Wednesday morning. Oscar was sleeping deeply in his department, which reflected the chaos of the previous night. The door was poorly placed, barely supported so that it would not fall after the fight that had left his home in disorder.
Today was an important day; the last day. The last chance for Oscar, since his bus was leaving that same night.
Suddenly, the strident sound of his cell phone resonated in the department, like a thunder in the midst of silence. With a shock, Oscar opened his eyes and reached his phone, which rested next to the bed.
Looking at the screen, he saw that it was his representative, David. He sat on the bed, feeling a mix of anxiety and hope as he took the call.
"David?" Said Oscar, trying to sound more confident than he really felt.
"Good morning, Oscar," David replied, his firm voice but with a nuance of concern. It reminded you that today our bus leaves at 10 pm. Do not be late.
Oscar looked at the roof, feeling how anxiety seized him. A sigh escaped from his lips as he wondered if he could really get on time.
Finally, gathered with determination, he replied:
"Don't worry, I'll be there," he said seriously, although his mind still doubted.
He cut the call and got out of bed, rengating as he grabbed his back near the column. Each movement reminded him of the purple still visible on his skin, vestiges of the fight that his sore body had left and his mind full of uncertainties.
But at Thomas Brown's club, the situation was much more tense. The light barely illuminated the room where Frank Scott was, his bandaged shoulder still throbbing with pain after the fight with Oscar. John Bell was present, watching the scene nervously.
"What were you thinking, Jhon?" Said Thomas, his voice full of anger. You said I could trust this guy. And see how it ended!
"I'm sorry, boss," Jhon replied, his pale face. I will look for another solution.
-No! We'll talk about that later. But in the meantime you," Brown said, pointing at Frank disdainfully. You couldn't handle Oscar? An idiot who doesn't even train as much as he used to.
Frank gritted his teeth, feeling rage rising inside him.
"Let me fight Oscar again," he said, his voice full of frustration. I want revenge, but this time in the ring.
Brown gave a mocking laugh that echoed off the walls.
"But what are you saying?" Do you want to face Oscar in those conditions? If he was the one who left you like this ... you disappointed me completely.
With a derogatory gesture, Brown turned to Jhon.
"Please call the guards and get this type of sight."
Jhon nodded, with a mixture of nervousness and determination. He raised his cell phone and muttered something on the other side of the line. In seconds, the guards arrived and dragged Frank out of the room.
"That he left here," Brown growled, turning around and hitting the desk with both hands, echoing in the room.
Jhon observed him curious, feeling how the tension grew.
"Now you think of delivering Oscar?" Jhon asked, raising an eyebrow.
"No, we're going to figure it out on our own," Brown replied arrogantly, his gaze hard as steel. I didn't want to do this, but this happens when they don't give me what I want.
"I have weak, useless guards," Brown continued, his voice thick with frustration. And Miranda plays along with Oscar. They are desperate. And that Oscar... now he must believe himself invincible. But we'll show you who's boss here.
Brown turned sharply and looked straight into Jhon's eyes, challenging him to question his authority.
"We are going to take care of this once," he said firmly, approaching Jhon to share his plan in a low voice.
John nodded slowly, feeling a shiver run down his spine.
"That sounds good," he finally replied. Oscar must not be so well after the fight with Frank. I imagine they won't have a problem with him... especially if we give him bats.
Brown nodded, a cold smile curving his lips while waiting anxiously for the time to act.
Wednesday afternoon:
It was 5:30. Oscar left his apartment with his mind placed in Miranda, but when crossing the door and stepping on the sidewalk, something caught his attention. A black truck was parked near; A vehicle that I had never seen there before. A stabing stomach toured his stomach.
Despite that strange sensation, Oscar decided to move on and placed the hood on the head. However, when he took a few steps, he noticed that the truck turned on and began to follow him slowly, maintaining a considerable but threatening distance.
Oscar couldn't shake that disturbing feeling; Every time he looked back out of the corner of his eye, he confirmed his suspicions. The truck was stalking him.
When he reached a deserted street, where there was not a soul in sight, the truck accelerated sharply and cut into his path. Two sturdy men quickly got out of the vehicle, wielding bats with a feral expression.
Oscar quickly removed the hood; I had already anticipated something like this. He wasn't going to get caught without a fight.
The men launched the first blows with the bats, but Oscar managed to dodge them nimbly, using his training to defend himself with determination. However, when he turned to counterattack, he did not see a brutal hit that hit him in the face, making him fall to the ground with a dry blow.
The world spun around him as he tried to compose himself; I knew I had to act quickly if I wanted to get out of this situation.
But the two men did not give him the opportunity to get up; They gave him a rain of blows with the bats that fell like thunder on his body. Oscar, instinctively, placed his hands on his head, trying to protect himself from those brutal attacks, while his legs shrunk in a desperate attempt to seek defense.
Despite his efforts to resist, an accurate blow hit his head strongly. The darkness wrapped him like a heavy blanket, and his arms fell to the ground, leaving his body vulnerable and without protection.
The men stopped their attack when they saw that Oscar had been knocked unconscious. Silence became present, only broken by the sound of their labored breathing and the distant echo of the urban bustle. A shadow hunched on him, while they exchanged satisfied looks; His mission had been fulfilled.