metal and plastic felt good in his hands. He felt the power emanating from it, and he felt invincible. His orders were simple: don’t let the cop leave but don’t kill her. No, Samuel was going to have that honour and he would make her bleed first. His grin turned sour at the thought of that lady they had brought in days before. Her screams still rang in his ears, he could not believe what they had done to her. But that was the way it was, you had to do such things so people would respect you. His grip tightened and he felt the gun’s power once again.
Nothing would get past him. He was invisible, indestructible. He felt cocky as he acted out with the weapon approaching some invisible target.
“Oh, you think you can get past me do you, ay?” He stabbed the air with the machine gun to simulate firing at some imaginary foe. Yes, he was the man.
Behind him a shadow slithered down a rope that had been tied off at the base. The Shadow’s movement was slow and easy, taking its time coming down, until finally it was directly behind the gunman Stan, who was now busy fighting off whole hordes of cops. Two outstretched arms came closer and closer until, finally, one cupped his nose and mouth, the other applied pressure onto his neck. Stan fell silent, and with immense control, the Shadow brought him down and dragged his unconscious body away. The victor looked round for a brief moment then his attention went upwards before he disappeared into the darkness.
Ed looked down from the lighting walkway. The large wooden strip was old but still held his weight. He thought of how brilliant he had been to think of going up here, he had a full view of every part of the stage and seating area; nobody would get past him, especially that woman cop. He was a short but stocky man, tattoos covered his arms, and his shaven head reflected the small specs of light that had dared to creep into the hall.
He had tried to join the army but had failed his psychological examination. ‘Was too fond of killing, a danger to all around him’, was their conclusion. Damn doctors, what did they know, he thought? So he got in with the Russians, since they seemed to like his lust for the job. Even at twenty-five years old, he had done some questionable things for them, but he regarded such actions as thrilling.
Looking down, he saw nothing. Wherever the woman cop was, hiding they would find her eventually. He recalled the phone call from Samuel telling someone from outside to lock the doors so the cop couldn’t get out and that he would find her. He smiled at the thought of what he would be able to do to her, he just might film his actions and send the recording to the cops. He chuckled to himself, feeling that this job was too easy. A sound in the far corner got his attention, and he looked off to where the creak of wood had come from, but saw nothing. He stared closer into the darkness, hoping to see something he could shoot at. But this was the last thing he did before he felt a pinch to his neck and the sensation of falling, and then nothing.
Down below ‘Boris the Bruiser’ walked his patrol, shotgun in hand as he paced the small area at the far end of the backstage. He was a massive hulk of a man who on first appearance seemed to have no neck, just a head balanced on his shoulders. The automatic 12-gauge weapon looked like a child’s toy in his grasp but he knew how to use it. The other guys had been placed here and there but his was a great place, he thought. It was right next to the exit, so if someone was to try and come in or out they would have to contend with him. Even for his large size, he moved quietly.
Something in the corner caught his eye. Was someone there? It was not possible, the area was covered top to bottom. He moved in slowly, shotgun at the ready.
Sam McCall hid herself behind the barricade, her back leaning against the cold wood for comfort.
From the right side of her position, she heard a slight noise: not much of one,
Nothing would get past him. He was invisible, indestructible. He felt cocky as he acted out with the weapon approaching some invisible target.
“Oh, you think you can get past me do you, ay?” He stabbed the air with the machine gun to simulate firing at some imaginary foe. Yes, he was the man.
Behind him a shadow slithered down a rope that had been tied off at the base. The Shadow’s movement was slow and easy, taking its time coming down, until finally it was directly behind the gunman Stan, who was now busy fighting off whole hordes of cops. Two outstretched arms came closer and closer until, finally, one cupped his nose and mouth, the other applied pressure onto his neck. Stan fell silent, and with immense control, the Shadow brought him down and dragged his unconscious body away. The victor looked round for a brief moment then his attention went upwards before he disappeared into the darkness.
Ed looked down from the lighting walkway. The large wooden strip was old but still held his weight. He thought of how brilliant he had been to think of going up here, he had a full view of every part of the stage and seating area; nobody would get past him, especially that woman cop. He was a short but stocky man, tattoos covered his arms, and his shaven head reflected the small specs of light that had dared to creep into the hall.
He had tried to join the army but had failed his psychological examination. ‘Was too fond of killing, a danger to all around him’, was their conclusion. Damn doctors, what did they know, he thought? So he got in with the Russians, since they seemed to like his lust for the job. Even at twenty-five years old, he had done some questionable things for them, but he regarded such actions as thrilling.
Looking down, he saw nothing. Wherever the woman cop was, hiding they would find her eventually. He recalled the phone call from Samuel telling someone from outside to lock the doors so the cop couldn’t get out and that he would find her. He smiled at the thought of what he would be able to do to her, he just might film his actions and send the recording to the cops. He chuckled to himself, feeling that this job was too easy. A sound in the far corner got his attention, and he looked off to where the creak of wood had come from, but saw nothing. He stared closer into the darkness, hoping to see something he could shoot at. But this was the last thing he did before he felt a pinch to his neck and the sensation of falling, and then nothing.
Down below ‘Boris the Bruiser’ walked his patrol, shotgun in hand as he paced the small area at the far end of the backstage. He was a massive hulk of a man who on first appearance seemed to have no neck, just a head balanced on his shoulders. The automatic 12-gauge weapon looked like a child’s toy in his grasp but he knew how to use it. The other guys had been placed here and there but his was a great place, he thought. It was right next to the exit, so if someone was to try and come in or out they would have to contend with him. Even for his large size, he moved quietly.
Something in the corner caught his eye. Was someone there? It was not possible, the area was covered top to bottom. He moved in slowly, shotgun at the ready.
Sam McCall hid herself behind the barricade, her back leaning against the cold wood for comfort.
From the right side of her position, she heard a slight noise: not much of one,
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