2
It was quiet—darker than ever before, he believed. He sat in the front seat of Oliver's pick-up truck. The area seemed deserted, maybe even like his construction site. He didn't know where it was, but he knew that Oliver owned a construction site—or did he? He knows very little about him, and doing this job, it could be all a set-up. Who knows? Maybe this here was his construction site.
"Do you really own a construction site?" he asked. "Fitzgerald Co. Limited?"
"No," he said. "I work for the one of the biggest gang leaders, who happened to have the same last name as me. If I told you his name, I would have to kill you. Not his last name since it's pretty generic. But I'm lucky myself to be alive. I know it, but he is very secretive. He's like that guy that would be seen as paranoid, taping conversations, you know. He's that kind of guy, Richard. He could be listening onto this conversation, right now, as we speak. But the main point about this—Richard, don't worry about the listening possibility—is we have to be very careful, though. The job we're doing could be a long and terrifying journey to our own mortality."
"Really?" he asked.
"Nah," he said. "I'm just screwing with you."
"Oh," he said, letting out a big laugh, feeling relieved. "You almost gave me a heart attack, you know. I could have died."
"Don't be a chicken, Richard. This is very serious."
"Can I go now?" he asked. "I've done the job, right?"
"You did," he said. "We have to wait since the guy is late. When he comes, I'll pay you your money, and maybe we'll see each other in another life."
He sat there quietly, thinking about "another life" and what could it mean.
A car rolled up. It parked right in front of them.
Oliver looked over to the car, and he knew it was the car. He opened up the glove box and pulled out a gun. It was a revolver—checking that all six bullets were in. They were.
He passed over to Richard and said, "In case something happens."
Richard started to get nervous. He didn't think he was going to be handed a loaded weapon.
Oliver stepped out of the truck, leaving the door opened. He walked over, and the man came out with another. They both look calm and ready to do something drastic, if needed to. They seemed like those men you'd see protecting a popular politician. And they seemed to do their job well, maybe even too well. They both wore black sunglasses, like in the FBI. But they looked like they could just shoot Oliver and him, too, and just leave with the money. He hoped that it doesn't have to happen.
Oliver talked with them for a while, letting Richard's heart beat faster than both of their heart rates combined. He was scared and didn't want to be in any sort of trouble. He just wanted to get this over with, money or no money. This would have made him scared, like when he was a kid and didn't want the Boogeyman to come out of the closet and hurt him. Hell, kill him in this type of situation.
The man who came out last went back to the car and grabbed something. It looked like those big briefcases you have to carry for big tools, like a mechanic. It looked like he could pull out a gun from those cases and shoot them both. Maybe Richard was getting paranoid.
They didn't, rather opened them up and showed more dough than a bakery normal gets to make for summer graduation. He handed Oliver the cases and started to walk back to their car.
He sat back in his seat, now with a smile.
"Why did he give you money, anyway?" he asked Oliver.
"I did a job a couple of weeks back, and this is the payment," he said. He opened the case and showed him big stacks of hundred-dollar bills.
"Twenty million dollars," he said, "in one case."
"Are you serious?" he asked.
"Yeah, and—Oh shit!" he yelled, seeing the same car being blown up in a big explosion. The smoke that came out was higher than both of their houses combined, Richard believed.
He pulled the shift from "forward" to "reverse" and drove in from behind.
They drove down a nearside hill, where Oliver had tried to stop him from going back. He knew about the hill, but Richard had parked too close to the rear end. He would have said something earlier, but he didn't think something like this would happen.
They went down fast.
While looking up, they saw what was shooting at. They saw a line of smoke coming from it. They knew that this had now turned into a game, maybe.
Richard looked at the back and saw that they were heading down a nearby road. There was so much dirt and multiple cracks, maybe some potholes along the way, with some lampposts working. But he knew that this was the only way of getting out. He had to drive through the road and get out alive.
He shifted the car back in "drive" and turned the wheel to his right, letting it slide and stop the truck from moving any faster downhill. He started getting closer to the road, and the truck was slowing down. Dirt came out faster through the wheels, but helped it slow its speed down.
He got back on the road, driving as fast as he can now behind the wheel. He hoped they wouldn't shoot again. But they did.
They shot fire, again, and he noticed that this would hit him if he kept going—if he kept going.
When it started to get close, he stepped on the brakes.
It landed down on the middle of the road, where it would have hit him, plain and simple.
He started the truck again, and drove around the big hole that would have hit them both. They were too big to be bazooka bullets (from TV, at least) and too small to be considered missiles, like the ones he saw in his old World Studies class about the missiles Cuba was harboring during the Missile Crisis.
He continued to drive away from them, but worried they would shoot at them, again.
They didn't. So he kept on driving from wherever the road led him.
I am the reason.
You know what I'm talking about. I have seen this battle of Agent BM and is against all this criticism and blah blah blah. Am I here to defend him? No.
I am the reason for all this. I'm the reason for all the critics. I'm the reason for all of the reviews. I am the very reason for all of this madness. How? I started reviewing as a critic, not a good one, but still. I began all of the stories that had everyone having an interest since I did one of almost every genre. That led me to be the inspiration for many writers. They got my idea and did it. I became this godfather for the archive. I became a writer that changed the game of fan fiction.
Do I regret any of what I did? No. Why? Because I am the reason for everything you liked. I am the reason you have authors like Antr, and others being influenced by me to write many stories. I am the reason many writers went on to challenge such topics because of what I wrote, horror and romance with countless pairings that I allow others to continue. I'm the reason some authors wouldn't be here if it weren't for me, like lexboss, who never who would have wrote for the archive since I remember back in 2012 I kept telling her to go on with her writing of incest in the Despicable Mearchive. Eventually, she wrote the love, which I beta for it. I could go on and on about how I did all of these things, but that's not the point.
I did all of these things, but I'd have the bad effects. I've been thought out as overrated and occasionally I start a story and don't finish it. I never lived up to this potential and expectation for others.
But I did something good. I changed this archive from what others desperate us from regular ones that didn't exceed its potential while attempting to keep it up like that. Critics became the ideal of keeping the archive of why it was special: The characters and settings with unpredictable plots and chemistry.
I want to do something that can everyone back into the grip of what the archive originally had its perks.
Im staying here, while giving you all a treat: I'm going to fix and rewrite ALL of my stories that were bad, unfinished, needs editing, or could have done better. How does this help? Some of the ideas I had were proper aspects of how the show and popularity could have increased the realism of actual characters that make sense, bringing back the old fashion fun of the archive with its original ideas and pairing.
Do I have anything else to say? Let me know on grammar error, I need help remembering where I went wrong on forgetting to put a word in.