Cut Throat Chapter One: Enter, Cut Throat!!
Cut Throat Chapter One: Enter, Cut Throat!!
The media has named him Fool Killer. A name her earned on
the streets through the rampant murder of rival gang members and innocents.
His gang, the Southside Bloodletters, has taken residence in
this abandoned office building on Spring Street. The lookouts posted on the
roof are useless. They never see me coming. The last thing they feel is icy hot
pain as my blades slip between their ribs.
Below is darkness. They think this is their base. Their sanctuary.
But they are wrong. Darkness is my domain.
The halls are littered with refuse. The stench of rot
permeates.
The one coming towards me reeks of alcohol and marijuana. He
steps right in front of me, passes me, and never sees me. Unless the eyes of
the dead can see.
I go from floor to floor, my twin katana blades singing
their death song to those I encounter. No elevators here. Only stairwells where
I leave bodies soaking in their own blood.
Voices draw me towards the center of the building. I am on
the 13th floor. I’ve been told buildings don’t have a 13th
floor, but this one does. A bad omen for Fool Killer.
I hear a voice that can only be his. Tough, berating, full
of braggadocio. A room in the back. Glass walls. A conference table where CEOs
once sat building their fortunes, now ringed with gangland lieutenants whose
business is in blood.
Ten of them. Fool Killer sitting at the head of the table.
The time for subtlety is over.
I take the hall in a matter of seconds, dispatch the two
thugs guarding the door. No one sees or hears me until the glass shatters with
my entrance.
Then, all eyes are on me. Two of them are dead before the
sock passes. Two more die reaching for their guns. Bullets fly, the shots
deafening. I sever the hands of another, his finger still squeezing the trigger
as his head falls to the floor.
They can’t hit me. Guns are for the weak. I sprint across
the table, my blades splayed out, and sever the necks of four men. I spin kick
the pistol out Fool Killer’s hand. He lunges for me. His size has made him a
king amongst fools. To me, he’s clumsy. I’ve cut him three times before he feels
it. His eyes widen and he sees death coming. I spin again, draw my blade across
his Achilles tendon, and he falls like a downed oak. I’m on top of him, the
edges of my blades pressed lightly against his neck.
“Who
are you?”
My
answer comes in the form of action as I slice through the carotid artery.
Fool Killer bleeds out in seconds.
Death surrounds me and I haven’t broken a sweat. Loud
footsteps come from the stairwell. I charge forward, cutting my way through a
swath of filth who think guns can stop me. The few who chose to run, I let go,
let them spread the word.
Spring Street isn’t safe anymore. Not for the Southside Bloodletters.
Not for anyone who would hold a city hostage.
When the noise clears and the last dying breath expires, I
hear cries. They lead me to a hallway, empty now, lined with closed doors. I
find, upon opening them, rooms that what had once been used as office spaces, were
now the holding cells for sex slaves. Inside are women, girls, naked and
drugged. Beaten. For some, I am too late. I go through them one by one and undo
their bonds.
“Go,” I whisper, to each one, and they flee, those that can.
There will be more. I know this as I look down upon the city
of Angels from the rooftop. I know Fool Killer is but one of many.
I clean the blood from my blades and replace them in the
scabbards I wear on my back. In the distance, sirens wail. A helicopter buzzes
overhead.
They won’t find me. I have no name except for the one I inherited.
The one I live by.
The media can call me whatever they wish.
My enemies will know me as Cut Throat.
To be continued…
Chapter 2: Hell Hound
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