'C'mon luv. All the cameras wanna see you!' Twittered Ryan's Mum from the front seat of the car.
Haha. You may think that being famous would be fun. Cameras, girls, your name up in lights... Money!
Try growing up with it.
Ryan Wilson had grown to hate it. His Mum was a model. They were currently sat in a limousine outside a massive fashion-show. Reporters and paparazzi waited outside like wolves around a kill. They hammered on the windows, sweaty palms drawing the attention of tiny insects on the night-sky-illuminated windows.
Ryan took a swig of his flask filled with clean, cold water; and blared a middle finger at the twats outside.
Exhaling cigarette smoke, his Mum turned around from the windscreen and yelled at the delinquent teenager.
It was then, suddenly, that the car opened up around them; and the lights attacked his sweating face. Ryan brushed his blond hair back over his head, and fought a mouthful of second-hand cigarette smoke. He coughed sadly as he was dragged out into the crowd. Hands grabbed and snatched at him, desperately wanting some picture to put on the front of their damn magazines.
When the were finally pulled into the building, he stood around, comatose in his head, while the scum of the earth in reporter form attacked and grappled at him. Within about 5 minutes he couldn't take it anymore, and so ran off to the backstage of the theatre to be alone.
The man felt the night sky air float up his nostrils, he smiled, and pulled down his mask over his face. A fully loaded semi-automatic assault rifle sat in his hands. The power of holding the end to someone's life was truly breathtaking.
'Everything's fine down here. Nothing out of the ordinary.' Spoke Tim Jones into a buzzing walkie-talkie. These, ironically, would be the last words that he ever spoke to anyone. A bullet cruised through his forehead. Another through another guard's brain. And another.
The man in the skull mask stepped over the corpses, and towards the staircase up into the theatre.
'Hello?' Spoke another guard into her phone. She stood, sweating cold, behind the door into the theatre. Her cold metal gun was cocked and ready to kill. Disco lights from behind attacked her senses, and the strong smell of alcohol and marihuana didn't help either.
A knife of panic stabbed through her ears as a gunshot ricocheted from her phone.
It was this split second that cost her her life. She chose to clutch her head instead of run. A hobnail boot stabbed through her head, shortly followed by a bolt of hot lead. The gunman fired several times into the air of the club, and panic ensued.
Ryan heard the chaos from behind a curtain and froze. It was finally happening. Someone had caught up with his Family's business. Screams fell from the rapidly dropping corpses on stage.
'Siren Wilson. You are a wanted woman. You are accused of narcotic use, manslaughter, and human trafficking. In your defence you saw what?' Yelled a gruff male voice. Ryan chanced a glance from behind the stage, and instantly regretted it.
A man with long, lank hair and a black top on stood over his Mum. He held a large gun, and wore a skull mask. His Mum stammered an apology in sheer terror. Her glittering dress was ripped and torn. A gash dripping blood adorned her arm. She writhed on the floor in a mess of broken glass.
'Mrs. Wilson, you have failed this city.' The gunman yelled into the cowering woman's face.
A bullet flew through her forehead.
The man reloaded the gun, and then turned to leave. He walked away through the bloody massacre, seemingly not aware of all of the orphans and widows that he'd just created.
Ryan felt his world crumble before his eyes. Blind fury wracked his nerves.
He screamed, and ran out at the gunman. He collided with the heavily-muscled psychopath, and began to punch and bite the murderer. The masked man simply turned, oblivious to his now-bruising arm. He pulled two swords out from a holster on his back, and slashed them methodically across Ryan's face.
Blood splashed from the fresh wounds, and Ryan Wilson lost consciousness.
When light touched Ryan's eyes again, it was the horrible white glow of hospital lights.
'You're lucky to be alive Mr. Wilson.'
Ryan sat bolt upright; to find that he was still very alive. He screamed in anguish, as what had just happened dawned on him once more.
'You should be dead. Your wounds healed almost supernaturally quickly.'
He snapped his panicking eyes to face a doctor dressed in blue scrubs. 'How long was I out?' He shouted, an ever growing sense of dread niggling at his stomach.
'5 days.'
Ryan jumped out of his bed, pulling cables from his arms and leaking their green fluid all over the room. He batted the doctor away against the wall and ran to a mirror.
X-shaped scars sliced across his face, and his eyes had turned a milky white. His blonde hair had been charred off. His fist careened through the mirror, and he ran out from the room.
