Chapter 164: Abnormality (1)

Chapter 157 : Abnormality(1)

The sounds of an urban jungle filled the air as he dashed. There was no care for where his feet landed, or what he might have stepped in along the way. There was only the sound of rushing wind and a fierce beating of his heart, a heart that drummed a tune of anxious desperation.

He rounded a corner, determined to put distance between the footfall at his rear. His heart sank as he came face to face with a mountain of trash and a dead end. Trapped in an alleyway with those men at his heels. He cursed his own luck, quickly shaking off the body numbing sensation of fear that gripped him.

*This is just a setback. This is nothing.* He thought to himself. This thought bubbled from within, a place that could only be known as the ego. And his was large and ambitious. He quickly turned on his heels and darted towards the same direction he’d just left. The sounds of footsteps were nearer now, by a quick estimate no less than three people were nearing. He pushed his body even harder, realizing everything that was on the line. His very life. He was quick to react the moment he saw the men rounding the corner, all wearing suits, dress shirts, nice shoes and armed with weapons as expensive as their garments.

“There he is!” Followed by the sound of gunfire, this was all the man heard as he moved to duck into a nearby side alley. The sound of his heart was so loud, it was all he could hear as he put the wind to his back.

His single minded determination slowly came to wane as his equilibrium came under attack. It wasn’t until he fell forward uncontrollably did the man realize he’d been shot.

“Fuck. Fuck .. me.” He said as he rolled over onto his side, pressing his hand against his t-shirt. It was quickly being stained by his own life’s fluids. The world around him began to distort as he gazed about wildly. The thing he noticed the most was the height of buildings from his place on the ground -- that and the stars. Stars were unusual for his urban landscape, this hellish place he called home. He could see them quite clearly -- it was enough to clear his mind from any extraneous thought.

He gritted his teeth and kept moving -- at least that was the command he gave his body. The bullet wound and seeping blood begged to differ. He began to crawl, desperately as he pulled himself along with one arm. He kicked his feet to usher himself further, however much father he could muster -- but it was no use.

“You piece of shit.” A man’s harsh, deep voice bellowed from behind him. He didn’t even bother to react, instead the man kept on -- moving, surviving -- it was all he knew.

“You pathetic cockroach.” The same man growled, this time the bleeding man could feel burning pressure against his ankle. It was the weight of a foot and it threatened to snap his bones and displace the tendon. He grimaced as a wave of fresh discomfort shot up his leg. His ankle was now being pressed in an excruciating way.

“Get him up.” The man shouted as the sound of a cocking gun could be heard. The two accompanying men did as instructed, hoisting the bleeding man upwards. His mind was awash with a plethora of emotions, but fear was not one of them. Defiance and anger were amongst them, so much so that the bleeding man could only sneer as his gaze shot daggers.

“G-man. You should have known better than to try to skim mister Gracie. Did you think he wouldn’t find out? He was even going to let you go--but no, you got greedy!” The bleeding man seized over in pain as a fist was slammed into his bullet wound. The pain caused by the blow was near crippling. The injured man felt a sharp pain, almost like electricity radiating through the entire side of his body. It made his unstable legs even more wobbly and the two gangsters gripped him, pulling him upwards for more punishment.

He was struck several more times, once in the stomach and then a few times in the face.

“You rat. Don’t you fucking understand the situation you’re in?” The gun toting man growled as he grabbed a handful of hair and clenched roughly. Despite this, the injured man gazed at him, his eyes ablaze -- if looks could kill, death would be an easy result.

“You’re about to die. Do you get that?” The gun toting thug slapped the injured man hard against the face with the butt of his pistol. It was enough to cause a flash of darklight, the bleeding man’s face reeled as he was struck in the orbital socket.

“Ha. Ha ha. “ He practically wheezed, blood trickling from a busted lip and several gashes along his face. This pissed off the gangster even more. He nodded to his two companions, a sign which meant “rough him up”. The result was a rain of blows, punches in the rib cage -- heavy and thunderous. His arms were locked by the two captors,so he couldn't do much else but endure. And even when the sharp pain of broken ribs and internal injuries pushed his sanity to the brink -- still he endured.

They dropped the nearly dead man like a worthless sack of rocks. His body thudded against the dirty concrete pavement, his breathing labored and ragged.

“Got any last words?” The gun toting thug asked.

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“F…...f…… fuck...yo--” The sound of several pops, accompanied by flashes of light signaled the brutal end to the injured man’s ordeal.

“Cut his thumb off and let’s get outta here.” The gun toting man said as he stuffed his weapon into the breast pocket of his suit. The injured man was now a dying man, nothing would change that. Yet, his defiance remained, just replaced with a plethora of thoughts.

*Is this how I die? Fuck this. Like a damn dog in the streets.* He felt….annoyed.

His vision was blurring rapidly, the last thing he saw was one of the two thugs walking towards him, a knife in hand. And yet his mind was abuzz with activity, the last remnants of soul preparing to depart from his vessel.

He recalled all manner of things, most of which were annoying to him. He remembered being a boy, his early memories of begging for scraps just to survive on the streets. He remembered the first time he had to make an example of someone, an older neighborhood kid whom he used a blade against.

He got away with it, and along with it came respect. Something he never had. Some were born and bred on love, taken care of and watched over. As long as he could remember, he’d never had that. And truth be told, he never wanted it. From that one brutal act, committed at the age of just eleven -- G-man realized, power was everything.

What he wanted he took, and what he couldn’t take he coerced. He lied, cheated and stole -- and with it came clothes, money and women. Suddenly he wasn’t hungry for food, but something more intangible. Soon he was a young man, allied with one of many gangs in this hell called a city.

He did jobs, made bank and paid his dues. But at the same time, he waited--biding his time. He was not made to kowtow, but he would do so if it served as a means to further his goals. His subservience was just a mask, one of many , donned at the drop of a hat. Yet…

There was a growing beast within him, one that would not be denied. No drink could calm the monster, and no riches could lessen it’s call. The more he bowed his head, the more he grew to feel disdain. It was this notion that led to the last few seconds of his life.

The desire to be more, the desire to look down at all who dared raise their head or bared their fangs. It was a common aspiration, one held and given up by many. One he’d acquired when he was just a penniless urchin on the streets. This monster had managed to destroy him.

“Fucking maggot.” The knife wielding thug muttered as he kicked the corpse. It was over. Over.

Or so he thought.

“Master Gaines.” The man known as Enzo Gaines awoke from his dreams of a distant life. The person opposite to him shuddered upon seeing the fiercely burning gaze of a man with limitless ambition. Within that gaze there was a cold, calculating machination that scared the woman more than anything. His eyes glowed with a fierce, purple energy for the briefest of moments -- and then he realized where he was.

“How long was my nap?” He asked as he settled down from projecting a thick feeling of killing intent. He couldn’t help but smirk. It seemed the lessons of his past lifetime would not be wasted. Enzo Gaines would have everything he desired and more, and soon no one would be able to stand in his way.

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