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☁Haru☁ Bones
∝╬══→
☁Masters☁
 
"Hey, Mat! Do ya 'ere that?"
"Yeah! Sound's like one o'dem dogs to me", Mat answered his henchmate Brannor, as he tried to get himself heard over the heavy pouring rain. The sky was dark, overcast with shadows, it gave a droll, foreboding, and gloomy look of nothing but unhappiness. And it was only 8 in the morning, and somewhere in that darkness, he could hear the faint sound of whimpering from a dog caught in the rain. This was how it always looked over in Terrio; another little dead end town that nobody but the people in the surrounding area heard of. Ever since the Neriv showed up, the sky have done nothing but let out its pluvial tears upon the town. No more.
With pistol in hand, the beefy, middle aged, Caucasian male went around the corner from his post to check it out. He was fidgeting with his gun; a Dessert Eagle straight from an earlier job a week or two ago. A primary sidearm for infantry troops once dispatched into the battlefield. With an extended mag clip, laser sight, and a quick once over in golden paint, it came out looking like a real beauty.
Through the darkness and rain, Barron could make out a small silhouette of a canine sitting alone. Head bowed. Ears drooped. Back hunched and fur drenched and matted. "'Ere Doggy, Doggy. 'Ere, boy. Notin goin' ta hurt ya now." As the man, dressed in shifty urban attire, crept closer, a streak of lightning lit the world below, and, just for a second, Barron wished it didn't. The bolt showed the face of a beast, mouth wide agape. Its eyes were illuminated full blue, as it bared a set of inch long razor sharp teeth. "Ah-" Before he was even able to fully start, the dog's head jumped forward, and ripped the man's throat out. Blood gushing out, the male was unable to stop the what had happened. Suffocating now, he tried to aim his gun at the dog, but it was no longer there, in a flash, his life was taken away from him in front of his very eyes. Now dulled out and gray, he collapsed on the cement ground. His blood, now washed away from the ever pouring rain. Life was a b***h, and he should have stuck with getting p***y and the nearby club.
"Ey, yo Bear! You find dat b***h yet, man? M-man?" Mat got scared. To be honest, he was terrified. Especially seeing as this was actually his seventh day on the job. He never done anything like this before, otherwise. It was only to be for one week. I mere seven days, and he was free. Free of the debt he owed to the mafia. Free of the thugs that were terrorizing him and his family. Free of the monsters who tried to kill him. Free of...Free of...his life. Something bony and sharp pushed down then pulled on his shoulder, and then suddenly, his back snapped. A grotesque popping sound escaped his body as it knocked down, forward, crooked onto the ground. The last thing he ever saw were gray eyes like the lone wolf, a sky full of wavering whiteness, and a skeleton hand on his shoulder.
Yellow light exited the closed glass doors leading into the 'almost' abandoned warehouse. Like the wind, a white cape quickly slips through the doors and disappears into the building.
"Ey, yo, Tristen. What happened to that money you was suppose to be paying me?"
"What God dang money? I don't remember any kind of ********' s**t like that."
"Of course you have, man. It was our bet about dem Colts and Saints. I say they was going to be Saints who won and you picked 'dem Colts and they lost. You was suppose to have given me those hundred o'so dinero. Where it at, man.
"What'cha say? b***h, please. I owe you not a God damn thing", Tristen retorted, as he waved his cigarette hand in dismissal of the former. Taking another puff of smoke to the lungs, the muscular African blew out single wafts of halos one after the other.
"Don't ya ********' lie, homes. You owe me dat money and you pay-"
"The ******** I told you? I ain't owe you not-a-God-damn-thing."
Shaking his head in angered disbelief, the Spaniard simply turned away. "****** del asno de la perra."
"b***h! What the hell you called me you s**t a** Cringo?" Gripping his gun tightly, Tristen was about to go off and pop a cap into somebody's a**.
"Hey! Hey! Hey! Hey", Marshall, the third of the party, said, as up until now did nothing but observe. Unfortunately, he had to break up this trivial problem before it got out of hand, as the two combatants began to get louder and louder. "Tris, shut the hell up and sit down. You're just 'bout gonna pop a goddamn vein." It was true too, as the blue veins in the male's arms and head increased in size, as the heart pumped in more blood to keep up with the rapid rage growth. "And you, Rodrigo. Screw the hundred dollars. I'll spot you tomorrow. Now we got a job to do. We don't got no time to just be-"
A sound could be heard as the power suddenly cut off. Everything around them went pitched black. Instantly reacting to abrupt change in view, everyone of them jumped and stood attentive. Guns drawn, they pointed them out into the darkness. Not knowing what was hidden there. "Hey guys", spoke Rodrigo. "Maybe it was just the sto-om! Ehmmm-" Neck snapped, he was quickly pulled up towards the ceiling.
"Rod", spoke Marshall quickly, as he spun around to find out where his pal went off to. "Dude! Where are you, bud? This isn't funny. I swear, man. If this is some kind of joke." As he said this, something caught his eye, and, in a flash, it rushed straight past him. "Ahh!"
"Mar-shall? s**t man! What's the scream for?" Turning quickly, Tristen stepped over to the petrified and stiff male. Frozen in shock, Marshall din't budge. He didn't move. He didn't even blink. He was stuck in a stance that screams What the hell happened? Looking side to side, the black man tentatively tapped him on his shoulder. Slowly, the upper half of Marshall's body began to slide down and fell over. Blood spurting out of both ends of slash, the bottom fell down to its knees and laid itself out on the ground in a pool of blood. Just as it seemed as though it couldn't get worse, something fell from the sky. "s**t", Tristen said, as what landed on the ground with a thud was Rodrigo; eyes gouged out as if with a knife, and head twisted so much, that if you was to give it a flick, it would spin around a 8 times in the opposite direction.
Turning around back and forth frantically, his eyes has slowly adjusted to the darkness. Something was lurking the shadows, and it was incoming, fast. The figure burst forward at breakneck speed. As if flying or gliding, the silhouette sped fast, as it went on the walls, on the ceiling, than zoomed forward on the floor; it leaving behind a trail of white after images behind him. Reacting quickly to the blur, Tris crossed his arms in front of him as the force and weight of a cold steely rod bared down onto his being. A long blade's edge glowered down at him, as they were just mere inches away from his face. Struggling only lightly, he was able to take his eyes away from the blade and down at the rod's handle and the hand that wielded it. Or lack of. "Bone...", he said sussurruously to himself. Wait. Bones!
Eyes now wide open, hood man conjured up strength from within, as he pushed the aggressor back. The aggressor went back, and did a flip, as he gracefully landed on foot and knee. His head bowed down, not showing his face. "I know who you are ya little ********. Shiii-i-it! You's is Bones. Yeah! That's right! You're Haru Bones aren't you. Confess, *****."
"It appears that my reputation precedes me", Bones answered back with a small smirk on his face.
"It sure ******** does. You think you can fell ME so easily. Naw shawty. You see this right here", the man pointed out his arms with a mighty slap on them.[lightslategray] "This right here is some muscle. I ain't no joke like dem otha two pussies. I'm a super! Grade-A s**t! Did you really think you'd kill me that easily? Huh, punk?"
The grin on Bone's face grew. "No", he said in a low, defeated voice.
"Yeah, that's what I thou-"
"But he does!"
Click
'Ello der partna. Say 'ello to da Big Guy for me ya mone-kay!" With silenced Walther P99 to head, Forrester pulled the trigger and sent Tristan's brains flying in a dark heap of warm, burnt, red chunks of gray matter. "You're one lucky S.O.B. Ya know dat, son?" Forrester's around 42 years old, and though he hasn't been at the farm for 22 years, he spoke like a ******** cowboy hick.
"I don't know if you could necessarily call me lucky. I haven't necessarily been having the best of luck or days in the past", Bones answered in a solemn and depressed voiced.
"Haven't we all? Ain't that the reason why we're here in the first place", Forrester said, as he brought his scruffy face to Bones'. "Just how the world is."
"Yeah? Well ******** the world. As long as I still have a single bit of air still in my lungs, the world can kiss my a**. Besides. I got somebody I need to kill. A business about the killings of a father and two brothers. But let's forget about that for now, we need to clean this place up. Sweetwater! Where the hell are you?"
"R-right here Bones", Sweetwater said with a nervous stutter. Morphing himself from out of the shadows, he stood there between both Bones and Forrester.
"We need these bodies removed and deposite-"
"Whoa", Forrester interjected, as Bones was giving out orders. "Just hold on for a sec." Bending down, Forrester crouched over the slumped body of Tristan. After patting his body a few times, he felt a bump on his shirt. "Aw! Here dey are", he said with glee, as he pulled out a carton of cigarettes. There was only one left. "Why, lucky me! Last one out da box. Okay, let's do this thang Sweets. We ain't got all day."
Both Bones and Sweet nodding in agreement, a small flood of water began to fill up the halls, washing up and over the dead bodies, and receded back to the darkness from where they came with bodies in tow. Crouching down once again, Forrester placed a finger in a pool of water which still remained on the floor. "Yoo-whee! Dat right dere is some good ol' water. Better than moon shine. Looks like yo name isn't a bunch of hooey afta all!"
"Can we just get on with it already? I got things I need to do", complained Bones.
"Oh, right. My bad."
"Hey. Hey. Hey! No-touch-ing", teased a Caucasian female, dressed fully in red with accents of black here and there. Her clothing made her as red as a cherry, with smoked, honey roasted ham and a pair of watermelons. Yes. Little Ms. Cherry had the looks, the voice, the thing so many men desire, and now she has the the King pin of the Terrio in her lap. James was it? A dark, Spanglish male in his late 20s to early 30s. His body was chiseled, skin tanned dark. He was bald. He had a scruffy yet luscious beard. He had the utmost charisma ever. He lead a gang. He ruled over the area from Bremerton all the way to Harpersville. He ruled over multiple other gangs, and he has a d**k as big and hard as a 10 inch steel pipe. He have power. He had wealth. And he have the looks. He has everything that Cherry needed to triumph over this world, and she had it all in her lap. Or at least, between her legs...
"Oh come on", James complained. Her body was just too ravishing, and he just has to have it. They were on the couch, him leaning over her, and just dieing to get closer. "Come on, Mon sherry! You know you can't resist this Terrier", a reference to the Terrio, and him being the 'big dog'.
"Maybe I can. Maybe I can't. There's only one way to find out", she continued to tease, as she entreated him forward. He came forward, leaning over her and touching her in all sorts of ways. It was so close. So near. She's going to get it all. Oh, she could just taste it right now. Just lean your head a little bit closer, James boy, she thought to herself. Just a little bit closer. The lips so close to hers. The feel of his breath mystifying hers and tingling all over. Almost there. Just an inch closer. Now a centimeter. And just as they were about to kiss-
"Boy howdy! 'Ey guys! Looky here! Seem like we just'done intruded on'a litta hanky panky ova here", cried out a rough and rowdy cowboy in tight, black leather clothing. With multiple straps and silver buckles, he looked as if he was ready to join the punk or emo culture.
Cherry began to scream, as the door was busted down; it barely hanging of the hinges. She quickly began to try and find something to cover herself with, as part some of her attire was already stripped off of her. "Who da ******** are you a*****e", barked out the Terrier with mighty anger that only hid the small bit of terror locked away inside.
"Better question", overruled the voice of a man, with bony hand clasping the handle of his prized gun, Zolo, "who are you?"
"I'm James the Terrier, homes. The leader of da mighty Terri-oh", the man stressed through his teeth, as he slowly reached for a gun stowed away under the cushions.
"In that case, it appears that it's time for you to-"
"Die ********], screamed out the Gringo. Little did he know that those would be his last words as a bullet was sent flying straight through his head and into the wall. His body jerked back and tumbled down onto Cherry and the couch. The woman got splattered with the very color that she loved so dear. Blood Red. Bones made his way over to the now deceased body. Leaning over it, her took two of his bony digitals and impaled his glazed over oculars. They made a grotesque popping sound, as they were plucked out of the now bloodied socket and put into a pouch on Bone's side. After doing so, just now became aware of the woman to his left and her and the man's half naked bodies. Patting the side of his hit's face lightly, he spoke these words, [/******** thy couch, knave."
With that said, the trio exited out the building, leaving behind the screeching wretch behind, so she could explain to the cops herself what in God's name just happened. What just happened, was a successful hit on a target assigned to the top assassin group in his force. Black's Forces. The top secret assassination force unknown to man. Bone's success:fail rate? 23:0. There was no time to doubt one's cause. There was no time to worry about right and wrong. That task was already taken care of. They only went after those who harm others. Kill one to save many. It was the Creed, and there were only three rules.
1. Do not take the life of a innocent, lest your hands be stained in impurity and sin.
2. Do not let your presence be known. Hide in plain sight lest you're the one who gets hunted.
And 3?
Do not jeopardize the force.
Three simple rules, and somebody had to go and ******** it up. Bullshit
Looking up at the sky, the gloomy gray clouds had disappeared, as if knowing that what had plagued their precious cities has now been purged. Giving out a loud whistle, Haru summoned his best friend, Koiran Kanto. His partner through thick and thin. The best companion he could ever have was his pet, Koiran Kanto; Finnish for Ghost Dog. Petting his head lightly, Haru gave Koiran a big hug around its neck, as he let go and looked into its eyes. "Good job, boy. I got to go now. I can't have you coming with me. There's a matter of urgence I need to take care of."
"What's this all about, Haru", inquired Sweetwater, as he had overheard his little conversation.
"I got some things I need to look into", he answered, showing no hint of emotion or waver in his tone.
"But what about the job?"
"What about it? We've just accomplished it. I'm gone. Send me a share of the cut once we get paid." Not allowing time for Sweetwater to respond, Haru took off running. As he ran, the air around him, began to spread out, creating a vacuum. Jumping forward into the air, he landed down on a disc of pressurized air formed around his feet. He was in the fast lane. He was in the Slick Stream. A vacuum-like path he formed, he feels no friction, as it closes behind him and propels him forward. Moving at 100 mph, he was oncoming to his next target objective. Power City. "Just wait, Null Void. I'm going to kill you where you stand."
Mental Debriefing: Null Void and Karen Ida Scott. I'm coming for you.
Out of Companions
Target Location: Inbound for Power City.
 Neotepid · Sat Sep 11, 2010 @ 02:01am · 1 Comments |
