Somewhere in Oakland, California…

/th4kV0R7ehk

The rap music blasted through the entirety of the barbershop. Business for the owner was pretty low-key as usual. Recurring locals came to get their haircut on a Saturday morning. The interior of the barbershop was all modern white, and had white lights illuminate the room at a high intensity. The patrons casually sat in the black recliner-like chairs with their black capes. There was a flatscreen that played all kinds of hip-hop music for the customers.

The man stood by the very back of the room, blocking off a tiny hall that led to his office. He was an overweight man in his early 30's. He was tatted all over his arms and was all dressed in black. A black New York Yankees snapback, a black tee, and black jeans along with a thick gold chain wrapped around his neck. He had a gold Rolex on his right wrist to complement the chain.

He rubbed his hands together as the other barbers continued cutting away.

"Ay man, I got that fantasy league on lock. Y'all teams too weak. Gotta pay up soon, man."

Two barbers that were close to him groaned. One was slim with a skin fade, and the other was mid-sized with a high top fade.

"How the fuck you gon' pick Lamar Jackson in the second fuckin' round? That shit make no goddamn sense. And you got Aaron fucking Jones in the first?"

The owner cackled.

"Go big or go home, mang. Got that MVP putting da' team on his back."

One of the patrons interrupted.

"Maaaan, y'all on that football shit? I was buggin' this year, dawg. Got me Andrew Luck and AB. Them boys threw the towel, and so did I."

They all turned to him and chuckled all at once.

"Goddamn. You needa get some compensation for that tragic ass shit. Sue they asses."

The patron threw his arms up.

"The fuck am I gonna get a lawyer from? Niggas don't got a JD degree 'round here!"

They all laughed in unison.

Another man joined in on the conversation. Very bulky with broad shoulders.

"Football? Man, nobody wanna hear bout that goddamn football. The silver and black mou'fuckas leaving us for Las Vegas. Now I know how them fuckin' San Diego dudes felt."

The owner felt a certain sense come over him, as if there was something urgent awaiting him at his office. The owner tapped on the slim barber's shoulder and signaled that he had pressing matters to attend to.

The overweight man disappeared into the dimly lit hall that contradicted the shining light of the barbershop.

He entered the office and closed the door behind him. It was a complete mess inside. Torn posters of swimsuit models and vinyls hung up on the walls, a knocked over shelf of various awards, certficates, and CD's, along with a couple of stretched out cardboard boxes of haircut supplies and hair products. The wooden desk was all piled up with paper and was not visually helped by the outdated bulky white computer.

The man sat down in his spinny chair and nearly fell once he laid back. The support was not what it used to be.

He took a good look at the photo of his slain best friend that sat on the desk. It was a man with a full grown beard, an afro fade, two white gold earrings, and a jean jacket. The man appeared happy as he crossed his arms in front of the green bushes.

Tivonte groaned, and tossed the photo to the side.

—

After a great deal of work, the owner went outside and came around to the back. He took a joint out of his pocket and a lighter.

He took one puff and looked around the view that came with the backside of the barbershop. He was surrounded by other desolate looking white buildings. There were worn out advertisements in English and Spanish, promoting art performances and local stand-up.

He took another puff and dug into his pocket to get his phone.

He turned it on. A missed call from his wife, and another missed call from his mistress. Damnit. He was really not looking forward to juggling his relationships after a hard day at work.

The owner was pondering to himself, thinking which one he should pick up first.

Out of nowhere, there was a gunshot.

The man was shot through the shoulder. He screamed in pain as his hat fell off his head.

As he laid there bleeding, he held his shoulder and groaned louder and louder as the throbbing pain spread throughout his upper body.

Suddenly, he heard four people drop down from

the ceiling of his own barbershop. They started taking footsteps towards him. He looked up in fear as the unholy creatures stared down at him.

"Yep, that's the guy. Tivonte Jordan."

It was Loona the Hellhound. The bratty and rebellious adopted daughter of Blitzo.

"Alright, Loonie, good job! But next time, mmmmaybe aim a little to the left, okay?"

That was Blitzo. The owner of the Immediate Murder Professionals, located in Hell.

"Sir, we're wasting precious time here. Let's *ACKGH* the target and move on." Moxxie made a slice gesture around his neck.

The high-pitched voice came from Moxxie. He was the weapons specialist of I.M.P and the voice of reason. Also, he was Millie's husband.

"Uhhh before we do that, Mox, shouldn't you go get a haircut?"

This was Millie. The powerhouse of I.M.P who had a crazed obsession with murdering people. She was Moxxie's wife, and she was teasing Moxxie again for his messy hairstyle.

The couple shared a smug look and smirked together.

Blitzo got down on one knee and looked down at his target.

"So, Tivonte. We came here on behalf of your 'so-called' best friend. Really eff'ed up stuff you did to him. And for what? So you can take out the co-owner and run 100% of your failing business? Eh, doesn't really fucking matter. We're not angels. We're just hired killers. Nothing personal."

The owner desperately shook his head as he pleaded for his life. "No...you got the wrong guy, man. I wouldn't turn on my boys, man! Let me fucking go! H-H-How much money do y'all need?"

Moxxie facepalmed. "Are you seriously going to bargain with a group of creatures you have never seen in your life?"

Tivonte responded. "Y'all don't seem too *cough* different from us. I can do things…"

"We all can do things. We're here to kill. So no, we're just going to take your life."

The imp scoffed and walked out. He patted Millie on the shoulder, as they both nodded. She walked to Tivonte and stood over him.

"Today is your lucky day, Tiv! We got a special request by your slain friend to ensure your death is a long and gruesome one!"

The fallen man's expression slowly transitioned from desperate to anger. He pointed to Moxxie. "D-Don't you turn me down, bitch! Y-Y-You done fucked up, lil man! Y'all fucked up!"

Millie began fuming. She panted heavily and caught his attention, making him worry for his life once more.

"Don't...you...call him...LITTLE!"

Out of nowhere, Millie held up a switchblade and cut into his chest. She proceeded to make a slow incision down.

The man yelled for his life. Suddenly, a sleeper hold out of nowhere from Moxxie slowly took the life away from him, along with his voice. Millie reached into the open chest and took out the heart.

She handed it to Moxxie.

He gasped at the offering, and grabbed the heart with enthusiasm. They both gave each other that special look again.

After applauding at the theatrical spectacle he just witnessed, Blitzo held his hand up and called out.

"Alright, team! We have to bring this carcass back to Hell and dispose of it properly! Let's go, gang!"

Loona was on her phone the whole time. "What was that?"

One down. A lot more to go.