Daria
706 Words
A man in a white suit sat quietly in front of an unconscious Nixon peeling an apple. After an hour passed, Nixon woke up, pressing his back against the wall behind him, sweat pouring from his brow, attention fully focused on the suited man in front of him. "You don't have to worry, I'm your ally."
"Who the f**k are you!?"
"Marshall Bishop, but... you should really introduce yourself first before asking for someone else's name."
"Prove to me that you're an ally..." Nixon's words came out in a grave tone.
'He's already refined...' Marshall thought to himself, cutting off a piece of an apple for himself, taking a bite from it, "Ok, we'll protect you - you have my word. Your girlfriend is already under our protection anyway."
"That ain't enough!"
Marshall's face, cast in darkness, stood up, heading over to the door to turn on the light. It flicked on, showing his long light brown hair and green in green eyes, a wide smile on his face. "Alright! First, I will tell you what is going on and why you're in your current situation, then, If you are still not satisfied, I will rip off my left arm."
"Is your left arm your dominant arm?"
"I am only willing to give my left, don't push your luck."
The glare that Marshall gave Nixon chills, "Alright, tell me what you know..."
"Nixon Driver Jr., Tyche Asmodeus Hunt, you both are being hunted due to your ancestors' actions in the past and the bounty is in the billions."
"Who the hell is that? Who's Tyche?"
"That doesn't matter, even if you don't remember who that is."
"I met them!?"
"Again, that doesn't matter. What matters is that you make it out of this situation alive since, again, due to your ancestors, we get quite a lot of profit for helping you two, though... it seems you need more help compared to the boy. You look stronger than him after all, which makes you, a bigger target, which means, they'll progressively use bigger and bigger guns on you until you finally die."
"Cut off your arm."
"As you wish," A man entered the room, he looked ragged, greasy slicked-back black hair, and he gave off the aura of a killer. "Make it quick, Bal."
"Right..." He sighed, taking a large knife out from his belt buckle as Marshall laid his left arm flat onto a small table. The man called Bal pulled back his arm, cleaving into Marshall's arm, cutting it halfway, and hitting bone. Marshall grunted as he flailed his legs under the table, his lips pressed together and his jaw is visibly clenched. Nixon couldn't believe what he saw, he should've known they weren't bluffing, Nixon thought he was an i***t to think otherwise, and now he couldn't stop it, it's already gone too far for him to call it quits. Bal, having to pull a bit on the knife to get it out, reeled his arm back once again, slicing into Marshall's arm once again.
Blood had begun to pool onto the small table that Marshall had decided to use as his arm was ripped off from the joint, a grotesque crack ringing in everyone's ears as the sound spread across the room.
It was only the sound of erratic breathing and the methodical stretch of a bandage being wrapped tightly around someone's arm, that being Marshall's. Bal had quickly patched up the wound as emergency aid, but that would only do for now. "Well... do you trust me now Nixon?"
Nixon licked dry lips as he gulped down a pool of spit that had formed in his mouth, "Yeah... I trust you."
"Great... so, I'll tell you one thing, go to Brazil, you'll find the thing to end all of this there. I'll have some of my men assist you on the way and I'll have Bal here be your girlfriend's official bodyguard."
"Have him keep his distance."
"Sure." Marshall gave Bal a quiet nod and he left, "Alright... I'm going to get this treated now." Marshall chuckled weakly, holding onto his missing arm.
Nixon decided to finally rest, laying flat onto the bed, rubbing the catheter in his arm with his thumb.
- Writer
