The world swayed violently in the killer's mind as he made the painful transition into consciousness. His surroundings seemed pixilated and time slowed down. His eyes were hard to open at first as he still felt heavily exhausted.
The thing he noticed first, was the intensity of the cold. It was much worse now than it had been before he had crashed. This thought led to the realization that he was no longer in his car. His pulse quickened immediately and his groggy eyes widened as he felt the familiar feel of pavement on his back. A weak breeze blew over his face, stinging his face which he had just realized was streaked with blood.
As he shook his head to clear his vision, he noticed a small gathering of people standing around him and voices that seemed to flow out of his ears as quickly as they had flowed in. It was as if every bit of his sub-conscious was screaming at him. He thought his head might explode as he tried to grab a hold of himself and let the fact that he was most likely minutes away from death sink in. Preparation for this feeling didn't seem possible. He'd fucked up badly, and this reached a personal high score for botched jobs.
The voices were clearer now as the gathering above him discussed their plans with one another.
"Let's shoot him, no one'll care. Fifty bucks says he was after Luigi. We found this on him." Thick Italian accents. This one sounded cocky, and possibly had a few drinks in him by now. As the killer slowly blinked away the blood in his eyes he saw the fancily dressed wop holding his glock by the barrel, showing it to one of his goons.
Another voices began, this one higher and more obnoxious, "I think Lu would probably like to see this guy, do what he pleases with him. Who knows, he may just turn him over to us anyway.
The killer began examining his options carefully, struggling to formulate a plan in his mind. His mind was clearing up now, it was becoming easier to hold a thought. Relatively sure that they still thought he was unconscious, the killer closed his eyes. Something was pressing uncomfortably into his back from underneath his near-frozen body. Step one of the plan was complete as the killer realized this was his switch blade that he kept in his back pocket. Judging by the way it felt, it had slipped out and was behind his lower torso.
His eyes opened just far enough to peak through his eyelids. Three people. They looked tough, probably club security. Knowing Luigi, they were definitely armed. He had step two straight in his head.
All of the goons seemed like they had consumed their fair shares of alcohol. They weren't quite all there. This gave the killer a slight advantage. Step three.
He had a plan.
His eyelids opened once more, this time wide enough to be noticed. The gaze of all three of the goons was directed toward him.
"He's awake." The annoying, high pitched voice from before noted.
The killer stretched his right arm to assure them that he was indeed conscious once more. They each took a step toward him. He let a groan escape his lips, hoping it didn't sound too put-on.
"Hey, fucker, what's your name?" The loudest of the bunch asked, sounding overly-aggressive and wreck less.
The killer sat up slightly, trying to shift the undetected switchblade to a more reachable position.
"Lay the fuck down!" The drunken goon yelled as he reached a strong, muscle loaded arm down to put the killer back in place.
So he made his move. Rapidly, almost without thinking he spun around and wrapped his stiff, freezing fingers around the warm pearl grip of his knife. A swift 'snikt' rang out as he pressed the small metal button, prompting the razor-sharp blade to pop out menacingly.
Aided by a massive rush of pure adrenaline, the killer's outstretched arm swung toward the goon's calf. There was a sickening moment as the goon's skin attempted to resist the blade. It failed as a nauseating pop let the killer know he'd hit his mark. An agonized, helpless yelp broke the night's uneasy peacefulness in outstanding fashion. The killer didn't have any time to spare; he sprung to his feet after tearing his blade from the goon's leg and pushed the man down.
With amazing speed considering the circumstances, the killer lunged for the obnoxious little Italian who was still trying to register what was going on. He crashed into him with brutal force, bringing himself and the goon to the ground. As the killer turned to face the remaining mobster, he held the stunned goon in front of him as a shield. The remaining goon, before he could stop himself, fired at the killer.
An awful gasp rose from his throat and a thin cloud of smoke rose quickly into the night sky as the gunshot echoed off of surrounding buildings as if to emphasize the importance of what had just happened. The killer's eyes narrowed as some sort of feral rage took control of him.
The goon had made a perfect human shield, but his purpose was exhausted. His limp body, now adorned with a fresh bullet hole from his own friend's gun, crumpled sadly to the ground. A flash was all the remaining goon saw as his alcohol-clouded body felt itself crashing to the ground under the weight of an angry hitman. He didn't feel the pain as his skull met with the pavement several times. Everything faded fast.
Everything was silent again except for the groaning and cursing of the only living goon, who laid on his side trying to work up the courage to tear the knife from his leg. The killer did it for him, but the relief was short lived. The goon was dead in seconds as the killer swiped skillfully at his throat, spraying his life all over the pavement.
The killer shakily stood up straight, unconsciously wiping the knife clean on his shirt. His thumb pressed down on the button and the blade retreated back into the handle, having done it's job well.
The killer's chest heaved heavily as the adrenaline began to fade and he was once more aware of just how tired he was. He was momentarily oblivious to the cold as his face poured sweat, washing away some of the blood. His head throbbed from some unseen injury on it. He'd worry about that later.
The killer sprinted away quickly, praying to himself that no one had stumbled upon the scene yet.