The One They Call Split

A television flicks on to the news, an anchorman was talking about a masked vigilante. The anchorman was warning people to stay away from this man as he is considered to be armed and dangerous.

"HAHA, you think some guy with a mask is going to scare us." The gangster laughed.

"Hey, stop watching the news and return to the game, we're going to make a lot of money from these guys." The other gangster chuckled.

The gangster clicked the television and turned it off.

"So let's continue guys." One of the gangsters said. There was a long pause before a man in a gray business suit shakily said.

"I-I-I would like to stop playing...."

"That's what you want to do." The gangster pulled out a knife and held the man's hand down.

"N-NO STOP PLEASE!" The Gray suited man cried out.

But the gangster was ruthless and cut off the man's pinky. He picked the finger up and chucked it at the man before he laughed. Blood soaked the table, the three other poker players had expressions of deep fear. They didn't speak unless they needed to, they were simply there because of their debt with the gang. There were a few armed gangsters around the room. Lightly armed but they didn't care about them, just the man they watched cut off another man's finger. A single knock. Startled some, confused a few, and concerned the gangster holding the knife. One of the gangsters checked through the peephole to see the lookout.

"Just the lookout." The gangster said as he let out a sigh.

"Open it." The ruthless gangster exclaimed.

The gangster opened the door and annoyingly asked

"What do you want? We're busy right now."

"........" No response at all.

The sound of a large knife being removed from some type of meat could be heard. That was followed with a splash of blood on the gangster's face. An object quickly moved away from the door. The lookout fell over, the gangster stumbled for his gun. Two rounds went off, the gangster fell over as well as the bullet cases. Everyone reacted to the sound, they stared intently at the door. The gangsters had their weapons drawn, aiming them at the door. A loud metal clunk and a small rolling cylinder made a loud BANG. Blinding everyone in the room. Only one sound could be heard, gunshot after gunshot. Everyone who had a gun in that room was blind firing. Until the only sound was click,click,click, and one final click. Then one gunshot, two gunshots, and finally three gunshots. The ruthless gangster opened his eyes, being able to see only the dead bodies of the other gangsters and his friend, none of the businessmen were dead. His hands felt like they were stuck on something. The ruthless gangster stared down to see his hands stuck to the poker table with knives. His adrenaline was keeping him from feeling the pain until it wore off.

"AHHHHHHHHHHH!" The 'ruthless' gangster yelled in pain but he silenced himself after seeing the man holding the machete.

"Please, Don't Kill Me! Please!" The 'ruthless' gangster begged

"I won't, if you tell me where the other La Push Port gang areas and hideouts are." The man asked with a calm voice.

"Y-yes, I c-can." The 'ruthless' gangster shakily told the man everything he knew.

The man raised his gun at the 'ruthless' gangster and pulled the trigger.

"Who are you?" One of the businessmen asked the man.

"Split."

Spencer Webb is an average sixteen-year-old boy, he's in his junior year of high school, has average grades even if he's intelligent, and has a few friends. He puts on smiles and likes to dress nicely. But no one knows really what Spencer has been going through.