Honestly, No Diss Steve Irwin

Usually in movies there’s this absurd, idiotic tendency when it’s time to head to the “important place”—or as I prefer to call it, “plot point for morons.”
Let’s see… some main character line foreshadowing a twist? You're right.
Carrying an absurd amount of weaponry nobody explains how they transported? Right again.
And my personal favorite: infinite ammo. They don’t even try anymore.

Of course, by the time this happens the person on the other side of the screen is dripping dopamine out their ass and doesn’t question any of it, but it’s just an overused shitty cliché.
Ever seen Guy Ritchie do any of that shit? Of course you don't.

To be honest I just did the exact same thing to you guys—well, with a double purpose: lighten the load on you a bit and let me dodge the mountain of shit Aya was screaming at me while she pressed her knee like her leg was gonna fall off.

I only brought one extra pistol and two spare mags for each. Simple if you think about it for a second: If you’re going somewhere you’re gonna get shot at, you don’t need to bring guns—you can take them off the corpses.

Stupid people don’t think like that, and that’s why they end up dead.

“Aaah… honestly… I don’t even know why none of this surprises me anymore…” I muttered to myself, watching the stuttering idiot curled up covering his head.
Cyclops, on the other hand… uh… looked like I mindfucked him or something because his eyes ere frozen at the armory door. Well "armory" you get what I mean.

“Alright, alright, you bunch of idiots—lesson one: if someone in your group is wounded, you find a way to stop the bleeding.” I glanced at Stutter, then walked over to Cyclops. “Lesson two: if the guy with a gun says you’re gonna be his driver, be his driver. You get me, right?”

I couldn’t say for sure if it was when I leaned toward Cyclops or when I was holstering my pistol.
A bit of cold, a bit of heat—I didn’t feel the cut on my cheek right away. First came the sound of Aya’s knife plunging itself in the wall.

“You’re a goddamn fucking son of a bitch, Hiro!”

“Oh please! You seriously can't shut the hell up, can you?”

“i could’ve been useful…” she said, tying her maid outfit apron around her knee.

“You could have,” I replied, wiping the blood with the edge of my hand. Superficial—it’d stop bleeding soon, but it was definitely gonna scar, and it was definitely intentional. “Mind if I keep this?” My hand reached the knife. I had to yank pretty hard to pull it out of the wall.

“What the hell do I have to do for you to understand what you’re about to do?”

“Uhm… probably realize I know exactly what I’m about to do.” I patted Cyclops on the back a couple times to snap him out of his catatonic idiot state. “Hey, come on, get the car ready.”

“Fuck, you're kidding me, right? You gonna take him?” Aya asked, watching Cyclops take the car keys from my hand and bolt up the stairs.

“Ha! No way… I just need someone to drive me to the club. The car can slip under the radar, I can’t, but Cyclops can.” I said, checking if my cheek had stopped bleeding.

Fantastic. Really. This idiot sliced my face and nearly broke my nose all in less than half an hour.

“When you come back I’m gonna cut off your dick and make Cher watch you swallow it.” She was using the wall as an anchor to try to stand.

“Wow… you do understand I just shot you, right? Expecting me to come back is… uhm… pretty close to toxic dependency…”

I looked at the blueprints one last time before heading to the stairs—though honestly nobody memorizes blueprints. They just magically know them. Me? I only had one clear idea.
Enter through the front door. Simple.

“...Like the one you have with Cher.”

“I’m gonna pretend I didn’t hear that.” I said, opening the door.

Back on the surface, back to the horrible reality of the otaku shop—pretending I was deaf, blind and void of the sense of smell, felt like the most appropriate thing to not lose my shit before time. I could already feel my sperm freezing in my balls from the amount of idiotic debates flooding my ears.

I stopped at the counter and eyed a small stack of manga ready for shipping. “You actually saved it?”

“Call of the Night, volume fifteen, yeah.”

“Great.”

“You gonna… take it?” he asked, glancing at my state.

“Uhm… not now. Better give it to Aya and tell her to read the previous volumes.”

Same old car, different atmosphere, different silence. Doesn’t bother me at all, I was just glued to the window because Cyclops wouldn’t stop sweating from nerves and it was starting to gross me out.

“Go see a doctor you fucking animal…” I muttered, watching the white road lines flash underneath.

“S-Sorry H-Hiro…” he said, breathing hard “…Never been on a field mission.”

“Field mission? What the fuck do you think this is, Metal Gear Solid?”

“Oh! You played it?”

“Pfft… man of culture, after all,” I said, barely paying attention, more focused on how we were closing in on the club as night fell. “Stop here.”

“But we’re still two blocks away.”

“I’d rather walk.” I checked the mags one last time as he parked.

Tried to fix myself up in the rearview mirror—looked like a total idiot with a Band-Aid in the middle of my nose. But you know what? Leaving a wound uncovered is outright retarded.
And as a wise man said, you never go full retard.
There’ll be blood, don’t want one of those assholes blood touching mine, yikes, might get an STD or some shit.

“I need to ask you something,” Cyclops said, still clutching the wheel while I got out and circled to his window. “About Aya…”

“Yeah, it was on purpose. Don’t try to find an excuse.” I cut him off mid-sentence, tapping the car door twice. “Come on, get the hell out of here. You’re shaking worse than one of those egg-shaped vibrators—you look suspicious as fuck.”

“A-Ah… Ganbatte, Hiro-k—” Obviously, right? Not hard, but I punched him square in the mouth.

“Told you to stop talking like that or I’d bust your mouth. Go, fuck off already, dammit...”

Waited for him to turn around before starting to walk.
At first glance you could tell Ashley had dumped serious cash into the club. Six floors, completely tinted windows—yeah, looked cool, but hundreds of blind spots for me. They could be watching and I wouldn’t know.

Though honestly none of that mattered at this point.

The doors were wide open, no security folks at the entrance. Even from the sidewalk I could hear the music spilling out. What can I say? Point for good taste: eurobeat.

“Haa… fine… fine… let’s end this shit already, it’s starting to feel like fucking filler.” I cracked my neck while glancing around. “Ashley, you’re the fucking Steve Irwin? Well, I’m the goddamn stingray.”