Callthecops Member
The Empty Headed
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- Callthecops 11 yrs ago
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University Student/Professional Red Solo Cup Holder
Philosophy and Anthropology double major with a minor in Classics (Cause I don't want to have any useful skills)
Most Recent Posts
Writing a paper on the logical validity of Descartes's, Meditations on First Philosophy… Ugh… Kill me now, please.
Before leaving, Jack grabbed a few spare magazines for his pistol and filled them up with bullets. Just as he was about to re-set his traps however, his phone buzzed; it was a text from Mr. Chang. “Mr. Ferryman. I apologize for the inconvenience, but I am going to need you to be coming to my workshop instead of the Café. The address is 23 Warden Street; it is a warehouse near some low rises just outside the projects. Thank you for your cooperation.”
That didn’t make sense, Mr. Chang had been very clear that under no circumstances was anyone to ever come to his workshop. Something was wrong, and it didn’t take a master criminal to figure it out. The Cartel had already gotten to him, and even worse, his new identity was already compromised. Turning back to his supplies, Jack put on a pair of grey leather gloves, grabbed a spare 9mm and threw it in his backpack along with a black ski-mask, a grappling hook, and a handful of zip-ties. Next, Jack pulled the suitcase out and emptied the contents of the suitcase into a plastic bag and dropped it back into the bag. Then, The Ferryman grabbed a second suitcase off the back table, strapped it to his motorcycle, re-set his traps and headed outside. “Fine,” Jack texted back, “But it’s going to be an hour before I can get there.”
Within twenty minutes, Jack arrived at an empty alley three blocks down from the warehouse and parked his bike. First, he removed his suit jacket and tie, draping them over the bike, he definitely didn’t want to get it wrinkled after all. Next, Jack pulled the ski-mask over his head and opened up the suitcase he had brought. Inside was a brand new Dakota Longbow, bolt action sniper rifle.
Carefully assembling the rifle, Jack attached the adjustable scope and a silencer. This isn’t what he had been hoped for upon retiring. He thought that he would finally have been able to just exist in peace, but it seemed he would never be afforded that luxury. Not for now at least. Jack loaded the five round internal clip and locked the bolt in place, chambering the first round.
As he climbed up the fire escape, gun in hand, The Ferryman prepared himself for the gruesome task that stood before him. Once he reached the roof, Jack surveyed the warehouse, noticing that there were literally zero windows, and the only visibility to the outside was by cameras. Then, he caught sight of the Cartel’s two lookout men, as they checked in with the team. If he could take them out, there were enough holes in the security feed to allow him to slip inside undetected. The Ferryman lay in wait for another 20 minutes, confirming that the man with the radio was checking in every 10 minutes. It was a short window, but certainly not impossible.
One… Two… Three… Jack took the first shot, hitting the man with the radio square in the head. Flick the bolt up, pull, eject the shell, chamber the second round, push, flick the bolt down. The second man dove for the radio that his companion had dropped, but before he could grab it a bullet pierced his right side and passed straight through his heart.
Go time.
Jack pounded down the fire escape, took apart the rifle, and re-strapped it to the bike. After grabbing the rest of his stuff, he hopped back on the motorcycle and moved it out back of the neighboring warehouse, which contained significantly less security. The police response times to this area were a lot less rapid than where he had been earlier that morning, so he would have time to break in and destroy their security tapes anyways after he was finished anyways. According to his watch, there was roughly five minutes left before Cartel’s men would be checking in. Moving into position alongside the workshop, out of sight of the cameras, Jack pulled out the grappling hook from his bag and threw it up to the roof. Once on the roof, he quickly stowed the hook in his bag, put a silencer on his pistol, grabbed the radio, and slipped inside the roof entrance.
The Ferryman pulled out his gun, and quickly swept the second floor, and noted that it was clear. “Attention, pendejos. I have your men hostage on the roof. Send up Mr. Chang, alone and unarmed, and I promise to spare their lives.” Spanish curses rang out from downstairs and one voice began giving orders, followed by footsteps storming up the stairs. Once they had passed, Jack quickly headed downstairs.
“What the hell are you doing, puta?” The leader shouted, hearing his footsteps. Once Jack came into sight however, his eyes grew wide, moments before a 45-caliber slug tore into his right shoulder, causing him to drop his gun and crash down to his knees. Rushing to his side, Jack quickly kicked the gun away and threw a boot to the squad leader’s face. Swinging his backpack off his shoulders, The Ferryman grabbed a zip-tie and fastened the man’s hands behind his back and pulled him back on to his knees, howling in pain at the rough treatment of his shoulder.
“Any other guys than the ones upstairs?” Jack called out to Mr. Chang, who was tied to a chair a few feet away from him.
“No, that’s it. A five man team. They have a man watching my wife and daughter tied up in my house, too. Please, you have to help them!” Mr. Chang answered. At that moment the men who had been sent to the roof came running back down the stairs, funneling them straight into Jack’s sights; they never had a chance. The Ferryman opened fire, killing both men almost instantly.
“You fucking did it cabron, you’re fucking dead! You hear me! My men were nothing compared to the hell that is going to rain down on your stupid fucking face, puto!”
“Shut up.” Jack ordered, kicking him in the back, forcing the man to go down face first into the floor. “So you’re the one they put in charge of capturing me then? Yes?”
“Fuck you, maricon! My boss is going to eat your fucking balls for breakfast, and- Ah, fuck!” The leader shouted, before being interrupted by a kick to the stomach.
“Yeah, yeah, yeah… pull out my eyeballs, cut off my limbs, feed me to a pack of dogs, whatever. I’ll take your answer as a yes, though. Seems like some pretty rough people you work for, huh? What do you think they’d do to the shit-brained idiot who couldn’t catch one measly gringo? Huh?” Jack asked. Silence hung in the air a few moments, as his prisoner contemplated the horrors he would be forced to endure at the hands of his employers for his failure. “Yeah, I thought so too… So this is how things are going to go from here. You’re about to call your man and tell him to help Mr. Chang’s family pack their bags, and then bring them here, unharmed. Mr. Chang is going to make me a brand new identity, and then I am going to kill you.”
“And if I refuse?”
“Well, then after I torture you until you comply, I’m going to drop you right on your boss’s doorstep for yet another round of torture, which I suspect will end in your death anyways. In the end, I am going to get what I want, and you are going to die. Your cooperation buys you a bullet.”
That didn’t make sense, Mr. Chang had been very clear that under no circumstances was anyone to ever come to his workshop. Something was wrong, and it didn’t take a master criminal to figure it out. The Cartel had already gotten to him, and even worse, his new identity was already compromised. Turning back to his supplies, Jack put on a pair of grey leather gloves, grabbed a spare 9mm and threw it in his backpack along with a black ski-mask, a grappling hook, and a handful of zip-ties. Next, Jack pulled the suitcase out and emptied the contents of the suitcase into a plastic bag and dropped it back into the bag. Then, The Ferryman grabbed a second suitcase off the back table, strapped it to his motorcycle, re-set his traps and headed outside. “Fine,” Jack texted back, “But it’s going to be an hour before I can get there.”
Within twenty minutes, Jack arrived at an empty alley three blocks down from the warehouse and parked his bike. First, he removed his suit jacket and tie, draping them over the bike, he definitely didn’t want to get it wrinkled after all. Next, Jack pulled the ski-mask over his head and opened up the suitcase he had brought. Inside was a brand new Dakota Longbow, bolt action sniper rifle.
Carefully assembling the rifle, Jack attached the adjustable scope and a silencer. This isn’t what he had been hoped for upon retiring. He thought that he would finally have been able to just exist in peace, but it seemed he would never be afforded that luxury. Not for now at least. Jack loaded the five round internal clip and locked the bolt in place, chambering the first round.
As he climbed up the fire escape, gun in hand, The Ferryman prepared himself for the gruesome task that stood before him. Once he reached the roof, Jack surveyed the warehouse, noticing that there were literally zero windows, and the only visibility to the outside was by cameras. Then, he caught sight of the Cartel’s two lookout men, as they checked in with the team. If he could take them out, there were enough holes in the security feed to allow him to slip inside undetected. The Ferryman lay in wait for another 20 minutes, confirming that the man with the radio was checking in every 10 minutes. It was a short window, but certainly not impossible.
One… Two… Three… Jack took the first shot, hitting the man with the radio square in the head. Flick the bolt up, pull, eject the shell, chamber the second round, push, flick the bolt down. The second man dove for the radio that his companion had dropped, but before he could grab it a bullet pierced his right side and passed straight through his heart.
Go time.
Jack pounded down the fire escape, took apart the rifle, and re-strapped it to the bike. After grabbing the rest of his stuff, he hopped back on the motorcycle and moved it out back of the neighboring warehouse, which contained significantly less security. The police response times to this area were a lot less rapid than where he had been earlier that morning, so he would have time to break in and destroy their security tapes anyways after he was finished anyways. According to his watch, there was roughly five minutes left before Cartel’s men would be checking in. Moving into position alongside the workshop, out of sight of the cameras, Jack pulled out the grappling hook from his bag and threw it up to the roof. Once on the roof, he quickly stowed the hook in his bag, put a silencer on his pistol, grabbed the radio, and slipped inside the roof entrance.
The Ferryman pulled out his gun, and quickly swept the second floor, and noted that it was clear. “Attention, pendejos. I have your men hostage on the roof. Send up Mr. Chang, alone and unarmed, and I promise to spare their lives.” Spanish curses rang out from downstairs and one voice began giving orders, followed by footsteps storming up the stairs. Once they had passed, Jack quickly headed downstairs.
“What the hell are you doing, puta?” The leader shouted, hearing his footsteps. Once Jack came into sight however, his eyes grew wide, moments before a 45-caliber slug tore into his right shoulder, causing him to drop his gun and crash down to his knees. Rushing to his side, Jack quickly kicked the gun away and threw a boot to the squad leader’s face. Swinging his backpack off his shoulders, The Ferryman grabbed a zip-tie and fastened the man’s hands behind his back and pulled him back on to his knees, howling in pain at the rough treatment of his shoulder.
“Any other guys than the ones upstairs?” Jack called out to Mr. Chang, who was tied to a chair a few feet away from him.
“No, that’s it. A five man team. They have a man watching my wife and daughter tied up in my house, too. Please, you have to help them!” Mr. Chang answered. At that moment the men who had been sent to the roof came running back down the stairs, funneling them straight into Jack’s sights; they never had a chance. The Ferryman opened fire, killing both men almost instantly.
“You fucking did it cabron, you’re fucking dead! You hear me! My men were nothing compared to the hell that is going to rain down on your stupid fucking face, puto!”
“Shut up.” Jack ordered, kicking him in the back, forcing the man to go down face first into the floor. “So you’re the one they put in charge of capturing me then? Yes?”
“Fuck you, maricon! My boss is going to eat your fucking balls for breakfast, and- Ah, fuck!” The leader shouted, before being interrupted by a kick to the stomach.
“Yeah, yeah, yeah… pull out my eyeballs, cut off my limbs, feed me to a pack of dogs, whatever. I’ll take your answer as a yes, though. Seems like some pretty rough people you work for, huh? What do you think they’d do to the shit-brained idiot who couldn’t catch one measly gringo? Huh?” Jack asked. Silence hung in the air a few moments, as his prisoner contemplated the horrors he would be forced to endure at the hands of his employers for his failure. “Yeah, I thought so too… So this is how things are going to go from here. You’re about to call your man and tell him to help Mr. Chang’s family pack their bags, and then bring them here, unharmed. Mr. Chang is going to make me a brand new identity, and then I am going to kill you.”
“And if I refuse?”
“Well, then after I torture you until you comply, I’m going to drop you right on your boss’s doorstep for yet another round of torture, which I suspect will end in your death anyways. In the end, I am going to get what I want, and you are going to die. Your cooperation buys you a bullet.”
Ryan Ginesburg
Ring… Ring…
The sound cut through the empty blackness, pulling awareness back from deep within the confines of Ryan’s troubled mind. The ringing grounded him in reality; the blissful nirvana that came from accepting death was suddenly gone. Opening his eyes, Ryan found himself still in his room at the Chateau de le Rhone, his gun fell from his limp hand and clattered onto the floor. He was still alive, and the damn phone kept ringing, who the fuck was calling him? It quickly dawned on Ryan that the ring wasn’t coming from his personal line, it was his line to Jack. After all of these years… Ryan ran to the desk and pulled out the phone from the top drawer, “Jack.” He answered.
“Ryan. It’s been a long time.” Came Jack’s voice from the other side
“I can’t believe it’s really you. It’s been almost three years now since you retired.”
“Yeah, I know. I’m sorry we couldn’t keep in touch, but you know why we couldn’t. How have you been?” Jack asked, sensing something wrong in his old friend’s voice.
“Not long after you left the game I put my gun down too. To be honest, I don’t give a shit anyways, so I might as well tell you the truth, it’s been a long, hard fall to the bottom. I’m just not as strong as you always were, I just can’t do it anymore.” Ryan replied, to apathetic to even lie. He could have said everything was fine, but why pretend? None of it mattered.
“You pick up the needle again?” Jack replied, hard as a rock. Ryan’s words had hit him much deeper than he let on though, there was only one person he cared about in the whole world, and that was Ryan.
“No.” Ryan could hear a sigh of relief across the line as he uttered the syllable.
“Good. I need you, Ryan. I’m being hunted, and I don’t have anyone else in this whole goddamn world that I can trust, ‘cept you. I know your pain, and you know mine. There’s no one else who will ever really know me. Don’t you fucking dare die on me now, cause I didn’t drag your ass through the desert for you to piss it all away!”
“I’m so sorry Jack,” Ryan cried, tears running down his face “I’m just not strong enough…”
“Please, Ryan!” Jack interrupted, “Don’t let that son of a bitch take the only friend I’ve got left away from me. All I need is for you to go to Switzerland and take care of a few banking issues, then it’s up to you. Either join me in America, or forget that I ever existed. But please, I need your help. There’s no one else who I can turn to for this…”
“Okay, I’ll do it. Give me the details.”
-
Jackson Hallibern
“Alright, and one more thing. I need you to call up your old friend Brain Jagielski… I know you guys haven’t talked in years, but you told me he runs a gang in Justice, right? Well I’m going to need to start laying down connections. I need an employer who can protect me. Can you set up a meeting?” Jack asked
“I can try.” Ryan answered, “Communications silent until I’ve finished business in Switzerland though. If Brian accepts, he’ll call you, not me. Till then, just let me be. I won’t fail you.”
“Thank you Ryan, I really appreciate this.”
“Yeah. Sure.” Ryan finished, before hanging up the phone
Jack put his hands down and rest himself against the table. Ryan had been a mess. Jack knew it wasn’t his responsibility, but couldn’t help but feel like it was his fault for leaving. Either way, The Ferryman had more immediate problems than criticizing his past actions. It was almost time to head over to the Rosewood Café to meet with Mr. Chang.
Ring… Ring…
The sound cut through the empty blackness, pulling awareness back from deep within the confines of Ryan’s troubled mind. The ringing grounded him in reality; the blissful nirvana that came from accepting death was suddenly gone. Opening his eyes, Ryan found himself still in his room at the Chateau de le Rhone, his gun fell from his limp hand and clattered onto the floor. He was still alive, and the damn phone kept ringing, who the fuck was calling him? It quickly dawned on Ryan that the ring wasn’t coming from his personal line, it was his line to Jack. After all of these years… Ryan ran to the desk and pulled out the phone from the top drawer, “Jack.” He answered.
“Ryan. It’s been a long time.” Came Jack’s voice from the other side
“I can’t believe it’s really you. It’s been almost three years now since you retired.”
“Yeah, I know. I’m sorry we couldn’t keep in touch, but you know why we couldn’t. How have you been?” Jack asked, sensing something wrong in his old friend’s voice.
“Not long after you left the game I put my gun down too. To be honest, I don’t give a shit anyways, so I might as well tell you the truth, it’s been a long, hard fall to the bottom. I’m just not as strong as you always were, I just can’t do it anymore.” Ryan replied, to apathetic to even lie. He could have said everything was fine, but why pretend? None of it mattered.
“You pick up the needle again?” Jack replied, hard as a rock. Ryan’s words had hit him much deeper than he let on though, there was only one person he cared about in the whole world, and that was Ryan.
“No.” Ryan could hear a sigh of relief across the line as he uttered the syllable.
“Good. I need you, Ryan. I’m being hunted, and I don’t have anyone else in this whole goddamn world that I can trust, ‘cept you. I know your pain, and you know mine. There’s no one else who will ever really know me. Don’t you fucking dare die on me now, cause I didn’t drag your ass through the desert for you to piss it all away!”
“I’m so sorry Jack,” Ryan cried, tears running down his face “I’m just not strong enough…”
“Please, Ryan!” Jack interrupted, “Don’t let that son of a bitch take the only friend I’ve got left away from me. All I need is for you to go to Switzerland and take care of a few banking issues, then it’s up to you. Either join me in America, or forget that I ever existed. But please, I need your help. There’s no one else who I can turn to for this…”
“Okay, I’ll do it. Give me the details.”
-
Jackson Hallibern
“Alright, and one more thing. I need you to call up your old friend Brain Jagielski… I know you guys haven’t talked in years, but you told me he runs a gang in Justice, right? Well I’m going to need to start laying down connections. I need an employer who can protect me. Can you set up a meeting?” Jack asked
“I can try.” Ryan answered, “Communications silent until I’ve finished business in Switzerland though. If Brian accepts, he’ll call you, not me. Till then, just let me be. I won’t fail you.”
“Thank you Ryan, I really appreciate this.”
“Yeah. Sure.” Ryan finished, before hanging up the phone
Jack put his hands down and rest himself against the table. Ryan had been a mess. Jack knew it wasn’t his responsibility, but couldn’t help but feel like it was his fault for leaving. Either way, The Ferryman had more immediate problems than criticizing his past actions. It was almost time to head over to the Rosewood Café to meet with Mr. Chang.
Wired can try to stick around with Jack if he needs some advice on how to be a *real* criminal :p
Ryan sat alone in his room at the Chateau de le Rhone, at Arles, southern France. In his hand was a shiny, nickel-plated snub nose revolver; a box of bullets lay open on the desk in front of him. Images flashed through his tired mind; he could feel the fine layer of sand on top of a hard concrete floor. He could hear his friends as they screamed in the next room over. All around him were bodies, bloody and beaten, it had been two weeks since the team’s capture, and no one was coming to help them. He could hear Jack’s voice, broken and defeated, but he couldn’t make out the words over all the screaming. He couldn’t hear a thing.
Slowly, he pulled back the hammer and raised the gun to his temple. Then, for just a moment, the whole world was silent. The trigger gave way to the pressure of Ryan’s finger, he closed his eyes, and it all went black.
Slowly, the pictures crept into his mind, this time he could feel himself being pulled up under the arms and dragged down the hallway. They pulled him into a room on the right hand side as Ryan regained his footing. “Get up!” shouted one of his escorts as he crossed the room towards the battered man laying face down on the floor. Ryan watched as Jack pushed himself up onto his hands and knees, just to get kicked in the gut and collapse once more. “You want to know what’s funny? This whole fucking thing… You know-this thing-is your real mission! Isn’t that funny, soldier man?” Said the man standing over Jack, laughing manically at his two captives. “You were sent here to die, you know? Your people, they say, ‘Mufeed, we pay you to do this.’ Did you know that? It is funny, no? Come on, soldier man, why will you not laugh with Mufeed?”
“My family, they say, Mufeed is crazy! You think me crazy too eh? To laugh at this, euh, this… Murder! Eh? This long, bloody killing… It is tragedy no? Certainly, it must be tragic for you, yes? You watch all these people die, and you think, maybe I am next? How awful this must be, no? So why do I laugh, you wondering, eh? This is not funny, you feel. But it is! You just can not see the joke yet!” The madman continued, circling around the tiny room. “All this, euh, brutality, shall we say, it is not really my doing you see, it is the work of your government!”
“Once we are done here, the military will find this place, and then there will be public outcry, demanding justice for you men. Then your superiors will have greater funding, you see? Maybe you think you die for your duty, huh? You think this is noble death, but now you see there is no honor in this world! You dress up like soldiers and you think maybe you are a part of something meaningful, but this is not the case. You think me crazy, but I know what you do not! All life is meaningless, it is lie, all a joke!” He kept laughing, as Ryan watched the disbelief growing in Jack’s eyes, and Ryan wondered if Jack could see the same in his. “But do not fear, my friends! Though all of the things you once believed in may have turned out to be a lie, this is not always bad, no? Surprise! You have certainly come to terms with your death by now? Have you not embraced it? Now I tell you that you shall not die here!”
Mufeed pulled his gun from its holster and shot Ryan in the kneecap. He cried out in pain and fell to the ground, clutching his shattered leg. “Now, brave soldier,” Mufeed said, turning to Jack, who by now had risen to his hands and knees again. “It is time to decide. Shall you carry your friend across the desert, or will you leave him behind to die?” Ryan could only scream out on top of the ensuing conversation, trying unsuccessfully to muffle his cries.
Ryan watched the pain in Jack’s face take over, as the reality of the situation began to set in. He had always been such a strong man ever since he had joined the military, using its purpose to drive him forward. But now, it was gone. Tears ran down his face and the sound that haunted Ryan’s dreams emerged from Jack’s throat. It was not a scream, nor a cry, it could only be described as the sound of agony, as it violently erupted from the human soul. “Why?” Jack sobbed, “Why couldn’t you let us die with our honor! Why tell us this, now? Why let us free? WHY?”
“Because, little soldier man,” Mufeed laughed, “In this world, our lives are no more significant than our deaths. There is no reason! That is the very best part; can’t you see this? One more body on the pile means nothing, and one more broken soul wandering the desert means even less. Neither in life, nor in death, will you ever matter… Just like Mufeed…” He said, staring emptily into his victim’s eyes, “Just like Mufeed…”
“You’re lying!” Shouted Ryan, still crippled on the floor.
“Ah, well you only need to live long enough to see the headlines, then!” Laughed Mufeed, “But now as much as I have enjoyed our time together, dear friends, I am afraid we must leave, I wish you farewell…” Soon after, their captors had left the room and then the facility itself, leaving Ryan and Jack alone, sobbing together on the dirty floor.
Slowly, he pulled back the hammer and raised the gun to his temple. Then, for just a moment, the whole world was silent. The trigger gave way to the pressure of Ryan’s finger, he closed his eyes, and it all went black.
Slowly, the pictures crept into his mind, this time he could feel himself being pulled up under the arms and dragged down the hallway. They pulled him into a room on the right hand side as Ryan regained his footing. “Get up!” shouted one of his escorts as he crossed the room towards the battered man laying face down on the floor. Ryan watched as Jack pushed himself up onto his hands and knees, just to get kicked in the gut and collapse once more. “You want to know what’s funny? This whole fucking thing… You know-this thing-is your real mission! Isn’t that funny, soldier man?” Said the man standing over Jack, laughing manically at his two captives. “You were sent here to die, you know? Your people, they say, ‘Mufeed, we pay you to do this.’ Did you know that? It is funny, no? Come on, soldier man, why will you not laugh with Mufeed?”
“My family, they say, Mufeed is crazy! You think me crazy too eh? To laugh at this, euh, this… Murder! Eh? This long, bloody killing… It is tragedy no? Certainly, it must be tragic for you, yes? You watch all these people die, and you think, maybe I am next? How awful this must be, no? So why do I laugh, you wondering, eh? This is not funny, you feel. But it is! You just can not see the joke yet!” The madman continued, circling around the tiny room. “All this, euh, brutality, shall we say, it is not really my doing you see, it is the work of your government!”
“Once we are done here, the military will find this place, and then there will be public outcry, demanding justice for you men. Then your superiors will have greater funding, you see? Maybe you think you die for your duty, huh? You think this is noble death, but now you see there is no honor in this world! You dress up like soldiers and you think maybe you are a part of something meaningful, but this is not the case. You think me crazy, but I know what you do not! All life is meaningless, it is lie, all a joke!” He kept laughing, as Ryan watched the disbelief growing in Jack’s eyes, and Ryan wondered if Jack could see the same in his. “But do not fear, my friends! Though all of the things you once believed in may have turned out to be a lie, this is not always bad, no? Surprise! You have certainly come to terms with your death by now? Have you not embraced it? Now I tell you that you shall not die here!”
Mufeed pulled his gun from its holster and shot Ryan in the kneecap. He cried out in pain and fell to the ground, clutching his shattered leg. “Now, brave soldier,” Mufeed said, turning to Jack, who by now had risen to his hands and knees again. “It is time to decide. Shall you carry your friend across the desert, or will you leave him behind to die?” Ryan could only scream out on top of the ensuing conversation, trying unsuccessfully to muffle his cries.
Ryan watched the pain in Jack’s face take over, as the reality of the situation began to set in. He had always been such a strong man ever since he had joined the military, using its purpose to drive him forward. But now, it was gone. Tears ran down his face and the sound that haunted Ryan’s dreams emerged from Jack’s throat. It was not a scream, nor a cry, it could only be described as the sound of agony, as it violently erupted from the human soul. “Why?” Jack sobbed, “Why couldn’t you let us die with our honor! Why tell us this, now? Why let us free? WHY?”
“Because, little soldier man,” Mufeed laughed, “In this world, our lives are no more significant than our deaths. There is no reason! That is the very best part; can’t you see this? One more body on the pile means nothing, and one more broken soul wandering the desert means even less. Neither in life, nor in death, will you ever matter… Just like Mufeed…” He said, staring emptily into his victim’s eyes, “Just like Mufeed…”
“You’re lying!” Shouted Ryan, still crippled on the floor.
“Ah, well you only need to live long enough to see the headlines, then!” Laughed Mufeed, “But now as much as I have enjoyed our time together, dear friends, I am afraid we must leave, I wish you farewell…” Soon after, their captors had left the room and then the facility itself, leaving Ryan and Jack alone, sobbing together on the dirty floor.
Well I was just singing, we had a guitar player that was waaaaaaayyyyy better than me, which I'm happy about, cause I only like to play guitar when I'm doing solo stuff. But at first we did a jam/indie-ish version of Beat It, by the legend himself, MJ, and then we just rocked out and I just sung shit that I was making up off the top of my head lol.
Well, to be fair, I was also stoned… Which has the most wonderful effect of making it so if you're mildly drunk, you become crazy fucked up, and with no hang overs! :P
Mmmm… Gettin' faded...
Mmmm… Gettin' faded...
Holy fuck, I went out to a house party and preformed some live jam music and just blew that party up! And it was my best friend's freakin' birthday, and I got him a dope ass present which made me so happy to give, oh man, it has been a good night, and I'm still fucked up! >.<
The first order of business was going to be solving his newfound identity crisis. The garage where he stored his bike was just up ahead on the right, and thanks to the confusion going on down the street nobody looked twice as he sped off down the block. The briefcase he carried was now inside a black leather bag on his back.
The suit he was wearing had everything he needed for the next phase of his contingency plan: a burner phone and a laundry ticket. Pulling over at a Jewish deli far enough from the apartment, Jack ordered himself a cup of coffee and a lox bagel before pulling out the phone and stepping aside. “Hello, I’ve got a ticket number, 2751. I’m looking to pick it up as soon as possible. I ordered the fresh-start treatment, you know, with the steam and all that. I’ve got a date tonight and I want to feel like a new man… Yes… Okay, I’ll be there in 20 minutes, thank you.” Next stop: Mr. Chang’s Dryclean Emporium.
Jack parked out front and strode purposefully through Mr. Chang’s door, “Ticket number 2751.” He said quickly. The man behind the desk just smiled and slipped into the back room; moments later he returned, bearing a finely tailored, grey double-breasted suit. Finally, The Ferryman could get the cheap piece of garbage he was wearing off his back. Not only that, but the inner pocket of the jacket would contain a brand new drivers license, passport, and a piece of paper with a time and place written on it. This stop had been to gain a new identity; his next would be to destroy the old one. “Wonderful.” Jack smiled, “Now, do you have a bathroom I could use?”
“Of course, sir. Right over there.” The young Asian man replied, indicating an unmarked room to the left. There was no bathroom, just a small empty room with a mirror on the wall. Jack changed as quickly as possible, before pulling the briefcase out of his bag and opened it up. Jack transferred the money and change of clothes into the bag, and put the new gun in his rear waistband. After he was finished with that, Jack checked out his new identity, he was now John Trumpeter, perfect. After swapping his old license for the new one retrieved the slip of paper. “12:15, The Rosewood Café, Houston St.” That was roughly two hours from now, which was good, it would give him time to think about how he was going to execute phase 3 of his contingency plan, survival. That would have to wait until he was out of this closet though, he decided, tossing his old gun, ID, phone, and credit cards into the briefcase.
Within a few minutes, Jack was back on the road again, a nearly 36 year old man wearing an expensive suit, driving an even more expensive motorcycle. Conspicuous? Certainly, but that was exactly what he needed right now. The cops would be looking for a man who just killed 3 tatted up Mexican gang-bangers. The rest of the bangers would be looking for a man on the run for his life. Safe to say, neither party was keeping a close eye on wealthy motorcycle enthusiasts… Nevertheless, Jack was on high alert as he made his way across town to the storage unit he had rented upon his arrival in town. Though it was a bit far from his apartment, he had chosen it not for ease of use, but because he had been allowed to pay in cash, and without presenting an ID.
When he arrived, Jack stopped the bike just in front of the steel roll up door and opened it up before rolling the bike inside. He had taken every precaution in making sure there was no way he could have been followed. Allowing the door to fall shut behind him, The Ferryman proceeded to take out the burner phone and used it’s light to find the oil lantern and matches he left on the table to his left. He then hurried over to the desk pushed up against the right wall and unlocked the bottom drawer. Inside was a firebomb set to go off exactly 5 minutes after the main door is opened, which Jack promptly disarmed. “Burn and run.” The motto had kept him alive and out of prison for nearly 12 years as a criminal, and he had no intention of slipping up in his retirement.
Now that Jack didn’t have to worry about being consumed in flames, he had the chance to look over the supplies in his unit. There was plenty of water, a few weeks worth of MREs, dozens of boxes of various ammunition types, sleeping gear, ect. In the corner of the room was a medium height filing cabinet, which he then proceeded to unlock. The file he was looking for was one of the first, a manila folder titled, “The Arias Cartel” Jack’s prime suspect. Really, it hadn’t been very hard to put together, the tattoos on the hitmen indicated their affiliation with La Familia, a small time local Mexican gang. From there, the options were extremely limited. Most of The Ferryman’s work had been in Europe and Africa, and the work he did do in Latin America was mostly for the cartels, against government officials. However, back when the Arias Cartel were still just beginning to take a foothold in the drug trade, Jack had taken a job from a rival Cartel to kill the Arais second in command, and steal a quarter million in product.
That man happened to be the leader’s brother, which would not have been a problem if the Arias Cartel had lost the drug war with their much more powerful rivals. That was obviously not the case. Now, Jack was facing an enormous problem; his financials were secure in offshore accounts, but he couldn’t touch them without tipping off the Cartel. The only choice he had left was to call in the help of a friend.
The suit he was wearing had everything he needed for the next phase of his contingency plan: a burner phone and a laundry ticket. Pulling over at a Jewish deli far enough from the apartment, Jack ordered himself a cup of coffee and a lox bagel before pulling out the phone and stepping aside. “Hello, I’ve got a ticket number, 2751. I’m looking to pick it up as soon as possible. I ordered the fresh-start treatment, you know, with the steam and all that. I’ve got a date tonight and I want to feel like a new man… Yes… Okay, I’ll be there in 20 minutes, thank you.” Next stop: Mr. Chang’s Dryclean Emporium.
Jack parked out front and strode purposefully through Mr. Chang’s door, “Ticket number 2751.” He said quickly. The man behind the desk just smiled and slipped into the back room; moments later he returned, bearing a finely tailored, grey double-breasted suit. Finally, The Ferryman could get the cheap piece of garbage he was wearing off his back. Not only that, but the inner pocket of the jacket would contain a brand new drivers license, passport, and a piece of paper with a time and place written on it. This stop had been to gain a new identity; his next would be to destroy the old one. “Wonderful.” Jack smiled, “Now, do you have a bathroom I could use?”
“Of course, sir. Right over there.” The young Asian man replied, indicating an unmarked room to the left. There was no bathroom, just a small empty room with a mirror on the wall. Jack changed as quickly as possible, before pulling the briefcase out of his bag and opened it up. Jack transferred the money and change of clothes into the bag, and put the new gun in his rear waistband. After he was finished with that, Jack checked out his new identity, he was now John Trumpeter, perfect. After swapping his old license for the new one retrieved the slip of paper. “12:15, The Rosewood Café, Houston St.” That was roughly two hours from now, which was good, it would give him time to think about how he was going to execute phase 3 of his contingency plan, survival. That would have to wait until he was out of this closet though, he decided, tossing his old gun, ID, phone, and credit cards into the briefcase.
Within a few minutes, Jack was back on the road again, a nearly 36 year old man wearing an expensive suit, driving an even more expensive motorcycle. Conspicuous? Certainly, but that was exactly what he needed right now. The cops would be looking for a man who just killed 3 tatted up Mexican gang-bangers. The rest of the bangers would be looking for a man on the run for his life. Safe to say, neither party was keeping a close eye on wealthy motorcycle enthusiasts… Nevertheless, Jack was on high alert as he made his way across town to the storage unit he had rented upon his arrival in town. Though it was a bit far from his apartment, he had chosen it not for ease of use, but because he had been allowed to pay in cash, and without presenting an ID.
When he arrived, Jack stopped the bike just in front of the steel roll up door and opened it up before rolling the bike inside. He had taken every precaution in making sure there was no way he could have been followed. Allowing the door to fall shut behind him, The Ferryman proceeded to take out the burner phone and used it’s light to find the oil lantern and matches he left on the table to his left. He then hurried over to the desk pushed up against the right wall and unlocked the bottom drawer. Inside was a firebomb set to go off exactly 5 minutes after the main door is opened, which Jack promptly disarmed. “Burn and run.” The motto had kept him alive and out of prison for nearly 12 years as a criminal, and he had no intention of slipping up in his retirement.
Now that Jack didn’t have to worry about being consumed in flames, he had the chance to look over the supplies in his unit. There was plenty of water, a few weeks worth of MREs, dozens of boxes of various ammunition types, sleeping gear, ect. In the corner of the room was a medium height filing cabinet, which he then proceeded to unlock. The file he was looking for was one of the first, a manila folder titled, “The Arias Cartel” Jack’s prime suspect. Really, it hadn’t been very hard to put together, the tattoos on the hitmen indicated their affiliation with La Familia, a small time local Mexican gang. From there, the options were extremely limited. Most of The Ferryman’s work had been in Europe and Africa, and the work he did do in Latin America was mostly for the cartels, against government officials. However, back when the Arias Cartel were still just beginning to take a foothold in the drug trade, Jack had taken a job from a rival Cartel to kill the Arais second in command, and steal a quarter million in product.
That man happened to be the leader’s brother, which would not have been a problem if the Arias Cartel had lost the drug war with their much more powerful rivals. That was obviously not the case. Now, Jack was facing an enormous problem; his financials were secure in offshore accounts, but he couldn’t touch them without tipping off the Cartel. The only choice he had left was to call in the help of a friend.
Wired, I don't know how or why our characters would come together, but I think it would be interesting.
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