Chapter 2: Goodbye, 47
There was a miniature part of me that was sent free from a metaphoric prison. Saying my unheard good-bye to Diana made things all the more better. Now that the teary part was over, I could finally arrive at my destination. The Wooshu Diner. At 4:00 AM, it seemed innocent enough. Lights inside were flickering on and off, but that wasn't an obstacle, no. Instead I simply opened the front door, my ears listening for anything or anyone acting as a phantom inside. But lights went on. Handguns were instantaneously pointed in my direction. There were exactly five men, and Diana. She was behind held by a fifth man, hands bound, mouth gagged. "Freeze, Mr. 47." One of the men in a dark blue suit said, his combed back hair making him resemble a Grease reject. He held a Para Ordnance P14-45 pistol, pulling back on the hammer with his thumb. "Move an' die." He added, moving in closer to me. A sick smile spread across his face, like a Jack o' Lantern. "You came--just in time." Without warning, he nodded. The very same man holding Diana removed a large Desert Eagle from his back pocket or holster, I couldn't tell. Yet, that didn't matter. My eyes witnessed the morbid act of unjust murder. He placed the cold, dark and staring barrel at the back of her head. There wasn't even the tiniest moment of hesitation before he pulled back upon the trigger. A loud BANG screamed madly in my ears. Her face literally exploded. Innards spewed out, chunks sprayed all over the man's suit. Falling limp, Diana's massacred body leaned over, a substantial amount of blood and inner-gore dripping onto the floor below. Cringing in angered disgust, I desired madly to reach for my Ballers.
"Mother fucker, you screwed up. You piece a' shit." Another man said, he carried a Micro Uzi, and wore an inexpensive looking trench coat. "I'll fuckin' kill you, now! Right here!" He rose his gun, and I thought he was going to fire. Animal instincts told me what to do, commanded me, held me like a puppet. And like a puppet, I dropped. My hands reached downward and all at once, ripped my .45 ACP pistols from their prison. BANG! BANG! BANG! Gunshots rang out. Crawling beneath a table, I aimed my two precious pieces of hardware at their legs, yet they moved. This was excellent, for I crept from beneath my hiding space and stood. "GET THE FUCK IN HERE! CALL BACKUP!" A disembodied voice from the back shouted. It was then I knew, this was either the FBI or the CIA. Either way, they were my new quarry. Pulling back the hammers with my thumbs, I wasted absolutely no time in firing at those who were attempting to flee to the staircase. BANG! The man first spoke to me fell, his blood splattering violently on the side of the walls. Moving past his fallen corpse, I began to rapidly move up those shadowy stairs. Behind me, the restaurant was seemingly in ruin. White-cloth tables were tipped and shot through, dust slowly rising up from where the gunners had been. This surely was not the last of this menacing situation.
From the bottom of the stairs, I could hear the men's' frantic screaming, calling for backup. I knew that the backup would come up the stairs, not down. Progressing as fast a humanly limits would allow me, I literally sprinted up the stairs. At the very top of the stairs, a black door stared down at me. When it opened, the silhouette of man with the gun appeared within my orbs. Dropping once again to the ground, I felt the carpet-clad stairs pressing against my milky-white chin. BANG! One shot sent the enemy down, and he gurgled in agony, for he was choking on the blood. To my disappointment, I saw that it was not the man who murdered Diana, but just a grunt. But he lay on his back, spitting and coughing up blood, crying even. Smirking deviously, I fired one round, one shell, to end his misery. Three left. The roof seemed completely empty. Ventilation shafts, though, would indefinitely provide a temporary haven for my adversaries. BANG! As the slick-haired one leaped from behind a shaft, I fired. The round was lunged deep into his chest. BANG! And another round would finish the Grim Reaper's duty. Oh! What was this? Catching me completely off of guard, another one of the grunts from downstairs sent himself from behind a shaft, sending a projectile into my stomach. Slowly raising my pistol in agony, he sent another into my left shoulder, before he was picked off from existence--of course!
Now? Now I bled. Now I pursued the roof for Diana's killer; limping lightly and trying not to collapse all the while. Freezing for a moment, my eyes went from side to side. I kept telling myself he was gone, vanished, a complete specter. But no, it was I who was the specter. Placing myself behind a shaft, I waited, bided my time. And when the unmistakable sounds of your enemy's footsteps were heard, you moved, like I did. BANG! I was in slow-motion. An introverted round pierced the lower part of the man's neck, and he dropped to his knees, begging it seemed. Once again the unambiguous grin I had plastered on would come into view. Lightly pressing my pistol in-between his eyes, I spoke for the first time in this monstrous situation. "You can suffer," Announcing that, it seemed he thought I would allow him to live. "With, Diana." His hopes were instantly cancelled. Firing a cruel and merciless round into his face, every single piece and scrap of meat flew directly behind him, and the limp piece of meat fell sideways. Taking a moment to cope with my situation, I perfectly understood the circumstances. There would be more. And what good would it do? The wounds I received most likely pierced a vital organ of some sort, for I found myself weak and slowly descending to my knees, holing my abdomen and dropping the pistols. As the sun slowly peaked over the East, I got one last look at the stars. One, final stare up at what beauty was, before I closed my eyes and fell.