The Savage Entourage: Bloods True Title

Prologue

Mystery POV

Thoughts. Emotions. Actions. It's what makes someone up. It's what makes someone living. Not that nonsense of breathing and organs. There's a diffirence between living and breathing. Darkness envelops the room. I've been here for quite a while. Thinking. Studying. Researching. I pace back and forth, a finger on my chin while the other hand is behind my back. Something seems unusual. No, not the kind where it's all supernatural. It's more like: It's been like this before. I stop as I look at the hundreds of documents spread across the metal table. It's a mess but I don't care. After all the years and things I've gone through, it's just something mere. But what I have now. What I've been concluding....it's something big. If I am correct. My eyes glance up at the big tv-like screen on the wall. It's on but there's nothing really on it. Instead it's just bland. Maybe I can go back to researching? But even I know that I've done everything I can. What now? I sigh and put my hands on the table. The touch is cold but smooth. My fingers could almost slip out from under my tense hands. They don't. I don't let them. Everything is silent. I haven't been disturbed in hours. I am surprised since always someone is asking what to do or some sort. Like I'm their leader. I'm no leader. Not as I was. Some think of me as a hero. I'm not even that. Not anymore....Ever since the incident I've been beating myself up. It's hard to be happy now. Part of my heart...most of it, is just deserted. Only the memories live there. I'm just breathing. For decades I've breathed. Until something that's familiar stirred within me. It took me sometime to depict its meaning but I've finally realized it. But just how will it work? I shake my head. So many thoughts. So many ifs, buts, and possibilities. I fear the worst. The same thing could happen like last time. A disaster. I can't go through it again! I can't! Just forget it all! Forget it! I suddenly realize I've been shouting for the past few minutes. I guess the trance I'm in, is deep. I breathe in, thinking. I need to lay back. This stress. I sigh and sit down in the roller chair. For a few minutes I sit there. Just breathing. Not thinking. I've done that too much. My head lays back and I mumble a few unintelligible things. Finally my eyes trail back to the documents I've collected over the months. Then it hits me. Like a sudden painful blow. My head. I gasp and clench my head in my hands. W-What? What's happening?! My eyes are squeezed shut and I stand up, leaning over the table. My head pounds. Is it from the stress? My question is answered as they come back. The memories. Flashbacks of reality is been avoiding. This has been happening the past months. There will be a headache and then memories. The memories of back then. The teamwork. The laughter. The love. This time, my brain is not in my hearts favor. It's my least favorite. The incident. The one where everyone I knew and loved perished. Thanks to him. The pain gets worse and I can hardly stand it. I doubt anybody shot me in the head. I would've heard them. The screams. Their faces. The pleading. The tears. They all whirl in my head then the pain slowly edges away. I open my eyes and look at the ground. I look up around the room. It's normal. Some documents fell with the scene but I'm alright. I sigh. Then a image comes. It's them but they seem to be glowing, beating, as if they are still there. I realize then. I look over at the closet. It's kept the tangible objects hidden inside. I move towards it slowly and reach out to the handle hesitantly. My trembling fingers wrap around it and I pull. It opens and puts everything into my view. I bite my lip. The suits. They're covered with dust along with the wooden jail itself. They won't be dusty like this any longer. I need to face it. I turn around as a shadow covers my face and stare into the hatred of a picture that haunts this place. Looking into the eyes I say the words that spark. "They're back. 'They never left. This is only the beginning". The last sentence echoes into the air and it whispers:

This is only the beginning