Showdown

Bob and Frankie remained in the storage container. They'd lost all track of time, huddled together to beat the cold. It was just a matter of time before the doors were thrown open and the bad guys ended their short lived lives.

When all of a sudden, there came the sound of metal being torn, and the doors thrown forcefully open. The pair released themselves, looking and waiting for a man with a gun. Rather, it was a huge imaginary friend, with orange fur.

"No way," cried Bob, "Joe?"

"Way," said Joe, a smirk on his face, "I know I'm breaking the rules right now, but I just can't resist the opportunity to kill you." Joe grabbed the storage unit and began to push it. They knew that the water was behind them, and if the thing fell it, it was so heavy that it would drag them down to a watery doom. Thankfully, Bob saw a bit of dirt in the corner. Grabbing it in one hand and Frankie's in the other, he charged for the threshold.

"Oh," said Joe, "You'd rather be killed directly. I can oblige that." As they left the unit, Bob threw the dirt, knowing he had only one shot. Thankfully, it hit the target. Joe recoiled, yelling as dirt blinded him. Bob saw something: His Magnum. Untouched by the gangsters, he ran to grab it. He didn't want to kill Joe, and hoped he could find a way around doing so, but he would do it if he had to.

As he wrapped his fingers around the handle, Joe regained his vision, and charged at Bob. He rolled, and in doing so, saw a black cylinder sticking from Joe's back. That hadn't been there the last time Bob and Joe had seen each other, so maybe that had something to do with Joe's turn. He aimed the magnum and fired. With a few sparks, the cylinder fell of and exploded in a small fireball.

Joe stopped what he was doing.

"What?" he asked, "Where am I? Last I remembered I was..." Suddenly, his brain was flooded with memories of joining with the gang. From the first initiation, all the way to rampaging the home full of his imaginary brethren. He even remembered trying to kill Steven and his companion. The orange giant dropped to his knees and cried. Huge gooey tears slid down his face and onto the ground. Bob, or Steven, whichever you prefer, ran to his friend and tried to console him.

"Steven," sobbed the friend, "how can you forgive me after all that I did?"

"It wasn't your fault," said the man, "you were under their control, you had no way of knowing what you were doing."

"I have to make up for this somehow," said Joe, wiping his eyes off. He saw a convoy of black vehicles, one of them was a long black limo.

"Time for a little payback," said Joe. He lifted the storage unit that once held Frankie and Bob and gave a mighty toss. The huge steel box flew through the air.

…

Daniel knew it was time. Time to put an end to his nuisance named Bob. Seventeen years of chasing the man to get what he was owed would finally come to a close, even if it was without monetary gain. He sat in the backseat of his limo, oblivious to what was about to happen. The limo swerved suddenly, and Daniel's scotch flew from its glass and soaked him.

"What the hel-" he began to yell, but an explosion cut him off. The limo began to spin, and his glasses fell off. Time began to slow down. The driver of the limo was thrown through the windshield and into the icy water along with the rest of his gang. He saw an orange giant, with two figures, one of them in a green jacket. He knew what had happened. Bob had found and destroyed the device built to turn Joe evil.

Rage filled him, he would kill them all. He threw down what was left of his drink and sprinted as the car was tipping into the water. He just barely dove Superman style out the window before it was too late. But before he could draw his gun and fire, part of the shattered windshield caught a bit of his pants and tried to drag him down to the water. Daniel grabbed the marble edge, just as the glass released his leg and flew into the water, slicing his leg on its way down. He pulled himself up, but he knew his leg was soon to be an issue.

He pulled out his gun and aimed at the orange blob in the distance. His eyes were damaged, and could not register another figure raising its own gun. He heard two loud bangs, the zip of a bullet whizzing by, before hearing the splat of a bullet finding its target. He felt his nine millimeter pistol fall from his hand, and heard it clatter to the marble floor before falling to the ocean. What agony overcame his chest, and a huge splatter of blood soaked his nice white suit. Bob had to be the shooter, and no way was he getting away with that.

"Bob," yelled the man, in an agonized tone, "you think you can beat me? You may have shot me, but no way am I about to let you live. Come here and we'll settle this like gentlemen." He charged at his foe.

…

Bob saw the charging figure with a bloody top. It was time to end this, and make up for all the damage he was responsible for.

"Frankie," he said, "you and Joe go back to Foster's." He tossed her her sedan keys,

"But what about you?" asked Frankie,

"I have to end what I started seventeen years ago." he began to run over to Daniel, but Frankie grabbed his arm,

"Before you go," she said, "take this." She planted a kiss on his lips, before Bob fell into the kiss. It was a burning, tender feeling, lasting for a few seconds before they pulled away. "In case I don't see you again." Frankie took Joe, who was crying again,

"My little buddy's growing up," he said through his tears. The woman and the orange giant started towards Frankie's car, but he had other ideas. Joe grabbed Frankie by the arm,

"What are you doing?" she asked him. He scaled the wall, with her hanging. She was about to yelp, but before it, her feet were once again on terra firma. Joe had taken her to the top of a building.

"No way am I about to abandon my creator," said Joe, "and look, ringside seats." Frankie knew Bob wouldn't want this, but Joe wouldn't have it any other way. She was forced to watch her lover fight.

…

Bob threw the magnum to the floor. Boxing didn't allow for fighting an unarmed man with a gun. He charged and lunged into a punch. But Daniel had other plans. He grabbed Bob's arm and threw him to the floor. Despite having taken a gunshot to the chest and his leg sliced like deli, it hadn't done a thing to his might. Bob rolled to him and laid a blow to the groin, and when he bent over in pain, he uppercut Daniel to the face.

Daniel landed with a thud, his chest and leg were beginning to play up, he was gasping for air, and his leg was begging him to stop. But he wasn't about to let Bob get away with the score. He drove his good leg into Bob's gut, before springing up to tackle him, but failed to knock him off his feet. Bob stayed loyal to his pugilist fighting style, punching his foe in the chest, before grabbing his head, tucking into his armpit, and laying three punches to his face. Daniel kicked him in the back of the knees, and Bob toppled due to the force.

"If this keeps up," said Daniel, "you'll win. I'm not about to see it happen." Opened his suit coat, and lightning fast threw a knife. The blade stuck in Bob's gut, and he yelled in agony.

…

Joe saw that Daniel had used a knife to lay a mortal wound into his creator, and no way was he getting away with that. He looked around for something heavy and what should he see but an air conditioner. He ripped it from the roof, knowing he only had one shot. He spun like an orange tornado, before releasing the air conditioner like a log thrower. It sailed right over the fighters, but that was what he wanted.

…

Daniel was about to stab his foe to death, when suddenly he heard the sound of stone splitting, like a giant's plate cracking. He looked, and the orange buffoon had thrown an air conditioner, assumingly at him, and hit the ten ton statues.

"Ha," He yelled, "you missed." He raised his knife, when all of a sudden, something with a serious force wrapped around his wrist. He was thrown away from Bob, the steel cable yanking his arm so hard that it ripped his shoulder from the socket, resulting in instant agony. But he knew, that was the least of his worries. The statues fell into the water, and he was forced to go along for the ride.

The water was like an icy knife to his shoulder, chest, and leg. He was being dragged down so fast that he couldn't even register the fish swimming away. But he did know this: He was doomed. Even if he got his arm off the cable, he was too deep to swim up again for a breath of air, and even if he wasn't, his dislocated shoulder would hinder his swimming too much to make the swim. He decided to just wait out the ride and drown. He opened his mouth, letting the water fill his lungs, and simply waited. Everything went black.

Like it was all a dream, his eyes bolted open. He expected to be on the marble docks, or on a beach or something. But he was surrounded by brimstone, fire, and intense heat.

"So this is hell," he mused, casually, "all my injuries are healed, so where's the agony?"

"What a retard," "This will be a fun eternity," "He's so dumb." He heard the voices, so familiar, and looked. It was the demonized version of his gang,

"Hey fellas," he said, "glad to see you're all here."

"We ain't glad to see you," "Let's get him," "Dips on his spleen." And his own men were upon him.

…

Meanwhile, Back on Earth, Joe grabbed Frankie and leapt down to Bob.

"Ain't no way you're dyin' today." He said, and grabbed Bob. Like an Orange Hulk he ran on the sides of buildings, the tops of them, and anything he could run across to save his buddy. Frankie held Bob, who was now clinging to what life he could. Joe finally arrived at the hospital, and burst in the doors.

"This man needs healing, NOW!" He yelled. A team of doctors and the like ran to Joe with a stretcher. Joe placed Bob onto it, and Frankie followed the men to the room.

…

Frankie sat in the waiting room, hoping and praying that Bob would be okay. Her unkempt hair and baggy eyes told the world she'd lost sleep worrying for him. When suddenly, the doctor came out.

"How is he?" the woman asked him.

"You got him here just in time," said the doctor, "he'll need surgery to get better, but he'll make it. He's awake if you wish to talk to him." Frankie went into the room. Bob lay in the bed, and looked worried,

"Frankie," he asked, "are you okay?"

"That's not important," said Frankie, "the question is are you?"

"I'll be okay." Said Bob. Frankie walked to his bed,

"What you did was very brave." She said, and together, they shared a true love's kiss, all burning and tender. The love was there, and strong. But the moment was ruined when a doctor came in,

"Time to put you to sleep." Said he said, carrying a syringe. The doctor stuck the needle in Bob's arm. He was beginning to lose consciousness. Before being fully sedated, he said.

"I love you, Frankie."

It was a long walk back to the car, but she finally made it to her sedan and drove back to Foster's.

When she arrived, she was greeted by a barrage of greetings.

"Frankie, you're back!"

"Are you okay?" And most importantly,

"Where's Bob." Frankie recalled the tale of what had happened at the Marble Docks, how Bob was in the hospital, and how his surgery would cost a cool forty thousand. It seemed hard to believe, but every friend gave up their change to help him, some had a fair bit, others a small portion, but all of them together just made forty thousand.

Bob may have beat the bad guy and saved Frankie, but we ain't done here.