Dead Men Bleed

Ying and Yang

Billy whipped his phone open as it rang irritatingly. "Avirace" was lit under a blank photo slot in black letters. He inhaled the polluted air off his balcony as he pressed the green button.
"What happened?" He asked like an annoyed father. His fingers circled around the sides of his nose, massaging it and trying to stay calm.
"The shit head tried to get me. Lucky for me, you hired Hacksaw."
He nodded and swirled his wrist, trying to speed up the small talk from the other line.
"Where is he?" He questioned.
"Dunno. Hacksaw took him away. Called it in as I got in the SUV. If it makes any difference, I got some product off the deal."

My wrists and ankles burned horribly from something rough, like sandpaper, constricting tightly at them. The scent of mold and dust blasted my nostrils. The wide area was small and dark, save for three lights above my head lighting up a fair portion of the area.
I shook my head, waking myself up to my current situation. My mask, strangely, was still on my face.
"Good morning." A deep voice greeted. The tone of his voice made me shiver in my seat. I couldn't see him anywhere. Even as I thrashed and turned in the metal chair.
"Where are you?"
Just by the steps behind me, I could tell just how freakishly large my captor was.
His shadow creeped through like a spider descending on a thin line of web.
"Jesus...." I murmured. The light revealed bits and pieces of features of my captor. Obviously, he was massive. Tree trunk like arms swayed back and forth like a pendulum. Scars and burn marks gathered in thick meshes, across his naturally dark skin, in lighter shades. A white tank top dirtied with brownish stains of dry of blood stretched and conformed to the man's unusual physique. From the corner of his jaw, a red cloth dangled.
"Are you scared, vigilante?" His haunting voice demonized my mind, striking a fear in me that I've never felt.
"You should be scared. I'm the one who hunts the predators."
I gave a chuckle, trying to avoid pissing my pants.
"That's a pretty cliche description for a man of your stature."
That was when he got right in my face.
A bloodied bandage was wrapped around his left forearm while a leather strap was attached on his right hand. His face was concealed by a ragged cloth held against his head by a small belt. This man dwarfed me. He was a giant, pure and simple. Even his baggy, ripped jeans had trouble conforming to the man's legs.
"Then again, we all are cliche ridden sons of bitches. Aren't we Max?"
The fact he knew my fucking made my head as light as a feather.
"What's your story? Hmm?" He asked casually. "Someone die and you grew a thirst for revenge that can't be quenched? Parent? Sibling? Lover?"
I lowered my head, avoiding those ghostly silver eyes of his. It was like he saw my own soul, the way he was picking apart my backstory.
"Just like I said. Cliche ridden sons of bitches, you and I."
The statement crushed my mind for some peculiar reason.
"Y'know. It's interesting talking to vigilantes just before they die. Lot like court. The boss is the one who judges who dies. And in their moments, I become jury and exectutioner. They always harbor so much hate and they let it go mere moments away from death."
His voice was so calm, reflective, and soothing. Such an eerie calm in such a monster, I could smell crazy. It clung to him, literally.
"What about your pain? How cliche are you?" I had the courage to speak out. His grunt was animal like. His thick fingers concealed an unseen face as he stroked his chin.
"That's something no vigilante never asked me." He stood up and rolled his shoulders. A sharp crack briefly echoed in the perimeter.
"You can say I'm a cliche. My dad was an abusive vigilante. My mom was a whore, fucking everyone she saw. Typical and boring. The only thing I had was my sister. By then, I was out and about. I had entered multiple body building competitions."
His voice was trailing off. He paused for a moment. The silence was demonizing, sending blaring warnings through my body that pulsed impatiently.
"She was 17 when she called for me. I rushed back here, thinking another boy broke her heart. Big ol' brother will kill'em again just like before. I walk into her room. Before she said "hi" I saw her brains splat on the wall."
His hands trembled, transforming from an unfolded fist into a ball of steel. His eyes reminded me of my mom's the day she passed. They stared into the realm of God.
"That day I found out the lengths of mercy my parents had. They abused her, in everyway. My father was supposedly one outside the law so he can uphold it. Instead, he and my mom ravaged her until a bullet in her skull was her out. So, I killed them. I hung my mom on barbed wire outside my home. My dad was slower. I, uhh, shattered his knees with a 100 pound weight. Took a hammer 'n' some nails."
He made the motion of a hammer slamming onto the head of a nail.
"Right on the wall. Whipped him with some wires until I saw the white of his bone. Shot his little pecker. In those moments, I found a calling as I stared at my father and his alter ego. I set him ablaze. His screams fueled my thought. I found that vigilantes are like the shits runnin' in DirtRoad. They just wear masks and justify their killings."
The story was heavy, I could feel the weight he bears. Like cement wrapped in chains and dumped into the deep blue.
"We lost people, we turn to violence. Not everyone can be original."
He let out a grunt and the strangest action took place.

Carin was pacing in the room. "3:30pm" read the clock.
"What the hell does he do?" She asked with impatience and concern.
Curiousity began to tickle her lobe with tempting statements.
"Maybe if we snooped, but not move everything drastically he won't notice." A voice whispered.
"Just a small peek wouldn't hurt" another stated.
She caved in and snooped in the room she had slept in. She swung open the closet. Dust stirred in clouds as she stared into the empty closet. She scoffed as she walked into the kitchen, hell bent on finding something that she didn't even know she wanted.
Cabinets and shelves, coated in dust and webs from dead spiders in the corners.
Her attention averted to the pantry. Blindly, she whipped the door open. Lo and behold, she found what she wanted.

The grip on my wrists loosened. My fingers rattled as I rubbed the blood off the pink skin, where the restraints were.
The big massive bulk stomped over to a shadowed portion of the room.
Click.
A lamp beamed a light over a long table. There were several items. A shovel, a sledgehammer, hedge trimmers, the spiral bladed jagdkommando, even a machete and a roll of barbed wire.
"These are your options. Pick two."
The bottom of my feet slid across the smooth flooring as I cautiously skated toward the table. He stepped back into the shadows the closer I approached. I could feel my stomach twisting again as I looked closely at my options. All of the items were stained with the brown-ish color of blood. Even the barbed wire, which was the first item I chose.
I figured that he would come up close due to his natural build, which is why I chose the jagdkommando.
Several snaps and clicks grabbed at my soul.
"Are you ready, vigilante?"
A lump grew in my throat as I confirmed that I was ready.
Chainsaws-two of them-roared through the darkness along with the behemoth's voice.
"It's play time!!"