Chapter II
The Executioner's Hounds
He ran, the angry mutts on his tail. One fuck-up, and he was dead. From how they moved, he could tell they were hunting dogs. He dodged the pounce of one, and vaulted a small table in front of him. That's when he saw "Miranda", his Beretta M92F Custom. Goddamn, that gun was sexy... But, never had it ever been THIS sexy. It was sitting in a glass container upon a velvet pillow, Markus assumed that it was to be a trophy. The container had a large padlock on it, that screamed "Unbreakable". This was dismaying to Markus, as he was able use a weapon. Markus really wanted his gun back.
Behind him, he heard a loud crash, followed by a loud, high-pitched yelp of pain. One of the dogs had collided with the table. He heard claws on wood, and ducked. Just in time, as one of the dogs had tried to pounce on him. He shot back up, as it glided above him. He caught it on his shoulders. It wriggled and fought against him, but he was stronger in this fight. He kicked the third dog in the snout, as it tried to follow it's compatriot on his back. He then lifted it above his head and heaved it at the trophy box, angrily. At this point, Markus was not pleased in any capacity.
The hunting dog collided through the glass, in seemingly slow motion. The glass almost seemed to fight it, in an attempt to land first. Upon hitting the ground, the mutt attempted to pick itself back up, but only collapsed unconscious.
"Down, Fido.", he quipped to himself as he jogged over. He heard more running behind him, and turned to punt the dog on his heels to the side.
"I think it's about time for you to go back to the pound.", he declared semi-triumphantly to his aggressors as he fingered his gun. He popped the clip out and checked it. It was full. The self-proclaimed "Executioner" never actually checked his gun to see if it was loaded, or trusted his damn lock more than the box. Either way, this put Markus in more of a position to fight back, and he liked that.
Every millimeter of the firearm was fully customized, from the S.W.A.T. emblazoned in the grip, to the hairpin trigger. He was holding a weapon of war, and had 17 shots; "Miranda" was his light in the darkness. Then, he attacked. "Lassie" had recovered from that last kick, and wasn't happy. It rushed him, and bit his leg. The dog was gnawing like nobody's business, and goddamn, did it hurt. Then, the other dog he'd dubbed "Baskerville" after it rammed into the table, had finally recovered. It took 4 steps, then pounced over the table after him. He replied with the same malice and shot it twice, once in the body, and again in the head. Markus then pried Lassie off his leg, and shot it in its skull.
"Sit, stay, play dead." Markus joked, as he shot the last of the trio. "Guess the dog show's over, due to a lack of competition, douche-canoe!" he taunted triumphantly.
"So, HERE'S THE DEAL! You kidnapped me, attempted to kill me, and didn't even have the balls to do it like a man― with your own hands. I ain't takin' kindly to all this. In fact, it really pisses me off! You OBVIOUSLY thought your mongrels would take me out, but as you can see they came up a little short. THANKS FOR LEAVING MY GUN FULLY LOADED BY THE WAY, JACKASS! Send what you will, but know this; I'm coming for you, and I'm coming hard!" He shouted, enraged, his fury rolling out of him. He then shot the camera, set to monitor the room.
