Numbness. It filled Micro Chip's body. The wave of sensation that ravaged his body for hours had eventually caused his nerves to collapse. It took hours of beating, burning, cutting, and whatever sick torture his and Ringo's barbaric interrogators had pulled off, to eventually render him into torpidity.

It probably had been hours since Micro Chips talked to Ringo. He would definitely try to ask how he was doing, that is, if his own condition allowed him to do so. Because even the act of moving a single muscle was already too much of a labor. His vision had become inferior, as his eyes were both awfully swollen and bruised after being beaten with a brass.

The thirst was agonizing. Hours of screaming and crying resulted in an aftermath that made Micro Chips’ throat feel like sandpaper. He wanted to protest for one last time, but even that was something he couldn't physically do.

All that came out of his mouth were desperate wheezing breaths that barely clung into life.

“Man, these bastards are useless.”

A familiar voice rang into Micro Chip's ears like a distorted siren. It was the voice of the man who cut off three of his fingers with a pair of pliers.

“Seems like they can’t really give us anything.”

There was another voice. It belonged to the man who poured acid on Ringo's feet.

Micro Chips never understood why they had to suffer for something they had no involvement with. Their interrogators kept asking about the money, but no matter how many times he told the truth, in the end, they treated him and Ringo unfairly.

The sound of boots tapping into the concrete filled the solemn room.

“Still no answers?”

The voice was smart and calm, not like the once that came before it. Micro Chips assumed it belonged to one of those people who wore the trench coats, the same ones that brought him and Ringo in that wretched place earlier.

“No, boss. They won't talk.”

“That's because your savage methods have completely destroyed them, you idiots. As I can see, you've tortured the first one to death, the other is barely holding on.

“What were we supposed to do? You said we shouldn't stop until they give us answers.”

“I’ll see if I can try something.”

“Uhh, I don't know, boss. The other one's probably too weak to even breathe right now.”

The sound of boots against the concrete approached Micro Chips. He felt a soft hand caress the crook of his neck, then a sharp needle pierced its way into his veins. He couldn't quite make out what was currently happening to him. He was surely not feeling any better. Or worse.

He felt the presence of the figure kneel between his legs, then a finger gently nudged him by the chin. With the small ounce of strength he had left, he raised his head slowly, opening one of his less swollen eyes to take a look at the figure before him.

Suddenly, his head felt light, relaxed. There was no sense of hopelessness, no anxiety. He felt as if he was suddenly compelled to talk.

“Can you hear me?”

The foggy, and yet delicate looking figure asked in her soft whisper. Micro Chips managed to nod a bit as his answer.

“Good. I'm going to ask you question.”

Micro Chips swallowed. “I-I…” He wheezed inaudibly.

“Your friend stole something from us…”

He was getting sick of that same question being repeated over and over again.

“I was hoping you'd know where she kept it.”

“... don't…”

“What?”

“...know…”

A heavy, disappointed sigh followed. The figure distanced herself from Micro Chips, leaving him unknowingly expectant.

“W-water…” Micro Chips croaked.

The figure paused, but surprisingly obliged to his request. She offered a glass of water and placed it near Micro Chips’ cracked lips. He eagerly gulped down the water and let it quench his undying thirst.

“So boss,” One of the voices said. “What now?”

After Micro Chips finished his drink, the woman retrieved the glass and turned to face his interrogators.

“Someone out there is hunting and killing your gang leaders.” She announced.

“Holy shit…”

“Who did it?”

“We haven't found out exactly who. But we might have a few leads.” She said. “You two stay here and guard the lab. If anyo–”

Everything else seemed to blur into one incomprehensible mess. Micro Chips’ eyes felt heavier than it was, and every tensed and anxious muscle in his body had began to relax. Relief embraced him when he felt the pain lift itself off of him.

“This is it, guys,” Flash announced, fishing out the gun from his waistband. “Tell me, you ever had some sort of training?”

Brawly shrugged. “Sorta.”

“I attended several classes, yes.” Thunder nodded, holding onto his gun for dear life.

Flash stepped closer, a serious look in his eyes. “Then make sure it pays off.”

“This is really happening, huh?” Thunder asked, nervous but with a hint of forced optimism. “We're going to raid a gang infested territory, possibly go executioner style on them. Man, we are truly out of our minds.”

“Just stay close.” Flash advised.

“Oh, we're not going anywhere.”

Flash gave his companions a final look of reassurance, one that they returned with fear, uncertainty, but also with a glint of hope. As he closed his eyes, he took a large breath, and for a moment, all of the weight vanished, and the pain had ceased to matter.

He rammed his foot into the metal door.

“Everybody out!” Flash's voice boomed in an authoritarian roar that filled the kitchen.

Brawly followed and then Thunder. The three of them pointed their guns at the cooks, as they kept yelling for them to scram.

“Come on, people! You heard the man!” Thunder barked.

The cooks immediately ran out of the kitchen.

One cook grabbed his butcher knife and lunged at Flash like a yeti. Flash quickly dodged the butcher knife's blade and swung his gun into the cook's head. The cook was seemingly unharmed as he barely staggered back from the assault, then decided to retaliate. He kicked Flash's leg and swung his knife into his face. But Flash was fast enough to lean back, leaving only a cut in his brow.

Flooded with overwhelming anger, Flash snatched the frying pan from the counter and slammed it into the cook's face, popping his nose.

“Ahh! You prick!” He yelled, dropping his knife.

Flash didn't give the cook a chance to plead as he dragged him by his collar and slammed him into a cabinet. He punched him in the face before proceeding to drag him again and nail his head down to a metal table.

“Where's the lab?” Flash growled into the cook's ear, pressing the barrel against the back of his bald head.

“I ain't tellin’ you shit.” The cook growled back.

“Brawly!” Flash called in a stern voice.

Brawly took his friend's place and put his weight above the cook. Flash grab the cook's hand. The cook resisted at first, but Flash's strong grip overpowered his efforts. Without warning, Flash put the cook's hand into the burning stove beside the table.

Thunder and Brawly was both horrified and quiet. Seeing Flash's stone cold face, as he pinned the man's hand into the stove. The stove hissed, his hand burned as the heat formed bloody blisters all over his skin, all while accompanied by the his loud shrills of agony, pleading for the burning sensation to stop.

“I won't ask again.” Flash said quietly. Brawly looked at him. He didn't say anything but was incredibly disturbed.

“P-please! Stop, please! PLEASE!” The cook cried.

“Flash.” Brawly called, concern in his voice.

Flash remained stiff. “Where is the lab?”

“Th-the f-f-freezer! P-please just stop! Please! Please! Please!”

Flash beckoned Brawly to release the cook, and the cook fell to the floor, his body drained from the pain, and his hand burned to the flesh. He just sat there crying like a child, while Brawly looked at him with such sympathy that he knew he wasn't supposed to have at the moment.

He looked at Flash and asked, “Was that really necessary?”

Flash looked back. “No. Not really.”

“Guys!” Thunder shouted, who was standing by the door. “We got company!” He ran to the back of the kitchen.

They could already hear the sound of heavy footsteps rustling outside the door.

Flash turned to face Thunder, grabbing him by the collar with a look of urgency. “Go to the freezer.”

“Whoa, what ar–”

“Ringo and Micro Chips are in the lab just below this building. You'll find them through the freezer. Go now.” Flash said. “We'll hold them off.”

Thunder wanted to protest. But the weight in Flash's eyes was enough to shut him up. He gave a subtle, hesitant nod, then Flash released him, giving him the freedom to run off to the back.

The freezer had a large thick metal door that was slightly opened. Thunder slid his hand and opened the door a little wider for him to enter.

“Oh, god…” Thunder groaned upon laying eyes on a naked body with its arms and legs tied to its back, lifeless and frozen on the floor.

The room was filled with dozens of other human body parts, each of them stacked on the shelves on either side. Thunder quickly covered his mouth as he tried to resist the bile from coming out He tried his best to ignore the horrific sight, before proceeding to walk further inside.

At the end of room was another metal door. He reached for the handle and slid it open, finding a staircase that descended underground.

Thunder made one last look at the freezer door. He jumped at the sound of gunshots erupted throughout the kitchen, urging him to immediately close the door.

“Alright.” Thunder whispered to himself, his face already glazed with sweat despite being in such cold temperature. “I am definitely leaving the country after this.”

He didn't know what was waiting for him down there. Probably more goons, the same ones that butchered those bodies. The thought of him being chopped up to pieces and sold to the black market made his gut wrench.

It was almost hilarious. He was living his life, the billionaire son that could one day take over his father’s place. And at that moment, he realized there was no way he was welcome to go back to that life again. All that's left for him now was to rescue his friends, equipped with a rusty set of sharpshooting skills he obtained from a short span of time.

“Hang on, guys.”

Thunder made his descent into the darkness.

Meanwhile, the kitchen was in chaos. Bullets flew in a rapid fire, hitting and shattering every object that stood its way. Flash and Brawly ducked behind an oven at the opposite side of the kitchen from where their shooters stood place.

“Was your ‘job’ always this exciting?” Asked Brawly in a sardonic tone, his voice almost muffled by the loud firing.

Flash shook his head. “You could say that.”

Splinters and shard began raining down on them as the lights went out one by one. Flash and Brawly crawled away and around a corner.

“What's your plan?” Brawly whispered.

“Wait.” Flash said, both of his hands wrapped tightly around the gun, anticipating for the right moment to pull the trigger.

All of the lights were out, shattered to a thousand splinters that littered the tiled floor, and the shooters ceased fire. There was the faint tapping of boots against the floor of broken glass, guns clicked, and small beam of lights lurked into the unlit corners.

“They're empty.” Flash whispered.

There was a moment of brief silence, one that was almost too unbearable to prolong. Each and everyone in kitchen stood still, waiting, listening to the shaky breathing.

Brawly watched cautiously as Flash crawled towards the counter in front of them. As quietly as possible, Flash reached for the kitchen spray placed at the top.

Crawling back, Flash hoisted his gun into his waistband and reached for his pockets to fish out Sunset's lighter. He gave Brawly a look of perseverance, nodding before raising the spray into the ceiling in a diagonal angle, then flicked the lighter with his thumb.

A blast of flames burst across the kitchen, igniting a temporary light that startled the group of shooters.

Two men were caught in the fire. Flash saw how the men almost danced like two burning demons, screaming in pain as the fire consumed them whole.

“Now, Brawly!”

Brawly shot up and caught a short glimpse of their bodies. He aimed his gun towards the men a couple of feet across then immediately began firing at them.

When the fire finally diminished, Flash dropped the can and snatched his gun.

Flash jumped across the counter and swung his leg against a pot, shooting it straight into one of the men's face. One man, who was much bigger than Flash, tackled him from the left after he landed on the floor, causing both of them to clash into one of the ovens, hitting Flash's head.

He bled but persisted to get his attacker off of him. His attacker threw a punch, but Flash blocked it with his arm as a temporary delay, then proceeded to throw his head forward against the man's nose, hard enough to put him in a daze and stagger backwards.

With the weight off of him, Flash pointed the gun directly at his attacker and shot him in the face.

For a moment, Flash was stunned for a bit, but the sound of guns firing brought him back. He shook his head and stood on his feet.

“Flash, look out!”

Two men lunged at him from the darkness. Flash ducked, only to be met by a knee into his face. He fell backwards, leaning against a table for support, his nose bleeding from the impact.

His vision became a blurry mess. One of the man, snatched him by the collar and slammed him down to the counter, shattering the plates that hit his back. Flash winced as the shards of glass punctured his skin, and the pain was only worsened when his attacker's fists met his face again.

“Right here, you son of a bitch!”

Brawly jumped across the counter and tackled one of the men. Gaining back his strength, Flash grabbed the plate beside him and smashed it into the man’s face, who was briefly distracted by Brawly's sudden intervention.

Flash shot up, ignoring his bleeding back and thrusted his shoe against his attacker's chest, pinning him into a metal cabinet, before finally putting a bullet into his head.

It was the second man that he killed. Flash's conscience would have been in turmoil, but he found himself not caring. These scumbags were never worth an ounce of his sympathy.

He spun around his heel and faced another man with a gun in hand.

“Die yo–”

Brawly slammed his fist into the man's head and knocked him out entirely. Flash noticed his friend's face was swollen and filled with cuts from his encounter.

“I hate this place.” Brawly said flatly, shooting another man that was desperately crawling on the floor.

“You and me both.”

A wave of overwhelming pain rushed through Flash’s body. He took of his jacket, revealing his bloody shirt.

The red bloody patch from his shoulder spread further down to his torso, and the smell was much more rancid than before. His shirt was partially soaked with the blood, rushing down like a mad waterfall.

“Just… barricade the door, please.” Flash ordered in a murmur while looking for a towel to wipe his bloody shirt.

Brawly gave a nod then went for the door, using whatever large furniture he could find in the kitchen to block anyone outside. As he turned back, Flash was leaning against the sink, looking fatigued and dry.

“All that moving must've messed up your tissues or something.” Brawly commented, tossing a dry towel towards his friend.

Flash stayed quiet and continued to inadequately nurse his bleeding wound, piling up a bunch of bloody towels from his work.

As he finished patching his wound with binds of towels, Flash picked up a glass from one of the compartments to get himself something to drink. After downing all the water, she slammed the glass down and glanced at his friend.

“We better go after Thunder.”

“Yeah. Good idea.”

Thunder held onto his gun tightly, taking deep breaths every five seconds to calm his overwhelming anxiety. As he finally reached the bottom of the staircase, he moved as quietly as he should.

He swallowed, then raised the gun in front of him.

The basement dark and quiet. Too quiet. It was never a good sign.

Wooden boxes were stacked everywhere. Some marked with bizzare logos and tags. Thunder wouldn't want to know what was inside them. Further into the maze-like path, he came across a doorway with a plastic curtain, obscuring the other side. Behind it was a brightly lit room. There wasn't much to see, but it almost looked like a run-down laboratory.

Thunder paused, and took another deep breath.

“Right, Thunder. Your dad wasted good money to get you to learn how to shoot stuff and kick people's ass, right?” Thunder mumbled to himself with an optimism that fell flat to its face. “Try not to be half-assed at it. Ugh, fuck it. Let's do this.”

As he was about to enter, heavy footsteps approached his location. Thunder's blood ran cold and he immediately ran to find refuge behind the wooden boxes.

“Oh, shit. Oh, shit. Oh, shiiiiiit.” Thunder repeatedly whispered as panic began to consume his system. His gun rattled in his shaking hand, trying to press his way deeper into the corner.

Peeking just a little at the edge, Thunder saw a male figure whip the curtain away and entered the dark area.

Thunder recoiled himself back as quickly as possible, and in doing so, accidentally hit a crowbar near his shoe. The crowbar clanged. A sound that obliterated the silence that covered the basement.

“Shit.”

The walking stopped, followed by the sound of a gun clicking in hand. He didn't ask who was there. His boots resumed tapping against the floor in slow and cautious steps.

“Dumbass.” Thunder cursed at himself, lightly hitting his head with the gun's barrel.

It was as if everything had slowed down for a moment, and Thunder caught a glance of a shadow lurking towards the corner on his right. There, out of the darkness, he came face to face with a gun barrel.

Alarmed, Thunder ducked and rammed his body against the man, disabling him of his gun as he staggered backwards and hit the boxes behind him.

Thunder was about to pull the trigger but the man jumped back to his feet in seconds and kicked his gun away from his clutches with overwhelming speed.

“What th–?”

A fist met Thunder's jaw and a tooth popped out of his mouth, leaving him in a temporary daze. He shook his head, then instinctively evaded another attack by jumping back. There was another blow headed to his left, and he blocked it with his arm before throwing a kick to his attacker’s gut.

The man caught his leg, and he grunted in pain when his femur got elbowed. Thunder trembled under his weight, but he fought to remain on his feet.

His opponent advanced without a warning and began landing punches and kicks at him. Thunder raised his arms to guard his face from the blows, and he had to admit, the man was overwhelmingly merciless.

Not wanting to bare another punch, Thunder managed to sneak a punch into his opponent's head, but his quick reflexes evaded his attack. Thunder attempted again, and again, he would throw kicks and punches, but it was as if the man wore the darkness like a cloak, dancing in intricate evasion.

Thunder got impatient of his game. He launched himself forward, arms reaching forward to grab him, but something sharp impaled his side, and before he knew it, blood trickled down from his shirt.

For the first time, Thunder's eyes met the man's green ones. They were filled with satisfaction.

Even though the pain punched him harder than a thousand fists, Thunder gathered his remaining strength as adrenaline rushed through his entire body, and butted his head hard against the man's skull.

He let go of the knife. Thunder pulled it out, and lunged at him with an angry cry. The blade dug into the man's shoulder. He stifled his cries quite impressively, catching Thunder off guard.

The man punched Thunder's bleeding wound, causing him to stagger backwards, grunting and tearing up in excruciating pain. Definitely the worst he had ever felt.

Yet, he refused to fall.

“Oh, no. Not this time, you son of a bitch.”

Thunder dove to grab the crowbar. With a huge swing, he broke the man's wrist, and his knife fell. Furious, it was the man's turn to throw himself forward and tackled Thunder to the ground.

The man rained down relentless punches that Thunder only blocked with his arms. He tried to apprehend the man’s wild hands, and when he finally did, he pulled him in and rolled over until he was finally on top.

Thunder didn't hesitate to throw a punch. He grabbed the crowbar and pressed it down to his throat. But the man refused to remain that way. As he was choking under Thunder's hold, he brought his fist into his bleeding side, and punched him again and again. Blood splattered about everywhere and Thunder's tolerance was rapidly wearing off.

His grip on the crowbar loosened, and fresh air entered the man's throat again. Thunder let out a loud grunt when the man inserted a finger into his wound.

“Fuck!”

Thunder jumped back, tenderly bringing his quivering hand over his assaulted wound.

“That fucking hurts. Shit!”

The metal crowbar met Thunder's face, cracking the bridge of his nose. Blood flooded down his face and his vision was a blurry mess.

Thunder still wasn't determined to die. He scooted backwards, watching the man who slowly stalked him, dragging the crowbar on the floor. Out of stupid luck, his hand came upon the gun that was kicked away from his clutches earlier.

Thunder smiled a bloody smile. He grabbed the gun, hand still quivering, aimed it at the man and pulled the trigger.

The gunshot echoed dangerously throughout the basement as the man fell into his knees, bleeding out of his stomach. There was a muffled commotion from the other side.

Thunder shook his head and tried to focus, he aimed again and shot the man in the chest. He hunched over, gagging blood at his feet. With one last weak breath, Thunder aimed for the head, and he fell into his face.

Exhausted, Thunder dropped the gun. Too weak and too overwhelmed by what he had done to even sputter a word.

He could hear them closer now. They were running towards his direction.

Thunder jumped in shock when two loud gunshots blared into the air, ended with two bodies on the floor lying behind him. He looked up at the staircase, and there he saw Brawly and Flash descending with their guns aimed forward.

Once the silence settled in, Brawly and Flash rushed towards their bleeding friend. Thunder gave them a weak and painful smile, even chuckled a bit.

“I just blew that dude’s head off.” He said, his voice trembled with overwhelming weight and terror.

Brawly helped him up and hoisted his arms around his broad shoulder. “Holy shit, you did.”

“We better move.” Flash said with urgency, staring at his friend's bleeding side. He flicked away the plastic curtain and entered the empty laboratory.

The lab was empty, only littered with broken and dirty chemistry instruments. Packets of narcotics and any other illegal substance were present everywhere. And judging by the lack of dust, it surely looked like it had been actively used. It looked like everyone abandoned the lab in the middle of an ongoing operation. According to Flash's observations, at least.

He spotted a bag of cotton balls at one table and immediately grabbed a hold of it. He then tossed it towards Brawly.

“Here, take care of him. I'll go look for the two.”

Brawly wasn't given a chance to protest as Flash sprinted off too soon. He looked at Thunder beside him, who then gave him a goofy yet tired look and said,

“Might as well pour salt on it while you can.”

“I don’t know, man. That is definitely not salt right there.”

“Really? Ah, screw it. That'll work too.”

Brawly eyed at him skeptically. “Are you sure?”

“Just fucking do it! I'm already bleeding to death!”

While Brawly began dressing Thunder's wound, Flash finally found Ringo and Micro Chips. The sight of which, instead of bringing relief and joy in him, suddenly crushed him like a trip to bottom of the ocean.

There, at the middle of the room, were two chairs occupied by Ringo and Micro Chips. Their limbs were strapped, their bodies covered with their own blood and sweat, and their heads limped forward, unmoving and lifeless.

Everything seemed to disappear for the moment. Thunder's cries of protest in the background, the stench of his own wound, the flies buzzing around Ringo and Micro Chips’ corpses, it didn't seem to matter.

Flash just stood there. Too shocked to even move an inch. Was this another punishment intended to torture him? To eat away his conscience until there was nothing left? Sunset's ‘apparent’ death was already a complete emotional and mental stress for him. It almost drove him insane.

But this was another level.

“What the hell…” Thunder's gasp brought Flash back to real time. The utter shock and pain in his voice was evident and he shared it with him.

“W-we… we were too late…” Brawly choked out.

Flash slowly balled his hands to fists. He let out an enraged roar, one that was never heard of before, and it shook Brawly and Thunder to their very core. It was a sound that resonated with them, that primal mixture of rage and agony stored within.

Tables were flipped over, chemistry equipments and packets of illegal substances flew into the air. Brawly and Thunder took a couple of steps back; an understanding to what they must provide.

The two watched painfully as their tired and weary friend trashed the whole place with his explosive fury. They wept in silence, while Flash cried for the world to hear.

“This was all for nothing! Nothing!”

His companions didn't say anything but had to suffer from the sound of his haunting howls. He punched the walls repeatedly with all his strength until he was painting a mural with his own blood.

“Flash! Please, stop!”

Brawly rushed quickly to stop him, and it took tremendous strength to pull him away from the walls. Finally, Flash stopped and dropped to his knees, sobbing.

“Sucks, man.” Thunder sniffled, blinking away his tears.

None of them dared to look at their dead friends’ direction again. They just kept their eyes to the floor, and let the tears drip down their battered faces. Melancholic silence consumed them once more as all of them mourned as one.

They remained that way for about five minutes. Grieving without uttering a single word, flooded with regrets and anger so inexplicable it almost tore them apart altogether. But it was Flash who shattered the most. Shattered to the point of being undone beyond repair.

He could almost say, that seeing those dead bodies, made him a little insane.

Flash stood up, lethargic yet dangerously tenacious. He lifted his hands against the walls, knocking his knuckles into them, feeling them. He didn't say a word while doing it, neither did the other two, who both watched with tired and confused eyes.

At last, Flash stopped running his hands across the walls when he reached the center. He knocked several times, and the sound of a hollowness echoed back. He turned to pick up the mallet that was lying beneath Ringo's strapped feet.

He returned to face the wall and took a deep breath. It was obvious he was tired. But he didn't falter at least once. Flash raised the mallet and rammed it against the wall, releasing a loud grunt as he did.

The wall cracked. He hit it again. And again. Each time he rammed the mallet back into the wall, rubbles started to fall, and his grunts grew even louder with anger.

With his final blow, the wall crumbled down into a pile of rubble on the ground. The dust cleared, and a tunnel revealed itself, empty, stretching into the darkness.

Brawly and Thunder just looked at it with awe, both of them even more confused. Flash looked back at them, his eyes were the intense color of blue, like he was an entirely different person.

“Go.”

The two looked at each other with baffled expressions before following. Brawly took Thunder in his arms as they approached the tunnel's mouth. They paused and glanced at Flash, who stood still like a statue with an expression hard as a rock.

“Where does this go?” Brawly asked with his unsure voice.

“It’ll lead you straight outside without anyone noticing. You'll be safe.”

Thunder furrowed his brows in suspicion. “What?”

“And once you do get out, leave this city and don't come back.” Flash said.

The two shared defiant looks and shook their heads.

“Whoa, wait! What about you? Don't tell me you're going solo? No way!” Thunder protested.

Flash snatched him by the collar and sneered at his face. “I’ve dragged you down here for too long. You have to leave or they'll get you too.”

“Are you seriously playing the hero card right now?!” Thunder shouted.

“I’m saving your asses while I still have the chance!” Flash yelled back furiously. “Or do you wanna end up like them?”

Thunder stopped when he saw the desperation in Flash's eyes. He then release him.

“Please, go.”

“Of course,” Thunder nodded. “You're still going after her.”

Flash didn't say anything, but his eyes spoke for him.

Thunder sighed. “Good luck, brother.” He offered his hand, which Flash wholeheartedly accepted.

Brawly did two and they shook hands as well. “Stay alive.”

“Go.”

With heavy hearts, the two entered the tunnel, leaving Flash alone at its mouth. He dropped the mallet and let his eyes fall into the dirty and stinky lab.

Flash contemplated for a while, for how things would have played out differently if only he had the courage to resist.
In the end, Tomahawk was correct. Sunset was right. There was no way he could run away from this forever.

He laughed. He laughed for even considering to put the blame on his dead father. Such cliché.

Why would he be putting the blame on a dead, unloving, disappointed father for the eventual misguidance and downfall of his own son?

The more Flash thought of it, the more he shed his pretentious skin, and embrace the reality; that everyone was just a little twisted in their own ways. That included his father, the ‘noble’ and ‘true knight’ of justice, who was plagued by demons. The same demons that plagued Flash.

He took a glance at the two dead bodies strapped in the chairs only to die in unceremonious deaths. Flash knew, deep inside him, his morals and codes wouldn't bring justice to what happened to them.

If only he had the courage from the start, none of this would have happened. If only he had the balls to do what he should've have done a long, long time ago...

Burn them. Burn them all, the voice in his head whispered.

Flash picked up the bucket of gasoline from the other side of the room. He opened the cap, and poured all of the liquid everywhere, emptied it before picking out the lighter from his pocket.

“Sorry, guys.” Flash said to the corpse before letting the lighter fall from his grip and land on the wet floor.

“All of this has to go.”

Barbatos Paradise was in turmoil as another gang leader lay dead on its grounds, mangled and decapitated for good. Every vengeful outlaw had been furiously driven to seek out the murderer of their leaders. Unbeknownst to them, their ultimate enemy had been hovering above them in sneaky silence, blending into the night's darkness.

The sound of the demon's bellowing howls covered the night with it's haunting melody, jumping from one rooftop to another, with an overly pumped Sunset tailing behind. A manic grin plastered on her dangerously beautiful face.

The demon’s perky nostrils puffed with smoke, anticipation and unbridled excitement rushed through him and as well as Sunset. The scents were becoming more potent and they were finally drawing closer to their desired target.

They descended down the metal staircase, jumped on balconies and slid with the ladder down to the ground. Sunset successfully landed on her feet, and the demon whirled into a red glowing haze, morphing back into a creature the size of a rabbit.

“Ahh, don't you just love that smell of barbecue in the evening?” Flamepuff grinned, perching on Sunset's shoulder.

“Isn’t it too early for that?” Sunset humored, sporting a confidence that suited her perfectly.

“It thought so, too. But better early than nothing.” Flamepuff giggled.

Sunset rolled her eyes and proceeded to tread along with her youthful swagger, carrying a box with her two hands. She stepped out of the shadowy alleyway, only to be blocked by two tall figures with their guns aimed directly at her head.

Sunset offered an exaggeratedly wide grin. “Hey, guys!” She greeted girlishly.

The two immediately recognized her face, leaving them in a temporary daze. “It's… it's her.” One of them said.

Sunset scoffed. “Uhh, duh! Of course, it's me!” She claimed, baring out her chest. “Say, you guys don’t happen to work for someone called Canyon, do you?”

One of them took a grab at her arm. “You’re coming with us!”

“Guess that’s a yes.” Sunset recoiled her arm. “I'll come with you, don't worry. Put the guns down.”

“What's in the box?” One of them asked.

Sunset flashed a cartoonish grin. “Thought you wouldn't ask! It's a gift!”

“Open it.”

Sunset’s features hardened.

“Oh, no. You're not going to make me spoil it.” Sunset growled, before her awfully cheerful expression returned abruptly. “But hey, wouldn't hurt to give you a peek.”

Sunset raised the box forward. Curiously, the two men stepped close and decided to look over. Sunset was about to raise her other hand to remove the lid, only for the two to see a barrel aimed between their eyes.

Sunset pulled the trigger twice. And the bodies fell on the ground.

A sickly, satisfied laughter echoed into Sunset's ears, as her lips curled into a wide gratified grin, letting a chuckle of her own escape from her throat.

“Oh, what a bunch of losers.” Sunset sighed, pocketing the gun back to her jacket. “They're nothing.”

“Your level of confidence is just dangerous.” Flamepuff remarked. “Whoo! I like where this is going!”

Sunset proceeded to walk forth and enter the large warehouse before her, which many seemed to refer to as the territory's very own castle. She thought it was lame. But she'd rather entertain than complain.

Author's Notes:

Yep. I just did the thing. And I'll keep doing it.

And as always, drop your feedbacks, folks!