The Last Ride - Part 1

[Sam A. Federov]

"Don't drop that chest!" Came a call from the small acrobat across the gangplank of a rather large wooden sailing vessel as two men lugged things aboard. He waved them toward his quarters, and started down the plank to set foot on land. Not much longer, now. His hands went to his hips as he moved away from the crowd, and he pulled his phone from his pocket, tapping at the screen as he took shelter beneath an awning. Type, type... delete. Type, type, type... delete, delete... he started to pace slowly, raking fingers through his hair. Guiltily, he stepped further away and continued his attempts at whatever message he was hoping to send.

Not too far away, a small boy came tumbling out of an alleyway. Sobbing uncontrollably, his head and chest were splashed with crimson blood, half-dried into his raggedy shirt. He gave a panicked, terrified look towards the alley he'd just ran from, and started running. He was nearly falling over himself, tears streaming down his face.

Morgan looked up with some concern at the kid, and looked from the mouth of the alley to the kid, then to the alley... and he started to head for the kid, but paused as a crowd started to gather. Again, his eyes went to the alley. He had to wonder if the child had simply found a victim of some horrible crime. And, against his better judgement, he moved to stand at the mouth of the alley."C... Corbin?" He tried.

The boy, seeing Morgan go towards the alleyway, suddenly darted over towards him. "H-Help! My sister! Sh-She's... I..." The poor kid could barely get words out, sobbing as he stumbled closer.

Looking back to the kid, he frowned, and dipped low. "Calm down, little man. Where is she? I can try to help, okay? Just tell me where she is, and you go back to the grown ups and get you some water, okay? I'm gonna need you to be strong."

The kid nodded, panting, and a shaking finger pointed towards the alleyway, to where it bent and turned to the left, out of sight. "Sh-She needs help... Quick..."

"Alright, man, I got you. Just stay here, okay? Let these men know what happened..." he motioned to a crewman approaching, one burly man in a white cap and a cigar hanging from his mouth. He turned then, and quickly made his way down the alley, already ticking through the best healing spells in his head to stabilize a bleeding woman. Or, God forbid... another kid.

The alley was empty for the most part, a dingy corrugated iron roof overhead shielding what looked to be a workshop. Underneath a tarp, soft banging and clanging could be heard...

Once Morgan was out of sight, the boy immediately stopped crying and ran off, as far away from the crewmen and the crowds as he could.

Morgan stopped in the middle of the alley, and looked around carefully... the hairs on the back of his neck were raising, and his fingers started to curl as his hands lifted, as if readying for some sort of defensive attack. Eyes narrowed, and he took another step... another further in...

From behind that tarp burst a pair of gloved hands, forcefully and roughly wrapping themselves around his mouth. From the other end of the alleyway came two more figures, each grabbing the boy and wrestling him in past that tarp to what looked like a small, metal room... zip-ties were secured around Morgan's wrists as one of them tried to wrestle a gag over his mouth...

Morgan managed a single cry as hands clamped over his mouth, and started to kick, a panicked look coming over his face. Suddenly, the alley cracked with thunder, and two of the men were pushed ten feet away from the acrobat... unfortunately one seemed perhaps stronger than that and wasn't so strongly affected, though perhaps would be winded long enough for him to try to cast... if his hands were free.

Two men were sent back, clattering against the wall of the alleyway. One was knocked out cold, the other dazed and groggy as he slowly made his way to his feet. However, the third man was relatively unscathed, and had managed to secure the zip-ties around Morgan's wrists. Another masked man emerged from the tarp and tried to grab Morgan by the back of his shirt and drag him in, when amongst the chaos a large, gloved fist shot straight for the boy's jaw-

Morgan flailed and writhed, his eyes widening when he saw another man emerge from wherever. A fist came toward his face, but he dipped just in time, and, barring magic use without hands, tried his best to headbutt the one that tried to punch him, right in the gut.

The strike succeeded. Not only did the man's fist connect with metal, but the headbutt sent him back a few feet. It looked as though the boy had them beaten, when...

There was a metallic CLICK from behind Morgan's head. Cold steel of a gun barrel pressed against his skull, as an all-too-familiar voice spoke up.

"Alright, that's enough. Stand up. Don't turn around."

Morgan nearly pulled himself loose when he heard that click, and froze. A chill ran down his spine, and he gave a sigh, straightening up. He picked his chin up, and stood straight and as tall as he could, trying to look as confident and able as he could.

"Oh good, King Goon come to save his Goon Squad." He spat on the man in front of him, and sneered, turning his head to give Featherston a profile.

"Do it. Bet you fucking won't. Fucking shoot me, you bitch."

There was a brief pause, and an audible chuckle.

BANG!!!

A shot rang out through the alleyway and the streets beyond, a bullet from Featherston's revolver entering the boy in the back of his abdomen and coming clean through. All four of his masked henchmen were up on their feet around him now, but they stood aside as the Ex-Agent strolled into view, sunlight illuminating his horrifically scarred features beneath a grey hoodie.

He sighed, walking out in front of Morgan as he pocketed the revolver. "Sorry about these idiots. Mercenaries aren't usually the brightest. But they're useful in their own ways."

Morgan didn't even have time to react with a noise of his own, rather his eyes widened in surprise as his mouth opened in a squeak, then a silent scream. He looked down to the blossom of crimson that spread from a rivulet spouting from his exposed belly, soaking into jeans and now spattering the filthy ground of the alley. Morgan's knees buckled beneath him, and he no longer struggled for anything more than to breathe, falling back against whatever thug was keeping him upright.

"You have... No idea... What you've done."

Featherston kneeled down, face to face with Morgan, and smirked. "Oh, trust me. I do." He paused, not looking away as he raised his voice. "Gag him, tie him and load him into the truck..." He leaned in a little closer. "... Did you miss me?"

With a dry chuckle, he stood up... and kicked the boy in the chin as hard as he could, knocking him out cold.

When Featherston's face was close enough, he lunged forward, and gritted his teeth. "Nobody will. Not a fucking soul." He spat once more, blood flecked, and eyes followed the man up...

And then there was darkness.

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A few hours later, in the Red Dragon Inn, Federov was sat at the bar. A cigarette burnt itself away between his fingers as he stared absent-mindedly out the window. His daydreaming, however, was rudely interrupted by the buzz of his phone on the bartop. He picked it up lazily, checking the screen. Seeing the name at the top, he smiled. It'd been a while since the boy'd texted him. He opened the message...

... and his cigarette dropped to the floor.

The colour drained from his face as he stood up, staring blankly down at the phone screen for a moment, before he picked up his things and rushed out of the door as fast as his damned cane would let him.