Jeez, that third bullet got stuck in the worst place. It was not going to be fun trying to pop it out.
I laid still on the cold wet road, the gravel and dirt sticking to my skin, the back of my head throbbing from the impact of the bullets. Their velocity had knocked me back harder than expected.
Sheesh are there are just no gentlemen left in the world. I can't believe they shot me six times. SIX!
I distantly heard the men bickering in panic."Well what the hell do we do now?"
"The boss is gonna be pissed"
"I wasn't even supposed to come tonight!"
"Rustolf's dead, he was the only one that knew where the rest of the bosses money is. Now even though he's dead, it's gonna be our heads on the line" the group was grumbling.
They were so inconsiderate, here I lay dead and they were only worried about themselves.
I would kill them all.
No, that was an over reaction, it happens every time.
I lightly flickered one eye open, the night sky was beautiful, but it wasn't the scenery I was interested in.
I was able to see that the weasel was still frozen in place; he was just terrible at this. He must have heard the worst rumours about me; maybe he believed he was now cursed.
Obviously the first step in a situation gone wrong would be to hide the evidence, which in this case were the two dead bodies (well technically 'body') lying on the ground.
Instead he just panicked and provided no leadership for the equally dazed idiots.
Where do gangs find these people? Do they approach every high school crack head and just offer them a job in a criminal organisation?
I was sent the mission of tracking down Rudolph for the bounty on his head. It was so easy finding him I may as well have been taking candy from a baby (a really fat ugly baby).
Apparently he never learned the concept of saving and spent most of the stolen money on a two million dollar house.
A little suspicious, considering before he lived in a one bedroom apartment.
I had been following him for a week. Waiting until he made the phone call detailing where he'd stashed the twenty four million.
By now I was getting tremendously bored tailing the swine, so I was overjoyed once he had just finished dinner at a restaurant on the east side of the city, when he made the call (on his brand new mobile phone). He didn't even tip the waitress, I followed him further and then I chased him into the alleyway. And didn't that plan just turn out peachy keen for me.
My mouth silently spat out the grit that mixed with blood in my mouth.
The whole group started opening up the truck and laid out a sheet to role Rudolph up into. Weasel had regained a fraction of his composure and started ordering them around.
It required most of them to lift Rudolph up into the sheet.
Stupidly, none of the henchmen were watching my body.
While they were busy, I started to get up, wiping the blood that had dripped from below my eye. Silently I reached into my personal supply of goodies strapped on my waist. I was now holding my favourite 9-millimetre semi-automatic pistol (well one of my favourites. Can you blame me?! I can't have just one favourite, it's like a parent choosing their favourite child… well I suppose some parents must have their favourites, they just don't say it out loud… makes you wonder which side of the coin you're on right?).
I could kill them all, which would solve the issue of being shot again.
My eyes gleamed at the possibility of a challenge.
Three urgent beeps sounded in my earpiece. Seems Mason did not like the idea of a massacre.
Of course I had realised he had been watching me the whole time, but it was unlike him to go undercover.
A little warning would have been nice.
But, he was right. If we killed them, it would just draw a big target on our groups back. It'd be like declaring war.
I put away my gun and nodded putting on my miniaturised gas mask, in the pocket of my tool belt on my black tight pants. That was when one of the members noticed my bleeding body alive and standing.
I must have looked like something straight from a horror movie. Covered in bullet holes with blood pouring out of my body and a mask covering half of my face.
I waved at him, smiling underneath the mask. His face went pale, he went to yell but instead collapsed to the ground.
The sound of the 'thud' alerted the rest of the men, but before they could do anything about it, the rest of them fell like human dominos.
Until only two people were left standing.
When the three beeps had sounded again, I removed my mask and looked at Mason who did the same.
"Not like you to go undercover, although wonderful acting skills as the brooding driver, bravo. You really are amazing. The way that you just stood there and said nothing, even when I got shot. Six times by the way. Wonderfully done" I taunted, slowly clapping.
"We both knew that was going to happen anyway, besides it's not like the bullets were made of silver or anything." He said.
"I'm not a frickin werewolf" I scorned.
"Could have fooled me" He retorted. I punched him in the arm, smiling and scrunching my face at him.
Mason, the head of our little team, he was a natural leader and one glance at the guy let you know you could rely on him. The way his broad shoulder straightened in perfect posture, he had been bread into the perfect soldier.
I had always wondered why he didn't work for Avia's Military. Especially with his father being the Sergeant Major in command. But the tease wouldn't tell me. Oh no he had to be Mr. Mysterious.
It drove me crazy with curiosity as to why he wasn't part of WING's operative squad. An elite force in the military full of perfect young recruits just like him. Not only that but he was working as a bounty hunter. A bounty hunter of all things! In this city we were given about the same respect as the criminals we caught.
Still the idea of why he'd leave a life of honour and medals for... well whatever this is, was so tempting of a puzzle.
Mason began to remove his disguise, taking off his beanie to reveal his neatly trimmed brown hair, spiking naturally up.
He began swapping his cheap jumper for the usual dark navy jacket and taking off his pretty gold necklaces.
I admired his taste in jewellery, and normally I'm not a fan of gold chains.
After looking like his usual self, he observed the mess of unconscious thugs.
Despite having a lean form he was surprisingly strong. His arms were muscled but had more power than they let on.
He lifted each of the over three hundred pound men into the van, one by one.
I could have helped but I had just been shot, so I think I deserved to sit back and watch him do the work.
He didn't complain, he just continued to haul in each drugged out body. He would have to leave them somewhere, alive, so that they could run back to their bosses and tell them about Rudolph's death. That way nobody would send out more henchman to come find him. Although based on previous experience, the idiots would probably be killed for their failure.
"You know I could have taken them all out, there was no need to use the human bug spray," I pouted pretending to be insulted.
"I'm sure your capable, but I wanted to avoid any unnecessary action," he lectured.
"When you coughed, I do hope that meant I could kill him" my eyes glancing over to the body in the van.
"Otherwise we have a slight problem," I said, beginning to prod the lifeless body of Clark Rustolf.
"I weighed the odds. This was the best option." Mason replied. Of course he wouldn't tell me why but I could think of a few good reasons.
"Well then why didn't this entourage come after him sooner? Couldn't they have, I don't know tortured him for it or something?" I asked poking the other unconscious bodies.
I was tempted to write 'Pumpkin face' on one of the goons forehead, but then I saw Masons eyes glare in disapproval as though he could read what I was thinking.
"He had hidden the money in a place that was set to burn if a message with a specific code word wasn't received at a certain time, all of the money would be gone and…" he continued to explain the situation further for the next few minutes, despite the fact that I already knowing most of that information, Mason still went into 'mentor mode' with excessive detail.
"Right, all of this is making me bored. Isn't there anything else more interesting to mess around in?"
"Not to your tastes, there isn't," he answered.
Of course not, because nothing fun ever happens, this was all just so annoying. A sharp throb spiked into my neck.
They never used me for anything important. My eye twitched.
Why did I get roped into this? Week after week, just because of some verbal contract I was forced into. My hand itched.
Frustrated I punched the wall; this whole thing was just so repetitive! Mason looked up at me, troubled at my reaction.
Why did all of these gangs even matter, it would be better to just let them rip each other to pieces. My head began to throb, not from being knocked down but rather a pain that reached throughout my nerves, the sensation of being hit over and over with a hammer kept drumming into me.
The pain was unbearable; I gripped onto my head with both hands, why couldn't I just die, I wanted to die.
I couldn't stand it any longer. I felt Mason holding my shoulders saying something inaudible. Was I on the ground or was I standing? I couldn't tell up from down, all of my senses were blocked by pure pain. I felt a sharp object pierce the skin of my arm and a cold sensation that followed.
"Quinn, a – seconds – will – all over – hang – there." I barely heard, this had never been so strong, the wave of after shock. The consequence of dying.
The first time I had died, of course I was beyond shaken and terrified of myself, but it had only resulted in a small headache (and a tiny bit of psychological trauma, of course I'm completely stable now… what don't believe me?).
Gradually every time I died, which has been far too many times in my opinion, I would receive a small headache.
For me the price of dying was little to pay, with only two side affects. One the headaches, and the second was something I hadn't fully figured out yet.
Every time I died, I became less… well, I suppose less human. I would gradually act in chaotic outbursts. If I continued to die in times too close to each other, I would become more and more bloodthirsty.
My current solution is a 'not-so-effective' plan of: Don't Die. Simple right?
So why am I in a business where killing happens everyday? Because if I die without killing someone soon after, the little empathy I have goes poof.
l lose control (and trust me, that was something that only a psychopath with a fetish for blood baths would want to see).
And this is the best solution I've come up with. A sort of balance of the two I suppose. So I chose an occupation where, my victims were soulless criminals, who did nothing but ruin the world and lives of people around them. Problem solved. Some may not see my reasoning for killing valid, but when given two options, I chose the lesser of two evils. (Why not just go for a job that doesn't involve killing all together? You may as well be asking a mosquito to stop trying to suck the blood from your arm, even if it knows it's going to get squished)