Warning! Scary Jim ahead! Read on at your own risk! Temporary rating upgrade to K+ Little kids should read no more!
"Why so low boss?"
James Moriarty, criminal mastermind, glanced dejectedly over his shoulder at his new sniper, sighed enormously and turned back around.
"You wouldn't understand. You just don't get me."
"Missing Sebbie?" his sniper teased.
Normal men would have been terrified, but that particular sniper was actually Moriarty's only sniper at the moment (He hadn't quite rebuilt his organization yet, and rouge snipers are damn hard to come by) and he was so secure of his position that he felt safe tormenting the sleeping monster.
Jim proved him wrong, however, by shooting him in the leg.
The man yipped in pain and collapsed into a writhing heap as Jim pushed his hair away from his forehead with the butt of the gun. It felt wonderfully cool.
"Nah, I'm just stressing a little about what to do for Halloween this year. I'm still on the low-key, so it can't be anything too extravagant." He said picking up his laptop and putting it gingerly on his lap.
"Wh-wh-wh…" His sniper tried to speak, but the pain made him grit his teeth and clench his jaw in a pained silence. He released his breath in jagged gasps and rolled onto his back, wiping his blood on the front of his tee shirt and turning the gray cotton black.
"I suppose I could just give out candy to children, but that would be too boring. Plus candy is, like, super expensive right now…"
Jim rocked back and forth, reading his laptop carefully and scratching his temple with the loaded pistol.
"Just blow up something you freakin…" The sniper exploded in a groan of pain, but another spasm silenced him with an agonized squeal.
"I did that the year before." Jim whined.
The only noise in the darkened room was the sound of the sniper's pained gasping. The only light was the dull blue glow from Jim's laptop.
"Tra-tri-tri-tri-kuh!" The sniper might just have been babbling in his prison of torture, but Jim swiveled
. around. He thought he had heard something genius, and it didn't come from him.
"Trick or treating; hey, yeah that sounds like fun!" He exclaimed hopping up out of his cushiony chair and tossing his laptop carelessly behind himself.
"Too old." The sniper managed as his vision swam in dangerous-looking dark ripples.
"Free candy! You're never too old for free candy! At any rate, if they don't hand over the treats I could always stick them up for it!" Jim walked over and jabbed the barrel of the gun into the snipers ribs. He received a frightened whimper for his trouble.
"Man, I need a costume! Something cool, dark… something like me!" Jim exclaimed checking his pockets for his wallet.
"Help." The sniper feebly managed to say as the consulting criminal stepped over him on his way out the door.
Jim looked over him, giving him a fleeting consideration as his one and only sniper, and gestures vaguely around the flat.
"There's some gauze and forceps in the kitchen cabinet. Third from the fridge on the left hand side. Do stop bleeding on my carpet?"
The sniper looked up at the kitchen, several meters away, and the cabinet, several feet in the air. He sees what he has to do in order to help himself and wonders if this might be a test, or if his new boss really doesn't care about his employees.
He must drag himself to the kitchen, then somehow support himself on his injured leg long enough to find the medical equipment. Then his boss expected him to pick the bullet out from his own leg.
Jim slammed the door shut and sauntered down the hall, excited for costume shopping and the possibility of new mischief on the night of one thousand frights.