Post by Dante "Vagabond" Coles on Jul 5, 2007 15:56:38 GMT -5
It was raining. The water dripped from Jonas’ hat as he faced the trio and their hostage. They were in the alley behind the pub where this whole situation had been started. Jonas found his back to the only opening out of the alley, facing a trapped Johnny, Roger and Harold, but they also had Annabelle. It was a standoff.
“Looks like you have us trapped, Mr. Farren,” Johnny chortled.
“But whatever can you do to us, without poor Annabelle getting harmed?” Roger added. The two had a habit of picking up where the other left off. It got annoying after a while.
“Surely you would agree that it’s a fair situation if we let the girl go and you let us go, would you not?” Johnny.
“I’m sorry, but I’m obliged by my own sense of justice to not let you monsters get away,” Jonas scowled at them, realizing despite everything they still had the upper hand.
For the past while, Jonas was never the best at keeping track of long periods of time, these two had held that girl hostage and forced Jonas to do their biddings. He had done many heists, had been their man in the small time wrestling federation Fog City Wrestling, had basically been their slave. His morals kept him doing this; the girl had only gotten involved because he had helped her out.
“Oh, that is a shame. We were offering you a fair get away. It isn’t like you worry us any, dear Mr. Farren.” Roger.
Recently, however, the FCW had stopped. Jonas wasn’t sure why, but it did. Because of this, apparently Johnny and Roger had no more need for him. He had approached them, telling them to let himself and the girl go. They didn’t, and called in some muscle to stop Jonas as they fled. Jonas had knocked out the man they sent on him, and chased them into this alley where they now faced each other. But after seeing them flee with no intention of releasing the girl, Jonas had to see to it they were stopped.
“After what you’ve done to me; after what you’ve done to that girl, I can’t let you just walk away from here now. Not when I have you trapped.”
“You see, that is where you are mistaken. You did not have us trapped. Just realize, Mr. Farren, that whatever happens next will be because of you and your dramatic morals,” Johnny again.
“Harold, if you will let us out,” Roger said, motioning forward. Harold was their personal bodyguard. A massive man with a shaved head who seemed to always wear a pair of sunglasses, even on this dark, overcast day.
This mountain of muscle stepped forward. Jonas stood fast, his hands gripping his cane tightly. When Harold saw that Jonas wasn’t going to move aside on intimidation alone, he scowled and cracked his knuckles. Jonas tensed, waiting for the man to advance.
Rather foolishly, Harold began an all out bull rush. Jonas smirked, waiting until the last minute and stepping aside, his arm outstretched in front of Harold. The massive man ran neck first into the arm and was swept off his feet. Jonas looked toward Johnny and Roger.
“That’s something a learned while I was your dog.”
Harold was quick to recover. He got to his feet, but not being the quickest person, Jonas was able to get the first strike. Just as the man got up, Jonas swung his cane down on him in a vertical chop. Harold raised his hands, grabbing the cane as it came down. With a quick tug, Jonas pulled the blade out of the cane sword and stabbed forward. This caught Harold by surprise, the blade sinking deep into his abdomen.
Harold’s eyes shot wide open, then fell upon Jonas, seething with rage. Jonas withdrew the blade and swung horizontally, but Harold ducked just in time; the blade struck a dumpster and sunk an inch into the metal. Taking this advantage, Harold stood up and brought his elbow down on the blade, shattering it into three pieces and leaving Jonas with just the hilt.
Jonas stumbled back, looking down at the hilt, left with maybe two inches of blade. This was just enough opening for Harold, who delivered a strong right hook to Jonas’ cheek and levelled him. Though blood was flowing freely from the wound, Harold wasn’t down for the count yet.
While Jonas was down, Harold picked up the free piece of the blade, the middle part, in his hand. It cut him, but he ignored this for now. Jonas was back to his feet in an instant, and his reactions saved him as he dodged to the side, narrowly avoiding a slice from Harold’s makeshift knife.
A crack echoed through the alley and Jonas fell to the ground. A burning pain swept through him as he looked for the source and saw Roger had pulled a gun from inside his coat and the muzzle was smoking.
“Nothing gives us the incentive to play fairly, Mr. Farren. Harold, finish this quickly please.”
Harold nodded, taking his piece of Jonas’ sword and descending upon the wanderer. The blade quickly found itself at Jonas’ neck, the holder quickly overpowering Jonas’ struggles against it.
Blood mixed with the rain, forming many streams that flowed toward the manhole in the side of the alley. The blade sliced cleanly, as it had been designed to do, adding more blood to the flow.
Jonas gasped at the pain in his neck as he finished his roll. His hand quickly clasped the wound, and his vision grew blurry. The wound was deep and blood was flowing rather intensely. Harold quickly realized Jonas wasn’t dead yet, and began to advance again.
The blade found itself on Jonas’ neck again, this time resting firmly against his jugular vein. Jonas groped the ground blindly, reaching for anything, his hand landed on something. Gripping it as tightly as he can, he brought it up at the man who held his life but a knife’s cut away with all the force he could muster.
The blade against his throat was removed and the massive form that loomed over him fell to the side. Blinking a few times, Jonas managed to clear his vision enough to see the hilt of his sword sticking out of Harold’s head.
Quickly fading, Jonas struggled to keep consciousness. Ripping the sleeve off his duster and tying it around his neck. The slash had missed any vital mark by mere millimetres. The distant sound of splashing caused Jonas to look around and he saw two fleeing forms, dressing in black and white suits.
Moving to Harold, Jonas reached inside the dead man’s suit and drew the 9mm the man carried. Slumping to the ground, he raised the gun and aimed down the alley. By this time he was seeing doubles, and squinted hard to try and discern the real ones.
The gun cracked loudly, the sound reverberating off the brick walls of the alley.
There was a cry of pain off in the distance.
Jonas’ last conscious image was the little girl falling to the ground, blood flowing from somewhere in her head.
Annabelle had been running away.
“Looks like you have us trapped, Mr. Farren,” Johnny chortled.
“But whatever can you do to us, without poor Annabelle getting harmed?” Roger added. The two had a habit of picking up where the other left off. It got annoying after a while.
“Surely you would agree that it’s a fair situation if we let the girl go and you let us go, would you not?” Johnny.
“I’m sorry, but I’m obliged by my own sense of justice to not let you monsters get away,” Jonas scowled at them, realizing despite everything they still had the upper hand.
For the past while, Jonas was never the best at keeping track of long periods of time, these two had held that girl hostage and forced Jonas to do their biddings. He had done many heists, had been their man in the small time wrestling federation Fog City Wrestling, had basically been their slave. His morals kept him doing this; the girl had only gotten involved because he had helped her out.
“Oh, that is a shame. We were offering you a fair get away. It isn’t like you worry us any, dear Mr. Farren.” Roger.
Recently, however, the FCW had stopped. Jonas wasn’t sure why, but it did. Because of this, apparently Johnny and Roger had no more need for him. He had approached them, telling them to let himself and the girl go. They didn’t, and called in some muscle to stop Jonas as they fled. Jonas had knocked out the man they sent on him, and chased them into this alley where they now faced each other. But after seeing them flee with no intention of releasing the girl, Jonas had to see to it they were stopped.
“After what you’ve done to me; after what you’ve done to that girl, I can’t let you just walk away from here now. Not when I have you trapped.”
“You see, that is where you are mistaken. You did not have us trapped. Just realize, Mr. Farren, that whatever happens next will be because of you and your dramatic morals,” Johnny again.
“Harold, if you will let us out,” Roger said, motioning forward. Harold was their personal bodyguard. A massive man with a shaved head who seemed to always wear a pair of sunglasses, even on this dark, overcast day.
This mountain of muscle stepped forward. Jonas stood fast, his hands gripping his cane tightly. When Harold saw that Jonas wasn’t going to move aside on intimidation alone, he scowled and cracked his knuckles. Jonas tensed, waiting for the man to advance.
Rather foolishly, Harold began an all out bull rush. Jonas smirked, waiting until the last minute and stepping aside, his arm outstretched in front of Harold. The massive man ran neck first into the arm and was swept off his feet. Jonas looked toward Johnny and Roger.
“That’s something a learned while I was your dog.”
Harold was quick to recover. He got to his feet, but not being the quickest person, Jonas was able to get the first strike. Just as the man got up, Jonas swung his cane down on him in a vertical chop. Harold raised his hands, grabbing the cane as it came down. With a quick tug, Jonas pulled the blade out of the cane sword and stabbed forward. This caught Harold by surprise, the blade sinking deep into his abdomen.
Harold’s eyes shot wide open, then fell upon Jonas, seething with rage. Jonas withdrew the blade and swung horizontally, but Harold ducked just in time; the blade struck a dumpster and sunk an inch into the metal. Taking this advantage, Harold stood up and brought his elbow down on the blade, shattering it into three pieces and leaving Jonas with just the hilt.
Jonas stumbled back, looking down at the hilt, left with maybe two inches of blade. This was just enough opening for Harold, who delivered a strong right hook to Jonas’ cheek and levelled him. Though blood was flowing freely from the wound, Harold wasn’t down for the count yet.
While Jonas was down, Harold picked up the free piece of the blade, the middle part, in his hand. It cut him, but he ignored this for now. Jonas was back to his feet in an instant, and his reactions saved him as he dodged to the side, narrowly avoiding a slice from Harold’s makeshift knife.
A crack echoed through the alley and Jonas fell to the ground. A burning pain swept through him as he looked for the source and saw Roger had pulled a gun from inside his coat and the muzzle was smoking.
“Nothing gives us the incentive to play fairly, Mr. Farren. Harold, finish this quickly please.”
Harold nodded, taking his piece of Jonas’ sword and descending upon the wanderer. The blade quickly found itself at Jonas’ neck, the holder quickly overpowering Jonas’ struggles against it.
Blood mixed with the rain, forming many streams that flowed toward the manhole in the side of the alley. The blade sliced cleanly, as it had been designed to do, adding more blood to the flow.
Jonas gasped at the pain in his neck as he finished his roll. His hand quickly clasped the wound, and his vision grew blurry. The wound was deep and blood was flowing rather intensely. Harold quickly realized Jonas wasn’t dead yet, and began to advance again.
The blade found itself on Jonas’ neck again, this time resting firmly against his jugular vein. Jonas groped the ground blindly, reaching for anything, his hand landed on something. Gripping it as tightly as he can, he brought it up at the man who held his life but a knife’s cut away with all the force he could muster.
The blade against his throat was removed and the massive form that loomed over him fell to the side. Blinking a few times, Jonas managed to clear his vision enough to see the hilt of his sword sticking out of Harold’s head.
Quickly fading, Jonas struggled to keep consciousness. Ripping the sleeve off his duster and tying it around his neck. The slash had missed any vital mark by mere millimetres. The distant sound of splashing caused Jonas to look around and he saw two fleeing forms, dressing in black and white suits.
Moving to Harold, Jonas reached inside the dead man’s suit and drew the 9mm the man carried. Slumping to the ground, he raised the gun and aimed down the alley. By this time he was seeing doubles, and squinted hard to try and discern the real ones.
The gun cracked loudly, the sound reverberating off the brick walls of the alley.
There was a cry of pain off in the distance.
Jonas’ last conscious image was the little girl falling to the ground, blood flowing from somewhere in her head.
Annabelle had been running away.
