Chapter 2: Chapter II: Shotgun On Fire

Chapter II: Shotgun on Fire

The storage room fell silent as the two shared glances at each other. The random cold air filled the concrete dust box, which didn't fit the style of the mansion. It was medieval like. Vintage took out a packet of cigarettes and whipped a cigarette out for another smoke. He walked closer to Neil to which he grew an eerie aura towards the man, who wore the brown coat, as if it was a defence mechanism of some sort. Sweat started to roll as well as his eyes grew and his pupils shrunk. 

He lit the cigarette being a vein length away from his neck. He stared with intensity. He swiftly turned to pace the room which Neil was sort of glad for as his neck was burning up from the fire. He fidgeted with the collar on his heavy jacket. Rubbing the fabrics to ease the anxiety and stress. It felt soothing for his fingers. Soft. Relaxing.  

 

"So.." Vintage uttered to Neil, 

"So... What?" 

"Where is your weapon, where is your weapon YOU are going to take?" 

Neil looked puzzled for a second but then came up with a response, 

"Uhh... why do I need one? Aren't you gonna chase after him? You have the artillery and manpower." 

He continued, "So why the heck do you need me for it ?"

 

Vintage trekked towards the confused Neil, whipped out his crafted shotgun and...

 

WHAMM! 

 

A bulging hill appeared on the side of his head. He held it firm.

"What if my men were as incompetent as your, then what ?" he yelled sternly at the now injured boy,

He knelt up with his hand on the side where the cheek is, 

"What's the point you're trying to make ?" he cried out, “Brute force won’t get you anywhere at all.” 

Vintage spun the shotgun like a cane being ready to beat more sense into his understanding.  While doing this, Neil flinched covering his face on the verge of tears. 

He grunted and went on, "My point to you is that, regardless of who you are going up against. you should always show your hardest even if that person is weak."

"It can be applied to this situation" Vintage murmured, "Whether or not you try to detain a group of terrorists or a robber, we take it seriously and it helps get the job done without any hassle." 

He picked up his rifle that he placed down on the storage and hung the strap around him.  

"Come now, we have a convict to catch." he said whilst putting whiskey in the barrels and putting it back in. 

He burrowed his hand in his coat pocket and took out a Swan matchbox with plenty of matches crammed like sardines. 

He placed two in between his knuckles and dragged it across the phosphorus sesquisulfide, which was on the side of the box, and dropped it into each barrel. 

The barrels then combusted into two paths of dancing flames as well as the smoke that came with it. It was like a spectacle. 

After the combustion, it began to calm but it still flew like an ever growing path.  

Neil looked at him with pure terror and awe. 

Vintage peered at him, and then back at his shotgun. His grin widened as he saw Neil's raw reaction. He quietly chuckled to himself. 

"This is Becca, I like to name my guns but this is my favourite." 

"Why the fire? THE FIRE!" Neil screamed, 

"Well, I also had a fascination for flames. They remind me of how I like women, if I ever find one; feisty, fearless and full of beauty.” he continued, “I stand for the sake of Justice, though she may be blind, we can guide her towards the right path so she can send her ruthless punishments. And that is our job. To guide Justice to the right path.” 

He walked through the door ready to set the ambush. Neil was glued still to the floor. 

"If you worry that the gun will bow up in my hands, don't be. It won't burst in my hands as it tends to last a short time." he looked at his belt which contained coniferous leaves. "But if it does, which is when I keep the fire running, I tend to wear fireproof gloves." he said whilst shoving a handful of leaves into each barrel. 

He stared at the terrified wondering what kind of manic he is.  

"Come on now, what are ya waiting for?" 

He then compiled and followed by him, trembling with all the smoke and ash that crashed towards him. 

 

Shortly, McReary dashed around the mansion on the second floor where he was hunted down by hunters. Lead bullets from their guns and discs of light flew at him giving him a narrower edge for him to run. There was no place to take cover as all there were tables and closed doors. He knew that if he stopped, the game would be up for him and the hefty load that he carries upon his shoulder. His neck twisted endlessly back and forth as if it was second nature. 

He yelled out, 

"I don't want to cause any harm to yer !"  

 

Nobody heard his cry, as no one respected his wishes. He was seen as a criminal after all. 

He hid his word under a huge grin and turned a corner to another hallway where he saw a ray of shining light emit through the opening of a door. 

Near this door was an intersection where it seems that no one was there to greet him with a barrel. He raised his left arm to aim his gun at the wall of the intersection. 

It was deflected and created a soft "puff" sound which all carpets made when an item was dropped. 

He slid through the ledge of the door and held it shut for extra measures. He heard no one speak, the sounds were near inaudible.

Shoes stroked the carpet as he heard them trod past the door. He stood, silent. With a toe to the door. A gun gripped to his left. And eyes that filled with a windy breeze. A bunch of seconds passed and his toe left the door as he placed the body by a nearby counter, which was near the right corner of the room, and when he observed the room it was... another kitchen. However, it was the main kitchen, like the one they previously saw, but it was more built in with the living room. The floor had wooden planks, spruce planks, knowing that he should be careful where he steps. The walls were red with some yellow diamond patterns followed by smaller diamonds and string that threads through and around it then highlighted in black, which wrap up the room like a ribbon of a present box. It was quite spacious. 

McReary checked through the cabinets to see if there was anything that could be useful to him at this point of time. There were only snacks. Biscuits, crackers, teabags, chocolates, which would have already melted in the pack, etc.  A gold painted mirror was directly facing the door which the door glanced at itself. Checking out its door handle. Plenty of utensils that can be seen in the bottom cabinets such as pots, pans, colanders, sieves etc. There were knives of all sorts and sizes, which were hidden by the wooden slots where the sharp blade is kept, that sort of scared McReary for such violent uses. Hence, he shook his head and stepped to the other end of the room, where it contained plenty of high rise bookshelves that were lined up next to each other. Books were very abundant in this room ranging from novel classics such as Charles Dickens' A Christmas Carol. Psychological fiction like American Psycho. Harper Lee's To Kill a Mockingbird and plenty of books based on business, outdated laws from the 21st century, and more psychology based books. He looked at awe and wondered in his mind, 

 

"So many books...mainly psychology too." 

"Maybe I might survive!" 

More sounds were heard from upstairs on the third floor, the top floor, where the sound of firing guns can be heard followed by more footsteps and wrecking. 

His attention was lured towards these sounds. It took a couple of seconds to analyse his situation and came with a couple of situation outcomes. They were all similar to each other with one key factor, which can affect another large factor. Tactic formation. 

 

Situation One - The hunter's, who were on the floor above him, spread their team on one floor and made their way down after clearing each floor. As McReary saw previously, there were about 8 people in a squad with near accuracy. They all managed to at least get a graze on him. Thankfully it wasn't the light disc, it would've probably been more than a graze. If they haven't brought extra backup to clear more floors, it would take about 8-10 minute before they would raid this floor. 

 

Situation Two - They did bring extras to raid all the floors. This would lead to an inevitable death or discharge. For both him and, maybe, the body.  

 

Either way, if he doesn't act. It will lead to his inevitable demise that he tries to avoid... whilst trying to be upbeat.  

He checked his magazine to see if he had enough for the road out. He reached out to his pocket and fished out another five more. Just if he does ever run into a squad. 

In the centre of the very room, there is a coffee table, surrounded by 3x1 and 1x1 sofas, that has a bottle of wine, glasses, a box of unfinished crackers and a book, which was placed perfectly and ever satisfyingly. This book had no title but had an image. A golden cross, it was. 

He took a couple of strides to this coffee table and hopped over the seat to get comfy for three golden minutes before he had to tighten his arse back into the situation. He picked up The Bible and read from The Book of Exodus. This was typically his favourite book from The Bible stories as it gave him plenty of questions about God's morals and his very surface level rules that can be dug up the more you read. He always questioned God and his existence. Even when God's DNA chromosome exists in some people, proven about 200 years ago, he just can't wrap his finger around the Idea of God. He can't even grasp it. 

He continued to flick the pages to find The Ten Commandments. Very surface level commandment yet some spark debates through the years. Whether it is all justified ? McReary has principles that do contradict some of God's teachings. Whether corrupt or not. They were fixed like sandstone.  

As he was reading he dipped a cracker into the glass of wine and threw it in his mouth. A very fine taste of rich familiarities and sweet crunch all merged to one. 

He dipped his hand into the packet with two pieces of crackers, placed one on top of another, and ate it. Then it was drenched down with more wine. 

It may not have been the smartest, but it was the most enjoyable in his eyes. Or his tongue. 

He let out a huge sigh and thought to himself, 

 

"No Regrets... at any cost." 

 

He got off the sofa and went back to the high rise bookshelves just to find another favoured book of such wisdom, which isn’t the word of God. He climbed up the shelves to look through the large category of books. He further flicked his fingers touching all the side covers with the tip of his finger dragging along. He continued looking to find a familiar pattern of red and black and the title which read, “ The Art of War - Quotes from Sun Tzu.” It was this one. This was the one he wanted. Another one of his favourite reads. He dragged it out of the shelf and brought it close to his nose for a whiff. Dust and webs flew into his nostril, which caused him to lose balance. He dropped the book to catch himself from sneezing. He pinched his nose and stopped his heart. All that was heard was a thud from the dropped book. It wasn’t that loud; given that the book wasn’t awfully heavy or large. His vision was locked on the door, but he heard no other sounds after that thud. No one suspected anything. Did they not hear ? He climbed down slowly to the floor and took hold of the fallen book and retreated back to the sofa along with The Bible. 

He twists his neck around to the right to see his buddy, still asleep on the counter, and behind him, where the door rests shut, just to see if anyone decides to interrupt his golden three minutes. He cracked open the book to re-read his entire nostalgia. It got him through some tough times through all his worst hours. Now he wonders if it was even nostalgia at all. It was just there. 

He ended up flicking to the page, which was used in Godfather Part II, where the idea of keeping your enemies closer is the way you can observe your opponent’s moves. One thing he theorised was “What if you became an enemy of God ?” he thought, 

 

“If you did want a connection with God. It doesn’t matter how you get there. If you were to become an enemy of God, does that mean you are keeping him closer than your friends ?” 

“It’s what God wants us to have … right … ?” 

“Can an enemy be a friend as well ?” 

“Is God malevolent … He has caused a bunch of mass murders directly and indirectly.” 

 

“ Can we even put our faith and trust into a God who tell us not to murder even when he does it himself.” 

 

“What if God had his own rules that we may not know of?” 

 

The train ran quickly round all the station points in his mind as if the train might one day derail and implode. His mind must have had some sort of trip in the system as these thoughts only ever occur in the showers or at midnight if it ever existed in the midst of space. Time didn’t exist in the abyss we call space. It was very warped. It was theorised to be a human concept. He grabbed his head and shook it vigorously to prevent any more thoughts coming to his mind. It was not the time for it. It leaves his physical state very vulnerable and the mental lost. Though he was enjoying it, it was slowly leading him to death for being out of place. Out of touch with reality. 

 He fondled the neck of the wine bottle and checked for any more room for it. A souvenir for his trip here. Maybe share some with Shanda after she gets back from her mission. He would probably do the same for Tony but he would usually enforce the hand on him and prevent him from coming any further. As it turns out he did not have large enough pockets to place it. As good as the wine tasted, he had to leave it behind. 

Two minutes have passed and the noise has suddenly gone down. He took The Bible that sat on the sofa beside him and placed it in a slot of one of the bookshelves. At this point his three minutes were almost up but decided to be safe and end it early. He took another mouthful of crackers and his load off the side of the counter, took off his eye patch on his right eye and had his finger close to the trigger as close as the veins in his neck.

 

At any moment...

 

It would be him... 

 

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Or his opponent by the door, if there...

 

To Strike!

 

He looked around the room again to see if he could utilise his surroundings to the fullest with the criteria that fits his own.

Then he looked at the box of crackers followed by a bunch of the same pans and pots that he came across before. And the.... knives... 

He thought "I could go out head first like Ned Kelly with this equipment. It could have the chance to stop light firing weapons but... that's just not the case..." he continued to think, 

"Next solution is just to use the knives and make some sort of punji sticks; but knives. This can also work but it has two flaws, " 

 

"One - It would have to be reset regularly if one does step on a tripwire and since they came in a squad, it wouldn't be very efficient on mass killings."

 

"Two - God NO!" 

 

He kissed his teeth and just took his load. Grabbed the mirror and single seat sofa and brought it closer to the door. He then walked up to one of the bookshelves and climbed upon it. He took a deep breath and shoved it all down  leaving one left, which was right in the corner, to squat in the shadows. And he waited for his prey. The sound of clustered footsteps can be heard from upstairs and the surrounding rooms nearby him. It grew louder the closer they got. Voices can also be heard as they passed the door, but it was cryptic and could not be heard. He tightened his lips and shut his teeth tight. 

The voices eventually lowered and the high pitch sounds of ears ringing could only be heard by him. A few seconds had passed and yet no one came for him. 

He whispered, "Come on, come on!" as he still had his finger on the trigger and the body with him. At any point he and the body, he has been trying to carry for all this time till now, could sink through the shelves and break into two, which is not the wanted or needed outcome. Breathing became heavy and the acids in his muscles gained exponentially. At this rate he was more than ready to use him as a distraction just to save some time for healing. Patience was key. As seen by every animal predator.

"Become the predator," he thought, "Not the prey they think I am."

 

....

 

....

 

....

 

"BAAAAANG!!!" 

 

A squad rammed through the door like a bunch of barbarians and stormed the room, some were checking the counters, others were throwing sofas just to see if the intruder was under the coffee table. As they all spread round the room, McReary grinned at the whole situation. Even though it wasn't his intended plan, just seeing them act like a bunch of programmed robots made him smile; given that he too was sort of in that area of species. He opened his right eye and let it control his next actions. His arm swiftly moved across his entire body as if there was no tomorrow and his finger was clicking as quick as the speed of his gun firing. 

They all froze. Looked lost. Cold. Lifeless as the lights went out. The door could no longer look at itself anymore and the mirror became a box filled with puzzle pieces. McReary cruised on the last falling bookshelf only to crash land on the floor ungracefully due to the exhaustion in his muscles. Allowing the guy to fall off with him and roll out of his arm. His legs were tired from squatting on his toes for some time without any sort of movement and his upper chest and shoulders from... him.  He took a breather just to aid himself from such aches, got up, and did some static stretches. He walked towards one of the lifeless bodies and waved his hand over his face only to see nothing more than a very dim reflection of his hand. He reached out for his palm to have a feel for himself. It was dead cold. Dry. His finger wasn’t going off; getting trigger happy. He heaved the unconscious men, one by one, and placed each one of them on the sofa. Leaving the remaining four scarecrows standing aimlessly. He looked around for any more furniture for them, but the closest thing to a dream was the rubble from the fallen shelves. And that’s where they were placed. There was only one Bible for all The Hunters that had to go through with this so they ended up having to share it. His eyes scanned all of them and thought to himself,

“They will be OK !”

He took more breaths, as more can't really hurt you, only heal you, and heaved him back on his right shoulder to continue his everlasting pain as he left the messy room. He later realised something else whilst walking through the corridor. He used up his ammunition. As of yet, this does not seem like the good time to reload the gun. "What if there were more of them ?" to which there were. It was dead silent and it made him slightly uneasy about it. One could just appear out of nowhere and slice his head off. A voice was heard, but it wasn't a clear one. It was slightly static. The sound felt very wavy like Television white noise. The message that it was trying to convey was very hard to understand. He picked it up to listen, still being unaware that Tony was still on his own earpiece with him. 

 

"I like the sounds Cree," he said in such a soothing tone. Though deep, he could tell. 

"It's...an earpiece...Tony." he replied, concerned at his change of behaviour. 

"Earpiece you say ?" he continued, "Who's ?"  

"Dunno... Could be a hunter's." 

"Why dya have it then !" he boomed, "They could be hearing this right now and you may not know ! Come On, Cree!" 

"..." 

"You ruined the mood now !"

 

At this moment, he felt kind of lost in this maze of a building. He strode for a solid 5 minutes till he got to the office. Drums were playing in his chest and his neck was made more cautious because his surroundings were very bare. The office room was by the main staircase, which led to the main door, and the bottom floor ,which was the largest room in the mansion. It felt very off that the hunters were never sent to guard here. Here of all places, or areas of the house. The flashing lights can be seen through the stained glass window, which has an image of fire above a book and that above a staff. He rushed into the office without a second thought of his safety. The spacious room was just making him very uncomfortable. The office had some similar vibe to the previous room. Only it was smaller, had more drawers and desks and a couple of desk toys such as the mini pendulum. Only thing was. It was still ticking. The bad moon began rising in him but it wasn't enough. There was a window that he can jump out of if anything goes bad. He walked towards the desk to check and rummage through the main drawers where a bunch of papers ranging from angry managers not paying up for security, coke agreements, trafficking and other sorts of related business. Pens were also seen, which are quite empty and not bothered to clear up, a packet in the top drawer followed by a lighter and aerosol. There also was a book that was seen beside the pendulum to which he cracked it open and seen dates for scheduled meetups, plans, pricing and taxes etc. It felt valuable to him so he snagged it into his pants as it can be concealed as such. He checked in more taller drawers which were metal file drawers instead of wooden, like the desk. It was a complete and utter mess. Nothing was organised and so much confusion spiralled in his head. He placed his gun in the grips of his teeth and began digging. It was still the same sort of shit. He threw all the papers out in hopes to find a blueprint of the vaults or the vault. Yet there was nothing. The pendulum strings vibrated a bit but it was still going on. Still ticking. There were more drawers like these, which contained the same sort of papers all in the clutter, but still no sign of blue let alone any printouts. There was a Swiss knife that was present at the bottom of one of the drawers to which he took. Though he had one, it would still be of use if he had a spare. He began cutting up walls just to find any hidden drawers or safes. But nothing. It felt pointless. Pathetic. He paced round the room a bunch of times to wonder if it was even in this room. He was damn sure it was this room. Could've been any other room. House. Captain. Under boss or Adviser even. As he was pacing the room, his foot felt a push of a button go down. At first he was curious about what it even activated. He pulled the carpet that was beneath him and cut open the extra layer of black carpet to find a holographic projector where the lens was facing up, lighting up all the pixels, dust and shedded human skin. Following the pixels, he bent up to find the prints to the Vault. It was very detailed with all the vent trails and pathways from the building. Since it was digital and not a hard copy, he fished a USB out and stuck it in one of the ports to transfer it to the bus. He was jumping and fidgeting with his gun whilst it was transferring. He thought again, 

"I should reload now, I think it's the best time for it." 

He pinched out another 8 more tranqs from his pockets and now knows it is his last. He should be very wary. 

He looked up to see if it was complete but it was the damn 1% that was holding the process back. 

His grip on the gun handle tightened. Strangling. 

His face was expressionless showing his patience but his hands told otherwise. 

 

The 1% decided to move and it was finished. 

McReary grinned ever so clearly and took the USB out without second thoughts to properly eject it. 

He walked out of the door thinking, “This  might go better than previous missions.” 

 

"Click!"   

“Click!” 

“CLLLLLICK!”

.

..

…

….

…..

……

“Or … Not!” 

 

The noise was amplified and to McReary's shock, surprise, and other mixes of negative emotions, many Hundreds of guns of all sorts and models were all facing towards him. Barrels were ready to spit on him at any point in time. All from The Hunters and the remaining sober members of The Book Of Fire's security team. 

And at the bottom of the stairs where McReary was surrounded by was The Man in the Brown Fedora. Vintage. Holding the smoke filled shotgun. grinning from the ends of his teeth. 

 

"Well who do we have here..." he said gleefully as he slowly climbed the stairs.

"It's nice to see you again at this time, Mickey Spencer." 

"..."

"Couldn't have been any better time !" 

“...” 

“Come on, what’s all the silence about huh ? Aren’t cha happy to see me ?”  

McReary didn’t blink an eye. Not one. His eyes were all fixated. He was hypnotised.

 

“You want to know something Spencer,” he said whilst continuing to climb the stairs, “I knew you were coming here but were you doing all this purposely or were you just very absent minded enough not to leave traces behind, mind you, you don't even wear gloves.” 

 

McReary still hasn’t uttered a word. 

 

“You’re kinda getting on my nerves right now, I decided to greet you, like a friend, and you’re gonna ignore me when it should be the opposite way round.” 

 

Through all the murmured voices that are passing through one ear to the other, something clicked in his mind. It was the impending sense of doom.  Perhaps... 

 

“Don’t give up just yet, there’s gotta be a way out.”  

His eye looked over to the heap on his shoulder. 

And looked around at the rest of The Hunter’s and gang members. 

 

“They are here for me … what moral dilemma will they have to face ?” 

“Do any of these men have a moral conscious ?” he thought. 

 

“OH, so your eye can move, were you trying to say that all the guns were overwhelming you.” he said sarcastically as he took out two matchsticks and lit the shotgun barrels up to create a terrifying spectacle. “I am terribly sorry for this but it was the right protocol. Especially for you, my friend.” 

 

His eye looked down at him as well as tilted his head in his direction,

 

“May I get a request ?” he asked, “As a friend.”

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