrel and backhanding the Hench with the butt of his pistol, hitting him square in the forehead and hopefully giving him a concussion.
The final swordsman played his hand much more cautiously, realising that charging in with no real idea was likely a good way to get you killed. The two circled each other, carefully examining each other's movements and footing. In a move unexpected, Springfield placed his handgun back in his holster, instead holding up his glove covered fists in anticipation. Seeing an easy opportunity arising, the Hench leaped forwards, slashing his sword in a diagonal motion. Anticipating this, Springfield brought his left forearm up, holding the Henches wrist at bay and effectively stopping the attack. With his right hand employing seemingly lighting speed, Springfield unsheathed his combat knife in his boot, promptly thrusting it forcefully in the man's abdomen, all the way up to the hilt. The man dropped his weapon, choking in pain as it clattered on the floor. Adding insult to injury quite literally, the merc twisted his knife inside the wound, the goon nearly passing out from the pain in protest.
Now, being one to never leave a job unfinished, Springfield proceeded to place a leg on the Henches hip; kicking back with force at the same time he pulled his knife from the wound, effectively gutting the man and creating a gash along his stomach, sending him crashing to the floor. Springfield then crouched over the soon to be corpse and wiped his serrated blade on the shirt, effectively cleaning the blade. Springfield sheathed the blade swiftly, and then noticed that he seemed to have a rather noticeable blood splattering on his jacket. Fortunately or unfortunately, it wasn't his own.
"This was my best top dammit!" he quickly exclaimed in a brief flash of annoyance, before glaring daggers at junior, whose thugs seemed to now be either dead or fleeing in fear. Not breaking eye contact, he once again brought out his pistol, opening the chamber and emptying the spent shells, before slowly placing new rounds in, one after the other. To occupy his time during this, he brought back the idle banter between himself and junior.
"So, are you willing to talk, or you just going to hide behind a bunch of thugs again?" Springfield asked casually, gauging junior's attitude and mood from his facial expression. The fact that juniors face was soon adorned with an infuriated frown did not bode too well for the merc.
"You always were a stubborn bastard!" he yelled in an accusatory tone. "Malachite! Melanie! deal with him!" he ordered, the twins clad in red and white rolling their eyes before gracefully walking towards Springfield, who had finished loading his weapon, and swiftly pulled out his knife again, holding it in a reversed position in his left hand, before sighing when he realised that he was going to have to beat up two young women.
"Wait one second!" Springfield suddenly exclaimed arms up and hands out in a move that begged the two girls to stop. Shocked by the turn of events, they complied warily, junior could only look on with a flabbergasted expression adorning his bearded face. "Okay, hear me out; he sends a bunch of grown men to fight me, who promptly die, so his backup plan is to send twin girls to beat me up?! i mean, i don't know about you, but if i worked for him, i think I'd just take an early retirement because this guy obviously doesn't care about his subordinates, or even the sanctity of human life! Am i right?" Springfield explained, adorning his rugged smile also, attempting to charm the girls.
"Wha- don't listen to him!" junior exclaimed desperately, but was met with a hand from the girl in white, motioning for Springfield to explain further. Seeing his opportunity to close the deal, the merc hit his point home.
"well, two intelligent and attractive young women such as yourselves should be doing something more productive with your time instead of getting into fights in a bar because some fat guy with a beard tells you too…" this statement was met by a quick counter from junior, who was seemingly becoming more annoyed by the second.
"For your information, it's not a bar! It's a NIGHTCLUB! And secondly, i can lose weight anytime i want!" junior screamed in frustration, defending his livelihood when he should have been trying to convince his subordinates to turn the cocky murderer into a mutilated mess of flesh. Springfield always found twins creepy for some reason, and the fact that they rolled their eyes in unison only sent more shivers down his spine. The girl in white spoke up first, seemingly making a decision.
"Whatever. I need to go put another coat on my nails. come on militia, let's let junior fight his own battles for a change" said the girl in white, gracefully walking off the dance floor and further into the club, her sister at her side.
Juniors look of shock was quickly replaced by one of fear, as he realised he was without anybody else to protect him. Springfield's eyes glinted in joy and a smirk slowly creeped across his face, as he made his way purposefully towards the defenceless nightclub owner.
"Come on junior, old buddy!" he sarcastically stated. "Let's have a little chat…"
oooh, cliffhanger am i right? whats gonna happen?! Nobody knows... except me, and you if you want! just leave any suggestions or thoughts about what direction the story should be going in and i'll consider them and get back to you through the power of private messaging! see you guys next time!
