"Bloody Hitman"

Copyright 2016 Michael Atkins

Released under the Conditions of the Open Literary License, Version 1

  Upon the streets in a not so distant world, in a not so distant city we meet Bob in his beat up, old, miss colored pickup in the rain and the darkness of the place he loved. As he drove past the many nudity bars and casinos he spotted the man he was looking for and blew his brains out all over the wet street. A crowd screamed in horror as they observed the bright red mass pooling into a gutter on the side of a road and into the sewers, but Bob drove on, sipping his whiskey and smoking a cigarette and smiling to himself at another job well done. For, you see, Bob was a hitman for the mob. Our man bob also started a top secret gang of people called "the red agents."

  Now, when people hear the word "agent" many things come to mind, but in this case the term has been coined from "secret agent," you know, the guys with the trench coats and goofy hats and the grappling hooks which they use to climb walls and scour rooftops. Of course, they were red agents because they wore all red, and they even had a red flag.

  So, what did the red agents do? Well, they waged war with the "green agents." You see, a few years ago another guy named Joe was friends with Bob. Joe always had many friends and was very popular. Bob knew many people who hated him. Joe also had a girlfriend, who Bob slept with. So Joe decided to rip all of Bob's dog's guts out and write something obscene on Bob's front lawn with them. As if that wasn't enough, he also thought it would be a good idea to rip all of Bob's mom's teeth out and make her swallow them like pills and then to burn his mom's house down with her tied up inside. Most people seek instant revenge for a travesty such as this, but Bob was the kind of person who liked to bottle things up in a big pit deep inside of himself and lock them away.

  So bob went on a little road trip and got mixed up with what some would call the wrong kind of people: "the underground mafia." He was given a job as a professional killer and while on the job he met up with a few friends who became the red agents with him. This newly formed group started picking off a lot of Joe's friends and family with sneak attacks.

  When Joe heard of this he was furious so he started his group the green agents, who started battling with the reds, which brings us up to date...

  Bob drove on past the tall skyscrapers and to a secluded part of the city, not seen by many of the citizens of Sheltonville, to his boss's mansion. When he arrived he started to get a terrible feeling in the pit of his stomach.

  Bob entered the house and found a series of bloody footprints leading toward the kitchen. He followed them and found his fat boss lying on the floor and his brains bashed out with a baseball bat and his hand crammed in a bloody microwave. His legs had been cut off and there were smears of blood all over the floor, which meant that he had been let to crawl around without any legs, and his intestines had been used to restrain him. Bob took one look at the macabre sight then slowly walked out of his boss's home.

  Meanwhile, Joe washed a big crusty ball of dried blood out of his greasy, messy hair and combed it. Then he left his home for a night on the town.

  Bob arrived at his shack of a house to find all of his friends, all red agents, partying. He walked into his home to find beer cans, cigarette butts, some cocaine, and even a few syringes on the floor, but then again these items were always on the floor of his house. He passed through the sheets that were hung, disorderly from his ceiling to find a bunch of french fries and some ketchup which had dried to a hard, yellow crust on his wall.

  "Home sweet home," Bob said to himself.

  Just then, Bob heard rapid gunfire from across the street as he was sprayed ferociously with a tidal wave of blood. Bob hit the floor and rolled underneath a glass coffee table as he watched his friends all falling and dying around him. Then he heard 3 cars peel out and drive away. Bob stood up to see the swiss cheese remains of his home. Everybody's brains, fingers, teeth, hair, and blood were scattered throughout the floor. Bob was the sole survivor of a green agent driveby and, from the looks of it, the only red agent left. Once again, Bob had not a friend in the world. Bob tried to find that big pit deep inside of himself, but he failed to seal his painful feelings away this time. Bob snatched up every gun he could find, piled them all into his truck, and sped off for a night on the town.

  As Joe played craps he received a phone call from his friends about the driveby shooting at Bob's. Just then, he heard an explosion as the plate glass doors of the entrance of the casino burst open and shattered into a million little pieces. Bob stood there, covered in ammo with a cigarette hanging out of his grinning face. Five greens stood up and were plastered onto the bloody walls of the casino by M60 gunfire. Bob then shot a spear into the roof, with line attached, and went sailing through the air, shooting every green agent in site.

  Bob dropped from the ceiling, as every night owl in the club disappeared out the doorway and into the darkness of dusk, and hid behind a jackpot machine. Joe sat behind the craps table, dumbfounded, with gun drawn.

  "Come on out sissy boy!" cried Bob

  "Not a chance you fucker," Joe answered.

  Bob sat, with Joe's new girlfriend's severed head in his lap, picking at her brains. Bob looked around at the sheer madness of the casino: people's fingernails, busted eyeballs, flesh, blood, and insides littered the floor. The atmosphere was gloomy and absolutely silent.

  Bob slowly peeked his head around the corner and immediately jerked it back just in time to avoid a silenced bullet which ricocheted off of the machine, which guarded his very life. Bob fired back over his shoulder with some, well, not so silenced ammunition.

  "I said come on out!" Bob persisted.

  "No!" Joe answered.

  "I'm gonna getcha!"

  "I'm gonna kill the rest of your family."

  "I'm gonna rape your dead girlfriend!"

  That was all Joe could stand. He threw down his arm and came out from his hiding place. Bob did the same, and Joe jumped towards him, into the wall, and did a backflip as he kicked Bob in the face. Bob stumbled backwards but did not fall as he drew back and knocked Joe to the floor with one, solid hit. Joe slowly got up and Bob kicked him in the side and Joe was driven through some drywall. Joe got up, a bloody mess, and screamed, "FUCK!" Bob whacked him in the face four quick times and kicked him into a brick wall. Joe grabbed a piece of broken glass off of the floor and swung it at Bob a few times before getting his arm broken in two over Bob's shoulder. Joe dropped and picked up a table leg. He swung once, twice, and Bob grabbed Joe's wrist and plunged his thumb into it as he thrusted his other hand, forefinger and middlefinger into Joe's throat. Bob then grabbed the piece of wood and cracked Joe over the head with it. Then he picked Joe up and slammed his head through a window and dropped him.

  Joe laid on the floor with his head partially raised and giggled to himself as he watched blood drain off of his face. Then Joe grabbed a corkscrew and sprayed, "I'm gonna kill you." Joe swing once, twice, and then Bob grabbed Joe's elbow at the bottom with one hand and his wrist with the other and forced the corkscrew into Joe's head with a crunch. Joe tried to scream, then he gagged and fell on the floor and twitched a couple of times. After this Bob heard police sirens so he ran to his truck and made a fast getaway.

  *The moral here is simple: if problems are always put away deep inside of one's self and never coped with, life can get out of control.