Mar 8, 2018 4:12:59 GMT
Post by Deleted on Mar 8, 2018 4:12:59 GMT
- TANK -
"There are some things that the justice system cannot fix."
Sitting on the edge of his bed, Aaron stared down at his hands. Coated in thick layer of blood, they dripped surreptitiously, littering his dark oak floor with copious freckles of life juice. His glazed over eyes were out of focus, despite his fingers moving together to rub the slick fluid into itself. He still wore Tank’s outfit, his hero persona the one who put the stains on him. He was nearly covered, head to toe, in blood and body particulates.
Frowning slightly, he thought for a moment—
It was eight pm. He’d been tracking this group of drug runners for the last couple of days, and had finally followed the right truck at the right time to reach their base. He was dressed down and ready to operate, the trunk of the ford F-350 he rode in on packed to the brim with a wide array of weaponry. He didn’t intend to use it, instead stepping out to walk over and put these men in cuffs. But not before he got the proof he needed. As the driver of the truck got out and started inside at a care-free strut, Aaron moved up the other side of the car in a low crouch, the lower half of his mouth covered in the skull bandana he was now known for. Hopping up on the lip of concrete the back of the U-haul style vehicle rested against, Aaron used his boot to kick open the latch and lift the lid, withdrawing his phone from his pocket with intent to take pictures of the mountains of “product” he’d been monitoring. Turning on the flashlight, Aaron slowed the raise of his arm and moved it to the side, his eyes widening.
Throughout the truck were dozens of bodies. Children, huddled together for warmth, wearing their skivvies or PJ’s, ranging from five on up to about thirteen. The phone carrying arm lowered, as did his brows. He went from initial shock, to anger….then rage. So engulfed in his sudden animosity, that he didn’t even notice the short, bald Asian man coming up on his left. Not until the shotgun was pressed against his cheek. He heard the man mutter something….to get on his knees? He continued to stare at the kids, and then spoke in a gentle but muffled voice.
“Whatever you hear….don’t be scared. And don't come out.”
"GET ON YOUR FUCKING KNEES ASSHO-"
His left hand snapped up, pushing the shotgun up and causing the resulting slug to wiz over his head as the shocked man pulled the trigger. Aarons right hand pulled the strap of the back door down, closing the girls back inside before he turned, gripping the fool by the neck and lifting him bodily before choke-slamming him into the ground, his soft trachea compressing under Aaron’s iron palm. His other hand cocked the pump of the shotgun and aimed it at the camera. “I am coming.” He proceeded to shoot the camera out and turn around, walking back to his car and using his key to pop the trunk. He pulled out a Military-grade M16, pulling four mags plus one jammed into the chamber. That, he cocked. Then he grabbed his Beretta 92 FS, 9mm. He stuck that in the holster at his side, as well as a Glock 28 in his hip, at the back. Two Grenades. One smoke. Some goggles, in case they turned the lights out. And of course, the glorious Benelli M4 shotgun, tossing the cheap pump action off to the side. He then loaded it, and stuck it in the holster on his back.
No prisoners tonight. No one to challenge the system. Tonight….would be a night of bloodshed.
The door next to the truck burst open, and three men came out with weapons raised. AK’s. Bringing up his gun, he squeezed the trigger gently, three times. Bodies dropped, the bullets unheard as they passed through his silencer, the big man moving forward. Moving up the stairs, the moon at his front, he’d plant his back against the cool metal wall and use one hand to pop open the door, throwing a smoke grenade inside, several shouts echoing as bullets rained on the location. He could see from his short glance that the lights were indeed out. He’d take his night vision goggles out, waiting about fifteen seconds before opening the door and moving inside, finger on the trigger. He pulled it deftly, blood and brain spraying the rack of random warehouse equipment behind the door guard.
Shifting left, he shot another in the throat, his friend who was rushing around the corner took the next bullet through the eye. Coming around that corner himself, Aaron brought back up his gun to knee-cap the man who stood at the top of the stairs, his screams echoing off the plaster and steel around them. Aaron shot him in the temple as he moved past. He was hit from the side by a larger man, who thought his size would give him an advantage if he just tried to body-check the former Marine. Aaron didn’t move, whipping the pistol out of it’s holster to shoot the pony-tailed gang banger twice in the chest, which stumbled the guy back before the third blasted into his forehead. M16 held down at his side now, Tank advanced forward with his pistol, six men coming out of the large center room. Asian men- Japanese, maybe. Aaron proceeded to rapid fire his beretta, four of them getting blasted in a swath of bloodshed before the other two leapt behind the wall. Jamming his pistol back in its holster and letting his rifle hang off his back, Aaron drew the shotgun and terror-cut a fist sized hole into the first ones chest.
The second barely got out a scream before he was blasted too, his left leg nearly cut in half from the impact. Aaron stomped on his neck as he hit the ground, crushing windpipe and spine in a single fluid stroke. He turned back and walked into the main office, hearing one of the garage doors opening slowly on the side with more bodies shouting about where he was. He pulled a grenade and tossed it out the window, the shattering of glass causing them to look up before the plunk of the grenade at their feet brought their gaze back to it, earning a half-scream before the explosion. Bodies and parts flew as Aaron stood in front of the desk of the older man who was seemingly leading this little crew. He was smoking a cigar, staring at Aaron. Leaning back, the Japanese fellow opened his small safe, revealing a fortune of half a million dollars. Aaron just stared at him.
“They are children.”
The man gave a very small smirk. “We cater to all-“
His head whipped back as Aaron’s glock blasted iron through his skull, both dead mans arms dropping as what was left of him drizzled down the wall behind his body. Turning around, Aaron stepped out of the office, pistol in his right hand, shotgun in his left. He walked casually down, hearing the groans of the other minions as he approached. His stood in the center of the blast radius and proceeded to execute each living man, putting a bullet in the heads of those who didn’t groan or move too. Just in case. He then stood there, staring.
Death had a wealthy haul tonight.
Less than twenty minutes later Aaron was opening the back of the truck, his body covered in the gift of the evil masses, plastered with their filth. The children were blessingly blindfolded and gagged, so Aaron would speak gently. “I am Tank. A….a hero. I am….so sorry, for what has happened to you. The ones who’ve done this have been punished….and the police will be here soon. Just wait a little longer.” He’d slowly close the door, grinding his teeth as he stepped off the wall, his weapons all in hand. Only one grenade was left. Had he even seen their faces? Could he look back and see more than the shadows of the damned he’d left inside? Sirens in the distance, the bodies outside having been moved by the big man so that the little eyes wouldn’t see them as the cops withdrew them from their own personal hells.
Blinking, Aaron’s hands were no longer covered in blood. He wore a T-shirt. Some Pajama bottoms. He still sat on the edge of his bed, and reaching up to run his hands through wet hair remembered he had indeed showered. It was just the waking dreams. Precursors to what was ahead for him that night. Taking a slow and deep breath, Aaron crawled under the covers, picked up his gun from the bedside table and cocked it before shoving it under his pillow, and pulled the cord on the lamp that too sat on the nightstand, bringing him into darkness.
Sweet dreams.
Frowning slightly, he thought for a moment—
It was eight pm. He’d been tracking this group of drug runners for the last couple of days, and had finally followed the right truck at the right time to reach their base. He was dressed down and ready to operate, the trunk of the ford F-350 he rode in on packed to the brim with a wide array of weaponry. He didn’t intend to use it, instead stepping out to walk over and put these men in cuffs. But not before he got the proof he needed. As the driver of the truck got out and started inside at a care-free strut, Aaron moved up the other side of the car in a low crouch, the lower half of his mouth covered in the skull bandana he was now known for. Hopping up on the lip of concrete the back of the U-haul style vehicle rested against, Aaron used his boot to kick open the latch and lift the lid, withdrawing his phone from his pocket with intent to take pictures of the mountains of “product” he’d been monitoring. Turning on the flashlight, Aaron slowed the raise of his arm and moved it to the side, his eyes widening.
Throughout the truck were dozens of bodies. Children, huddled together for warmth, wearing their skivvies or PJ’s, ranging from five on up to about thirteen. The phone carrying arm lowered, as did his brows. He went from initial shock, to anger….then rage. So engulfed in his sudden animosity, that he didn’t even notice the short, bald Asian man coming up on his left. Not until the shotgun was pressed against his cheek. He heard the man mutter something….to get on his knees? He continued to stare at the kids, and then spoke in a gentle but muffled voice.
“Whatever you hear….don’t be scared. And don't come out.”
"GET ON YOUR FUCKING KNEES ASSHO-"
His left hand snapped up, pushing the shotgun up and causing the resulting slug to wiz over his head as the shocked man pulled the trigger. Aarons right hand pulled the strap of the back door down, closing the girls back inside before he turned, gripping the fool by the neck and lifting him bodily before choke-slamming him into the ground, his soft trachea compressing under Aaron’s iron palm. His other hand cocked the pump of the shotgun and aimed it at the camera. “I am coming.” He proceeded to shoot the camera out and turn around, walking back to his car and using his key to pop the trunk. He pulled out a Military-grade M16, pulling four mags plus one jammed into the chamber. That, he cocked. Then he grabbed his Beretta 92 FS, 9mm. He stuck that in the holster at his side, as well as a Glock 28 in his hip, at the back. Two Grenades. One smoke. Some goggles, in case they turned the lights out. And of course, the glorious Benelli M4 shotgun, tossing the cheap pump action off to the side. He then loaded it, and stuck it in the holster on his back.
No prisoners tonight. No one to challenge the system. Tonight….would be a night of bloodshed.
The door next to the truck burst open, and three men came out with weapons raised. AK’s. Bringing up his gun, he squeezed the trigger gently, three times. Bodies dropped, the bullets unheard as they passed through his silencer, the big man moving forward. Moving up the stairs, the moon at his front, he’d plant his back against the cool metal wall and use one hand to pop open the door, throwing a smoke grenade inside, several shouts echoing as bullets rained on the location. He could see from his short glance that the lights were indeed out. He’d take his night vision goggles out, waiting about fifteen seconds before opening the door and moving inside, finger on the trigger. He pulled it deftly, blood and brain spraying the rack of random warehouse equipment behind the door guard.
Shifting left, he shot another in the throat, his friend who was rushing around the corner took the next bullet through the eye. Coming around that corner himself, Aaron brought back up his gun to knee-cap the man who stood at the top of the stairs, his screams echoing off the plaster and steel around them. Aaron shot him in the temple as he moved past. He was hit from the side by a larger man, who thought his size would give him an advantage if he just tried to body-check the former Marine. Aaron didn’t move, whipping the pistol out of it’s holster to shoot the pony-tailed gang banger twice in the chest, which stumbled the guy back before the third blasted into his forehead. M16 held down at his side now, Tank advanced forward with his pistol, six men coming out of the large center room. Asian men- Japanese, maybe. Aaron proceeded to rapid fire his beretta, four of them getting blasted in a swath of bloodshed before the other two leapt behind the wall. Jamming his pistol back in its holster and letting his rifle hang off his back, Aaron drew the shotgun and terror-cut a fist sized hole into the first ones chest.
The second barely got out a scream before he was blasted too, his left leg nearly cut in half from the impact. Aaron stomped on his neck as he hit the ground, crushing windpipe and spine in a single fluid stroke. He turned back and walked into the main office, hearing one of the garage doors opening slowly on the side with more bodies shouting about where he was. He pulled a grenade and tossed it out the window, the shattering of glass causing them to look up before the plunk of the grenade at their feet brought their gaze back to it, earning a half-scream before the explosion. Bodies and parts flew as Aaron stood in front of the desk of the older man who was seemingly leading this little crew. He was smoking a cigar, staring at Aaron. Leaning back, the Japanese fellow opened his small safe, revealing a fortune of half a million dollars. Aaron just stared at him.
“They are children.”
The man gave a very small smirk. “We cater to all-“
His head whipped back as Aaron’s glock blasted iron through his skull, both dead mans arms dropping as what was left of him drizzled down the wall behind his body. Turning around, Aaron stepped out of the office, pistol in his right hand, shotgun in his left. He walked casually down, hearing the groans of the other minions as he approached. His stood in the center of the blast radius and proceeded to execute each living man, putting a bullet in the heads of those who didn’t groan or move too. Just in case. He then stood there, staring.
Death had a wealthy haul tonight.
Less than twenty minutes later Aaron was opening the back of the truck, his body covered in the gift of the evil masses, plastered with their filth. The children were blessingly blindfolded and gagged, so Aaron would speak gently. “I am Tank. A….a hero. I am….so sorry, for what has happened to you. The ones who’ve done this have been punished….and the police will be here soon. Just wait a little longer.” He’d slowly close the door, grinding his teeth as he stepped off the wall, his weapons all in hand. Only one grenade was left. Had he even seen their faces? Could he look back and see more than the shadows of the damned he’d left inside? Sirens in the distance, the bodies outside having been moved by the big man so that the little eyes wouldn’t see them as the cops withdrew them from their own personal hells.
Blinking, Aaron’s hands were no longer covered in blood. He wore a T-shirt. Some Pajama bottoms. He still sat on the edge of his bed, and reaching up to run his hands through wet hair remembered he had indeed showered. It was just the waking dreams. Precursors to what was ahead for him that night. Taking a slow and deep breath, Aaron crawled under the covers, picked up his gun from the bedside table and cocked it before shoving it under his pillow, and pulled the cord on the lamp that too sat on the nightstand, bringing him into darkness.
Sweet dreams.
