
Let me tell you something.
If you ever decide you want to be some kind of bad guy, if you ever decide you want to be some kind of public enemy or other assorted slimeballs, for christ's sake...dont use a warehouse to hold any kind of hostage, prisoner, whatever.
I dont what it is, but criminal types are always drawn to these places.
True, your normal, average, hostage might not be clever enough to take advantage of their surroundings, but me? I live an average life, but I'm average at nothing I do.
He came back through the door, a murderous aura emanating from him like a heat wave on summer's blacktop.
I came across him, full frontal, grunting with the effort and pulling with every muscle as I smashed the chair across his head. The blow drove him backward into the closing door, slamming it shut and wedging it closed. The sound echoed in the large empty space.
"One for the money..."
My voice echoed in the thick gloom. My shadow loomed over him. I have no idea if he saw the chair hoisted on high. I have no idea if he saw it coming down. All my breath was violently expelled as the chair slammed home on his prone body with a mighty crash.
"Two for the show..."
I hit him again.
"Three to get ready..."
The chair shattered under the impact, metal legs skittering across the cement floor.
"And four for the K.O."
"...fuck ...you ...they ...you ...kill you..."
I stepped back. I was dumbstruck. An ordinary man would've died after the first blow. What was going on here? No man was that tough. None.
I had a fix for that though.
I grabbed his throat in one hand, grabbed one of the broken chair legs with the other, adrenaline lending strength to my battered body. I dragged them both over to the table. There was a wall of sandbags behind where I'd previously been sitting. I had plans for those sandbags.
I slung him against the bags. I didnt hesitate. I drove that metal stake through the middle of his gut with a wet squelch. The blood on my face didnt bother me. Neither did his cry of pain.
And then came the finishing touch. I grabbed the battery and set it at his feet. Made sure the jumper cables were hooked up. By this time, I could hear someone else battering at the door. I had to work fast.
Back to the table, I grabbed two of the knives he'd been using. I grabbed his right hand and speared it, nailing it to the sandbags. Did his left too. I couldn't stop now. I grabbed the final knife, made short work of his hamstrings; slit 'em both. Sobs of pain filled the air, but it wasn't over.
I stared him dead in the eyes when I clamped both the cables to the metal pole in his gut. He sizzled. I think he was frying from the inside out. I couldn't care less, I shoved the last knife into his crotch and walked away.
"That's a message to Cerberus. Dont FUCK with me."
The door burst open finally, and, in the heat of the night, I went to work. In hindsight, my troubles were just beginning.