Sam never anticipated encountering trouble on his way home to unwind, but now he found himself entangled in a situation he lacked the strength to navigate.
Just as Sam attempted to escape the ominous voice echoing from behind, a forceful impact struck his left shoulder, sending him sprawling to the ground.
"Ugh!" Sam exclaimed in pain upon hitting the ground; it turned out to be a hefty brick, hurled with malicious intent from the shattered remnants of nearby buildings. Initially aimed at Sam's head, the assailant's misguided throw spared him from a more severe fate.
A menacing figure emerged from the alley, flanked by two henchmen. This man, responsible for the earlier fatal gunshot in the alley, donned a sleek black tuxedo and immaculately gelled hair that lent an air of sophistication. However, beneath this facade lurked a true menace, evident in the blood adorning his face and staining his once-white shirt.
Despite the apparent gentility, madness flickered in his eyes. The twisted smile he directed at Sam, coupled with his disregard for recent violence, revealed a far darker nature.
The accompanying henchmen, towering over their boss, were equally unhinged. Yet, as Sam struggled to rise, managing only with his right hand due to the shattered left shoulder, it became apparent that this gang leader was oddly familiar.
Attempting to suppress his pain, Sam strained not to scream, recognizing the peril of attracting unwanted attention in his dire circumstances. Yet, as he mustered the strength to lift himself slightly, the crazed man swiftly closed in, delivering a punishing kick to Sam's abdomen that sent him crashing back to the ground, sprawled on his back.
"Who told you to get up!?" the enraged man barked, intensifying the ominous predicament Sam now found himself in.
"Boss Lorenzo, I think he saw you ice that guy," one of the henchmen observed, eyeing Sam on the ground.
"Obviously, you fool. Why do you think I stopped him? Not that he could report anything. Why? Because no one would care, but I just don't like rats," Lorenzo declared, casting a disdainful gaze at Sam, who lay on the floor, grimacing from the force of the earlier kick.
Sam's mind raced with unease. 'Did that guy just say Lorenzo? He's potentially a psychopath. Now I think I'm really screwed,' Sam pondered, having overheard the henchman's reference to the crazed man as Lorenzo.
Lorenzo, notorious for his ruthlessness and erratic nature, led a small gang in this part of the city. A figure so fearsome that people happily averted their gaze, and there was one thing everyone knew he detested the most: rats.
Lorenzo harbored a deep animosity towards those who betrayed him, ensuring they met a grim fate. His turf spanned this part of the city, and while his gang, known as the Vipers, might be considered small, Lorenzo's reputation commanded respect even among higher-ranking gangs.
"Hey, little shrimp," Lorenzo called out, attempting to capture Sam's attention, who seemed lost in thought. "I know you know how it goes in my turf. Anyone I consider a rat unfortunately meets their end. So, for you, I'll make it quick. Sorry, men, it's the way of life now."
With a swift motion, Lorenzo extracted a gun from the pocket of his tuxedo jacket, aiming it at Sam's head, signaling the ominous turn of events.
Sam braced himself for the impending end, realizing that Lorenzo's notorious reputation was not one to spare mercy. The hope for a mere beating and release faded, replaced by a stark acceptance of his fate.
'I guess this is the end, Mary. I won't be able to keep my promise to you about staying alive. I was even tired of living in the first place, got to this point because of you. Goodbye, and I'm sorry. Now, I can finally rest.'
Sam resigned himself to his expected fate, acknowledging that, sooner or later, death would claim him in this cruel world. The cruelty of the world had won, and Sam surrendered to its relentless grip.
'I won't be able to take my revenge on those champions. I guess the gods don't want me to have my revenge.'
As Lorenzo prepared to pull the trigger, a sudden interruption echoed through the air.
"Hey, you bastards!"
A loud voice pierced the tense atmosphere, capturing everyone's attention, including Sam, who opened his eyes upon recognizing the familiar voice.
Sam, facing the imminent end, was startled to hear that annoying voice again—a voice he surprisingly missed.
"Peter? You fool, get out of here!" Sam shouted, alarmed by Peter's risky decision to draw Lorenzo's attention.
"Oh, another rat," Lorenzo sneered, growing furious as he aimed the gun not just at Sam now but at Peter as well, his henchmen following suit.
"I guess I did a foolish thing, did I?" Peter admitted, surrendering by raising both hands in the air.
Peter had rushed to Sam's apartment, forgetting to give him his share of the night's pay. Concerned for Sam's well-being, Peter stumbled upon the scene where Lorenzo and his henchmen stood over a wounded man.
"Ice that motherf*cker!" Lorenzo ordered, and a barrage of bullets rang out.
Bang!
Bang!
Bang!
The bullets found their mark, hitting Peter in the abdomen, chest, and finally the head, leaving him lifeless on the ground.
'Noooo, Peter!' Sam screamed, pushing himself up with his one functional hand and sprinting in the opposite direction.
'I know you did this just so I could have the chance to run away. I won't let your sacrifice go in vain,' Sam vowed, stumbling with each step, his legs feeling like jelly. Clenching his broken hand, he pushed through the pain, unable to sense movement due to the disconnection from his joint.
'You all will pay for what you have done. My family was taken away from me. Now you've taken the only thing I had left—my friend. You all shall die.'
*****
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