"Alright, put'em up! Hands in the air! If you value your lives, don't move a muscle or utter a single word!"
It was a rainy afternoon at Oakville Bank's Miller branch when the door shot open and several masked men wearing bandanas or ski masks and thick dark coats strapped with combat vests, bearing firearms rushed inside. As two remained outside to stand watch, the rest aimed their weapons at the terrified tellers, staff, and customers. A baby's wail was the only sound that shattered the silence. One man in a black bandana, presumably the leader of the gang, headed over to the windows and tapped on the window with his semi-auto rifle.
"Let's go! Unlock the vault doors and grant us access to the cash if you value your lives. We don't have all day!"
One of the terrified tellers, an African-American woman fresh out of the university and starting her first steps into the real world, motioned to the other nervous-looking two tellers, an Asian male ten years her senior as well as a dark-haired woman that reminded her of Salma Hayek, to come over. Despite putting on a brave face, the young employee was beside herself with fear. Who wouldn't be in their present predicament? Her two fellow tellers glanced at her in a baffled expression.
She leaned over and hissed at them. "Get over here-now!"
Hesitantly, as if she had just transformed into a King Cobra, her coworkers leaned over to her to see what she had to say.
"Listen, we need to call for help. Chang, please dial 9-1-1-"
"Ma'am!" The bandana-clad burglar, donning dark glasses to cover his eyes despite the gloomy weather outside, tapped his gun on the glass door. "Perhaps I wasn't clear, but let me reiterate. We are in a hurry so I'd appreciate it if you'd hurry up. You don't want these innocent people out here to leave in stretchers or body bags. Some are even your coworkers so I recommend you think it through and don't try anything foolish or -"
That was when the entrance door shot open and there was a bright flash that dazed everyone present. Blinking her dazed eyes, the young bank employee was greeted by the sight of a smoke screen blocking out the lobby from the plexiglass window. It appeared to her as if the dreary gray clouds from the sky outside had diffused inside when the door was opened like some sort of sentient mist. That was when the gunshots rang out. The sound was dull as if sound was traveling underwater.
"What eez happening?" Her olive-skinned coworker whispered. "Are ze police here?"
"That fast?" Her male companion frowned. "Maybe someone did call them ahead-woah!"
All three jolted as something large made contact with the window with a loud thud. They saw a hulking figure clad in a dark trench coat and bearing a gas mask whose eyes glowed a ghostly green amid the gloom grabbing the crook leader by the scruff his neck and slamming his face repeatedly into the glass, leaving a bit of blood smeared upon it before snapping the criminal's neck like it was a matchstick amid the gasps of the bystanders. Dropping the dead bank robber, the imposing figure then drew a gun the girl recognized as a Colt, her brother carried one, and fired to the side, which resulted in the dropping of a disoriented crook and splattered his brains on the glass. As quickly as he appeared, the gas-masked gunman disappeared. Once the smoke cleared, the bank employees cautiously rose from where they were crouched and were awestruck by the sight that greeted them. Eyeing the prone shapes of the bank robbers and the befuddled customers and bankers rising up from where they were crouching to survey the scene, Chang turned and smiled at his female coworkers.
"I guess it isn't necessary to call the cops anymore."
---
"Let me go, please! I swear to God I don't know anything."
Outside the bank, the gas-masked vigilante yanked the whimpering lawbreaker toward the alley between the bank and the intersection of Lawson and Miller. He paused to put a bullet in the captured delinquent's partner before taking his captive behind the dirty gray dumpster that reeked of things better left unsaid. Before entering the bank, he had undertaken the task of knocking these two malefactors, who acting as sentries for their accomplices, senseless before preventing a bank heist and now he would see if one of them could prove useful to him.
"Look man, I am telling you. This isn't my doing! Jared-"
"You talk an awful lot." The vigilante , dog tags visible just underneath his trench coat, pistol whipped his hostage. "I'm surprised you didn't annoy the hell out of your fellow scumbags. No matter, let's get to the reason why you are here instead of lying in a pool of your own blood."
"Y-you aren't gonna to kill me?"
"That's on you." The vigilante cocked his gun and pointed it at the masked face of the quivering crook pinned against the wall . The quaking upper body of one of society's scum was the only way the gas-masked gunman could discern his emotion as a purple bandana, a hood, and dark glasses concealed his face. "Answer my question to the best of your ability and I'll consider letting you walk, but fail to do so and I'll have your brains on those brick walls behind you. Don't you think you can lie to me as I will find out and hunt you down. Let's take a look at your face and see who you are ." The boy whimpered as the figure with the glowing green eyes ripped off his glasses and bandana. "Ah yes, as it stands, my assumptions have been proven correct. You are nothing but a typical gutter trash. "
"W-what do you wanna know?"
The vigilante pressed his gun on the bronze chin of the terrified criminal. "Ok, I will only ask once as I am in a hurry so don't try my patience. Who in the Syndicate is running the show here? What kind of operation are they planning that they'd resort to hiring low level thugs like yourself?"
"I...I don't know!" His captive stammered.
The towering post-apocalyptic figure applied a bit more pressure on the end of his gun. "Wrong answer!"
"No, I'm serious! We only got the message summoning us by an unknown number. The dons would never reveal themselves to grunts like us. We are just the errand boys. We needa make a living, you know. If you want, you can check my phone. It's in my hoodie's pocket. "
"Very well, I believe you." He pulled back from the anxious thug after swiping his phone. He gave the delinquent a hard shove against the dumpster. "You are free."
"For real?" The boy glanced up at his captor, his beady black eyes wide with relief.
"I lied!"
The gas-masked figure then put a round between the hoodlum's eyes and continued on his way. Wiping the rain drops from the mask's visor, he opened up the boy's phone and was going to look for some hint or answer that would lead him to his target when he heard the sirens.
I guess it's time for me to beat it.
---
"Welcome to Moochie's Gas Stop, how can I help you?"
As the clerk at the convenience store at the gas station, a burly thick-necked dark-haired man with the name Ron plastered on the left side of his chest on his forest green work uniform, greeted the gas-mask wearing newcomer, he had a bad feeling about his latest customer.
"Yes, perhaps you'd show me where the stockroom is?"
Ron raised a brow. "Um, why would I do that? In case you aren't aware, that's against reg-"
The clerk then trailed off as he saw the sawed-off shotgun's barrel aimed at his chest. "Do I look like I care what is against regulations? You will show me the stockroom if you value your life."
"Hey now!" Ron raised his hands. "Are you going to rob me? You sure as hell won't get away with it. Look around, there are cameras-"
The imposing militaristic figure then shoved his weapon against the clerk's chest. "Just cut the crap and take me to the stockroom. Don't play any games with me as I know what's inside. So do you value your life?"
The clerk's lips started to tremble. "I-if h-he finds out, I-I'm toast!"
"You will be toast if you don't comply, but let me be frank, I am more merciful than your superiors. Who's wrath will you incur?"
"Alright, just take the darned thing from my chest. I could barely breathe. "
As the intruder withdrew his weapon, Ron punched in some numbers on the register, locking it for the time being, before taking a piece of receipt paper and motioning for the intruder to follow. At the door to the stockroom, the clerk punched in the code, resulting in a beeping sound. A flashing green light on top of the handle indicated that the code was accepted. The bumbling storekeeper froze as he felt the cold tip of the shotgun on the back of his neck.
"What's the holdup? Open the door."
Not intending to see what the consequences of not heeding the man's orders were, the sniveling clerk opened the door, revealing the small rows of shelves in what looked like more a small warehouse than a store's stockroom. He felt the costumed freak shove him forward as he stumbled onto the cold floor of the building. The stockroom workers stopped what they were doing and turned to face the intruders.
"Ron, don't you remember that this place is off-limits for-"
The man who had spoken trailed off as the gas-masked trespasser cocked his gun.
"It matters little to me what is off-limits so let's cut to the chase. Why don't you drop your charade and answer my questions. Save your breath denying it because I know that this little stockroom is actually used for storage by the old men at the Syndicate. What do they store here? I wonder if those boxes and bags of junk food and soft drinks contain what they are supposed to. Nevertheless, I bet each of those crates that line the shelves are filled with every contraband or blacklisted item in the books. All I want to know is which Syndicate member is running the show?"
From the corner of his eye, Ron spotted one of the men wearing yellow hard hats reach into his waistband for a possible weapon when a loud bang from behind resounded and echoed across the room. His ears ringing, Ron noticed the stocker hold his bleeding shoulder, his mouth open in a silent scream of pain, as a small black handgun fell from his pants.
God dayum! Did he just shoot that man?
"Now, I don't want any trouble, but if any of you force my hand, you are all dead men. Got it?" After a brief silence signified that everyone agreed to his terms, the masked man continued with his demands. "I just want to know who in the Syndicate is running this place. As I said before, give up the charade that this is just a typical gas station convenience store. What kind of people that work at a pit stop wear hard hats?"
He's got a sharp eye, I can give him that. He sure isn't someone we should be messing with.
"Now, you will tell me who this number belongs to if you don't have death wishes. " Glancing to his side, the terrified clerk noticed the metal-clad intruder, the eyes of this mask glowing green, display a what looked like a red , white, and green BlackBerry phone. "The text messages between the owner and someone from this place constantly reference this store so please stop acting all innocent. Talk now or heads will roll!"
As he strode between the aisles clutching the phone, two of the workers on opposite sides drew their guns, but unfortunately for them, the gothic figure was ready for them. He rolled out of the way as the two fired, but ended up hitting each other by mistake. A third man, bearing a switchblade, lunged screaming at the gas-masked man and leapt onto his back. However, to Ron's shock and awe, the dark figure simply pulled the man off and turned his knife against him, drawing a grin onto the stocker's throat. As the masked trespasser viewed his handiwork, the cashier got the feeling that this wasn't the first time that the militant had done this.
He ain't no amateur, we don't know who we messing with.
Finally, as Ron saw the remaining members of the group finger at their sides for their weapons, he decided to bring the incident to a close before anyone else got hurt. Stepping forward, he began to speak.
"It is Don Denza. Denza is the man you looking for. He owns this dump so please stop the fighting."
The gas-masked man chuckled. "There you have it. Was that so hard? You boys need to learn from Ron. He is an intelligent individual."
"So you gonna let us go?" Ron asked.
"Good question." The man turned around to face the clerk. "Should I?"
Before Ron could react, the man picked up a gun from the floor and unleashed its contents on the remaining stockers.
Bang! Bang! Bang!
As the gunfire clapped through the sound of the air conditioner, the cashier stared astounded at the crumpled bodies of the punks that used to work at Moochie's. The slayer himself turned to face Ron.
"If only they had half the wits you did, they'd still be alive. They may have ratted me out to Luigi Denza. You understand I can't have risked it, right?"
Why is he chatting me up instead of leaving? Does he wanna kill me? If so, why hasn't he already?
Swallowing, Ron slowly nodded.
"Now you won't be a snitch, would you?" The man that looked like he belonged in some Warhammer 40K game motioned his handgun at him with one hand while his shotgun was slung into his back. "You know what I can do to you."
"Nah, I would not snitch you out to those rich self-serving charlatans. "
"Good boy." The militant lowered his gun. "Now I need one last favor from you before I let you off. Fetch me some oil and some matches. I am going to burn this place to the ground. Hopefully, Denza will get the message."
A half an hour later, Moochie's convenience store was blazing into the night sky, a beacon of light under the dark clouds. Before stepping into his black BMW, the vigilante took one last look at the majestic sight. Once he set off to his destination, he turned on the radio and ironically Shawn James's Through the Valley started to play. It had the vigorous vigilante wondering one thing.
Will my soul be damned once I purge my city of the vermin?
---
"My love, Jovanna asked how long you have been in the business?"
Luigi Denza, shaken out of his reverie, glanced over at his wife Benedetta. The crime lord's wife , seated beside her husband at the shiny golden oak table, had her dark hair up in a bun as she addressed him. The Denzas were hosting one of their many parties they throw each year as a get together with friends, family, and business partners/associates. Tonight, Benedetta had invited her friends and their families to attend a get together thrown at the Denza estate up on the mountains overlooking Oakville and the surrounding Oak Country. Clearing his throat, Luigi turned to respond to the middle-aged woman seated adjacent to him and his wife.
"About 20 years now. I inherited it from my late father."
The gray-haired woman sipped her glass of Argiano red wine, which Don Denza had ordered to be shipped specifically from Italy, and set it down on the satin doilies that decorated the table before fixing her gaze onto the host with her piercing gray eyes. She reminded the Don of a hawk. "I see. My husband and I have had ours for about fifty years, give or take." She turned to her husband, a broad-shouldered man with short-cropped gray hair and tan skin. "Isn't that right, Carlo?"
Turning his attention from the couple, Denza surveyed the room, lit by the chandelier above that gave the oil paintings and lavish furniture a dull glow, and saw the guests, he counted about a dozen, chatting, surrounded by their security detail. He saw his daughter Rosa chatting up Carlo and Jovanna's kids, Gabriella and Horatio, while having a good time. He observed that by the way that Rosa was smiling when she spoke to Horatio, she was getting too friendly with him. Before he could say something, he felt a hand grip his own. He turned to see Benedetta smile at him, her lipstick the same color as the cloth on the table.
"Having fun, dear?"
"Yes, I am, cara mia. I hope you are as well. "
His wife sipped a glass of wine. "Dinner will be ready soon. I am dying to have some chicken cacciatore."
Before he could reply, he felt a tug on his arm. He glanced up to see Emilio, his head of security , dressed in a gray smart suit. The Don's security chief leaned over and whispered into his ear.
"Sir, I have received word that Luca the courier has arrived from Moochie's."
The dirty blond Don smiled. "Excellent, send him in."
---
"Hello, what is your purpose of coming here?"
Rafael, the security guard at the Don's gate, suspiciously watched the shiny black BMW, its lights glowing bright blue in the dark, pull up outside it. Two armed guards, their handguns trained on the luminescent vehicle, encircled it. The tinted window lowered itself a smidge and a gloved hand showed an I.D. card that belonged to a Luca Puzzi. Seeing the name check in, he activated the gate and it slowly slid open. Once the car drove on inside, it was surrounded by security detail. Raf watched as one opened the passenger side of the BMW and leapt backward as a body slid out of it before it slammed shut once more. The gate guard blinked in shock and horror as he recognized the body as the boy from the I.D.
Mamma Mia! What's going on?
As the security detail crowded the body, two stayed by the driver's side. One tapped on the window of the car and demanded the driver to open up. As the driver complied, the man reached a hand inside only for the window to shut on it. The car then roared forward, dragging the shouting man with him. Disregarding the shouts from the man's coworkers for the car to stop, it sped on toward the house until the guards fired their weapons on it. After about five seconds of gunfire, the car finally slowed to a halt inches from the glass door of the house.
Who the hell is this guy?
Raf drew his own gun and approached the vehicle with his comrades. He noticed that despite being stopped, the car's engine was still running, its blue rear and headlights glowing like the Hollywood lights.
"Step out of the vehicle with your hands in the air!" His coworker, Sam, ordered. "No sudden movements or we will shoot."
After a second or two, the window slid open a bit, releasing the guard who was howling in pain before the door slammed open, knocking him out. A hulking figure dressed in dark attire calmly stepped out and turned to face the men. Once into the light of a nearby lamp, Raf started a bit when he saw the man was wearing a gas mask.
"Hands in the air and on your knees!" Sam and a few guards started to approach him.
At the same moment the figure complied, his car suddenly slid backward, barreling into the Don's security like bowling pins. Raf managed to leap away in time as the car came to a stop by making contact with the gate with the clang of metal to metal that resounded through the night. The intruder capitalized on the confusion to fire a silenced gun at them. He leaned down and slit the injured guard's throat, silencing his pleas, before darting away to the side.
The bastard must have had his car in reverse somehow and waited for us to congregate in one spot before unleashing it on us. What a sly and conniving fox!
Raf and the few remaining guards scoured the area the trespasser was last seen. For seconds, he only heard the sounds of crickets chirping and the lights humming before hearing the muffled thud. The source of the sound then registered in his appalled mind.
That sounds like a body falling!
As mosquitoes swarmed his face, Raf and the other guards hurried across the lawn, passing by several bodies of their comrades, and made it to the garden. The only sounds heard now were from the inside of the house where the Don was hosting some kind of get together. Don Denza would have their heads if the intruder had managed to find his way inside. Thankfully, judging by the jovial sounds inside, the Don and his family were none the wiser about this trespasser.
"Let's spread out. That way we can cover more ground. The faster we catch him, the higher the chances are of Don Denza's leniency."
Taking his advice into heart, the other men spread, guns held against their chest or at ready, to find this elusive figure. As Rafael rounded a corner, he heard the sound of a struggle and turned back to reach the source. He returned to the garden near the pool, glowing with lights as well, to see two of his comrades lay prone on Donna Denza's ruined flowers while a dark figure was choking the remaining one in the shadows of the guesthouse. Raf pointed his weapon as the figure turned toward him, tossing the broken body of the guard away like it was a ragdoll.
"Stop right there, figlio di puttana. I will shoot-"
With alarming ferocity, velocity, and dexterity, the masked man made long strides toward him and with a swift and silent stroke, sliced his hands off with some slightly curved blade before he could fire a shot. Before Raf could fully process everything, his assailant grabbed him by the scruff of his neck and brought him down hard onto the sharp pointed bars on top of the fence. He cried out as he felt sharp stabs of pain, but soon he felt it all fade to numbness, He had one last glance at his assailant attempting to enter the house through the screened side door before sliding off and into the cold embrace of the pool-and death.
---
"What was that?"
One of the guests raised his head as they were enjoying their meal. Emilio glanced between the faces of all the attendees in the dining room before glancing at the Don. Through this racket they made in this dinnertime chat of theirs, it was next to impossible to hear anything.
"It might have been some deer or the wind. It happens here occasionally. " The Don glanced at his chief of security. "Emilio, please go check it out."
Once he left the room and entered the room that faced the pool, he froze as he saw several of his men lying down, some eagle-sprawled. His mind immediately registered that something was wrong. As he drew his weapon, he felt something cold against his temple. Startled, he turned to see a gas-masked man look into his eyes and point a gun with a silencer on at his forehead. Behind the glass eyes, he thought he saw eyes the color of the ocean and just as deadly. The eyes of death.
"Hasta la vista, muthafukka."
That was when everything went blank.
---
"What's taking Emilio?" Bennedetta asked as she finished up her chicken and washed it down with some wine.
"Everything is fine," Luigi Denza assured his wife. "Emilio is being thorough. Why do you think he is my head of security?"
Despite what he said, the Don himself was getting a bit concerned. Emilio never has been gone this long before. He hoped the worst hadn't come to pass.
"Daddy, who is that-"
His daughter didn't get to finish her question as there was a muffled whumpf. The chandelier then fell onto the table, causing it to cave in and cutting out the only source of light in the room. There was panicked jabbering and Luigi Denza thought he saw a dark shape move around the room. He then heard thuds as if large objects were hitting the ground and heavy footsteps. Throughout the chaos, the Don noticed that a small fire had started due to the bulbs in the chandelier catching onto the cloth on the table. He saw the corpses of his guests, including Jovanna and Carlo and their children piled onto each other. He frantically searched for his wife and daughter amid the blood and carnage.
"Luigi, here!"
As the smoke detectors blared, Luigi Denza saw his wife hold their crying daughter close to her outside the room and hurried out to join them. As he took both women's hands, he led them to the panic room located down in the basement and across from the garage.
"Daddy, what's happening? Is someone trying to kill us?"
I don't know, sweetheart." Luigi gulped as he pulled the silver door open and let his wife and child in before hurrying in himself. That was a question he had pondered himself, but someone clearly was out to get him. The death and destruction he had witnessed was proof, but who was it? Surely, not the Feds or law enforcement as this was not their method. Besides, the Syndicate had bought half the force in the city.
It has to be either Moretti, Rizzo, or Storelli. Perhaps they want to one up me in my rank. Or it could be the Russians, Koreans, or the Brazilians? I hope I didn't piss off anyone in the Syndicate's Brass.
He held Bennedetta and Rosa close as he heard the lock latch shut. Thankfully, the door could only be locked from inside. He stayed silent for a while as the lights finally came on, illuminating their faces.
"It's about time you got here, Denza. I was wondering what took you so long."
Startled by the new voice, Don Denzo whirled around to face a towering figure encased in a World War 2 style helmet and gas-masked as well as a trenchcoat and armor.
"W-who the hell are you? What do you want? How did you get in? If it's money you desire, I'll lend you plenty free of interest."
The intruder threw his head back and laughed. "You mobster types are so predictable. You think you can buy your way out of everything? I've got news for you, bud. It ain't gonna work with me. Besides, anyone can access this room of yours from the outside unless someone locks it from within. Mercifully, I went over the layout of your place ahead of time and arranged the events so you could come in here. I didn't bother locking the door as I knew you'd have a false sense of security. Besides, you accomplished that yourself and unwittingly sealed your fate."
Rosa's red-rimmed brown eyes grew wide as the gas-masked prowler pointed a blood-coated gun at her father. The two dark-haired women, dressed in similar red cocktail dresses, hugged each other in fright as the cornered ensnared Don faced his ass would-be murderer.
"It's time to pay for your crimes, Don. Say your prayers, if any filth from the Syndicate ever does, because I am not going to let you get away from me this time. "
"N-no, please!" The frightened crime boss pleaded with his life. "I have a wife and daughter to support."
"How about the fathers whose lives you took that had wives and daughters to support?" The interloper growled. "Spare me your B.S. I have waited so long for this and you haven't disappointed me. Beg for your life if you want to, but your time has come. It's time to send my greetings to the Syndicate. I hope they receive my message this time. From Poison Gas, with love."
Before Luigi Denza could open his mouth, the muzzle of the soiled handgun flashed and the last thing he heard was his wife scream before the curtains fell.
---
"Hello, you have reached Hedgerington and Hurley, what can I do for you?"
Inside the tall establishment in the heart of North London, Amanda Headley, the young bespectacled 20-something secretary answered a phone call for her employers. As she gazed out at the bright lights emanating from the city and the red lights of the cars below, she heard a raspy voice say one word.
"Agony."
Her eyes then grew wide once she heard the key word. She immediately patched her employer.
"Mr. Hedgerington, you have a call for you."
"Excellent," a smooth voice greeted her. "I'll take that one."
"Your call will be transferred. One moment, please."
The secretary chewed her lip and twirled a strand of her light chestnut brown hair as the call was transferred. Once in a while, she'd get a call like that and Mr.Hedgerington would tell her to patch it over to himself once they said the buzzword. However, they had been coming in a lot more frequently and it left Amanda wondering what the calls could be about.
Is it perhaps a secret business deal or a dispute mediation board ? Maybe even talks of a merger or the offers to buy off a competitor?
As curious as she was, Amanda knew she had to keep her mouth shut as whatever happened was behind closed doors and didn't concern a secretary like herself. She didn't want to risk her job as she had student loan debt to pay as well as bills. She had learned that in order to survive in a corporate environment, you needed to know your role.
47Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡiacUaXUwq4
Welcome to the remastered or even remade version of one of my first stories about how a vigilante takes to the streets and takes matters into his own hands to bring the crime level in his city to almost zero. However, he will have to deal with a new threat that arises as a response to this. Can he handle this arcane threat or will it be his downfall? Read on to find out.
47Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ7x9IVujP2N
47Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡJEzdlpO1ox
47Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡImtLXLdfIE
47Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡKrm2dsPQhP
