The Kiss of The Deep:: Deadmen's Reach

Payback

After a few hours of talking and drinking, the night felt like it was starting to settle in, though I still had that lightheaded buzz from the cheap vodka. The kid, on the other hand, looked as sharp as ever, like the alcohol had barely touched him. I could tell the info and that custom Winchester were giving him some kind of drive. It wasn't just the weapon; there was something deeper behind those eyes. Something old and personal.

As we walked down the street, the kid suddenly stopped me, telling me he had to run over to his old place to grab his things. He didn't even ask if I was good with it—just turned and made a beeline for his old stomping grounds, probably eager to pick up anything useful before we ran into more trouble.

Before I could ask him anything, a series of gunshots echoed in the distance. Shouting followed—panic, chaos, the kind of sounds that made you feel like your own life was just hanging on by a thread. The kid's place.

I didn't think twice. I drew my gun, adrenaline kicking in, and started sprinting in the direction of the noise, my heart racing. I barely made it to the front of the building when I saw the door was wide open, and there he was. The kid, covered in blood and... human brains. His hands gripped his shotgun tightly, his eyes wild but focused. He shouted, "Get low! Or at least cover me!"

Without hesitation, I dove behind a couch, trying to keep myself as low as possible. One of the goons rushed at me, gun in hand, but before he could pull the trigger, the kid's bayonet pierced the guy's skull. The man crumpled to the floor, dropping his weapon. The kid placed his boot on the guy's shoulder and kicked him like a rag doll, sending the body into his friend who had been closing in behind him.

Before the second guy could react, the kid had already jammed the barrel of his shotgun right against the man's head. The guy cried out, "I'm sorry, kid, I didn't mean it!" The kid just grinned, though it was a cold, empty grin.

"You're the one who called us a big happy family, Tommy," the kid said, his voice calm but chilling. "Why would you betray Family, Tommy?"

Before the guy could even process it, the kid pulled the trigger. The explosion of blood and grey matter sprayed across the wall, leaving a gruesome mess behind. The kid didn't flinch, didn't even blink. He just turned to me with a casual, almost comforting smile. Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out a rag and wiped the blood off my face, his own face just as splattered, but he didn't seem to care.

He asked if I was okay. I couldn't even speak. I was too shell-shocked, too frozen by the carnage. I managed to give him a thumbs-up, hoping that was enough, though it felt like nothing at all.

The sounds of other guys approaching came closer. The kid smiled again, warmer this time, and shoved me out the front door, locking it behind him. But just as he did, a bullet struck him in the arm. I tried to rush back inside to help, but something stopped me—something primal, like a wave of fear washed over me. My legs felt like they were stuck in cement.

Then, it happened.

A black tendril shot out from the window, the human intestines wrapped around it like a twisted snake. And as I looked closer, I saw it—the tendril was covered in hundreds of eyeballs and mouths with sharp teeth, all leering at me. The thing smiled when it saw me, and I froze.

The next few minutes—or maybe it was an hour—felt like they stretched on forever. Gunfire, screaming, chaos, the whole world felt like it was turning upside down. And then, just as suddenly as it started, it stopped. Dead silence.

The kid emerged from the wreckage of his own place, holding a black sphere, tendrils writhing out of it like they were alive. His hand, the one holding the sphere, was coated in a tar-like substance.

I didn't say anything, too stunned to even ask.

He pulled a syringe out of his pocket, jabbing it into his arm without a second thought. Whatever was in that syringe seemed to power up the black entity he was controlling. His eyes—those eyes I could never read—seemed more alive, like whatever was inside him was waking up.

Then he looked over at me, that same weird, almost amused smile on his face.

"I found some good loot. Want some?" he asked, as if none of this—none of the blood, the chaos, the horror—had even fazed him.

I didn't answer right away. Part of me wanted to walk away, but another part, the part that had been through too much already, knew there was no escaping the mess we were all tangled in. No turning back.

I just nodded, feeling the weight of the situation sink in. There was no going back now.