((The following is a short story I wrote that deals with a storyline going on right now. It deals with Ian running into some trouble with the old gang he used to work with. The song that provides the lyrics can be found here. ))
Beds are used for many things. Sleeping, cuddling, jumping on, and of course the naughty business. But on this particular morning, mine was being used a display board for my different guns and equipment. It had been about a week since Tom and the lads from back home in Liverpool showed up in San Paro. One long week of paranoia, anger, and a few injuries. I had hoped five years would have been long enough for them to forget about my...less than cordial exit from the group. Not so lucky, it seemed.
Bah, there was mo time to think about that. Music, I needed music. I popped a CD into the stereo, letting Dean Martin's voice echo through the apartment as I looked down at the guns.
How lucky can one guy be;I kissed her and she kissed me
The bed now resembled the back of some shady van more than an actual bed. The OCA, Ntec, Magnum, Deagle,sniper rifle, and sorted grenades and ammo gave a metallic contrast to the patterns of the blue comforter. Dolly probably wouldn't be too happy that a large rifle was now messing with her side of the bed, but I could explain it later.
Dolly.
The room was completely black. I hugged her and she hugged back.
She had left to go shopping for food and "special outfits." I had to chuckle at the prospect of her going crazy at some lingerie store. It was best for her not to know what I was planning. Tom made a big mistake, getting her involved. If what I had learned was right, they originally planned on taking her as bait to lure me out. Of course, that just made me MORE pissed. Pissed enough to take action.
There were eleven of them now, including Tom. I had already dealt with one of the weaker ones; that's how I learned what Tom was planning. But I wasn't too keen on taking on eleven at once. Besides the obvious odds problem, Dolly would kill me if I took them all on without her. I couldn't do it.
But I could, however, thin their numbers.
My head keeps spinning; I go to sleep and keep grinning;
I had a friend of mine, Mike, keeping an eye out for them. Apparently, Tom's men would go to some laundry mat in the waterfront. They had threatened the immigrant family that ran it to let them use their upstairs room for drinking and cards. Not subtle, predictable, and stupid. It was Tom's men alright.
I put on my webbing vest, buckling it tight. Today was feeling like an OCA day. I picked it up, attaching the silencer to it. I had paid good money for that thing, and I was finally getting to use it. The Deagle, heavy and powerful in my hands, was placed in it's holster. Then the grenades and ammo, attached to the vest.
The phone rang.
"It's Mike. They're there. Three of 'em."
"Right."
Out the door, down the apartment stairs, and to the car. After getting it, I took a deep breath, turning on the radio.
Like the sailor said, quote, "Ain't that a hole in the boat?"
Driving. Driving always put me at ease, even at break neck speeds. I basked in the calming motions all the way to the laundry mat. Open trunk, grab gun, keep cool, walk inside.
I was greeted with scared faces, their eyes more on my gun than me. "Enforcer business." I said calmly. That seemed to work. Hell, the real Enforcers were even rougher than that.
Open the back door, walk up the stairs, deep breath. They had a radio on; I could hear it from the stairs.
She's telling me we'll be wed; She's picked out a king size bed.
Arrive at the door, another deep breath, finger on the trigger.
My foot met the door just above the knob, and it busted open to reveal three men gathered around a table. They looked up in surprise.
Stand tall, pull trigger.
"What the-" "Ian-"
The ends of their sentences were cut off by the chirping of the silenced machine gun, spewing ripping fury at them. They convulsed a bit, red holes and mist appearing on and around them. The OCA started clicking as it ran out of ammo. I checked my work. They were gone. Job done.
Turn around, leave building, move on.
Tell me quick, oh ain't love a kick? Tell me quick, ain't love a kick in the head?
Beds are used for many things. Sleeping, cuddling, jumping on, and of course the naughty business. But on this particular morning, mine was being used a display board for my different guns and equipment. It had been about a week since Tom and the lads from back home in Liverpool showed up in San Paro. One long week of paranoia, anger, and a few injuries. I had hoped five years would have been long enough for them to forget about my...less than cordial exit from the group. Not so lucky, it seemed.
Bah, there was mo time to think about that. Music, I needed music. I popped a CD into the stereo, letting Dean Martin's voice echo through the apartment as I looked down at the guns.
How lucky can one guy be;I kissed her and she kissed me
The bed now resembled the back of some shady van more than an actual bed. The OCA, Ntec, Magnum, Deagle,sniper rifle, and sorted grenades and ammo gave a metallic contrast to the patterns of the blue comforter. Dolly probably wouldn't be too happy that a large rifle was now messing with her side of the bed, but I could explain it later.
Dolly.
The room was completely black. I hugged her and she hugged back.
She had left to go shopping for food and "special outfits." I had to chuckle at the prospect of her going crazy at some lingerie store. It was best for her not to know what I was planning. Tom made a big mistake, getting her involved. If what I had learned was right, they originally planned on taking her as bait to lure me out. Of course, that just made me MORE pissed. Pissed enough to take action.
There were eleven of them now, including Tom. I had already dealt with one of the weaker ones; that's how I learned what Tom was planning. But I wasn't too keen on taking on eleven at once. Besides the obvious odds problem, Dolly would kill me if I took them all on without her. I couldn't do it.
But I could, however, thin their numbers.
My head keeps spinning; I go to sleep and keep grinning;
I had a friend of mine, Mike, keeping an eye out for them. Apparently, Tom's men would go to some laundry mat in the waterfront. They had threatened the immigrant family that ran it to let them use their upstairs room for drinking and cards. Not subtle, predictable, and stupid. It was Tom's men alright.
I put on my webbing vest, buckling it tight. Today was feeling like an OCA day. I picked it up, attaching the silencer to it. I had paid good money for that thing, and I was finally getting to use it. The Deagle, heavy and powerful in my hands, was placed in it's holster. Then the grenades and ammo, attached to the vest.
The phone rang.
"It's Mike. They're there. Three of 'em."
"Right."
Out the door, down the apartment stairs, and to the car. After getting it, I took a deep breath, turning on the radio.
Like the sailor said, quote, "Ain't that a hole in the boat?"
Driving. Driving always put me at ease, even at break neck speeds. I basked in the calming motions all the way to the laundry mat. Open trunk, grab gun, keep cool, walk inside.
I was greeted with scared faces, their eyes more on my gun than me. "Enforcer business." I said calmly. That seemed to work. Hell, the real Enforcers were even rougher than that.
Open the back door, walk up the stairs, deep breath. They had a radio on; I could hear it from the stairs.
She's telling me we'll be wed; She's picked out a king size bed.
Arrive at the door, another deep breath, finger on the trigger.
My foot met the door just above the knob, and it busted open to reveal three men gathered around a table. They looked up in surprise.
Stand tall, pull trigger.
"What the-" "Ian-"
The ends of their sentences were cut off by the chirping of the silenced machine gun, spewing ripping fury at them. They convulsed a bit, red holes and mist appearing on and around them. The OCA started clicking as it ran out of ammo. I checked my work. They were gone. Job done.
Turn around, leave building, move on.
Tell me quick, oh ain't love a kick? Tell me quick, ain't love a kick in the head?
