//------------------------------//
// Prologue 
// Story: The Evil We Bring 
// by bosco438 
//------------------------------//


Prologue

Princess Miamore Cadenza could not understand what was happening. The only thing she could currently understand was the intense pain she was feeling as she lay in the throne room of her Crystal Castle. Her wings convulsed, her legs twitched and she would be screaming, if she had any air left in her lungs to scream with. It was as if every molecule in her body was being torn apart, slowly. There was no way she could even concentrate to use her magic to try and fight it. All she could do was lay in the middle of the throne room in agony. Cadence forced herself to open her eyes to gaze at herself. She was horrified by what she saw.
Her body was slowly eroding away. Her hooves had already dissipated, and the magic was slowly making its way up her forelegs. If Cadence could scream again she would as she squeezed her eyes shut again in a futile attempt to ease away some of the pain. She felt a pair of hooves touch her face, then pull her head to something soft, comforting. She willed her eyes open once more to see what it was.
Shining Armor, Captain of The Royal Guard, Prince of the Crystal Empire, her Husband looked down at her. There was no hiding the horror he was feeling. Right in his hooves his beloved wife was fading from existence, and he was helpless to stop it.
“Cadence” He said “Don’t worry, you’re going to be okay” As he gently stroked her pink, purple, and cream colored mane. His horn lit up with a blue glow as he focused it on his wife to try and reverse what was happening to her.
Cadence was enveloped by a blue glow for about a half a second before it winked out of existence. Shining Armor’s sense of helplessness and dread only grew. He didn’t know enough about magic to reverse what was happening. He wished that his sister were here, she would know something to get this to stop. ‘No’ he thought. ‘I can’t lose you’ all of Cadence’s legs had faded into nothing now. ‘Not like this, please!’ Tears started to run down his face as turned to face the cause of what was happening to his wife. Instead of a look of horror and helplessness though, he wore a look of pure anger.
The figure stood at the entrance to the throne room doors, standing on two legs like a Minotaur, but not nearly as tall. It had its arms crossed waiting patiently as his victim faded away, a smirk on his face, as if he were enjoying every second of what was happening in front of him. His black mane, if it could be called that, was cut very short. He didn’t have fur like ponies that covered his whole body, but instead had a very light amount to where you could see his light olive colored skin.
What covered his body instead were several pieces of clothing. His pants were a pattern of deferent colored greens in a squared fashion. His shirt was the same, though his sleeves were rolled up so you could see his arms. He also wore some type of tan vest that completely covered his chest that had an assortment of pouches which all held some gadget that Shining Armor could only guess at. Slung across his back was some type of metal stick. To him it looked like some type of strange short spear, only it didn’t have a pointed tip, and there was a point at the back it had a longer flat portion that looked like it was supposed to go in the shoulder. The only thing that Shining Armor could recognize on this individual was the sword, looking completely out of place, sheathed at his hip.
“What did you do to her?” Shining Armor asked, barely keeping his rage contained.
“Isn’t it obvious?” The figure asked shrugging his arms.
“Answer me!” This time Shining Armor could not contain his rage as he screamed at this vile piece of manure.
The figure grinned, as he pulled another metal looking thing out of a plastic container on his right hip. It was in the shape of an “L” and fit in his hand. He held the device limply at his hip as he answered.
“She’s fading away Prince Armor” he said. “Fading to nothing, in the most pain she has probably ever felt” He chuckled for a moment. “That’s why she only screamed for the first couple of seconds. But I assure you,” now he full on laughed, like he found something extremely funny, as if this were a joke. “She is in totally agony right now.”
As the sadistic character continued to laugh, Shining Armor looked back at Cadence. Her tail and part of her rear had faded now, and it was not stopping. Cadence had stopped convulsing, and tears were streaming down her face as they were Shining’s. 
Shining Armor could not contain his rage any longer, and without thinking he turned around and charged Cadence’s assailant. 
“Make it stop you, MOTHER BUCKER!” He screams as he charged.
He didn’t get three steps before he heard a loud bang and a sharp pain in his left leg. As his left hoof hit the floor, the pain spread throughout his whole leg and it gave out on him. He fell flat on his side and let out a “Gah!” as he held his left leg. He felt warmth coming from where the pain originated. Shining took a look at it. 
Blood was oozing from a wound that went right through his leg.
“You have until tomorrow morning to surrender.” Shining looked up at his attacker, who was now pointing the now smoking “L” shaped device at his face. “After that, the war starts.” He said as he pointed his weapon home hand walked over to Shining, thuds echoing around the hall as his boots hit the floor. “Until I hear from you,” He lifted his booted foot, “A parting gift.” The boot was brought down on Shining Armor’s Face.
Shining Armors head hit the floor and he instantly became disoriented by the pain in his head. It was a few seconds before he regained some of his senses and looked at the back of the figure as he walked away and opened the door of the Throne room. The outside hallway was littered with the corpses of the Guard Ponies that were stationed outside, most of whom had their throats cut. Some had been completely decapitated and their blood still oozed out onto the hall way floor.
“If I were you,” the bipedal monster said as he exited “I would enjoy what little time left I had with my wife” And with that the throne room doors shut, cutting off Shining’s sight from him.
With no way of being able to catch him, Shining slowly crawled over the Cadence who was now just a neck and a head.
“Cadence” he said as he reached her, his blood trailing from where he crawled “Cadence in here.” Half of her neck remained. “Please” He said as he grabbed her head and brought her to his chest. “Please don’t go” Tears kept coming from his face as she continued to disappear. “You are everything to me, you can’t be gone.” He futilely tried to blink his river of tears away. “Please”
When he opened his eyes again he looked into the now only face of his wife. Before she faded completely, Shining could make Cadence mouth one last thing ‘I, love, you’.
Then she was gone. Shining Armor sat alone in the throne room. He didn’t move, didn’t make a sound, and merely at his hooves where Cadence had been moments before.
When the guards finally did arrive, it was to a wounded Prince screaming out in anguish.

***


7 Months Earlier

He was breathing steadily, calm, and focused as he brought his brought up his .45 1911 pistol. The weapon was held steady in his hand as he concentrated. His target was 50 yards away, but he wasn’t focused on that. His focus was the front sight tip of his weapon being flush with the rear sights. When they were aligned correctly he slowly started to pull the trigger back, steadily so as to disturb his sight picture. Slowly…slowly…slow- BANG. His arm rises back from the recoil of his weapon, but he brings it back down swiftly and coolly, and regains his sight picture and repeats the process. BANG, BANG, BANG, BANG, BANG, BANG. Six shot, six seconds. The slide to the pistol locks to the rear and he puts the weapon on safe, ejects to magazine, and checks the chamber for brass. Satisfied that the weapon is safe and empty, he places it on the table in from of him.
He looks to the left of his little shooting booth in the indoor range, and presses a button on the console next to him to call his target back to him. The sound of the machine whirring sounded the approach of his target and he leaned on the table and waited for it to reach him. It was a simple NRA circle target used in competitions worldwide, with the two X ring in the center and the 10, and 9 rings making up the black. The rest of the target was white with the circles going from 8 to 5. His target had the black center making of the ten ring completely riddled with holes, while the X ring never seemed to exist to begin with. He had the occasional hit in the 9 ring. He was mainly disturbed by the high right shot in the 8 ring. A shot he had made one mistake on.
‘Fucking trigger pull’ He thought, and gave out a tiny huff.
With him no longer concentrating, with his own firing session being over, the sounds of the range started coming through to him as he put his pistol into its box and locked it away. With the occasional “bangs” from the various guns of other shooters, to the dinks and clicks of shells hitting the concrete floor.
“God damn Bosco,” came a voice to his right “That’s some SHIT HOT marksmanship right there” This was Brad, then owner of the indoor range. Bosco looked up over his right shoulder to look at the somewhat overweight city boy. He wasn’t tall, but Bosco wasn’t either by any means, being only 5’2”. He had a shit eating grin on his face as he looked at Bosco’s target. He was pale, as he didn’t get out much, if not apparent from the few extra inches at his hips. He had a head of blonde hair which was made into a pony tail in the back, and his blue eyes sparked in anticipation. He waited leaned up against the side of the booth with his gun oil stained grey NRA shirt and blue jeans.
Bosco grab his pistol box and faced him. “Answers still no Brad.” And he started walking along the booths towards the exit past A Shock Faced Brad and the other shooters on the line, who continued their business. As he walked, He observed how the other shooters were fairing. Most of them were shooting on the same NRA targets he was. Most of them looked like they were shooting shotguns at their targets with how spreads out the groups were. There were a few that had decent groups but they seemed inconsistent.
“Come on dude” Brad said as he shuffled to keep up. “With you on the team we will be able to clean Nationals. Hell you may even be good enough to go further.”
At this Bosco turned back to face him. “First, we already know I AM good enough. Second, after what happened last time I’m not going again. The first time I get fucked out of winning a championship because some little bitch has a daddy in congress is also the last time.” He then smiled and said “Besides,” he put on a mock cry voice frowned and made his eyes glisten slightly. “It’s not like I really wanted it.” He then put his face in his hands and mock wept for a few seconds before coming back up and saying “but naw, seriously, fuck that douche nozzle.”
He then continued out into the main lobby area where all the shelves were stacked full of all sorts of ammo. From .22 to .50, whatever you’re recreational shooting needs, they had it. The walls were stacked with rifles of all types, AR-15’s, AK’s, shotguns, and other hunting rifles. The glass counters by the register held pistols ranging from revolvers to 5.7’s. There were several people spread across the shop perusing the wares of the shop. The man at the register, Patrick, waved at him as he came up to the counter. The tall lanky 23 year old looked like he would fall over it by you sneezing on him. Had curly brown hair, and a long pointed nose. You always thought he looked weird, but hey, he’d been laid and Bosco hadn’t, so who was he to be the judge on that.
“Done with lane 23.” Bosco said.
“Cool” Patrick said, and put it into his program that the lane was open. “Can I see your target?” He asked, somewhat excitedly.
“It’s not gunna look any different from the others you’ve seen” Bosco said. “But if you want to see it I left in the frame. Why do you even want to see my shit every time anyway?” He asked.
“Dude, I just wanna see the awesome.” he said as he was about to leave the counter.
“Man, whatever. I know I’m good but remember there’s ALWAYS somebody better.” Bosco said.
“Like that guy from 3 years ago?” Patrick asked.
Bosco gave him a deadpan face. “I may not be tall enough to hit your face, but I can defiantly kick you in the dick. And we both know I have the training to back it up.”
This was true. Bosco had served 5 years as a United States Marine, so he had that combat training under his belt. Once he got out he started taking martial arts, along with continuing to practice at his marksmanship. Patrick had been in a few scraps, and could hold his own, but he knew he could stand up to Bosco in a fight, despite standing a head and a half over him. Did we mention Bosco is short? He’s a short mother fucker, like dwarf status.
Patrick chuckled a bit “Hey relax, you know I was kidding.” He said as he started walking towards the range area. Bosco was about to respond when he felt Brad touch him on the shoulder. He turned around to see a now disappointed looking Brad with a pleading look in his eyes. 
“Please man. This place could really use the advertising. Just go and let me sponsor you, when we win this place will get business out my flabby asshole.” He was one of those, ‘comfortably overweight’ people. That’s one thing that Bosco respected about him. Comfortable with his own form despite what others thought.
“Dude, I don’t need to know about you flabby whale starfish. Also, you got plenty of business still from the last time. The only reason I would compete would be to confirm for myself that I’m better than most 90 percent of people out there. I got that, I don’t need to compete anymore.” With that Bosco started walking towards the exit. Before he could open the door Brad spoke again.
“Really man? Well I’m sure mom and dad would be proud they raised a son who just ran away from everything?”
Bosco stopped. He could tell Brad was angry, but he crossed a line, a HUGE line. He knew how Bosco felt about what happened with his parents. Taking a stab at him like this was more than uncalled for. 
While Bosco was at the National’s 3 years ago his parents were murdered by a mugger at a gas station. They were on their way back from a cousin’s birthday party when they stopped to get some gas. His brother Daniel had taken off earlier to spend time wife, at the time. Jayson and Evan, having not seen their cousin in a long time decided to stay over for the night so they could get up early in the morning and go to Laser Tron with him for old time’s sake.
So his parents were all alone at the gas pump when this guy, dressed in typical mugger attire ski mask and all, just walked up to his father and held a gun up to his father’s head and told his mother to get out of the car. Since neither of Bosco’s parents had no way of defending themselves, his mother complied and stepped out of the family minivan. The mugger then had them kneel on the pavement by the pump. After they complied he shot them both, in the head. He didn’t make any demands, didn’t ask for money, devices or anything. Just straight up shot them. After that gas station video cameras showed him looking the bodies, taking the keys and driving off.
Bosco got the news from his brother Daniel via voicemail after he got off the plane. The shock from the news had rendered him silent for about two weeks, made only worse when he saw the security videos first hand. It sent him into a rage. His parents had done nothing to deserve something like this. They were good people. And yet the police couldn’t find the guy who had done it, despite having identifying him somehow. Rick Fresters. Why did he get to get off scot free with his parent’s lives?
When the brothers had gathered together to put their parents to rest, Bosco showed up in his old Dress Blue uniform from the Marine Corps to pay his final respects. After the funeral he confided with his brothers that he thought it was his fault. If he had not gone to the competition he would have been there with his parent, and seeing as he always had his pistols on him, New York gun laws be damned, he could have stopped it from happening. Of course Daniel, Jayson, and Evan kept on telling him how irrational it was to believe that just because he was there he could have changed things, but in his mind they would have been. He knew he could have stopped him.
After this little flash back, Bosco turned back to Brad, fists clenched, and fury in his eyes. Brad was visibly nervous at his usually calm, collected, happy go lucky customer.
“H-hey! I didn’t mean it like that.” He nervously stammered. 
“Really” Bosco said through gritted teeth. “How did you mean it then?” The other store goers were observing what was going on and most tried to make them-selves as invisible as possible. Bosco didn’t care that they were watching. He slammed his fist on the glass counter, causing it to crack where it impacted. “TELL ME!”
Brad was saved by the bell so to speak by the sound of Bosco’s cell phone going off. This particular ring tone, the Song “Dirty Deeds” by ACDC told him that it was his employers. Not wanting to have to look at Brad anymore Bosco answered.
“Yellow?”
“I got a job for you. Check your ‘email’ for details” The conversation, as enlightening as it was over after that. Them sending a job to his ‘email’ meant that it was a classified assignment with a high payoff. 
With this Bosco walked for the door again and addressed Brad as he left. “Don’t expect me back here again. In fact, pray you don’t ever see me again.” With that Bosco left the store, some blood trickling down his hand.

***


Bosco’s Apartment: 2 Hour Later

Bosco stepped out of his shower sliding the curtains aside and walked along the tiled floor up to the sink. He leaned over sink and let out a sigh. He was still upset from what Brad said. Not that what he said was true. It just reminded him of how he figured he had failed. After his parents had been killed he promised his brothers that he would do whatever it took to take care of them. Instead he got into Private Military Contracting, and he hadn’t seen them in years. Hell it had been months since he had even had even email contact from them.
As the steam cleared off the mirror he looked over his reflection. Brown eyes stared back. He looked over the rest of his features. His short military style black hair, his bushy eyebrows, long nose and cheeks that were always red, despite many different assaults by ointments and moisturizers. He then looked down along his muscular toned arm down at his scar along his left wrist. A memento to the days he drank himself dumber than normal. He then looked at his stomach and gave it a pat. ‘Gaining some weight there tubby.’ This wasn’t true. Though he had never had a six-pack or a washboard stomach neither was he overweight. He worked out at least twice a day thus the definition in his other muscles. He just didn’t like cardio. He often said ‘I’d rather shoot myself in the foot than run.’ Because of that there WAS abs underneath the belly, but without running they would never get the fat off to be seen.
He turned on the sink and splashed some water on his face and grabbed his tooth brush. He started his assault on gingivitis as he thought about the assignment he had received. His employers were offering $100,000 for the protection of some journalist that was covering a big story on military drills being conducted on the Iranian border where tensions had been high. It had been on the rise with the CIA confirming reports of Iran having nuclear capabilities. Of course the Journalist was just there for the scoop on the drills. Only people with need to know knew about the success of the Iranian nuclear program. Not that Bosco exactly NEEDED to know, but in his time in the Marines, he learned how to access some files he didn’t actually have access to. He also knew better than to blab about it though, like that idiot Bradley Manning. He knew that the only thing the American public would do about this information is blame the Government for hiding things…which they were, and conspiracy theories.
Bosco gargled, spit, and put his toothbrush away. Hey then walked out of his bathroom into his kitchen/living room/ bedroom. The little 20ft apartment barley had room for his bed, and his workstation where his computer sat. The entire area was in disarray, with his dresser being open and clothes be just stuffing inside, the bed wasn’t made, the kitchen area had dishes in the sink and an empty pizza box on the counter. The only things in the semblance of order were his workstation and his closet.
Bosco sat down in his boxers at his computer and looked at his past emails on his yahoo account. He didn’t get very much mail, except for the endless stream of spam mail and bills. This however was his main way of contacting his brothers now. Especially since none of knew how to answer the damn phone when he called, part of their efforts to reduce their contact with him. They hated that he had become a ‘Gun for hire’. He technically was, but Bosco didn’t really have any other skills he could use. He didn’t like killing, but marksmanship was the only thing he knew. He had taken jobs as an instructor, but that didn’t bring in the money he needed. The PMC was the only to practice his one skill, despite the ugliness that came with it at times.
The first email he read was from his brother Daniel from 3 months back. 
‘Christopher, I know we haven’t talked in a while, and you know why, but I figured I would let you know that I’m still alive and let you know what’s been going on with me. Firstly, me and Felicia are over. Turns out that she loved sleeping around the town behind my back more than she loved me. The divorce papers were finalized yesterday actually. That bitch isn’t seeing a penny from me either. One of those rare cases where the judge saw that the woman actually was a whore instead of a victim. 
Secondly I was hired as a photographer in the same news company that Evan did. In fact I think I’m going to be partnered with him for a bit. He’s pretty excited for it. Makes things easier with us being able to carpool from home to work together.
You know despite what you currently do, he still idolizes you. You’re his hero big brother ‘The Marine’. I just wish that you actually lived up to his expectations by being a hero instead of a Mercenary. How many have you killed now for that blood money you earn? Can you even keep track? At least I can live with myself in my line of work, even though it’s hard to make ends meet a lot of the time.
Look, you’re still my brother, and I still love you. But if you really want to be able to see us then you got to find another way to get by. I won’t let us associate with you while you kill for money.
Evan and I are going to be traveling for the next half of the year, so expect less contact from us. So that is, expect none, for a while.
Daniel’
Bosco had read this several times before. I didn’t hurt less to see what his older brother thought about him. Daniel was the main reason that he hadn’t seen his brothers for over 3 years. He felt that Bosco was just a bad influence on them. This wasn’t true though. Jayson and Evan had gone on to be production members of society despite his ‘Poor Example’. However, Bosco never real tried to fight Daniels claims, so Jayson and Evan were now living with Daniel at his house in Rochester and could continue to do so long as they refrained from contacting him.
Bosco still talked to them of course. He clicked through is email and brought up the next one from Evan. This was dated from last week.
‘Hey bro. How are things? I’ve had one heck of a time with my new job. I love it. I get to meet some awesome people. Last week I got an interview with one of the producers of the next Star Wars movie, even got some free tickets to the showing in 3 months. Wish you could come see it with us. Daniel is being a real dick about is not seeing you. He acts like you’re a murderer ,I swear.
I still can’t seem to keep all of the crazy chicks off of my. I wouldn’t mind it so much, but I always seem to attract the most UNITELLIGENT CUNTS this side of New York State. I can’t stand it sometimes.’
Bosco chuckled at that part. Ever since Evan was in high school he always teased him about how all the girls fawned over him. It wasn’t true at that time, but eventually Evan just started to seemingly have flocks of girls following him around. Bosco never really tried to understand it, though it was a blessing he wished he had…despite what Evan thought of it.
‘Anyway, I’m letting you know that me and Daniel will be heading out of country for a while. There’s a big story brewing up over sees and I’m going to be covering it. Daniel is my camera man. Try not to worry too much. I can’t tell you where we’re going right now, but we’ll be perfectly fine. Daniel may not have all the training that you do, but I’m positive he can defend us both if things get hairy.
I am worried about Jayson though. We haven’t heard from him since he went to help with the reconstruction efforts in Syria. It’s been half a year. If you hear anything from him please let us know somehow. I may not be able to write, but I still will check my email occasionally to get an update from you. Really, me and Daniel are getting worried about him.
Hope to see you sometime
Evan’
It was good to see that Evan already had a career for himself in Journalism. With Daniel with him he could depend that he could be kept somewhat safe as well. The only thing Daniel really took from Bosco before he broke things off was how to keep safe, through the use of a firearm. Though he didn’t take a piece with him everywhere he went, like Bosco did, he knew he would bring one with him traveling, If not for his own sake then for Evans’s.
Bosco was really worried about his brother Jayson. No word from him at all since he got to Syria. He was working with the Red Cross to try and help rebuild the war torn country of its civil war. There was a lot of Pro American sentiment since the weapons the United States provided to the Rebels helped them overthrow the previous regime which had mercilessly put down anyone that spoke out against it. Over 300,000 people died in the fighting that took place for over 4 years. With that there was no reason why Jayson couldn’t send a message saying he was okay and how things were going.
Bosco looked over the last email he received from Jayson just before he left for his travels with the Red Cross 6 months ago.
‘Christopher, how are you? It’s still in shape I hope. Be a shame to see that you lost your touch for the only thing you’re good at. 
Just kidding :). Got a little update for you.
I’m about to leave on my adventures with the Red Cross. Hope to help out people where I can now that I am a certified Doctor. First place I want to go is Syria. Place is pretty torn apart from the war, and now that it’s over there’s going to be people who need my help. I know you made a few trips over there for a few ‘Business Trips’ but I know I won’t be able to help any of the one who crossed your path if they were on the wrong side.’
While it was true that Bosco had made a few trips to Syria while the war was still going on for a few jobs, none of them were as eventful as Jayson was assuming. He merely overlooked the transactions of the weapons from the United States to the ‘Free Syrian Army’ at their request. He was there to make sure nothing happened during the transfer, and nothing did. Easy $90,000 job every time. One of his trips over there did get hairy though. A sniper tried to kill the main U.S. representative in charge of the transfer. He missed his first shot, and Bosco made sure he didn’t get a second.
‘I don’t know how long I’ll be over there, but I will update you when I can. I’m really excited for this, not only will I get to help out people, but get to see the world outside the states for the first time. As Rainbow Dash would say ‘So. AWESOME’. Anyway that’s my update. Hopefully one day I’ll get to see you again.
Love ya Bro
Jayson’
After finishing reading over that email for probably the 30th time since he got it, Bosco leaned back in his chair. He was really worried about Jayson. He should have contacted him by now. Though the country was still pretty fucked up in infrastructure still, there should have been some attempt at contacting them, even by post mail.
Bosco just let out a sigh, and sat back forward and click his computer to shut down stood and stretched out his arms. No use worrying in something he had no control over. He had other worries. He walked around his bed and cluttered apartment floor over to his closet and opened it up.
Inside his sets of Digital pattern camouflage Utilities. He had two Sets of Deserts, Woodlands, and Winters all hung on a rack, with his old Dress Blue uniform and Service Alpha uniform hung up right next to them. He had three sets of tan combat boots lined up on the bottom of the closet, and standing up next to it was his rucksack. Inside it he had his Tan flak jacket, Kevlar helmet, and all pouches that went with his flak. He also had a few weapons stored in here as well. A Berretta, the 1911 he had at the range with him earlier, and his two AR-15’s. The assault rifles both had Rifle Combat Optics, and Collapsible butt stocks. He had a whole bunch of other attachments as well but he never used them so he just stuck with that.
Bosco grabbed his rucksack and began packing all his gear inside it. While he set about his task he thought again about his brothers. He wanted badly to be able to protect them all, but Daniel had kept them away. Daniel though had taken much better care of them than he could. He wasn’t around enough anymore. He kept getting called out to the ass cracks of the world to be paid to do the one thing he was good at. As much as he wanted to there was no way he could protect them even if he wanted to.
That made him pause has he was packing away his boots. It made him feel as though he lacked a purpose. His family was the only thing he really cared about. More than himself really, and there wasn’t a damn thing he could do for them.
Now in a somewhat darker mood, Bosco set about finishing his packing. After his gear was all packed up he walked over to his much more disorganized dresser by his bed. On the top of it he had his digital alarm clock, which he never used, and an old family photo which he kept face down. He felt as though every time he looked at the photo, they eyed in it just looked at him in disappointment. He didn’t want to see that every day when he woke up, but neither did he want to get rid of the picture. So he just kept it face down. 
He pulled out a travel bag from under his bed and started packing his clothes. It didn’t take him long. He just took a few pairs of white shirts, some green shirts, some skivvies, jeans, and socks and tossed them inside the bag. After that he went back to his closet and put his rifles into their cases. With that he was done packing.
He looked over to his digital clock, where it said 5 AM. He then remembered that he never set the thing because he used his phone as an alarm clock and clock.
“Why the fuck do I even own that fucking thing.” He said to himself. He then promptly walked over to the dresser, unplugged the alarm clock, walked over to his window, opened it up, and threw the useless device out, and then shut the wind again. A few moments later the sound of shattering plastic on pavement could be heard.
Bosco then took out his phone and checked it. The background he had was one of Princess Luna, a Navy Blue pony with a wavy dark Midnight Blue Mane laced with Stars holding a regal pose. He like the picture, and the look of authority and dominance it gave Luna. The clock icon displayed said 1123 PM.
“Well, better get some sleep.” Bosco said as he leaped onto his bed, slipped under the covers and slammed his bed onto the pillow. His flight would be leaving at 12PM the next day.
‘I’ll make it back. I have to.’ He thought to himself.
He never had an issue shaking off his worry before setting out on a job, and this time was no different as he drifted off into the state of dreaming. He never did remember his dreams, but he could remember the feelings they gave him. Though he was able to shake off his worry, he couldn’t shake of the feelings he had of what he felt of his life. And as he dreamed, he kept getting the feeling of failure.
It was a good thing he didn’t remember his dreams. They were usually dark.