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Clean Up Crew

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#1Vance 

on Sat Mar 04, 2017 11:55 pm

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His feet crushed dirt, sweat pouring down his terrified face. The boy knew fear, obvious-- being horrified of what this was. This couldn’t be true? The beat of his heart was like a percussion drum. It wouldn’t stop and similar to this, neither would his legs. He tripped into the porch-- upon arriving at a house. Cars were backed up against the drive-way and there, in the house. His grandfather. The boy heard word and was still in uniform for the big game. He’d never show though. “Grandpa! Wake up! Please, damn it, open your eyes!” Faceless people tore him away. Pulling him out the door. He felt his body elevate and he soared from the ground to the clouds. The scenery shifted from the sky line to a stormy forest. A monster followed him, the woods were dark and he could barely make out where he was. Then a vicious bite was felt in his shoulder blade.

Snap.

The dream was over, there in his bed was the singular male. He perspired and broke into tears before rolling over into the blankets. He missed his grandfather… He only ever felt like some monster anymore. His fate was the worst… Now he remembered why he was a murderer. Because this shit just drove him insane. There was no liberation. He was a monster… More accurately he was a Lycan. The wolfman beast of Oaktown. A scourge to humanity, something to spit on. Where was Celeste’s comfort? Had she found someone else to love? The boy jumped from his bed and threw a lamp at the wall. It shattered into tens of millions, much like his own soul. He hated what he was. He needed direction.

Panting, he heard a vibration under the drawer next to his mattress. The man walked over to it. Reading the message as per usual. It didn’t surprise him. More evil. “Good… I needed something to take my mind off of this.” He grabbed some pants and a shirt. Covering his abs and legs he slipped a hoodie and mask over his lips. That was it. He exited. Making haste for his destination. Remy was not far off, the two met. Exchanging a few words, though their concentration was getting to the battle scene. The boy passed by a group of workers. They held looks in their eyes. They knew exactly what this was, but not a single one questioned the Martellos. Around these parts, that was asking for death. Such a thing was the social norm after all.

Tommy guns and dead bodies littered the empty stretch of the unfinished building’s floor, these men were garbage. What was born in this world would have to return to it, however. Not specifically in this case, in fact, only three would get the respect of burial. The rest were going to be dismembered, chopped up by an axe. The bodies would be placed in barrels of oil. They’d then be dropped into the wet cement of the new building. Completely erased and encased by the rock. That’s what he was told anyways. Since the man didn’t have much else of an issue, he just accepted it. He left there three of the seven bodies. The other four he heaved on his back across the room to Remy. Remy was some kind of disgusting lunatic. Not that Erebus could deny his own self an equally dark individual. Erebus was a serial killer, Remy was a businessman. Big differences.

One body, then two. The next individual died with his eyes open. Erebus closed them, even though the cruel fate was that his head and arms would be cut off soon. Remy splattered the stone room in blood. Both were drenched in it. 2:00 in the morning and this was what a dark mage did for a living. “When I took the reigns of Grimoire Heart I never anticipated becoming this mucked up. Guess that’s just fate for you.” The last two bodies seemed to be younger. A teenage girl and a large man, possible sharing similarities. Were they the targets? They didn’t look like mobsters. The Wolf theorized these two were the cause of the shoot-out. He silently muttered a good-bye for them. Toting first the man and then the girl to Remy. Like the others they were chopped to pieces. Placed in large plastic bags. Strategist waited outside. Upon meeting eyes with Remy again. The money was delivered, but a little bit of that heart which once rested within him… It died. Faded like the mist of his cigarettes. He didn’t smoke anymore. He remembered wh he smoked now, it took that stress away. Perhaps he’d pick up marijuana on the way home. A bottle of scotch too. That way he could at least forget this in the morning. Yeah. Seemed like a fair idea.

806/800

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