"Shit, shit, shit!" The child was running. He was only 14, carrying a loaded shotgun. He was running because of a mistake. God dammit, he thought, why did I have to agree to this? I never knew they were illegal drugs!
He looked back. The cops were still after him. He went to a secluded area, and was safe. For good measure, he threw some of the crack to throw them off.
"I'm safe for now," he remarked. They would find me soon, he realized, and then I'd get in jail. Five, maybe six years? Maybe parole? He had no idea, and he didn't care. He walked home, in anger at what he'd done the past week.
Befriending gang members? GANG MEMBERS? What the hell was he thinking? He didn't know. Walking home, he now wished the past week was just a dream. The meetings, the escaping, his grades falling, the detentions. All of it, he wanted gone.
He heard something in the distance... it sounded like... someone was following him...
"But, I threw it! I saw the cops go!" He looked back. It was one of the gang members. He looked at the boy in anger and frustration.
"Y'know," he said,"our gang, doesn't accept failure." He knew what was gonna happen. He could see the gun. It was a golden AR-10. Could shoot 700 bullets per minute, and it was gonna be used on him.
"Bye bye, Yusuf." He shot Yusuf's leg, as he fell down. He was able to shoot at the same rate, but it had little affect. "Dude," he stated, "bullet-proof vest!" The boy shot again. This time at his spine. He was now dead...
Twenty years later, a man named John Daniel was collecting his cargo. He had ended his visit to Cairo, Egypt, three days early. The musty smell of smoke and gas filled the air. He was back in the city of Coloride, at Spring Airport.
He went to find his daughter's car, since she was picking him up. Even though the airport was a cluster-fuck of people, he was happy to be home. Not as happy as he used to be, but happy. He looked around for his daughter, an checked his watch.
1:14 PM. She should have been here. He had called her and told her the flight would be done by one o'clock. So, why wasn't she here?
He looked, and looked, and looked. He did that for twenty minutes, before seeing her park. She was texting away on her phone, as usual. Once they had loaded the stuff into her trunk, they drove off in silence.
"So," his daughter asked, trying to start a conversation, "how was Cairo?"
He smiled, "it was actually pretty fun." They made a turn, and he grabbed some fries.
"Want some?" he asked. She shook her head. "Elena," he stated, "just have some. Fries won't kill-"
"I'm on my diet. Remember?" He nodded. This was how car rides became now. Ever since... No, he didn't want to think about it. The memories were much too painful.
"So," he asked, "how's Tim?" "Tim's fine." They'd been dating for months, but he was okay with it. Tim was a mature young man who knew his stuff. He was glad she didn't date someone for looks, but for smarts and personality.
As he drove, he realized that the truck behind them had followed them for the past ten minutes...
Something wasn't right...
Author's note: Sorry this chapter is so short, wanted to end on a cliffhanger.
While looking, John noticed something peculiar. The truck was black, with a gold plate and silver linings. The man driving seemed to be in his 30s, although his gray hair said otherwise. As they kept on driving, another car, this time a silver van followed. The people had sunglasses, and wore expressions of boredom.
"Hey dad," Elena asked, "what the hell is that guy pulling out?"
"Elena, don't-" Too late. He was firing. Son of a gun, he thought. Normally, John would refrain from using heavy artillery, since his daughter was with him, but it wasn't him that started it. He pulled out his gun and fired.
He didn't even have to say anything. As he pulled out his new AK, she stomped the pedal for dear life.
"DRIVE," he said, "can't this damn thing go any faster?" She gave him a Oh-I-don't-know-MAYBE-NOT look. He noticed that the van was slowing down to the trucks speed. A man jumped in the car. The next few minutes were a blur, but soon the trucker shot at the person fighting.
Dammit! We're screwed. The back window of their car shattered, as John came to senses and shot a wheel.
"Aw sh-" The truck swerved as the driver ejected himself. He ran, the van closing in on him. His daughter looked at him in shock and puzzlement. He couldn't blame her. The past twenty minutes came out of nowhere. But he knew they were safe, for now.
As they pulled to the house. A man was in front of their door, wearing the same clothing as the people in the van. He saw that the man had combed brown hair, had high cheekbones and had a scar running down his lips.
"Hi i'm-" John didn't want greetings right now.
"Honey, cover your-screw it. OK, what the hell happened back there? That guy came out of nowhere and went fuckin' shooting everywhere!"
"Sir, if you could calm down-"
"Calm down?" he was getting angrier, "You want me to calm down after what happened? I don't th-"
"Sir, my name is Lieutenant Steen. I work for the American High Protection Agen-. Um, could we speak in private?"
He'd forgotten his daughter was behind him. She looked frustrated, but who could blame her? She wanted to know what happened as much as he did. Though, she understood, and grabbed the keys out of her father's hands.
"Imma take a shower," she said, "I feel icky." She went inside and slammed the door, possibly still a little frustrated.
"Look," Steen continued, "we have been looking at your progress for-"
"My what?" John asked, "You've been spying on me?"
Steen pulled a half-smile, as if he was pleased... Ew... "Well, sort of. We don't exactly spy on you, but we track your progress and see how you're doing. Your fighting skills have really improved since the incident."
John twitched. How the fuck, he was thinking, did this guy know about that? It happened five years...? "How do you know?" he asked, impatiently.
"Well, I'm sorry, but we looked at some records of yours. We talked to relatives under our personas. Knowing your history helps with some of our research. Anyhow, you've not only mastered several new forms of martial arts, but you are much more keen in shooting and defense. You can shoot extremely well... could it be because of... no, I won't mention it."
John looked at him, puzzled. He felt like he was in that book 1984. It felt creepy, but them knowing his history was even weirder.
"So," he asked, hoping not to interrupt, "do I like agree on something?"
Steen smiled fully now. "Yeah. Would you like to join the AHPA (pronounced Appa)?"
He thought for a moment. These people knew his history, his strengths, his fighting skills. They were stalking him. But then again, they had saved his sorry ass, and his daughter.
"When do we start?" he asked.
"I'll be ready. What about-?"
"Don't worry," he answered, "we'll have someone guard her." He gave him a card with the address to the headquarters.
Steen left, as John looked at the card, he realized something. From here on out, nothing could be safe. He went back into the house and made some tea.
If John had only known...
He had an idea, but it was only the tip of the iceberg to what shit would happen. He'd followed the address to the HQ, but nothing was there. Then, he stepped on a trigger.
"What the-?" The ground opened a giant hole as he fell in.
He slid down and into the entrance of the AHPA building. He looked back up, realizing that the hole that spit him in had disappeared, now just ceiling.
"Hello," he jumped, and realized it was Steen, "so, how was the entrance?"
"I almost broke my-" He realized that he'd probably heard it all the time.
"That's the twelfth person..." He walked, John following.
"This is-" "Yes." "Cool."