Agony || Shadows Trilogy || Creative Writing

[mybeary]

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There had been quite a particular bar which served as an escape of sorts to those seeking for fame and glory, for those who had fallen from freedom, and for those who forge trust within darkness. It hadn't been a bar especially known for their food and drinks, nor it was a bar known for their music, but it was where one could easily seek information, especially now that the skies were now only fading to dusk, when the fine lines between light and dark begin to fade away; where morality and insanity begin to merge. With such a place to inspire anarchy within the city, no one batted an eye when the Angel opened the door.

 

As the soft serenities of the smooth jazz grizzled into a proud melody which echoed throughout the bar, the Angel took to his own seat at the table and ordered himself some wine. He was never a heavy drinker, and besides, he was finally going to gather information on the suitcase which governed the power of the city's mafia.

 

He pondered on the days when he still had a partner, and he longed for a partner who understood his risky plays, and who accounted to help him deliver. He closed his eyes then; he pondered on the times when the two of them sat at this very same bar; he pondered on the times when the two of them first had their disagreements; he pondered on the times when he'd lost his partner for good, when he took a job too seriously. The clanking of the glass shook the Angel from his ponder, and he then took a long, reminiscent sip of his wine.

 

He had just been about to rise from his spot and pay for his order, leaving the drink half filled as always, but he noticed a commotion near the entrance, along with some discern among the patrons. He took a quick peek at the entrance, his weapon ready at the draw, his eyes piercing through the door, and his nerves heightened to the point where he could start shooting and never stop shooting; with this many sirens going off outside, it seemed as if the police were planning a raid on this very bar.

 

The Angel was taken aback by this thought; why would the police reveal their location if they had been planning a raid? Why make such a commotion outside and draw attention to this secluded area for little reason at all; the police here weren't the type to attract publicity everywhere they went. Why make their presence known now, when he now has so much time to make an escape?

 

It was at the time when the gentle knocking began that the Angel realized that the establishment was surrounded, and he was trapped within the building. Looking around quickly, he calculated that he'd only have a few seconds to hide himself, before the police began to swarm in on the area. He didn't know who the police wanted, but if he was caught in the crossfire, he would have been arrested for sure.

 

The clock on the wall ticked for a few seconds, perhaps even whispering a soft tune amongst the calm before the storm. The Angel had just begun to pick up his stuff and head on over to the storage room, when he'd noticed, even for just a split second, a man bringing the walkie talkie to his mouth and speaking into it. His eyes widened from within his mask; he didn't have enough time to duck.

 

Glass shattered everywhere; flames and mayhem governed the establishment now, as the door was suddenly forced open, causing the patrons to be taken aback by the sudden force. The Angel took the opportunity to defend himself from the bullet maelstrom, albeit losing balance for a short while and causing himself to fall onto the shattered glass. A warm but familiar splatter of red littered his back as he experienced a sudden multitude of piercing stings, riddled throughout his body. Cursing his rotten luck for this incident, the Angel let out a gasp of pain, as the chaos drowned out his train of thought.

 

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“Wake up”

 

A kick to the back woke the Angel to reality, as the Angel, eyes wide open, suddenly gasped for air, and flinched, the pain spreading out from his back. The slight gasp turned into a cry of agony then, as a boot was suddenly placed on the Angel’s head, forcing his chin onto the shattered glass. The Angel seethed through the newfound pain.

 

When had he been turned on his back, and when had the chaos died? He could have sworn that it’d only been a few seconds, seeing as the flames were still going strong, and he could smell the smoken scent of freshly spilled wine on the floor. Despite what had just happened, the Angel cracked a grin from under the weight of the men on him; for a squad of policemen, their methods were ruthless enough to match those of the mafia. It’d been a long time since the mafia went dark, but many people still live in the fear of them.

 

“Michael, was it? I don’t believe you’ve heard that name in ages, dear me!”

That voice. Michael froze for a solid moment, as the reminiscent echo of the man’s tune pierced through his heart, awakening a memory long lost from him. People had said then that a person’s life will begin to flash before his eyes when they are about to die; Michael felt true fear from the roots of his core - they had found him, like they had promised, and they will kill him, like they had promised, and they will kill everybody he loved. From this fear alone, Michael felt a sudden surge of determination spike from within him, a sudden urge to defend himself at this very time, no matter what.
 

With a swift flick of his arms, Michael propelled himself upwards, offsetting the balance of the men on top of him and giving himself a good hold on the floor. Droplets of blood trickled from his chin, chest, and hands, as Michael stood from his position and swiftly brought out his weapon. His eyes undeterred, Michael confirmed the man in front of him as the man behind the voice. The man, face hidden a metallic mask, bowed his head in respect.

 

"Boss. I'd thought you perished, when I pulled off the coup with Eight-Five-"

 

"What's passed is passed. Weren't you surprised to see me the other day with no injuries, especially when you've hit me dead-on with that weapon of yours?"

 

Michael froze, and readjusted his aim. The weapon felt strange now under his grip, as if something was missing from the key components of the weaponry. His eyes wandered the model, wondering if it was the magazine, or if it was the core of the weapon that was missing, or if it possibly something interior to the weapon, all while keeping the Boss in his sight, and keeping his men on the floor.

 

The Boss gave a slight chuckle. He patted himself down to a familiar spot, a spot where Michael soon broke out in cold sweat after giving sight to this, then smiled.

 

Where Michael had previously shot the Boss dead-on with a shell that would embed itself into the target and latch onto, there had been no traces of the incident whatsoever. Michael dropped his aim; and then the Boss struck him.

 

Michael hadn't been given time to react, as embedded in him was a knife crudely dipped in rat's poison. Out of fear and anger, Michael shot blindly, windows of opportunity appearing right before his eyes, yet somehow his weapon imploded right on top of him.

 

And the thorns bit right back at him.

 

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"You know sending this man out would be basically sending a dog back to its master, right Thistle?"

Eyes wide open, Michael recognized the voice, his body was slung over Jackson's shoulder. Michael had been shocked, especially now that he was so close to his target and his previous partner.

 

In a matter of mere moments, Michael's memories flashed before him, as he recalled the torture the Boss had unleashed upon him as punishment for his involvement in the coup, and as the prize lay so damn close to him. He had been hunted, he had been tortured, and he had been blackmailed, but at the very last moment, after everything seemed lost, he now had everything at his fingertips.

 

"Yep. I know."

As soon as the smoke entered the building, Michael's memories flashed back to that incident in the bar, not when the bar had been attacked, but when Michael had first met his partner in cold blood. Michael remembered how Jackson had been just only a tad awkward, but scared him half to death for no reason that day. Michael gritted his teeth; right now, right here, he would give Jackson something to fear, especially now that Jackson placed his weapon so close to his reach.

 

Michael was filled with a burning temptation to reach out and grab his weapon, so that he could assassinate Jackson, right here and right now. Even if it had been an indirect shot, the impact alone, now that Jackson had already survived a shot from the weapon with difficulty, would completely immobilize Jackson and set Michael up for an easy clean up. Nothing can stop this moment.

 

"A toast?"

They were all ignorant, they were all unaware of the fact that Michael had already reached out and laid his grasp on the weapon. Finally, he was going to see his family again; finally, he was going to be free of the Mafia, once and for all; finally, he was going to live a free man, and be able to spend his days pondering his life. Maybe he would write a book one day about his life.

"Toast."

Michael lurched himself forward, pulling Jackson backwards and slipping the weapon from Jackson's possession. Jackson, in shock, made an attempt to reach for his own weapon, but Michael kicked it out of his grasp. Jackson knew he had no more options left, and he knew that he had been finally outdone by his subordinate, who finally had the gall to shoot him. Jackson closed his eyes.

And then the trigger was pulled.

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Original

 

Sequel

[Jackson85]

Amazing storytelling as always. Love the formatting and love the plot. 

5,012,321/10

[Endgator]

omg... why have you written a bible

[mybeary]

4 hours ago, Endgator said:

omg... why have you written a bible

Oh, I've also written the Mikeism Bible, back when MikeTheAngel was still a mod.