1987 - November 14th - 00:38 AM

The bloody asphalt clung cold to his bare feet as he leaned against the rough wall, staring up at the flickering neon tube above.

With a ragged breath, his gaze dropped down to the gun in his hand.

Blood dripped lazy off the barrel, ticking onto the floor.

A warm stream crept down his arm from the open cut under what was left of his shredded jacket sleeve.

He thumbed the release, and slid the mag out with his other hand. 

“Four shots left…,” he said dryly, then clicked it back in. 

A hoarse laugh came from across the room. “…Perfect. Enough for everybody.” 

The guy slumped against the wall looked down at his own hand, pressing against his torn-up gut.

“Although, don’t waste one on me, Morris,” he grinned, teeth red. “…I’m circlin’ the drain anyway.”

“Shut the fuck up!” A third guy snapped with wide eyes, cutting his nervous pacing short.

He planted himself in front of the dying man, rubbing at his nose like a junkie.

“You wanna die, Franky? Fine! You fuckin’ bastard, this is all on you!” He whipped his gun up, pointed it right at him.

Franky just showed his bloody smile, voice calm, almost gentle:

“Then do it, Sonny. Do it.” 

Then he screamed, every last breath he had:

“…DO IT, YOU FUCKED-UP, COKEHEAD SON OF A BITCH, PULL THE FUCKIN’ TRIGGER!”

Sonny’s face twisted, lips peeled back.

Finger tightened on the trigger.

The shot cracked.

But his arm got yanked sideways.

The bullet punched into the wall beside Franky, spraying dust.

“CUT THAT SHIT OUT!”

Morris was on him, wrestling his arm till the gun flew high, then he cracked him in the nose with his bloody fist.

“…Goddamn motherfucker! You broke my nose!” Sonny fumed at him.

“Keep talkin’ and that nose’ll be the least of your problems.”

For a while they just stared at one another, while Franky coughed up a wheezy laugh, rattling in his chest.

For a moment it was quiet. 

BOOM

Something thudded against the steel door. 

A dull, heavy blow, like something monstrous pushing against it. 

Morris and Sonny jumped, raised their guns at the door as if that might change anything. 

“…Shit,” Morris whispered. “It knows we’re in here.”

Another blow struck the door, louder this time; even the metal buckled and dust rained from the ceiling. 

Sonny’s face twitched and he shot Morris a wide-eyed look.

“The fuck we do now?”

Franky let out that death-rattle laugh again, turned into another bloody cough.

“…You boys better start writin’ your obituaries. Maybe they’ll plant us all in the same hole. Wouldn’t that be sweet?”

“Shut the fuck up already, you...” Sonny snapped, rage boiling over again.

But Franky lifted a shaking arm, something bloody clenched in his fist.

A strip of paper.

“…This. This fuckin’ thing’s the reason we’re all gonna die here.”

It was long, rectangular. 

Black Asian characters still shining through the dried blood. 

At the top, a little hole with some fancy knotted string tied into a loop.

Franky let the arm fall, his head slumping back.

“…If it hadn’t kept slipping off, we wouldn’t be so goddamn deep in shit.”

Sonny and Morris exchanged grim looks.

Another BOOM shook the door.

This time, the hinges screamed...

And the steel tore loose.