How the frog took him...

°Chapter 9

Breathless 6022.

Red: 37%

Green: 33%

Blue: 34%

Euphoric for freedom, the frog stood up and dressed completely in black. Today he would finally put an end to it all. Slowly, he opened the wooden box that he had only carried into his room until now. Inside was a brown normal sniper rifle 43 with a calibre of 7.92 x 57 mm. He tied the rifle around his back and took exactly one bullet into his pocket. No one would look at him bizarrely, after all, it was ubiquitous to be armed. So he made his way into town. He had to stay alert, if Dean caught sight of him it would all be over. By the skin of his teeth, he would have to die and Dean right along with him. There would be a 180-degree turnaround that neither of them would have expected. Quiet as a mouse, he climbed onto the roof of Matthew's Bar. It had all started there and it would all end there, the bounty hunter swore to himself. From now on, he had to wait. He must remain in this place until he could return a free man. Everything was already prepared and set up, only the protagonist of the drama was missing. At some point, habit would tempt the victim here and then the stalking would have paid off. Darkness had already fallen when something loomed in the distance. With his eyes fully fixed on the entrance, he observed the figure in exact detail. That lanky body, tall stature, black cloak, that serene aura-

There was no doubt that it was Dean Whiteford, of 8 Addle street, in London. The heart stopped in the frog for a moment. Leaping with joy that he could look at him. Soon, however, the vultures would be flocking to see him. He looked crystal clear through his scope and could already smell the head wound: With his finger on the trigger. The breath was rapid and not a single blink occurred. The head tilted and the tip of the tongue slightly out from concentration. 30 shots per minute make 1 shot in half a second. This was a face no one would ever be able to see again

...and miss.

Dean had entered the pub.

Damn, Mirco thought to himself. He had been studying too long. Hesitation in such a profession was usually accompanied by death. This couldn't happen again. The shot had to be right. There was a lot of laughter coming from the bar and a generous smell of the pastries gave off a peaceful feeling. A cool wind controlled his mind.

"You're going to kill him on the open road"

"Never!"

Slowly O'Brien lunged for the next lash and struck with full force. Mirco was already crumpled on the floor, unable to resist even a little, crying out anew each time. There was no end to the pain. Every one of his fingers and toes was already broken and when he was half stitched with the belt he always fainted towards the end: so the only thing left to do was to whip him. Even now he would black out from time to time. He had to fight back, otherwise it would not end well. With the last of his strength, he pushed himself off the ground and gave the general a swift kick. The latter fell to the ground and was about to fight back when his own stick was split in two in front of him and the uncut side was pointed at him."If you kill me now, you will never know where your fancy mother is."

"At home"

"Do you wish"

Silently he cursed himself for what followed: He dejectedly dropped the stick. Immediately several soldiers rushed over and dragged Mirco into a new room. 

"What have you bastards done to her?", he tried to pick up the conversation as his knees ripped against the hard stone floor. 

"She got her just punishment. There was no way to cleanse her blood: she is dead. With you, on the other hand, we could show leniency and renew your parentage, provided you stop resisting"

His mother had died.

"I will not kill Dean."

What followed were the most agonising days of his entire life, and all because he had worried about his mother, even though it was already too late.

The clock showed a quarter to three when Dean finally made his way home. He was still standing in the dry, in the meantime it had started to rain, when Mirco dared to take his shot again. The green-haired man elegantly threw on his coat and entered the rain shower. Now he would shoot and kill the culprit. He was to blame for everything. Fortunately, it would all be over soon. Slowly he pushed the detonator backwards, when suddenly he asked himself an important question: What was the reason again?

One could say that the cold air brought the bounty hunter back to his senses, or that it might have been due to one factor or another...People probably still rumour about it to this day...Dean Whiteford was completely innocent: not a criminal, not a murderer, not a thief. On the contrary, he had brightened Mirco's life and shown him new hope. So why should he do away with such a wonderful person?

As if he had never experienced this hypnotic ordeal, he began to think again. Everything came back. He would never kill Dean, he had fallen in love with him long ago after all. It was the first time the frog had admitted to himself that he, the unfeeling monster, had fallen for a man. "What have I done...", Mirco whispered into the darkness. 

You would have thought he had been bitten by a mosquito, so quickly did he get up and almost jump off the roof.

"Dean!" he shouted after he understood everything, "Dean!"

The man he was addressing turned around and wore his everyday grin on his face again. He was just about to start waving when Mirco was already in front of him. So quickly that he didn't even have time to say something back, Mirco put his hands around his face and pulled it down to him. Without hesitation, their lips touched. The rain formed a small bubble around them and they met, soaking wet.

That Mirco could be so tempestuous did not surprise Dean at all. Their whole bodies were electrified and instantly the green-haired man grinned into the kiss. He was a little overwhelmed at first, but then caught himself and wrapped his hands around the frog's waist. Mirco relaxed his mouth and opened it slightly, while his eyes were closed dreamily. The kiss became more and more passionate: Dean began to play with his own tongue, lightly touching, circling and teasing the other's tongue. Gently and playfully he began to explore with his tongue the way into the black-haired man's mouth. It was fireworks, if not better. Mirco almost fainted from the pleasure. Slowly, Dean detached himself from the lips and devoted himself to the neck, which still left a few marks the next day.

The butterflies spread everywhere and in that one moment it felt like they were immortal. together.