"Endings are no fun. Lets just say . . . 'To be continued' eh?"
- - -
"Give in to sleep. Your time is over."
Emptiness surrounds. Little can be found in the darkness that surrounds him. All he can do is wait for it to end, and for whatever comes next.
He never found himself a religious man, but in the end who can say they are not. He is in shock. He has been in it enough times to tell. The short flashes of sensory consciousness nearly overwhelm him. Gunshots, a soft warm stream dribbling from his mouth, cold all around him, and the searing heat in his chest. The sharp pang giving a brief laps in the fog lets him remember, vaguely at least, what happened.
Pure rage and hate fills his body, those bastards had not even given him a fair fight. At least the caravan might make it. He hoped so anyway. They were nice people. They deserve that mu- Gah!
Fresh pain fills him as something heavy falls on top of him. Huh what irony. One dead corpse on top of a nearly dead corpse. Maybe, just maybe, he could reach his revolver. The last hope he had.
"No hope. Let go."
What was that? Maybe it was God? The Devil? St. Michael? His mom always told him the stories from the bible. St. Michael was his favorite. The angel saint who protected and watched over people. Maybe if he prayed to him this wouldn't have happened? Too many questions. Either way he didn't care. He'd done enough bad things to go to hell, but hadn't he done enough good to balance out?. Oh what the fuck does it matter anymore anyway. The only thing he can do now is wait for death.
No.
Not yet you bastard.
I still have some fight left in me.
BOOM
A huge explosion assaulted his ears as he saw a tower lean at a dangerous angle threatening to fall at any moment.
Just a little further. He strained as he was about to reach his weapon. The cool metal just touching his fingers. No not cool. So cold it burned to touch. But it was all he had. Maybe he could take one of those sons a’ bitches with him. Just one would give him back his pride before he faded into nothing.
The weapon fit into his hands well. Its weight gave him comforting strength and he was able to drag it out to his side. His arm held straight out parallel to the ground he could see him. Another man.
"He will follow. He will rape. He will murder. He will be the villain"
"Shut up voice. You can have me in a second" the man mumbled under rasping breaths. The iron-sights lined up over his eye-patch. Bastard probably didn't even need the damn thing. That black armor covered all but his head, and even half of that was covered in a scarf.
The gun worked its mechanical feat as he pulled back the trigger. Gears, and springs, and others little metal parts began to do the thing they've done so many times before, but this time it was quite possible that this was the last time this gun was fire from his hands. But it would be done in the name of those lost today. In the name of those people that had so quickly become his friends in this frozen over hell. So close now just a little more. The hammer pulling back, almost nearing its full height. Welcome to hell asshole.
CRACK
A single shot rang out across the snow covered valley. Every eye turned to the lone caravaneer seeing his glossy eyes wide in horror as he saw his own gun fly from his hands and into the body of the fallen on top of him. He glanced to see merciless eyes stare out from behind a high-powered rifle.
“Sorry boss, thought I downed that one."
"It's fine. Aint dead yet am I? Now, this one's got something I like to see." The black armored menace snickered uncovering his face to reveal a short cropped white beard. Pure as snow, but the words coming from his lips were far less than pure. "And the only thing i like more than a good raid is a good raid with a bit a fun at the end of it. Maybe you could provide us with a little entertainment here while we loot these here corpses."
Bastard. "Fuck you!" The man stammered, unable to talk clearly with the blood pooling in his mouth.
"Ooo-hoo-hoo! This one's got a lot of fight! Tell me son whats your name boy? I think i might just tell the story of how you almost killed me!"
"Michael. The protector."
"Michael." That wasn't right he knew it, but Michael sounded better than whatever his old name was.
"Michael. Well isn't that funny because my name is Mikael. Ya know what that is son? It's Russian. It pretty much means Michael in Russian! Ha! Well i guess this is gonna be the story where try to kill myself!" The mad man begins snickering, which turns into laughing, which turns to him almost falling over laughing hysterically.
His good time is cut off by the sound of metal groaning and giving way. The entire high-line pole coming down and landing on top of a nuclear powered car. Flames burst from the mini-nuke as the insane man in black, Mikael, begins to understand what Michael already knew.
BOOM
Another explosion fills the canyon as the exploding car sets off several other vehicles. Everywhere cars, military vehicles, and buses are destroyed leaving nothing behind but a large crater where a moment ago one caravaneer tried to seek revenge on a mad man intent on letting him suffer for trying to kill him.
- - -
Once more darkness surrounds him, but this time the voice that filled Michael's head is clearer now. As if it is 'in' his head. It speaks to him one more time before he slips into what seems like a never ending fog. One that is terrifying, yet holds the hope of one day escaping into the light.
"The man in black has been killed, but he is not yet defeated. You will be sent with him to a land not of this one. There you will do one of two things. You will either die, or you will kill him and his companions. Either way it will be on even ground."