Short Story – A Dance with the Angel
"A Dance with the Angel"
Finished on 25 September 2022
A fan dully spun above, hardly going more than a spin every few seconds. The humidity from the sticky room had put sweat on the skin of its two occupants. A lone fly buzzed about before settling itself on the table in the middle of the room, crawling over charred tinfoil before taking off again.
The eyes of one of the men opened just a sliver. He stared directly ahead as they opened further, in the middle of the circle where the fly flew. He just laid on the floor, resting his back on the bottom of the couch. A slight burning pain emanated from his chest, but he accepted it without question. Nothing entered or left his brain, as if he was an old computer without enough processing power to complete any tasks.
His brain soon warmed up enough to allow just enough processing power for his eyes to follow the fly. He didn't think about why it flew, but the movement, whether out of interest or instinct, enamoured him. The fly might have picked up on it, because after a couple dozen seconds, it buzzed towards the man, hovering over him briefly before landing on his chest.
The fly's little arms started to rub against each other. The waking man's mind warmed up enough to wonder why it looked like an evil villain relishing his dastardly plan. Why was it doing that? Wait, what was he doing? Where did he come from? Why was he in this room? His eyes began to widen as the direness of his situation sunk in. With a panicked jolt, he shook alive, flinging the bug off him as he sat up. He instantly winced as his bones cracked, stiff from hours upon hours of unconsciousness. Various cuts and scrapes spread across his body from a night of abuse. He rubbed his hands on his chest through his shirt. Must have been a rough night, he concluded. Like a car with its pedal floored, he had redlined his body the night before, but had somehow survived. "What the fuck," the Redliner uttered in disarray. “I’m still here.”
But what about his friend? The Redliner spun around to the person on the couch behind him and gasped, "Tyger..."
Tyger's eyes were partially open, his mouth slightly agape. A mostly-empty syringe layed on the ground beside his spot on the couch, the remnants of a brown goo lining its inside walls. Blood dripped from a hole in his arm. The fly had landed on his ghostly pale face and had crawled inside his mouth, like the bad guy in that Indiana Jones movie. He didn't react. The Redliner shook him with a terrified vigor. The fly zoomed from Tyger's mouth, but he didn't so much as flinch. He just laid there, unresponsive. The Redliner felt his friend's head with his palm. Cold. "Fuck!" he gasped, running his hand through his greasy, brown hair. "He actually did it!"
The Redliner sprung up from the couch and began pacing the room with the back of his hand now on his forehead head. "Fucking smack," he muttered as he thought of what to do. "He did it on fucking smack."
It had hardly been a few seconds before he started scouring the table for something to calm him down. Anything, any amount of the gear he had been hitting the night before. A cigarette, even. A lighter materialised under a piece of tin foil. He gripped it as he continued his search, but soon popped the lighter into his pocket for later. But after not finding anything, he grew irritated, flinging the contents of the table off of it before grabbing the hair on both sides of his head.
His eyes lightened up, and he spun around to the couch. His fingers jabbed into Tyger's stiff hands to pry them open, revealing a sandwich baggy with only the residue from a sticky brown substance left. "No wonder, you did damn near your whole supply," he remarked to himself before his hands jammed themselves into his dead friend's pockets. As he shook the body around, a pistol fell out of Tyger's waistband. The Redliner paid little attention to it, focused only on the pockets. The first one had nothing in it, but the second had a pink powder wrapped up in press-and-seal wrapping. He brought it to his face so his eyes could examine it from right up close.
But before he could do anything about it, a loud knock sounded off at the door. The Redliner jolted, snapping his head towards the noise. He knew he had to get out, or it was trouble. He stuffed the baggy in his pocket and knelt down to grab the pistol, taking one last look at his friend on the way. As a final act of respect, his fingers closed Tyger's open eyelids. "Just how you wanted it, huh," he commented. The door knocked again, louder this time. The Redliner sprung up and bolted out the back door.
After some more aggressive knocking, the door busted open, and a man in a suit with a scowl across his face came in, surrounded by a couple of cronies. "Find him!" he barked as he fixed the cuffs of his suit.
It didn't take long before they found the body on the couch. "Found this asshole, boss," announced an overweight thug.
The Boss approached to lift the body off the couch, bringing Tyger close to his face. His groomed facial hair didn’t feel any breathing. "Fuck!" he yelled, throwing the body to the ground. He began kicking it furiously. His subordinates watched without so much as flinching.
Only after the body was properly desecrated did he stop, hovering over the body with blood-tipped shoes while breathing heavily. "We have to find the other," the Boss panted.
Meanwhile, the Redliner ran as far as he could before his lungs grew tired and forced him to walk, which ended up being about seven or eight urban-suburban blocks away. His agitated eyes scoured for a place to take shelter in to recollect himself. Thankfully, a children's playground came up on his path. Far enough from the house, he thought. And, empty. Perfect.
He powerwalked towards the main centrepiece, up some steps and into the dome where it would be hard for any onlookers to identify if somebody was inside, let alone who. He sat down in his new hideout and took inventory of what he had on him, removing the items from his pockets.
A lighter. He knew that would surely come in handy. $26, mostly in ones and fives. Not much to buy anything. A Hi-Point C-9. A shitty gun, but still a gun. 15-round magazine, probably full - his friend never shot it. Retail value $100 at some sketchy pawn shop, if he's very lucky. Probably more useful to keep some heat on him than to pawn, anyway. He stuffed everything except the drugs back in his pockets and waistband.
The most important item he had on him was the remnants of the gear from his friend. So he brought it to his face, hastily opening it and emptying the contents into his mouth. He stuck a finger in and lodged the pink particles towards the front of his gums, shaping the powder-turned-paste with his finger. His gums numbed immediately, his excitement growing as the anticipation set in. His tongue rubbed against the walls of the bags while he waited, eager to get every last speck of powder.
He had hardly finished the last bag before the sombre grey of the bleak, cloudy outside leaking in through the open top of the centrepiece grew a bit brighter for him. He dropped the licked-clean bag as a euphoric joy overcame him, finding that couldn't stop smiling. He began grooving in his seat, barely able to contain his excitement before he rose to his feet. "Where are you?" he began asking aloud as he peeked over the edges of the centrepiece. "I know you're here!"
The Redliner emerged from his cove, no longer concerned with the concealment it provided. "Come on out!" he beckoned, swinging around the ledges and looking under the railings of the playset.
His head poked around the dome, and to his enthusiasm, there she was, standing on the woodchips below - a beautiful angel dressed in a white robe. The gold rope holding her outfit together at the waist matched the glided hoops she wore on her ears and the gold sandals on her flirtatiously crossing ankles. Her face brandished a smirk, her mischievous brown eyes shimmering gold as if they already gave away her request. But still, she rose an entrancing hand up. Come here, it said to him.
The Redliner didn't even think twice before hopping over the railing, fumbling the jump and landing on his hands and knees, but not seriously enough to get injured. He picked himself up off the ground, swiping the woodchips off his clothes before wiping the grease off his face with his sleeve and slicking back his medium-length hair as he approached the Angel. Her smirk grew even more mischievously, but he still tried, "May I this time?"
The Angel tilted her head ever so slightly as her smile damped. Her divine, outstretched arm retracted, straightening by her side. She was almost his height, which added even more of a mystique to the already entrancing look she gave him. But she shrugged, her smirk again returning.
"Oh?" the Redliner played, a smile of his own growing on his face.
The Angel grinned enough to show an orderly row of impeccably white teeth as she threw an arm over her head and began racing through the playground. The Redliner immediately chased after her, scaling the playset, vaulting over railings, and swinging around the corners. As he hopped through the obstacles, he remembered how simple it was to feel like a kid again. His only goal in the world was to catch the Angel, as if none of the other problems in the world could affect him. He felt impossibly blissful to be running around so carefree that he found himself laughing at the joy it brought him.
After who knows how long, the Redliner eventually got close enough to try and touch the Angel as she hopped on a higher section of the playground. But as he stretched to reach her over the ledge, his chest smacked against it. The sharp pain caught him by surprise, taking him to the ground. As he winced on his back, the Angel ascended into the clouds from ahead, the whimsical fingers on one of her hands wishing him adieu.
"Until next time," the Redliner grunted through the pain. His chest really hurt. Much more than it should. It made him wonder. Why?
He lifted up his shirt, revealing a series of massive bruises on his chest. He stared in bewilderment for a few seconds before it came to him. A jolt of energy overcame him, snapping him from whatever high remained. He rose to his feet and stormed off from the playground.
The Redliner powerwalked for about 45 minutes until he hit a more urban area of his neighbourhood. He tried to keep his cool about him as he walked past people on the street. With most, the Redliner avoided looking at. But a mother and her daughter caught his eye. She stared into him, armed with a face of disapproval. The Redliner briefly caught her gaze, but couldn't keep it, looking away in shame.
The Redliner soon cut through a parking garage to reach his destination faster, beelining towards a cement pillar by the ramp up to the next floor. He took the corner sharply, not caring if somebody was also taking it as tight from the other side.
But an overweight man holding a sandwich had been doing exactly that, and the Redliner ran right into him, nearly knocking him over. The eyes of the two men widened as they immediately recognized each other. They both reached for their guns, but the rounder man kept ahold of his sandwich, making him take just a bit longer to pull his jacket to the side and retrieve the weapon from his beltline. The Redliner had no such problem. He blasted him three times from just a few feet away, blood splattering on his shirt and face. The obese man plopped to the ground.
The Redliner then popped his head around the cars and saw his worst nightmare - the Boss putting his phone down with the rest of his cronies hanging around him by a nearby SUV. They all hastily fumbled to get their weapons out, but the Redliner had the jump on them, unleashing a salvo of bullets toward the SUV. The gang hunkered down behind it. Not after long, hands with weapons began popping out and blindly spraying back, so the Redliner took cover behind the concrete wall.
It was either the adrenaline or fear that overtook him, and the Redliner ended up blindly firing his pistol back until his Hi-Point C9 ran empty. Overtaken by his excitement, he chucked the empty pistol at his adversaries. It made a loud thud as it bounced off one of the doors of the SUV. At least it was a shitty pistol, he reasoned.
But nonetheless, a sensation of dread overtook the Redliner. Did the gang see he had thrown his pistol? How could he defend himself without a weapon? He felt like he had made a grave mistake by expending his only defense like that.
The fat guy's gun! Before the Boss and his gang could react, the Redliner jolted an arm around the cover and grabbed the foot of the obese man and heaved with all of his frantic might, dragging the bloodied corpse towards him. The sandwich remained pried to his fat hands.
He whipped open the jacket of the man, and by Lady Luck's grace, he found exactly what he needed - a Micro Uzi wedged between the man's plump belly and his belt. He yanked the Uzi out and popped around his cover, spraying the SUV with an automatic salvo of 9mm rounds. The posse ducked behind it, swearing indiscriminately as bullets peppered their vehicle. The Redliner smirked as the kickback of his new toy pleased him.
An epiphany struck him, and he took cover behind the wall again to gouge his hands into the pockets of the fat man. His eyes lit up as he procured a baggy of the same white powder he had been looking for. Without even thinking twice, he dumped the entire bag into his mouth, popping the bag in behind it to absorb every last bit of it as the gang returned fire, blasting the ground and walls around him.
The Redliner took another peek out behind the concrete pillar and sprayed another barrage into the SUV as he arranged the contents inside his mouth. One of the gang members had begun pushing up, but once the Redliner began firing began, he ran back behind the SUV.
But this time, the Redliner stayed peeking out as his mouth went numb, taking aim at the braver of the men who would pop their heads up to fire back. He'd fire a round or two every time, but nothing hit. Finally, the rush of the hit engulfed him, creeping up his spine in a wave of ecstasy. He flung his back behind cover against the wall of the pillar again and spit out the baggy, a zany smile spanning ear-to-ear across his face. Fighting for his life with a gun he'd only seen in movies as his favourite drug hits his body? The vivaciousness he felt at that moment was unparalleled.
Even so, he still knew he needed to find a way out. Who knew how many rounds his Uzi had left, but probably only a few. Back out the way he came in the parking garage seemed like the only way he could escape.
Just as he started to take off, a beam of light came from his side. He snapped his head, spotting the Angel at the top of the ramp leading up the parking garage. Her dainty fingers opened and closed in her palm as to beckon him, which bewildered the Redliner. She wanted him to go further up? He'd be trapped up there.
But with only a disapproving shake of the head, he pivoted and ran right up the ramp, placing his fate firmly in the Angel's hands.
The Angel strolled away from view as the Redliner zoomed up the incline. Once he got to the roof, his head whipped from side-to-side, unable to find her. Noises from the men echoed below, so the anxious Redliner jogged around the side of the parking garage, searching for his saviour.
Once he got to the other side, he breathed a breath of relief as he laid his eyes on her, again at the top of the ramp leading to the next floor above. He sprinted up the ramp, and again, she strolled out of view before he made it. "Oh no you don't," he asserted, giving all of his energy to get up that ramp as fast as he possibly could.
But this time when he made it up, he saw her immediately, albeit at a spot he hadn't considered, despite how obvious it could seem in retrospect. Directly ahead of him, on the rooftop of a building next to the parking garage, stood the Angel. A charming grin covered her face as the sun peeked out from behind the clouds to shine on her flowing brown hair, making it appear a crisp gold.
"Oh, fuck no," the Redliner commented through the panting as he approached the concrete half wall at the side of the parking garage. The distance between the rooftop and the parking garage couldn't have been more than five feet, but beneath laid certain death. The Redliner's legs shook, and he faced the Angel filled with disgrace. "I... I don't do heights," he admitted.
But she just smiled. And not one of those regular smiles that people do all the time. One that coyly suggested, "You can learn to."
"Ah, fuck, man!" the Redliner let out, grabbing the back of his head with the hand not holding the Uzi. He paced back and forth for a second, weighing out his options. Noises emanated from lower down in the parking garage. Well, it's not like there was anything else he could do at this point, he reasoned. Why not place his fate in her hands again?
Our courageous protagonist bravely went right up to the ledge and took a deep breath. He placed his weapon on safety and tossed it across. It slid about half a dozen feet across the slick top of the rooftop. No going back now. He delicately got up on the ledge, and while holding his breath, took a literal leap of faith.
Of course he made it. It wasn't a far jump at all, especially for a man facing death if he didn't do it. And another big pro for him - the rush of making it reminded him that he was still, in fact, pretty cooked right now. The Redliner looked down at his hands, laughing hysterically over how little damage the jump did. Only a minor scrape on one of his palms. Not even bleeding. It invigorated him. The Angel watched the whole endeavour, her gilded-bronze eyes beaming with a grand satisfaction as the sun beamed on her tan skin.
The Redliner grabbed his Micro Uzi as the Angel turned away and dashed across the building. He chased her again, carrying his submachine gun at his side as he pranced across the building tops as gleefully as a child playing tag in a playground.
Once she reached the edge of the building, though, she smirked backwards for a split second and hopped across to the next. It was about the same distance as the first jump, but as he approached it, the Redliner still gawked, "Not fair! You have wings!"
The Angel again glanced over her shoulder with a carefree grin as she continued making her way across the next rooftop. Her wavy hair bobbed as she ran like a galloping horse's mane.
The Tattooed Man remained frowning. He said nothing for a few seconds, staring with wide eyes as he played out scenarios of how this conversation could end up.
A fan dully spun above, hardly going more than a spin every few seconds. The humidity from the sticky room had put sweat on the skin of its two occupants. A lone fly buzzed about before settling itself on the table in the middle of the room, crawling over charred tinfoil before taking off again.
The eyes of one of the men opened just a sliver. He stared directly ahead as they opened further, in the middle of the circle where the fly flew. He just laid on the floor, resting his back on the bottom of the couch. A slight burning pain emanated from his chest, but he accepted it without question. Nothing entered or left his brain, as if he was an old computer without enough processing power to complete any tasks.
His brain soon warmed up enough to allow just enough processing power for his eyes to follow the fly. He didn't think about why it flew, but the movement, whether out of interest or instinct, enamoured him. The fly might have picked up on it, because after a couple dozen seconds, it buzzed towards the man, hovering over him briefly before landing on his chest.
The fly's little arms started to rub against each other. The waking man's mind warmed up enough to wonder why it looked like an evil villain relishing his dastardly plan. Why was it doing that? Wait, what was he doing? Where did he come from? Why was he in this room? His eyes began to widen as the direness of his situation sunk in. With a panicked jolt, he shook alive, flinging the bug off him as he sat up. He instantly winced as his bones cracked, stiff from hours upon hours of unconsciousness. Various cuts and scrapes spread across his body from a night of abuse. He rubbed his hands on his chest through his shirt. Must have been a rough night, he concluded. Like a car with its pedal floored, he had redlined his body the night before, but had somehow survived. "What the fuck," the Redliner uttered in disarray. “I’m still here.”
But what about his friend? The Redliner spun around to the person on the couch behind him and gasped, "Tyger..."
Tyger's eyes were partially open, his mouth slightly agape. A mostly-empty syringe layed on the ground beside his spot on the couch, the remnants of a brown goo lining its inside walls. Blood dripped from a hole in his arm. The fly had landed on his ghostly pale face and had crawled inside his mouth, like the bad guy in that Indiana Jones movie. He didn't react. The Redliner shook him with a terrified vigor. The fly zoomed from Tyger's mouth, but he didn't so much as flinch. He just laid there, unresponsive. The Redliner felt his friend's head with his palm. Cold. "Fuck!" he gasped, running his hand through his greasy, brown hair. "He actually did it!"
The Redliner sprung up from the couch and began pacing the room with the back of his hand now on his forehead head. "Fucking smack," he muttered as he thought of what to do. "He did it on fucking smack."
It had hardly been a few seconds before he started scouring the table for something to calm him down. Anything, any amount of the gear he had been hitting the night before. A cigarette, even. A lighter materialised under a piece of tin foil. He gripped it as he continued his search, but soon popped the lighter into his pocket for later. But after not finding anything, he grew irritated, flinging the contents of the table off of it before grabbing the hair on both sides of his head.
His eyes lightened up, and he spun around to the couch. His fingers jabbed into Tyger's stiff hands to pry them open, revealing a sandwich baggy with only the residue from a sticky brown substance left. "No wonder, you did damn near your whole supply," he remarked to himself before his hands jammed themselves into his dead friend's pockets. As he shook the body around, a pistol fell out of Tyger's waistband. The Redliner paid little attention to it, focused only on the pockets. The first one had nothing in it, but the second had a pink powder wrapped up in press-and-seal wrapping. He brought it to his face so his eyes could examine it from right up close.
But before he could do anything about it, a loud knock sounded off at the door. The Redliner jolted, snapping his head towards the noise. He knew he had to get out, or it was trouble. He stuffed the baggy in his pocket and knelt down to grab the pistol, taking one last look at his friend on the way. As a final act of respect, his fingers closed Tyger's open eyelids. "Just how you wanted it, huh," he commented. The door knocked again, louder this time. The Redliner sprung up and bolted out the back door.
After some more aggressive knocking, the door busted open, and a man in a suit with a scowl across his face came in, surrounded by a couple of cronies. "Find him!" he barked as he fixed the cuffs of his suit.
It didn't take long before they found the body on the couch. "Found this asshole, boss," announced an overweight thug.
The Boss approached to lift the body off the couch, bringing Tyger close to his face. His groomed facial hair didn’t feel any breathing. "Fuck!" he yelled, throwing the body to the ground. He began kicking it furiously. His subordinates watched without so much as flinching.
Only after the body was properly desecrated did he stop, hovering over the body with blood-tipped shoes while breathing heavily. "We have to find the other," the Boss panted.
Meanwhile, the Redliner ran as far as he could before his lungs grew tired and forced him to walk, which ended up being about seven or eight urban-suburban blocks away. His agitated eyes scoured for a place to take shelter in to recollect himself. Thankfully, a children's playground came up on his path. Far enough from the house, he thought. And, empty. Perfect.
He powerwalked towards the main centrepiece, up some steps and into the dome where it would be hard for any onlookers to identify if somebody was inside, let alone who. He sat down in his new hideout and took inventory of what he had on him, removing the items from his pockets.
A lighter. He knew that would surely come in handy. $26, mostly in ones and fives. Not much to buy anything. A Hi-Point C-9. A shitty gun, but still a gun. 15-round magazine, probably full - his friend never shot it. Retail value $100 at some sketchy pawn shop, if he's very lucky. Probably more useful to keep some heat on him than to pawn, anyway. He stuffed everything except the drugs back in his pockets and waistband.
The most important item he had on him was the remnants of the gear from his friend. So he brought it to his face, hastily opening it and emptying the contents into his mouth. He stuck a finger in and lodged the pink particles towards the front of his gums, shaping the powder-turned-paste with his finger. His gums numbed immediately, his excitement growing as the anticipation set in. His tongue rubbed against the walls of the bags while he waited, eager to get every last speck of powder.
He had hardly finished the last bag before the sombre grey of the bleak, cloudy outside leaking in through the open top of the centrepiece grew a bit brighter for him. He dropped the licked-clean bag as a euphoric joy overcame him, finding that couldn't stop smiling. He began grooving in his seat, barely able to contain his excitement before he rose to his feet. "Where are you?" he began asking aloud as he peeked over the edges of the centrepiece. "I know you're here!"
The Redliner emerged from his cove, no longer concerned with the concealment it provided. "Come on out!" he beckoned, swinging around the ledges and looking under the railings of the playset.
His head poked around the dome, and to his enthusiasm, there she was, standing on the woodchips below - a beautiful angel dressed in a white robe. The gold rope holding her outfit together at the waist matched the glided hoops she wore on her ears and the gold sandals on her flirtatiously crossing ankles. Her face brandished a smirk, her mischievous brown eyes shimmering gold as if they already gave away her request. But still, she rose an entrancing hand up. Come here, it said to him.
The Redliner didn't even think twice before hopping over the railing, fumbling the jump and landing on his hands and knees, but not seriously enough to get injured. He picked himself up off the ground, swiping the woodchips off his clothes before wiping the grease off his face with his sleeve and slicking back his medium-length hair as he approached the Angel. Her smirk grew even more mischievously, but he still tried, "May I this time?"
The Angel tilted her head ever so slightly as her smile damped. Her divine, outstretched arm retracted, straightening by her side. She was almost his height, which added even more of a mystique to the already entrancing look she gave him. But she shrugged, her smirk again returning.
"Oh?" the Redliner played, a smile of his own growing on his face.
The Angel grinned enough to show an orderly row of impeccably white teeth as she threw an arm over her head and began racing through the playground. The Redliner immediately chased after her, scaling the playset, vaulting over railings, and swinging around the corners. As he hopped through the obstacles, he remembered how simple it was to feel like a kid again. His only goal in the world was to catch the Angel, as if none of the other problems in the world could affect him. He felt impossibly blissful to be running around so carefree that he found himself laughing at the joy it brought him.
After who knows how long, the Redliner eventually got close enough to try and touch the Angel as she hopped on a higher section of the playground. But as he stretched to reach her over the ledge, his chest smacked against it. The sharp pain caught him by surprise, taking him to the ground. As he winced on his back, the Angel ascended into the clouds from ahead, the whimsical fingers on one of her hands wishing him adieu.
"Until next time," the Redliner grunted through the pain. His chest really hurt. Much more than it should. It made him wonder. Why?
He lifted up his shirt, revealing a series of massive bruises on his chest. He stared in bewilderment for a few seconds before it came to him. A jolt of energy overcame him, snapping him from whatever high remained. He rose to his feet and stormed off from the playground.
The Redliner powerwalked for about 45 minutes until he hit a more urban area of his neighbourhood. He tried to keep his cool about him as he walked past people on the street. With most, the Redliner avoided looking at. But a mother and her daughter caught his eye. She stared into him, armed with a face of disapproval. The Redliner briefly caught her gaze, but couldn't keep it, looking away in shame.
The Redliner soon cut through a parking garage to reach his destination faster, beelining towards a cement pillar by the ramp up to the next floor. He took the corner sharply, not caring if somebody was also taking it as tight from the other side.
But an overweight man holding a sandwich had been doing exactly that, and the Redliner ran right into him, nearly knocking him over. The eyes of the two men widened as they immediately recognized each other. They both reached for their guns, but the rounder man kept ahold of his sandwich, making him take just a bit longer to pull his jacket to the side and retrieve the weapon from his beltline. The Redliner had no such problem. He blasted him three times from just a few feet away, blood splattering on his shirt and face. The obese man plopped to the ground.
The Redliner then popped his head around the cars and saw his worst nightmare - the Boss putting his phone down with the rest of his cronies hanging around him by a nearby SUV. They all hastily fumbled to get their weapons out, but the Redliner had the jump on them, unleashing a salvo of bullets toward the SUV. The gang hunkered down behind it. Not after long, hands with weapons began popping out and blindly spraying back, so the Redliner took cover behind the concrete wall.
It was either the adrenaline or fear that overtook him, and the Redliner ended up blindly firing his pistol back until his Hi-Point C9 ran empty. Overtaken by his excitement, he chucked the empty pistol at his adversaries. It made a loud thud as it bounced off one of the doors of the SUV. At least it was a shitty pistol, he reasoned.
But nonetheless, a sensation of dread overtook the Redliner. Did the gang see he had thrown his pistol? How could he defend himself without a weapon? He felt like he had made a grave mistake by expending his only defense like that.
The fat guy's gun! Before the Boss and his gang could react, the Redliner jolted an arm around the cover and grabbed the foot of the obese man and heaved with all of his frantic might, dragging the bloodied corpse towards him. The sandwich remained pried to his fat hands.
He whipped open the jacket of the man, and by Lady Luck's grace, he found exactly what he needed - a Micro Uzi wedged between the man's plump belly and his belt. He yanked the Uzi out and popped around his cover, spraying the SUV with an automatic salvo of 9mm rounds. The posse ducked behind it, swearing indiscriminately as bullets peppered their vehicle. The Redliner smirked as the kickback of his new toy pleased him.
An epiphany struck him, and he took cover behind the wall again to gouge his hands into the pockets of the fat man. His eyes lit up as he procured a baggy of the same white powder he had been looking for. Without even thinking twice, he dumped the entire bag into his mouth, popping the bag in behind it to absorb every last bit of it as the gang returned fire, blasting the ground and walls around him.
The Redliner took another peek out behind the concrete pillar and sprayed another barrage into the SUV as he arranged the contents inside his mouth. One of the gang members had begun pushing up, but once the Redliner began firing began, he ran back behind the SUV.
But this time, the Redliner stayed peeking out as his mouth went numb, taking aim at the braver of the men who would pop their heads up to fire back. He'd fire a round or two every time, but nothing hit. Finally, the rush of the hit engulfed him, creeping up his spine in a wave of ecstasy. He flung his back behind cover against the wall of the pillar again and spit out the baggy, a zany smile spanning ear-to-ear across his face. Fighting for his life with a gun he'd only seen in movies as his favourite drug hits his body? The vivaciousness he felt at that moment was unparalleled.
Even so, he still knew he needed to find a way out. Who knew how many rounds his Uzi had left, but probably only a few. Back out the way he came in the parking garage seemed like the only way he could escape.
Just as he started to take off, a beam of light came from his side. He snapped his head, spotting the Angel at the top of the ramp leading up the parking garage. Her dainty fingers opened and closed in her palm as to beckon him, which bewildered the Redliner. She wanted him to go further up? He'd be trapped up there.
But with only a disapproving shake of the head, he pivoted and ran right up the ramp, placing his fate firmly in the Angel's hands.
The Angel strolled away from view as the Redliner zoomed up the incline. Once he got to the roof, his head whipped from side-to-side, unable to find her. Noises from the men echoed below, so the anxious Redliner jogged around the side of the parking garage, searching for his saviour.
Once he got to the other side, he breathed a breath of relief as he laid his eyes on her, again at the top of the ramp leading to the next floor above. He sprinted up the ramp, and again, she strolled out of view before he made it. "Oh no you don't," he asserted, giving all of his energy to get up that ramp as fast as he possibly could.
But this time when he made it up, he saw her immediately, albeit at a spot he hadn't considered, despite how obvious it could seem in retrospect. Directly ahead of him, on the rooftop of a building next to the parking garage, stood the Angel. A charming grin covered her face as the sun peeked out from behind the clouds to shine on her flowing brown hair, making it appear a crisp gold.
"Oh, fuck no," the Redliner commented through the panting as he approached the concrete half wall at the side of the parking garage. The distance between the rooftop and the parking garage couldn't have been more than five feet, but beneath laid certain death. The Redliner's legs shook, and he faced the Angel filled with disgrace. "I... I don't do heights," he admitted.
But she just smiled. And not one of those regular smiles that people do all the time. One that coyly suggested, "You can learn to."
"Ah, fuck, man!" the Redliner let out, grabbing the back of his head with the hand not holding the Uzi. He paced back and forth for a second, weighing out his options. Noises emanated from lower down in the parking garage. Well, it's not like there was anything else he could do at this point, he reasoned. Why not place his fate in her hands again?
Our courageous protagonist bravely went right up to the ledge and took a deep breath. He placed his weapon on safety and tossed it across. It slid about half a dozen feet across the slick top of the rooftop. No going back now. He delicately got up on the ledge, and while holding his breath, took a literal leap of faith.
Of course he made it. It wasn't a far jump at all, especially for a man facing death if he didn't do it. And another big pro for him - the rush of making it reminded him that he was still, in fact, pretty cooked right now. The Redliner looked down at his hands, laughing hysterically over how little damage the jump did. Only a minor scrape on one of his palms. Not even bleeding. It invigorated him. The Angel watched the whole endeavour, her gilded-bronze eyes beaming with a grand satisfaction as the sun beamed on her tan skin.
The Redliner grabbed his Micro Uzi as the Angel turned away and dashed across the building. He chased her again, carrying his submachine gun at his side as he pranced across the building tops as gleefully as a child playing tag in a playground.
Once she reached the edge of the building, though, she smirked backwards for a split second and hopped across to the next. It was about the same distance as the first jump, but as he approached it, the Redliner still gawked, "Not fair! You have wings!"
The Angel again glanced over her shoulder with a carefree grin as she continued making her way across the next rooftop. Her wavy hair bobbed as she ran like a galloping horse's mane.
The Redliner, now roused by his last jump and armed with some desire in him to chase the rush, didn't even throw his weapon first as he sprinted and leapt with all his might. He landed on his feet as if he'd done it countless times before, promptly continuing his pursuit. "Not this time!" he hooted.
The Angel just candidly laughed from the other side of the roof, teasing him with a little wave.
The duo pranced across the tops of the buildings, hopping from one to another now entirely carefree of the voids that lay below. The Redliner relished in the newfound euphoria of forgetting his fear of heights. The terror that had presented itself before his first jump was no more, and although he didn't have wings like the Angel, he sure felt like he did.
He had no idea how long he danced around the rooftops with the Angel. But at some point, she led him down a fire escape and through the city for some time before she floated into the sky and again disappeared.
Somewhere else in the neighbourhood, a man whose body was covered head-to-toe in tacky tattoos sat on his couch with his feet propped up on the table. A remote loosely sat in his hand, his red eyes glossed over as they watched some TV show rerun he'd seen a couple of times before. A fan lamely spun above with only a soft whine, giving the man a slightly cool breeze, just cold enough for him to find comfort under a navy blue microfleece blanket.
Without warning, the front door busted open, and in barged a Micro Uzi, followed by the Redliner who brandished it. He snapped it towards the couch, taking only a second to close the distance himself.
Immediately, the Tattooed Man sprung to his feet and put his hands up, his blanket falling to the floor and revealing the white wifebeater he had on underneath. “What the fuck, man!” he reacted.
The Tattooed Man had size on the Redliner, but the Redliner had the carefree strength of a man who had little left to lose, particularly after just blasting someone away. So, the Redliner Sparta kicked him right in the stomach, sending him flying towards the couch. “No, you what the fuck, man!” he yelled.
The Tattooed Man grunted, grabbing his stomach. "Fuck you, man!"
"You got no grounds to be the angry one." The Redliner's lips tightened. Fire burned in his eyes.
The Tattooed Man scowled. "You stopped talking to m-"
"Fuck that, man! I didn't owe you shit after I found out you'd been ratting us out for months. Tyger is dead because of this!"
The Tattooed Man stared in confusion, as if the lights hadn't been turned on in his head.
The Redliner yanked his shirt up, displaying the array of bruises across his chest. “Fatty almost killed me because of this,” he divulged.
The Angel just candidly laughed from the other side of the roof, teasing him with a little wave.
The duo pranced across the tops of the buildings, hopping from one to another now entirely carefree of the voids that lay below. The Redliner relished in the newfound euphoria of forgetting his fear of heights. The terror that had presented itself before his first jump was no more, and although he didn't have wings like the Angel, he sure felt like he did.
He had no idea how long he danced around the rooftops with the Angel. But at some point, she led him down a fire escape and through the city for some time before she floated into the sky and again disappeared.
Somewhere else in the neighbourhood, a man whose body was covered head-to-toe in tacky tattoos sat on his couch with his feet propped up on the table. A remote loosely sat in his hand, his red eyes glossed over as they watched some TV show rerun he'd seen a couple of times before. A fan lamely spun above with only a soft whine, giving the man a slightly cool breeze, just cold enough for him to find comfort under a navy blue microfleece blanket.
Without warning, the front door busted open, and in barged a Micro Uzi, followed by the Redliner who brandished it. He snapped it towards the couch, taking only a second to close the distance himself.
Immediately, the Tattooed Man sprung to his feet and put his hands up, his blanket falling to the floor and revealing the white wifebeater he had on underneath. “What the fuck, man!” he reacted.
The Tattooed Man had size on the Redliner, but the Redliner had the carefree strength of a man who had little left to lose, particularly after just blasting someone away. So, the Redliner Sparta kicked him right in the stomach, sending him flying towards the couch. “No, you what the fuck, man!” he yelled.
The Tattooed Man grunted, grabbing his stomach. "Fuck you, man!"
"You got no grounds to be the angry one." The Redliner's lips tightened. Fire burned in his eyes.
The Tattooed Man scowled. "You stopped talking to m-"
"Fuck that, man! I didn't owe you shit after I found out you'd been ratting us out for months. Tyger is dead because of this!"
The Tattooed Man stared in confusion, as if the lights hadn't been turned on in his head.
The Redliner yanked his shirt up, displaying the array of bruises across his chest. “Fatty almost killed me because of this,” he divulged.
"They woulda beat my ass if I didn't talk!" he pleaded. "You woulda done the same."
"Maybe," the Redliner conceited. "But I would have told you they were on to us. Or at least said sorry, shit. I thought we were close enough for that."
The Tattooed Man remained frowning. He said nothing for a few seconds, staring with wide eyes as he played out scenarios of how this conversation could end up.
As he watched the gears in the head of the Tattooed Man turn, trying to find an angle where he was the victim, it suddenly clicked for the Redliner. The Tattooed Man didn't understand what could happen to you after having those guys after you. He didn't understand how it could make someone flip their life upside down, changing the hands their fate was held in. At least not yet he didn't. But mentioning Tyger or his situation wouldn't help get through to him at all because the Tattooed Man just didn't care. So why should he?
Finally, the Tattooed man murmured, "I'm, uh, sorry."
"If you were really sorry, you wouldn't have kept talking to them." The Redliner kept his gun pointed at the Tattooed Man.
"But I didn't-"
"I don't wanna hear it," the Redliner interrupted. It didn't matter what the Tattooed Man would say back. Nothing he could say would bring Tyger back. He just didn't care to hear him out. So he admitted, "None of this matters now, anyway. Tyger's gone. Fatty's gone. And I'll be gone soon, too."
The Tattooed Man leaned forward and interlocked his fingers between his knees. "You got the fattie?"
The Redliner said nothing.
The Tattooed man sighed after some time. “So what do you want then? My money? A clean conscience?” he bargained. "We can fix this."
“There's nothing to save between us, man,” the Redliner retaliated. “Just give me the rest of that special gear you gave me before.”
“I told you, I don't have any more available,” the Tattooed Man explained.
The Redliner stared right into his glossy eyes, pointing to the kitchen table in the other room with his hand not holding the Micro Uzi. "Man, there's some sitting on the table." Between a stack of self-help books sat a Ziploc bag stuffed with the stuff.
The Tattooed Man gave a blank face towards the table, back to the Redliner, to the table again, and then finally back to the Redliner. "That's my whole week's supply," he complained.
"Looks like today's supply for me." The Redliner went over to the table and grabbed the baggy, shoving it into his pocket with his gun still aiming.
The Redliner went back to the couch. A few tense seconds passed in the silence. "You gonna shoot me then?" the Tattooed Man finally tried, sweat now dripping down his forehead.
A tense silence filled the room as the submachine gun aimed at the chest of the Tattooed Man. The Redliner tightened his grip on the Micro Uzi. The Tattooed Man kept glancing between the weapon pointed at him, the drops of blood splattered on the face of his ex-friend, and the grave look overtaking made.
There was nothing in the world that the primal being inside the Redliner wanted to do than pull the trigger down and hold it until his gun clicked empty. He didn't need his weapon after this, provided he didn't run into the Boss and his crew again. But if he shot the Tattooed Man, this time it would be murder. The fatso? That was self-defence. He would have killed him otherwise. But this? Even after what the Tattooed Man did? He just wasn't sure it would be right, getting more blood on his hands. Besides, it did end up in getting his ticket with the Angel. And would he even still be pure enough for her if he sought out revenge? It all weighed on the Redliner.
Whether the Redliner found mercy inside him or thought he might need the few rounds he had left in his weapon, I'll leave up to you. But regardless of the reason why, the Redliner lowered his weapon, stared right into the clear eyes of his old friend, and firmly stated, "This is the last time you'll ever see me."
He let the Tattooed Man soak it up. Part of him hoped his ex-friend would try something. Maybe reach for a weapon, or try and jump him. Then he'd have no choice but to blast him. He even hoped the Tattooed Man would try one last time to say sorry like he really meant it, as if there was something the Redliner wanted to hear, but wouldn't ask for himself. But even after another twenty seconds of silence, nothing happened. So with a disapproving sigh, he kept his eyes on the Tattooed Man as he departed the apartment.
The Tattooed Man sucked up as much air as his lungs would allow for one relieving breath. He wiped the sweat off his forehead and stood up, pacing around with no aim for a couple dozen seconds until he went to shut the door.
He leaned his back on the closed door for a good minute, absorbing what had just happened. But after piecing himself together, he whipped out his phone from his pocket and made a call. The person on the other end picked up, giving an offputtingly charming greeting.
"If you were really sorry, you wouldn't have kept talking to them." The Redliner kept his gun pointed at the Tattooed Man.
"But I didn't-"
"I don't wanna hear it," the Redliner interrupted. It didn't matter what the Tattooed Man would say back. Nothing he could say would bring Tyger back. He just didn't care to hear him out. So he admitted, "None of this matters now, anyway. Tyger's gone. Fatty's gone. And I'll be gone soon, too."
The Tattooed Man leaned forward and interlocked his fingers between his knees. "You got the fattie?"
The Redliner said nothing.
The Tattooed man sighed after some time. “So what do you want then? My money? A clean conscience?” he bargained. "We can fix this."
“There's nothing to save between us, man,” the Redliner retaliated. “Just give me the rest of that special gear you gave me before.”
“I told you, I don't have any more available,” the Tattooed Man explained.
The Redliner stared right into his glossy eyes, pointing to the kitchen table in the other room with his hand not holding the Micro Uzi. "Man, there's some sitting on the table." Between a stack of self-help books sat a Ziploc bag stuffed with the stuff.
The Tattooed Man gave a blank face towards the table, back to the Redliner, to the table again, and then finally back to the Redliner. "That's my whole week's supply," he complained.
"Looks like today's supply for me." The Redliner went over to the table and grabbed the baggy, shoving it into his pocket with his gun still aiming.
The Redliner went back to the couch. A few tense seconds passed in the silence. "You gonna shoot me then?" the Tattooed Man finally tried, sweat now dripping down his forehead.
A tense silence filled the room as the submachine gun aimed at the chest of the Tattooed Man. The Redliner tightened his grip on the Micro Uzi. The Tattooed Man kept glancing between the weapon pointed at him, the drops of blood splattered on the face of his ex-friend, and the grave look overtaking made.
There was nothing in the world that the primal being inside the Redliner wanted to do than pull the trigger down and hold it until his gun clicked empty. He didn't need his weapon after this, provided he didn't run into the Boss and his crew again. But if he shot the Tattooed Man, this time it would be murder. The fatso? That was self-defence. He would have killed him otherwise. But this? Even after what the Tattooed Man did? He just wasn't sure it would be right, getting more blood on his hands. Besides, it did end up in getting his ticket with the Angel. And would he even still be pure enough for her if he sought out revenge? It all weighed on the Redliner.
Whether the Redliner found mercy inside him or thought he might need the few rounds he had left in his weapon, I'll leave up to you. But regardless of the reason why, the Redliner lowered his weapon, stared right into the clear eyes of his old friend, and firmly stated, "This is the last time you'll ever see me."
He let the Tattooed Man soak it up. Part of him hoped his ex-friend would try something. Maybe reach for a weapon, or try and jump him. Then he'd have no choice but to blast him. He even hoped the Tattooed Man would try one last time to say sorry like he really meant it, as if there was something the Redliner wanted to hear, but wouldn't ask for himself. But even after another twenty seconds of silence, nothing happened. So with a disapproving sigh, he kept his eyes on the Tattooed Man as he departed the apartment.
The Tattooed Man sucked up as much air as his lungs would allow for one relieving breath. He wiped the sweat off his forehead and stood up, pacing around with no aim for a couple dozen seconds until he went to shut the door.
He leaned his back on the closed door for a good minute, absorbing what had just happened. But after piecing himself together, he whipped out his phone from his pocket and made a call. The person on the other end picked up, giving an offputtingly charming greeting.
"I think I know where he's going," the Tattooed Man stated. "But you don't have long."
"Home, sweet, home," commented the Redliner as he burst through the door of his apartment. You'd imagine somebody like him living in some run-down shithouse, but the Redliner's apartment had a modern sheik that might surprise someone who only knew him for today. It was a pretty extraordinary day after all, even for him. But before today, his shit was largely together. At least, enough to have an apartment on the third floor of an apartment complex with middle-class suburban interior vibes.
First things first for the Redliner, though. He set his Micro Uzi on the coffee table, locked the door, and dragged a hefty wooden cabinet behind it. Then, he pulled his creme-coloured Ikea couch behind the cabinet. "That'll slow them down," he proclaimed out loud.
But suddenly, a calm knock sounded at his door. A crisp, inviting tone invited, "We saw you come up here." The Redliner's hair stood on end. He knew exactly who it was. The Boss proposed, "Why don't you come out so we can talk? And don't try escaping - we have this building surrounded."
The Redliner sprinted to his bathroom, ripping off all of his clothes and wiping the sweat from his body with them before discarding them on the floor. He gave himself a good look in the mirror. A few drips of dried blood still marked his face, so he wiped it off with the hand towel hanging next to the sink. He hastily brushed his teeth next, but was still sure to give them a satisfactory clean. Then his armpits received exactly one swipe of deodorant each. Last, he took some cologne, substituting a good shower with a couple sprays. He gave himself a nervous smile before dashing to his bedroom.
He flung open his closet doors, snatching and throwing on his favourite set of underwear, a set with red lipstick kisses printed across them. Then a black pair of socks that were comfortable, but he could still wear out. Chinos next. Brown. Black belt, gold buckle. Then a dress shirt. He was quite fond of this one that had little black spots on top of a white background, almost resembling specks of clouds in the sky. No time would be better for his favourite shirt than this. Lastly, his watch. He ordinarily would go for a black or silver watch, but he decided to try out his gold watch today.
But he realised he forgot his baggy with the drugs, so he stormed back into the bathroom and grabbed them along with his lighter from the pockets of his old bottoms. He dumped the entirety of the pink powder from the bag into his mouth while looking himself in the eyes in the mirror. "For you, Tyger," he murmured with his mouth full before heading to the living room.
Right as he arrived, a pounding emanated again from the door. "This isn't about the fattie," the Boss shouted from outside. "I just want to know what you and your friend did with my imports and exports books."
The Redliner glanced towards the door with a frown as he pushed the powder to the front of his mouth, behind his lips. It was the largest amount he had ever done and didn't feel quite normal fitting in his mouth. But he managed to shove it all behind his bottom lip anyway. It began dissolving, making his whole mouth numb as his drug-filled saliva dripped down the inside of his larynx. As he did this, he put on a set of black dress shoes in the closet at the front of his apartment.
The door pounded again, harder this time. The Redliner put his hands on the edges of the coffee table in his living room, pushing it to the wall. The Micro Uzi slid around on the top of it, but didn't fall off. Then, he moved an ottoman out of the open. Next, a chair. He pushed a small table that was next to the chair last. But as he did that, a lamp sitting atop it fell over, smashing into a few large pieces as it hit the ground. "Fuck," he whined as he lit a scented candle on the windowsill with the lighter.
"We can hear you in there!" The Boss shouted. "I won't ask again. Where did you send those reports?"
His cover blown, The Redliner said in a monotone voice, "Okay, Google, play 'It's Now or Never' by Elvis on Spotify." He set the lighter down on the windowsill as the Google Home on a shelf by the wall responded in an Australian accent, "Sure, playing 'It's Now or Never' by Elvis on Spotify."
"Home, sweet, home," commented the Redliner as he burst through the door of his apartment. You'd imagine somebody like him living in some run-down shithouse, but the Redliner's apartment had a modern sheik that might surprise someone who only knew him for today. It was a pretty extraordinary day after all, even for him. But before today, his shit was largely together. At least, enough to have an apartment on the third floor of an apartment complex with middle-class suburban interior vibes.
First things first for the Redliner, though. He set his Micro Uzi on the coffee table, locked the door, and dragged a hefty wooden cabinet behind it. Then, he pulled his creme-coloured Ikea couch behind the cabinet. "That'll slow them down," he proclaimed out loud.
But suddenly, a calm knock sounded at his door. A crisp, inviting tone invited, "We saw you come up here." The Redliner's hair stood on end. He knew exactly who it was. The Boss proposed, "Why don't you come out so we can talk? And don't try escaping - we have this building surrounded."
The Redliner sprinted to his bathroom, ripping off all of his clothes and wiping the sweat from his body with them before discarding them on the floor. He gave himself a good look in the mirror. A few drips of dried blood still marked his face, so he wiped it off with the hand towel hanging next to the sink. He hastily brushed his teeth next, but was still sure to give them a satisfactory clean. Then his armpits received exactly one swipe of deodorant each. Last, he took some cologne, substituting a good shower with a couple sprays. He gave himself a nervous smile before dashing to his bedroom.
He flung open his closet doors, snatching and throwing on his favourite set of underwear, a set with red lipstick kisses printed across them. Then a black pair of socks that were comfortable, but he could still wear out. Chinos next. Brown. Black belt, gold buckle. Then a dress shirt. He was quite fond of this one that had little black spots on top of a white background, almost resembling specks of clouds in the sky. No time would be better for his favourite shirt than this. Lastly, his watch. He ordinarily would go for a black or silver watch, but he decided to try out his gold watch today.
But he realised he forgot his baggy with the drugs, so he stormed back into the bathroom and grabbed them along with his lighter from the pockets of his old bottoms. He dumped the entirety of the pink powder from the bag into his mouth while looking himself in the eyes in the mirror. "For you, Tyger," he murmured with his mouth full before heading to the living room.
Right as he arrived, a pounding emanated again from the door. "This isn't about the fattie," the Boss shouted from outside. "I just want to know what you and your friend did with my imports and exports books."
The Redliner glanced towards the door with a frown as he pushed the powder to the front of his mouth, behind his lips. It was the largest amount he had ever done and didn't feel quite normal fitting in his mouth. But he managed to shove it all behind his bottom lip anyway. It began dissolving, making his whole mouth numb as his drug-filled saliva dripped down the inside of his larynx. As he did this, he put on a set of black dress shoes in the closet at the front of his apartment.
The door pounded again, harder this time. The Redliner put his hands on the edges of the coffee table in his living room, pushing it to the wall. The Micro Uzi slid around on the top of it, but didn't fall off. Then, he moved an ottoman out of the open. Next, a chair. He pushed a small table that was next to the chair last. But as he did that, a lamp sitting atop it fell over, smashing into a few large pieces as it hit the ground. "Fuck," he whined as he lit a scented candle on the windowsill with the lighter.
"We can hear you in there!" The Boss shouted. "I won't ask again. Where did you send those reports?"
His cover blown, The Redliner said in a monotone voice, "Okay, Google, play 'It's Now or Never' by Elvis on Spotify." He set the lighter down on the windowsill as the Google Home on a shelf by the wall responded in an Australian accent, "Sure, playing 'It's Now or Never' by Elvis on Spotify."
He unplugged the broken lamp from the wall as the music started, grabbing the pieces of broken porcelain up into his arms. He dashed into the kitchen when the door banged again, louder this time, as something else was shouted. But he realised it didn't matter where he put the broken lamp, so long as it was out of the way. So he dropped it on the countertop. It broke a few more times as he sprinted back into the living room.
To his bewilderment, he found the Angel standing at the edge of the open area in his living room. Her delicate hands stayed at her side, an enchanted curiosity radiating from her as she examined the peculiar arrangement of the living room. Her gaze soon led her to the Redliner as a gentle finger pointed at the lit candle. A brilliant raspberry-vanilla aroma filled the room.
He wasn't expecting her so quick. The Redliner straightened himself up and ran a hand through his hair. "It's my favourite smell," he started, awkwardly putting his hands at his side and taking a step or two closer. "I, uh, cleared us some space for us."
The Angel quizzically tilted her head, lowering her arm. In the background, Elvis sang, "Tomorrow will be too late." The Redliner felt a layer of sweat break through his forehead.
"That's it, asshole, we're getting past this door," shouted the Boss from outside his apartment. Both members of the room glanced at the door as Elvis went, "My love won't wait." The Redliner cheekily wiped the sweat off his brow with a sleeve before they again locked eyes.
But he knew time was short, so he got right to the point. "Look," the Redliner began. "I don't mean to rush things, but this is the end of the line. It's now or never."
The Angel kept her same face. The door began shaking vigorously as they tried to kick it in from the outside. So the Redliner endeavoured again, reaching out his hand this time. "Would it be alright if I had this dance?"
The Angel kept her face for a second, making the Redliner squirm in his stance. But she reached out a perfectly smooth cinnamon-coloured hand, giving him a face that said she was always going to say yes.
The Redliner picked up on this and grinned. "You trickster." He reached out a little further, and finally, their hands kissed. The Redliner felt his heart beat deep, powerful pumps - he had never touched the Angel before. But the smoothness with which they immediately nested against each other suggested that they had been comfortable around each other for years. As if they had already known which dance to do, they started box-stepping around the room. Slowly at first. Her angel wings caressed his arms as they swayed around. "Now that you're near, the time is here, at last," Elvis serenaded. Their eyes remained locked in a magnetic gaze.
"Fuck this!" the Boss yelled from outside. Just like that, bullets began raining through the doorframe, peppering the cabinet and couch holding the door shut. It wreaked havoc inside the Redliner's apartment, flinging bits of feather from inside the couch up into the air.
But the Redliner's only focus was his dance with the Angel. They giddily laughed as they bounced around the open living room, picking up speed with every bob and step. The Redliner even tried spinning the Angel, although he had hardly an idea how to do it. But the Angel was such a good dancer that she managed to save it, anyway. He pulled her close and squeezed her as they giggled, entirely unconcerned about the rounds popping off around them in the apartment.
Finally, enough holes appeared through the blockage to weaken the overall integrity of the obstacles in the doorway. "Those girls took those jobs willingly! I did nothing wrong," the Boss hollered as an aggressive foot came breaching through, kicking a large hole through it. This kept happening as the Boss and his crew aimed to make a space big enough to get through.
The dancing duo, though, paid no attention. The Angel rested her head against the Redliner's shoulder. To his surprise, they began lifting off the ground as they swung. The Redliner's heart began racing even harder in his utter bewilderment. His skin grew warm and started to tingle. They continued dancing, their heads growing closer and closer to the ceiling. He watched in amazement, exasperating, "We're floating!"
The Angel looked back at the Redliner. She grinned, responding with a crisp, pure voice, "Let's go home."
The Redliner simpered, returning her gaze with his pupils as wide as his irises. "Finally," he breathed, quite more than metaphorically on cloud 9. A wave of beatific heat struck his body, starting at his toes and working its way up. His heart had never beat faster, about to pop right out of his chest. His eyes blurred, and he'd swear he could see through his skin, as if his body was never there to begin with. But to him, the Angel never seemed more beautiful. Her wavy hair flowed as they spun around the room. Her hands were just so soft. And the windows of her gilded eyes became a black hole that he just couldn't help but get absorbed by. All of this took place while the duo rose higher and higher, on a crash course with the ceiling as Elvis repeated, "It's now or never, my love won't wait."
The hole in the door grew large enough for the Boss to fling himself through in a fit of panicked anger, just as Elvis belted out the final line of the song. "It's now or never, my love won't wait!"
Silence overtook the apartment as the Boss scanned the area, his own Micro Uzi at the ready. "Find him!" he commanded to his cronies as they followed through the hole.
But after a few minutes of searching, they came up with nothing. There was only one door in and out of the apartment, and the windows remained shut. The Redliner's Micro Uzi remained on the coffee table, a candle had just been lit, and all the clothes the Redliner was just wearing laid in a pile in his bathroom.
One of the men reported that none of the men outside had seen him escape. The boss roared in disapproval. "Where the fuck is he?" he barked.
"I don't know, Boss," one of them responded. "It's like he just disappeared."
To his bewilderment, he found the Angel standing at the edge of the open area in his living room. Her delicate hands stayed at her side, an enchanted curiosity radiating from her as she examined the peculiar arrangement of the living room. Her gaze soon led her to the Redliner as a gentle finger pointed at the lit candle. A brilliant raspberry-vanilla aroma filled the room.
He wasn't expecting her so quick. The Redliner straightened himself up and ran a hand through his hair. "It's my favourite smell," he started, awkwardly putting his hands at his side and taking a step or two closer. "I, uh, cleared us some space for us."
The Angel quizzically tilted her head, lowering her arm. In the background, Elvis sang, "Tomorrow will be too late." The Redliner felt a layer of sweat break through his forehead.
"That's it, asshole, we're getting past this door," shouted the Boss from outside his apartment. Both members of the room glanced at the door as Elvis went, "My love won't wait." The Redliner cheekily wiped the sweat off his brow with a sleeve before they again locked eyes.
But he knew time was short, so he got right to the point. "Look," the Redliner began. "I don't mean to rush things, but this is the end of the line. It's now or never."
The Angel kept her same face. The door began shaking vigorously as they tried to kick it in from the outside. So the Redliner endeavoured again, reaching out his hand this time. "Would it be alright if I had this dance?"
The Angel kept her face for a second, making the Redliner squirm in his stance. But she reached out a perfectly smooth cinnamon-coloured hand, giving him a face that said she was always going to say yes.
The Redliner picked up on this and grinned. "You trickster." He reached out a little further, and finally, their hands kissed. The Redliner felt his heart beat deep, powerful pumps - he had never touched the Angel before. But the smoothness with which they immediately nested against each other suggested that they had been comfortable around each other for years. As if they had already known which dance to do, they started box-stepping around the room. Slowly at first. Her angel wings caressed his arms as they swayed around. "Now that you're near, the time is here, at last," Elvis serenaded. Their eyes remained locked in a magnetic gaze.
"Fuck this!" the Boss yelled from outside. Just like that, bullets began raining through the doorframe, peppering the cabinet and couch holding the door shut. It wreaked havoc inside the Redliner's apartment, flinging bits of feather from inside the couch up into the air.
But the Redliner's only focus was his dance with the Angel. They giddily laughed as they bounced around the open living room, picking up speed with every bob and step. The Redliner even tried spinning the Angel, although he had hardly an idea how to do it. But the Angel was such a good dancer that she managed to save it, anyway. He pulled her close and squeezed her as they giggled, entirely unconcerned about the rounds popping off around them in the apartment.
Finally, enough holes appeared through the blockage to weaken the overall integrity of the obstacles in the doorway. "Those girls took those jobs willingly! I did nothing wrong," the Boss hollered as an aggressive foot came breaching through, kicking a large hole through it. This kept happening as the Boss and his crew aimed to make a space big enough to get through.
The dancing duo, though, paid no attention. The Angel rested her head against the Redliner's shoulder. To his surprise, they began lifting off the ground as they swung. The Redliner's heart began racing even harder in his utter bewilderment. His skin grew warm and started to tingle. They continued dancing, their heads growing closer and closer to the ceiling. He watched in amazement, exasperating, "We're floating!"
The Angel looked back at the Redliner. She grinned, responding with a crisp, pure voice, "Let's go home."
The Redliner simpered, returning her gaze with his pupils as wide as his irises. "Finally," he breathed, quite more than metaphorically on cloud 9. A wave of beatific heat struck his body, starting at his toes and working its way up. His heart had never beat faster, about to pop right out of his chest. His eyes blurred, and he'd swear he could see through his skin, as if his body was never there to begin with. But to him, the Angel never seemed more beautiful. Her wavy hair flowed as they spun around the room. Her hands were just so soft. And the windows of her gilded eyes became a black hole that he just couldn't help but get absorbed by. All of this took place while the duo rose higher and higher, on a crash course with the ceiling as Elvis repeated, "It's now or never, my love won't wait."
The hole in the door grew large enough for the Boss to fling himself through in a fit of panicked anger, just as Elvis belted out the final line of the song. "It's now or never, my love won't wait!"
Silence overtook the apartment as the Boss scanned the area, his own Micro Uzi at the ready. "Find him!" he commanded to his cronies as they followed through the hole.
But after a few minutes of searching, they came up with nothing. There was only one door in and out of the apartment, and the windows remained shut. The Redliner's Micro Uzi remained on the coffee table, a candle had just been lit, and all the clothes the Redliner was just wearing laid in a pile in his bathroom.
One of the men reported that none of the men outside had seen him escape. The boss roared in disapproval. "Where the fuck is he?" he barked.
"I don't know, Boss," one of them responded. "It's like he just disappeared."
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