The Favourite Brother: Complex Edition

Awakening

Pro-prologue:



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A gust of cold wind blows southward, freezing your sweat and numbing your face. The cracks of gunfire reverberates through the spacious acoustics of many tenements, and smells of paint wafts through the air. 



A man wearing a fur coat is hobbling through a street with densely packed snow from a recent blizzard, his foot sinking in, as his other foot throbs in pain. 



Bullets whizzed through his head. Some missed completely, others past by him, while a few managed to graze him. 



He dives behind a hood of an old fashioned Russian car, and takes cover amidst the carnage of fire.



He grabs his pistol, draws it, but was unable to lift it up and shoot back due to being exhausted. He decided to reload, and it's fortunate he has plenty of ammo to spare. He empties the magazine, and reloads a new clip; he cocks back the slide handle, and takes a few deep breaths to mentally, and physically prepare him for a fight.



After slightly turning over, he peered out by the front bumper of the car, only to flinch back into cover by a lucky shot. It hit the side of the car, and an insignificant splatter of red paint landed on his face. 



He growls in anger, as he continues to huff and puffs. His breath is visible due to the cold, and even a little spittle came out as he breathes through the mouth.



Sizing up once more, he kneeled on his knee with the bad foot, and returned fire.



Two shots as a desperate warning shot caused two men in military fatigues to take cover behind a trunk of a car. He waits for one of them to take a peek, so he can take them out. Soldiers are patient trophy creatures, but the reward for killing one is far from high. He waited what seemed to be for hours, until one of them slowly looked over the trunk. 



With one squeeze of a trigger, and an upwards recoil, the shot landed on the neck of the soldier. He fell to his side, his hands clutching his neck as a counter shot hit the pinned down man's shoulder.



He growls and muttered "Fuck," as he waits for the last soldier to come out. He decided to let the man come to him, because sharing a back and forth of gunfire would be a waste of time and ammunition.



When two consecutive shots rang out, and an additional three a few seconds later, he could only guessed the soldier had got out of his hiding spot. He decided to wait for more, the distance is far enough, and the no man's land is clear of any debris that can be potential for cover. 



After five more shots, he decided "The time is now." He slowly stands up, putting pressure on the good foot as he aims, and fires. His hand shake from the cold and the weight, but with three shots to the soldier's chest delivered, he kneeled, and fell flat, backwards.



Thinking his troubles was over, it was unfortunate that it wasn't the case. Five more came, "Their friends," he thought to himself. He screamed, "Come get me you sons of bitches!" And in a blind fit of desperate rage, he empties his magazine of the available bullets.



He managed to hit one of the soldiers dead, but the rest took cover before the shots could get them. They returned fire in rows. Volley after volley of bullets came right after the man, and he took the opportunity while he got them in cover to run.



He limps, jumps, and desperately tried to walk, but when he tried the third thing, he trips, and let him closer to death than before.



He then stumbled, literally, into an open hotel. The hotel was empty, and stripped of its workers and visitors; perfect to devise a plan.



Before the soldiers could catch up, he rushes over to a couch that's supposed to sit people waiting in line, and pushes it to the doors, to barricade himself in.



To make sure he would have enough time to think, he grabbed a fire axe from its case, and uses it to bar the doors, to lock it. After finishing with those tasks, he flops down on his butt, and think things through.



He could hear the men outside yelling, "Where is he?!", "Where has he gone?!" He did his best to remained quiet, silencing any terror squees, or a slight bit of noise.



In the end, he just looked at the muzzle of his gun, and looked at it deeply. It felt like he stared at the barrel for an hour, and as the yells and screams are starting to grow louder and louder, he puts the gun, close to his temple, and slightly edges his finger on the trigger.



In a sudden burst of energy, he bursts up from his bed, but ended up hitting his head on the roof.





---

Man: "Ow! What the?!"

Driver: "Oh...you're finally awake... You were having a nightmare, were you?"

---



He carefully studies his surroundings, and concludes he's inside of some sort of camper van. Was he kidnapped? Was he stolen? That can't be right, he's in a bed. Using his bag as a pillow, he looks out into the window, and sees the wide open countryside. The bright sun blinds his eyes a bit, which causes him to shut the curtains.



---

Man: "Where are we?"

Driver: "A couple of miles away from King Country International Airport. I want to say 'You should sleep some more', but..."

Man: "No worries, uncle... It's just a dream. A dream can't hurt me."

*The man yawns, and stretches before going back to bed, laying on his side.*

Man: "Wake me up when we get there."

Driver: "Sure, Ray..."

Ray: "Hey, Uncle Mason?"

Uncle Mason: "Yes?"

Ray: "Why do we have to leave at five in the morning when my flight is at 2 PM?"

Uncle Mason: "Better safe than sorry."

Ray: "Oh... Well... Good morning, I guess."

Uncle Mason: "Good morning."