DESOLATE // H.S

Prologue

The cigarette in her hand is wasting its youth, much like her. Sitting in a broken down motel, the television playing hideous program in the background. Her plan was simple, deliver the message and run. She is nothing but a mere messenger. To them, at least. She knows now, as much as she knows then, she is anything but a mere soldier. Stuck in a world of darkness and desolation. And as much as it elate her to be a mere employee in somebody else' empire, she knows that she's not.

Another drag is taken, another puff of smoke released. Her mind wandered everywhere. Everywhere. What would happen when they found out she's not a messenger, but rather, the message?

The smoke dissipates into thin air as she slams the end of her cigarette to the ashtray in her balcony. The view of Paris is quite good from where she's sitting. Despite the motel being complete shit, at least it's not lying about the picturesque view.

Had it been another time and another place, she would have loved the view. But she's not in her best mood, and the bullet wound she almost forgot was there is starting to hurt again.

The girl limps to the motel bathroom. It stands of nothing but a bathtub with a shower on top of it, a closet, and a sink. The shower doesn't properly work either. She took her first aid kit with her to the bathroom, and start stitching her wound, the bullet already removed earlier. She winces once or twice when she poked in the wrong area. But the job has to be done, and it is.

Sitting down on the bed, she turns off the television, and turns on the radio. A random song by a French band is filling the empty space the TV noise used to fill. She closed her eyes, and hoped for the best. Knowing that she'll stay here in two weeks tops, she decided to get some sleep. Before she has to run, again. And before she reported that she failed the task, again.

Too many of his men running after her, and the thought of more combat makes her head spin. The last thing she remembered before falling into deep sleep, is the hope that she'll be on her feet as soon as possible.

And then it's black.

[;]

He reloads his gun, and then start shooting the targets in front of him. His ear buds cutting off any noise from the outside world other than the sound of his gun. The shooting range is empty beside the one booth that he occupy. He practices there everyday, that every single men in his base wouldn't dare to use the booth he always use. He's claimed that booth as his.

Bang! Bang! Bang!

Three shots fly and it's all where he wants it to land. The eye, the heart, and the stomach. He never thought he would be this way. His mother who raised him was such a lovely woman. Growing up, he was nothing but a gentleman, and a sweetheart.

Another reload, his movement is swift and quick in motion. Not wasting a time to change the ammunition. His mother died, murdered, brutally before his own eyes. All because his father couldn't pay his debt. He fled from home at age 18. Joined a gang and by 23, he created his own base.

Bulls eye. He hit every single weak points from three mannequins. Although, nothing can cure his thirst for an actual blood. All he see is red. He needs that message and he will get that message.

Walking away from the shooting range, he makes his way to the elevator and pressed the number of his office. None of his men dared stepped inside when they see him standing inside the elevator.

He is feared, and he loves it. Once he start remaking his plan that he make sure will be bulletproof, no men will be safe from his wrath.

He is livid, and vengeful. He promised himself that he will get revenge, and what better thing to motivate someone, if not revenge?

//

hOLY hell prologue is here and I am so excited to write this story. I hope you all enjoy reading this as much as I enjoy writing this!