Dr. Creepen's Dungeon - S6 Ep321: Episode 321: Vigilante Horror

Episode Date: March 3, 2026

Tonight’s tale of vigilante justice is ‘I became a vigilante… now I can’t stop killing’, a wonderful series by Bearded Veteran, kindly shared with me via my sub-reddit and narrated here for you all with the author’s express permission: https://www.reddit.com/user/BeardedVeteran/https://www.reddit.com/r/DrCreepensVault/comments/ar3u5w/i_became_a_vigilante_now_i_cant_stop_killing_part/

Hey Ontario, come on down to BetMGM Casino and check out our newest exclusive. The Price is Right Fortune Pick. Don't miss out. Play exciting casino games based on the iconic game show. Only at BetMGM. Access to the Price is right Fortune Pick is only available at BetMGM Casino. BetMGM and GameSense remind you to play responsibly. 19 plus to wager, Ontario only. Please play responsibly. If you have questions or concerns about your gambling or someone close to you,

please contact Connix Ontario at 1866-531-2600 to speak to an advisor free of charge. BetMGM operates pursuant to an operating agreement with Eye Gaming Ontario. Welcome to Dr. Creepen's Dungeon. Vigilantees are scary because they blur the line between justice and vengeance, acting without oversight, restraint or accountability. They decide who is guilty in what punishment fits, often in the shadows beyond the reach of law. There's something deeply unsettling about a person who believes that

they're right enough to override every system in place, especially when anger, grief or obsession fuels that belief. A vigilante doesn't just threaten criminals. They threaten the idea that they're right. that fairness requires rules. Once someone decides rules no longer apply to them, there's no telling where they'll stop. As we shall see in tonight's feature-length story.

Now, as ever, before we begin, a word of caution, and its tale may contain strong language as well as descriptions of violence and horrific imagery. That sounds like your kind of thing. Then let's begin. I thought I'd cover my tracks well. The perfect crime. How could anything have gone wrong?

I even disposed of the murder weapons. After all, it was a calculated and well-thought-out crime. Never would anyone suspect me. Took all the proper precautions, so as not to arise suspicion. No one saw through my shield of darkness and this anger boiling deep inside. Ever since I was little, it's always been there. Like a shadow you cannot escape. My dark follower.

It was created by him. My father, he was a drinker, a booze hound who would come home from work and everyone would be on their best behaviour. He worked at an automotive factory, if I recall correctly. My sister and I hid in closet sometimes when he would get so mad you'd hear glass shattering, yelling at mom, throwing bottles at her. his temper would rise from nothing it seemed. Nothing was ever perfect for him. We were in constant fear.

Only times we had peace in the house was when he was gone. I often slept with a Louisville slugging next to me, in complete fear that either me or sis would be next. Even though she was older than me, well, she fled to me for cover. We were so young and innocent back then. I only wanted to protect them, only I was too weak and too little to do much. You can harm the devil, my mom would always tell me. On the worst nights, sister and I would sleep in the attic. It was, however, quite difficult to keep coming up with the excuses

as to where all those bruises came from. Wearing scarfs and pants during the summer must have looked ridiculous, though everyone probably just thought I was weird. Years go by, not much changes. Child protective services weren't what they are today. This continues for far too long. Mom was terrified of him, but eventually divorced this monster and filed a permanent restraining order. Goes to court and gets full custody of us.

Hardful battle, his dad was the breadwinner at the time. Now, in our teens, we have some work. of a normal life. Friends, going out to the movies and such, getting into trouble every now and then, even a few run-ins with local police. I'm guilty. I had a few bad friends, well, bad influences anyway. Neither anything too harsh, although it was enough to be chased by neighborhood watch on a few occasions. We begin to work at this sort of motive shop, Big John's Auto Repair, off of old Third Street. I needed a job at and was interested in cars.

Growing up, I tinkered with electronics and even my dad's car when he wasn't looking. Despite the screaming and constant beatings, that is, well, I learned a good number from watching him work on people's cars on the side. Extra money, but for what? He was well paid at his job. He may never have.

said it. Hell, he certainly didn't show it. But I could tell, Dad loved me. Dad let me watch him work on cars and even sometimes helped. I couldn't talk though. I guess I never stopped talking. Being five, I couldn't understand why he was always so angry. From the outside looking in, he had everything you'd want. Nice house, beautiful family, nice cars, friends, you really did blend in. He had everyone fooled. Dad had his demons for sure. One day, I confronted him, 19 years old at the time. Dad, what do you do with all that extra money you made on the side? I asked firmly. There's me, and then there's real evil son. Hopefully you'll never have to meet them, he exclaimed. A confused look on my face.

I asked quizzically. Them? He sits me down in front of him with a stern expression on his face. By before you were born, I was involved with some really bad people. The Devil's Minions Motorcycle Club. Really, they're more of a gang. At first I was just a prospect. The initiation process was to stab or kill an opposing member of our rival motorcycle club.

He explains. Dad continues to tell me he was slowly working his way up the ranks. Rand drugs, got into barfights, he even dug some holes out in deserted fields for future residents. That wasn't until he discovered the higher-ups were running an underground prostitution and sex-slave human trafficking operation. In the basement of the Devil's Minion's main club, he hides as he hears the boss and some more men make their way down the stairs. The men begin to discuss who's next. Hey, what about Harry's daughter? She's getting to be that age, my man said.

Absolutely horrified. My dad gasps and quickly covers his mouth. Hiding behind some old furniture, the men walk over there and see him lying there under a blanket. Dad plays dead, acting like he was unconscious as they remove the blanket. Picking him up, throwing him down on the couch, questioning him, wanting to know how much he'd heard. He tells him he didn't he, tells him he doesn't know anything.

They beat and torture him until he cracks, finally revealing everything he heard, threatening his life and the families. He is warned that if any of what he heard gets out, his daughter would be next. To keep them at bay, he was ordered to do more. work for them and make a certain amount of money for their operation so dad did what he had to do even if that meant breaking the law or just working on cars on the side he struggled each month to come up with their demands the payments constantly increased he begged and pleaded with them for mercy to please not take his daughter or wife the boss called to come

see my dad. So, he left. Apparently he was a real sick son of a bitch. The boss begins telling Dad on the car right over that if he can't pay his family well. Do you want to prove your allegiance to this organization? The boss asks. Of course, my father replies. Show me your lily then. I want you to go home and harm your own family. My dad, stunned and unsure of how to answer. I can't do that, he yells. The boss grabs him by the arm, holding a gun against his stomach. You're going to do it.

I promise I'll see it with your wife and pretty little daughter that passed around like a thanksgiving party. You got it? My father, in total fear for his own life and ours as well. Tears in his eyes and voice cracking. Okay, I'll tweet, he cries. Good, I'll be sending enforcers over to check in on you and your little family. Now, get the hell out of here.

And so it went for years, my dad tells me. What? You can't be serious, Dad. We have to do something, I scream. No, son, they're far too powerful. Even the police and joint taskful. can't touch them horrified I look at him with disbelief and blood in my eyes now I'm only seeing red something must be done that an eye grow apart once more he left the

state and I haven't seen or spoken to him in a long time I'm older now I've been spending a lot of time training at the gym the indoor shooting ranges even mixed martial arts. I will have my vengeance for all those girls and the families of those effective. These men must pay. Running every day and constantly using all my downtime, searching for weapons without a serial number, but which have a silencer. I have a lot to learn. You see, you can't just buy a silencer for a pistol and put it on there. You need a new barrel that board specifically for the weapon. And if you use the proper channels,

you'll first need to find an authorized dealer with a Class 3 firearms license, then fill out forms provided by the ATF. Send in those forms to the chief of police and provide a reasonable explanation why you need a suppressor. It's a huge pain in the ass, and the process can take up to six months. Hell, in many states it's not legal to own one at all.

Thank God for reddened. I live in a non-registration state. Essentially, this means you could literally buy a gun from a friend or a family member. Doesn't even have to be registered to you. I don't exactly know too many people with modified weapons. So, I go online, searching forums and different websites. Even chat room is trying to locate an underground dealer to outfit my newfound hobby. The clear net isn't coming up with how many results.

I learn about the deep web, take all the necessary precautions to ensure I won't be tracked or hacked. Downloading the browser, making sure my firewall is secure. Even using a DNS proxy server and a VPN. I begin clicking on links. Just about what you'd expect. Mostly dead sites are empty ones. Drugs and escort services even.

Eventually finding a website called Don's Firearm Import. Emporium. Well, not exactly subtle, is it? I indulge and click, of course. Seeing a wide range of weapons, everything from 22-caliber pistols to 50-cals, and even the M-24 sniper rifle. I personally liked the Beretta 9mm. I trained with it. Love the rubber-ho grip, the way it feels in my hands. The ambidextrous safety. Lifted, dotted sights. Well, mine even had to be. I don't. Well, mine even had the red laser pointer, kind of like the punisher gun from Resident Evil 4. Yeah, I'm a gamer, sue me. Well, this particular one I wanted from the site had the suppressor, extended 20-round magazines and flashlight, all black on black, of course. This one is sexy, I thought. I set up my

account anonymously and transfer funds for the currency exchanged into Bitcoin. I make the transaction. receive a confirmation of payment. A few weeks later, an arm box appears on my front porch. I retrieve my handy pocket knife and carefully open the package. A note on the top reads, Thank you for your business. Do enjoy your product and happy hunting. Well, how the hell did they know what I was planning?

Oh, don't worry, I will. I smile with a demented look on. my face. Time to make a trip to the store and stock up on ammo. I arrive at our local big box store. Walk around, agitated for a few minutes. Damn it. Has anyone ever keep these in stock? I asked the cashier. What are you looking for? The man asks. I need a large supply of nine millimeter target, range ammo and hollow points as well, I explain. Oh, you need to go down to the street, the armory, they have everything you're looking for. Thanks, I tell him.

I'll even head down that way to stock up on hunting supplies. Searching the various inventory, I make a nice purchase. Tracking down my dad, I called around trying to get his new number. Finally finding him online and get his info and call him. Damn, it's been so long. Hope he'll talk to me. Hey, Dad, it's me. Remember, you were telling me the story of your old life and affiliations.

Do you happen to remember any of their names? I inquire. Not over the phone, son. I'll drive up to you tomorrow and we can meet up. The next day comes and we meet for lunch. Why the hell do you want their names? I'm trying to let that part of my life go and get over the past. Don't you understand?

He says with a gravely voice, I forgive you, Dad, for all that happened, I don't hate you. I hate them. I want to make them pay, my urge. Son, that was over 25 years ago. I'm not even sure if any of them are alive or if they can be found, he tells me. I want their names, damn it. Our childhood and innocence were taken from us by these evil pieces of shit.

I will have my. revenge. My dad looks at me very seriously, doesn't say a word, reaches into his pocket, grabs a paper and slides it across the table. I open the paper and see a list of about 15 names on it. Is this them? I ask. He nods his head, gets up and leaves. Thank you, dad. I'll make this right, I promise. Thoughts begin forming in my mind. Okay, who's first? I look over the list and pick one.

Okay, here we go. Terry, the boss Parsons. This ought to be good. Quick search reveals he is 58 years old, male, lives 23 miles away from me in a remote home deep in the woods. I need more supplies, making my way to the nearest hardware store I pick up rolls. of duct tape, several pairs of gloves, a shovel and heavy-duty plastic wrap with high-density, tear-resistant, clear, durable film, which is treated for excellent paint-overspray addition.

To capture all the blood. It's a 12-foot film that accommodates smaller cars. Must be at least 0.4 millimeters. A strong, durable knife set. Okay, after a while I have everything I need. Now comes the fun part. I find Terry's house and learn his habits. When he gets up, how often he leaves the house, who he talks to, what his schedule is like.

I follow him daily, but keep my distance so as not to be spotted. Geez, I never thought tailing someone would be so much work. However, when it's a hardened criminal, I suppose it's quite different. Terry's careful not to do too much business out in the open. doesn't even own a cell phone. Everything goes directly through him and only him in person. He and his contacts meet in this secure building with no windows far into the woods. If I get too close, I'll draw unwanted attention.

So, I parked nearby in a campsite. Get my supplies and I watch them from a safe distance. In my mind going over all the details, planning it over and over again. Could I set fire to the building once they're all inside? Nope, it would draw too much attention. Too risky. I'll have to take them one at a time. Starting with the boss who made my life a living hell all those years ago.

Terry, you are mine. The men start pouring out of this dilapidated building one at a time. Terry being the last to leave. He begins to lock up the old raggedy door with this weird lock I've never seen before. it appears to be some kind of cast iron lock, almost like shackles used for prisoners long, long ago. What the hell is he hiding in there? I have to know.

He's going to have to wait, if only for one more night. I wait until nightfall and approached the building with my tools, attempting to pry the door open, break the lock and even pick it. Well, eventually it budges after I smash a hole in the wooden door and bust the hinges off with an eight-pound sledgehammer. I hear muffled crying. It's pitch black. Walking around, feeling for a light switch,

tapping on the walls, I can't see a damn thing. I light up my flashlight, only to be greeted by rows and rows of metal beds, bolted down to the floorboard with women and young girls in chains, pleading for me not to hurt them. Buckets of filth everywhere, coupled with a horrid stench.

Using bolt cutters, I free them one by one. Many of them so weak and sick and frail, barely able to even walk or stand. I point my flashlight towards the doorway and tell them they are all free. Knowing some of them won't make it on their own, I run back to the campsite and make an anonymous call to the park rangers.

They arrived shortly after, and canvass the area. I gather my gear and leave the forest. There's a massive search the next morning. Volunteers, park rangers, local police and state police joined in. K-9 units and helicopters swarmed the area. The FBI is dispatched to lead the search since there were children involved. Planning my next move, still shocked by the brutality and conditions these girls were kept and held in.

I now have to learn the boss. his new patterns as he is on the run. Little does he know it. It isn't just from the authorities, but also from me. I'm following his every move, waiting for the perfect time to strike. Yes, this sick bastard will get what's coming to him. I swear it. It's become my obsession.

So, it turns out my dad has some sources in law enforcement. as he apparently worked as an undercover confidential informant in CI back in his biker gang days. He asked me get in touch with one of them, Captain Alvarez of the local police department in our area. He assures me they cannot link the building in the woods they rated to any one particular individual as the registered owner is a shell company. Shell Corporation is a corporation without active business operations or significant assets. These types of corporations are not all necessarily illegal but they are sometimes used illegitimately

such as to disguise business ownership from law enforcement or the public Well, this is good news I thought I can have these pricks ought to myself Let the police go play their political games I know even if they can somehow link the building to Terry I'll have to go through a process obtaining a search warrant through a judge who isn't on the payroll

as told to me before many of the public figures are in the pockets of these motorcycle gangs whether by force, manipulation or bribery I however bound by no one I have no jurisdiction

not to say I'm without principles though no women no children no innocence I'll only track and kill evil which walks among us. My current job doesn't pay

a whole hell of a lot. So I'll be financing my operation through their own illegitimately earned dirty money. Being careful, of course, not to use any stolen weapons that could be traced back to them or me.

Again, I went outside the boss's house doing surveillance. I notice there's heightened security now. Several enforcers guard their perimeter. I can four-arm men walking routes around the property. My best plan of attack will be to take them out one at a time. Nighttime comes.

Damn it. I thought it would be pitch black out there in the middle of nowhere. But no, this son of a bitch has his house lit up like an NFL stadium on game day. So much for low profile. He's paranoid and afraid, with good reason. I make my way to the rear of the property, being as quiet as possible, slowly advancing with my silence Beretta 9mm, with 20 RAM magazines and one in the chamber. My gun raised and adrenaline rushing through my body after drinking three energy drinks.

I'm on edge. I'm now 20 yards away from the first target, still hiding in the shadows, in position and ready to strike like a cobra, firing three three hours. firing three rounds, taking out the first guy. His body thuds, falling to the ground. Another guard hears the commotion and walks in my direction. Closing in on me, I run and take cover behind an old, rustic car. The second man examines the fallen guard as four more shots ring out,

his body, falling in almost an identical fashion. There are two more men stationed towards the front of the property, which I avoid entirely. Holstering my burrata, I reach for my lock-picking tools, gaining entry into the home, searching each room with my dimly lit tactical flashlight, which cannot be easily seen, but provides me with enough light all the while not giving away my position. I cleared two bedrooms of the house, the kitchen and basement, until I finally find this asshole. There he sits in a recliner, facing.

away from me. Beer cans and cigarette butts scattered throughout the room. The TV blaring loud, an action movie is played. The smell is unbearable. Jeez, how can anyone live like this? Slowly I creep up behind him, reaching for one of my knives. Using one hand to muffly scream, I cover his mouth and the other one slices his throat, making sure to cut his jugular. Gurgling, he speaks, blood pouring from his neckwood. Who the hell I hear? He falls backward, walking around to face him and lift his head, making sure the last thing he sees before death is me. As he bleeds out, I continue to search the house.

No more souls to be found inside. But what I do find is a suspicious-looking case in a... back empty room with nothing but a few cabinets. Cautiously opening, to my amazement, I discover stacks of cash, 20s, 50s and hundreds. Smile forms across my face as a sudden realization hits me. I just hit the mother load. Taking the case, leaving the way I came in, running into the night, escaping the light from his motion detection security system, sprinting the whole while while being scrambling. by trees and falling several times, adrenaline rushing fast, not feeling pain, bleeding

from several parts of my body. An hour later, reaching my car, out of breath and heart racing. I get myself cleaned up and race as fast as this shipmobile will go. Driving for a while, I make a stop and get some celebratory food. Going to a drive-through, waiting in line, crossing the board. boss off the list. Hmm, who's next? Brouting the names I see in parentheses are each rank of the members.

Top lieutenant. Hmm, you're next. Loud honking noises heard from behind. Hey, asshole, move forward. I smile and wave pleasantly, knowing I could end this joke of a person at any moment. Slowly advancing to the window. finally screeching to a halt. There'll be seven dollars and forty-seven cents, sir.

The cashier says. I hand her a ten. Would you like any sauce today? She asks. Yeah, surprise me. I like to live dangerously, I reply. She giggles, hands the food over, and I park. God damn, these burgers are good.

I guess that's the taste of victory. arriving back home to loneliness in an empty apartment firstly grabbing a few cold ones from the fridge then relaxing on the sofa as I opened the case and begin counting $200,000 I love my new job my phone begins to ring is my boss

what do you want I ask annoyed you didn't show up for work today where are you he asks Oh, you know, just killing time. I won't be coming into work anymore. I laugh and hang up. Well, that's enough excitement for one day. I'm exhausted. Time to pass out.

It's the next day after the kill. Contemplating my next move, realizing the case of money isn't secure at home. I scout out various local banks with safety deposit boxes. However, in need of locating one that could be used anonymously, calling around and ultimately deciding on Riverside, Bank and Trust. Arriving probably in this Chevy Malibu, the manager approaches me before even speaking two words. Can I help you, sir?

He asks politely. nodding while asking inquisitively. Yes, I'd like to rent a safety deposit box. Can I pay for a year up front? He pauses, pointing to the vault. Right this way, he exclaims. Following him, gripping the case is handled tightly, nervous and sweating, hoping he doesn't notice. Your box is number 1344. Here's your key. We keep the other, whenever you need to access your box,

one of our staff members must be present to open it with you, for your safety. Your total is $120 for the year. the manager explains. Handing him the money, I gladly take the key and sign a fake name, Frank Castle. Thank you for your business, Mr. Castle. Please enjoy our facility and have a wonderful day.

He walks out of the vault and into his office. Opening the deposit box, stuffing most of the cash in there, keeping some for myself. I'm really in need of a new car. Leaving the bag now, browsing on Craig's... list, searching for a nice SUV with plenty of space. You know, just in case there'll be

visitors momentarily joining me in the cargo area. Now back at home, I find the perfect vehicle. 2011, Toyota Highlander, low mileage with tinted windows. Clean title. New tires, $6,000 cash only. Works for me. My lift driver drives quickly. Call the seller. and meet up for the exchange. Examining the SUV with an OBD2 scan tool looking for possible engine codes. Taking it for a test drive. Yeah, I really like this one.

Handing over the cash. Patiently waiting as this goofy neck, nut-munching butt pirate counts all the money. Finally, he finishes and I drive off. Home again. Finding myself filling this newly acquired vehicle with my tools. Laying the seats down, also lining the floors with a plastic wrap in the cargo area, using a staple gun to hoard it in place. It'd be nice if we can keep her clean. Deciding now to get

back to work, loading up the laptop for a quick search for the next victim. Begin chugging another cold one. The results are in within minutes. The now deceased boss's top lieutenant lives local. approximately 20 minutes away in a busy subdivision. I'll have to strike this one somewhere away from his house. Until next time. Stalking the top lieutenant now for weeks. The man is clearly on edge, waiting outside his house in the Highlander,

making sure to move far enough from his house not to be noticed. Each night I sit and wait, monitoring his actions and who comes in and out, Think about a cop doing a steak out, except this one is for serial killers. He's been drinking for hours now. Cautiously, the large burly bearded man stumbles out of his front door. It's approximately eight at night. Oh, I just remembered.

Tonight is his bar night. Stiling his truck, he drives towards his favorite watering hole. Slowly, following behind, until he speeds up. Damn it, did I get made, I thought. The crazed man now running red lights and driving recklessly, running over mailboxes and hitting parked cars. The smash truck now, with a flat tire, finally comes to a stop, injured, seeing the man slouched over his head against the steering wheel

and blood pouring out of it. Glass scattered throughout the seats, a large gash in his neck. For a short time I leave the area and park my SUV down the street, making sure to grab all my supplies. Now, back in his truck, I move the body over, pointing my gun at him and not saying a word. There he lies, still breathing as he stares at me while I'm driving. Where are you taking me? He says, while choking on blood, pouring from his mouth.

How about a late-night swim? Striking the injured man over the back of the skull with a metal pipe. He faints, falling on the floorboard of the truck. Now driving for 30 minutes into the night. Finding the perfect place. Now in a deserted area of the forest. Carefully laying down the plaster wrap all over the bed of the truck. First, grabbing the bone saw knife and begin cutting his limbs and torso.

eventually cutting his head off from his body, putting each body part into separate trash bags and finally removing the plastic wrap with its own bag as well, ensuring not to spill the blood anywhere. I walk around the lake nearby and pick up heavy rocks to weigh the bags down so they won't surface. Now with each bag filled with rocks and body parts, I begin disposing of each one, about a quarter a mile apart, ultimately deciding to dump the truck as well. Turning over the engine, pulling the gear shift into drive as it slowly moves forward into the murky waters and becomes less and less

visible until it sinks into the depths. Now back to the kill site. I gather my supplies carefully, carefully putting them back in their specific spot in my tactical back. Walking for a while, I see a main road. Stranded, I set up a lift driver to pick me up. Minutes pass as a silver Lexus approaches. Hello, sir, nice car. I greet him with his smile. Sit any way you'd like, so, um, what brings you out here in the forest at this time of night?

He asks. I was hiking, spending time with a friend, and he took the truck and left me out here, I explained while smiling. Wow. some friend he exclaims yeah he always was a prick i don't think i'll be seeing him again any time soon we arrive back in the man's neighborhood i tell the driver right here's fine handing him a twenty wow thanks a lot he says excitedly have a good one closing the door i make my way to my vehicle and relax taking out the phone I stole from the lieutenant. Searching through the man's contact list in the phone,

I compare names with the list that gave me. I discover most of the names match up. Looking to the sky. Amen. A good friend of mine owns a restaurant on the other side of town. I'll talk to him, see if I can use his place

when it's closed on Sunday. I'll phone him up, we meet up the next day. asking him for a favor he inquires what he needed for jordan's a childhood friend who i trust with my life i start to explain where i've been and what i've been up to i'm expecting him to be horrified he laughs you're not serious man come on so basically anyone you think is evil don't you think that's a little bit weird maybe a bit psycho staring at him seriously. You know what I think is psycho, Jordan. You have decent man with a loving families coming home from work every day watching the news.

You know what they see? Rapists. Murderers. Child molesters all getting out of prison. Mafiosa was getting caught with 20 kilos, walking out on bail the same day. Little girls playing in their yard catching stray bullets. Everywhere. Everyone's thinking the same thing.

Someone should just go kill those motherfuckers. Kill them all. Come on. Admit it. Even you have thought about it. Jordan begins pondering. Taking everything he's just heard. This is some heavy shit, man.

There's so much that just pisses me off. You should recruit. I'm sick and tired of walking down the street, fearing for my life, waiting for one of the crack-piping ass-wipe motherless low-lives to get me. I mean, you're not just talking about mob guys. You want to take out pimps, drug dealers, all that shit right. Damn, man, you could do this every freaking day. Okay, count me in.

He shouts. Not quite yet, Jordan. First, I need to see what you can do. Grab a few of your guns. buy some paper targets and binoculars. We'll meet up tomorrow. It's the next day. Gathering all my supplies and weapons.

I start heading towards the isolated part of the woods for Jordan's training. Hey man. He shouts from a distance. I walk over to him and direct Jordan to set up the targets at intervals of 20 feet apart. Remembering to adjust the rifles for temperature change, wind resistance and spin drift. The guns lay apart a few feet from one another on a silk cloth in order from left to right. Nossler M48 Patriot Haunting Rifle with 6.5mm caliber rounds.

Remington, 550 pump action 12-gauge shotgun. A slightly modified AR-15 assault rifle using 556 NATO with 30-round banana magazines. My custom Beretta 9mm. And, last, a Remington 700 bolt-action sniper rifle. Take your pick, Jordan. He begins looking over each weapon while lifting them, gripping the handles and testing the sights.

Let's start small, he says excitedly. Jordan picks up the 9mm, begins loading rounds into the magazine. Loud shots ring out echoing into the woods. I'm holding the binoculars. working as his spotter. Jordan shoots at the first target, 20 feet away.

Shell casings cover our feet, bullets tearing into the target. He completes his first trial, remembering to disengage the slide with the safety arm. We walked to the next target to assess his accuracy. Proudly smiling, he looks at me. Not bad, eh? Impressed, I utter.

Good. Now let's move up the ranks. Here, take this one, handing him the hunting rifle. Once more, he loads up the weapon, standing with a stern stance, his grip tight and sights locked onto the furthest target. Bang. Miss. Adjust for wind, compensation 10 degrees, I say.

Several more shots fired. Hit, good contact. Jordan cheers. A few more hours of training pass. Excellent training day. We'll continue tomorrow. You're a natural. Scooping up every gun, we load up our supplies and head out for a few cold ones.

After a night of drinking and talking shit to some pretty ladies, we call it quits. Now, at home, with a good buzz, happy and worried all at the same time. wandering about the dangers of having a new partner. Weighing my options eventually come into the conclusion. I made the right decision. Feeling as if this is a calling from a higher power, we are the angels of death. Cordobont rid this war of evil.

We will stop at nothing. The time is now. Let the games begin. using the list given to me by dad and the contacts from the lead lieutenant's phone we've moved down the names filing another top guy we learn him and many others

have this poker game every Saturday with a bunch of wise guys watching for a few weeks we learn the men who frequent this establishment all scumbacks there's also a woman who occasionally goes outside the building taking out the trash who also serves them drinks, and so we wait.

In a parked car down the street, we sit and watch until we see this tall brunette exit the building out the back door. Both of us wearing gloves and arms of the teeth. Lower our black ski masks over our face, and quickly we reach her, Jordan using a stun gun on her back. She falls to the ground. He binds her mouth and hands with duct tape. Minutes later, she slowly awakens in a daze.

She knows the code to get in. Jordan, forcibly pushing the woman saying, Give me the numbers, lady, or I'll kill you. Using a knife and cutting the duct tape with her hands now free, she hits the numbers on the pad, unlocking the back door. Jordan stuns her once more, her limp body rapidly falling to the ground. crashing through the door our guns raised and drawn i look over at jordan kill them all he says men are everywhere throughout this room some playing cards and eight-balled at the pool table the men shocked unable to even react to our fireback bullets flying in every direction bodies falling over furniture one man drops under the pool table jordan drops down to his his knees, firing three rounds into the man's torso. Nine men lying there, bleeding out and crying.

You learn a lot about a person when you see them take their last breath, a bullet-ridden room full of smoke and gunpowder. Beer cans throughout the room, poker chips scattered about, blood-soaked cash. We double-tap each one of the men to make sure the job is done, after confirming all the men we came for are here and dead. Hastily, Jordan runs out first than myself. Removing our masks, running through a field of grass, making our way back to our car and getting the hell out of here. Speeding off.

Spending tires and smoke billowing from the ground. Jordan sticks his middle finger out the window, screaming, Rod in hell, you sick bastards. I look at him, horrified. Jordan is now laughing and cheering maniacly. You crazy son of a bitch. Get us out of here, I yell. Quite satisfied with our kills.

We make a quick trip to the store, stocking up on beer and frozen pizza. Screw it, don't judge us. Watching TV now at my place, drinking and just enjoying the evening. I begin field cleaning my guns, using Remington gun oil and boar cleaner. Firstly, I disengaged the slide from its rack after cocking it back and then releasing

its locking mechanism. Removing the slide and then the barrel. Removing the magazine and de-spring. Using soft fabric and Q-tips, wiping down the entire weapon, also ensuring to spray the lubricant on every metal moving part to prevent rust or possible locking. Wouldn't want our guns to malfunction in the middle of a kill. the news playing in the other room. A reporter says, Breaking news here on the scene, Heather Smith.

We have just learned that there are nine victims, all deeply involved in a notorious nationwide biker game. We believe it could be a turf war dispute over who controls this area. More to come later, she says. Holy shit, Jordan. Look man, we made the news. He begins flipping change. Seeing the report is on every channel. Looking at me while raising his cold one and smashing into mine.

Cheers. Hell yeah. We continue to celebrate more and drink into the night. Music playing loud and head-banging, listening to Slayer, enjoying ourselves and eventually passing out. It's morning now, and we need to figure out our next move. I'm hit with this roller coaster of a head. Damn hangovers are a bitch. Then, suddenly, a thought comes over me. Captain Alvarez, I shout out loud. Just then Jordan walks in carrying a bowl of cereal and a gun.

Dude, what the hell are you doing? You scared me. Who the hell is Captain Alvarez? Are we in trouble? He asks. No. Captain Alvarez is a contact my dad. dad had many years ago. He used to exchange info. He'd always tell my dad about all these bad guys who would cheat the system and get out scot-free over technicalities. Rapists, murderers, even child molesters and drug dealers. Yeah, I bet he can help us. Jordan begins pondering for a moment, putting his gun down and cereal. Well, let's find this guy, damn it. I want to get started right away, he says, excitedly. Not so fast, Jordan.

This isn't like taking a guy out for a few drinks and then going bowling. This is heavy shit, I say. A few days go by as we decide how we can go about this. I call up my dad once more and get the phone number for the captain. We arrange a meeting in a well-known coffee shop where all these donut-munching barrel ass crazy bastards requent. You know, We locate the captain and sit across from him, completely stunned as he gets right to the point.

All right, boys, what did you bring me here for? He asks, while drinking his coffee. Stuttering, I quietly speak. Well, we... Jordan intervenes. Captain, we heard you might want to correct the system that is severely flawed. Captain looks at us suspiciously Who are you guys

You're either vice or internal affairs Well I ain't biting You won't get one word out of me you pieces of shit scum He begins to stand I grab his arm firmly and quietly say No I'm Darrell's son And I've been getting vengeance for what these heartless assholes have been doing for years Are the cops watching?

He swats my arm away, adjusting his uniform while sitting back down. Joseph? Hell, why didn't you say so? The smile forms across his face. But we want to correct the failed courts, I utter sternly. The captain looks at us both and says, Hmm, what exactly do you boys have in mind? Now with a captain on our side.

We keep in constant contact with it. Only using cash to purchase burner phones. It's basically a phone you can buy almost anywhere with no name attached to it. It's completely anonymous. Ensuring our phones won't be wiretapped or traced back to any of us. Being careful to switch phones once a week. The trio, we call ourselves. Her in an outdoor range practicing our precision and accuracy.

Facing Jordan, a gravely voice is spoken. Give me that rifle, you weak bitch. Laughing my ass off, I watch as our newfound friend hits bullseye, three shots strong. Hundreds of rounds later, we pack up our gear and begin cleaning each weapon slowly and methodically, remembering to wipe down all the moving metal parts. Jordan opens, disengages and closes the slide rack of all the, guns. Weapons check, clear and safe. Let's ride. Loaded up in the Highlander, we're cruising at 40 miles an hour. The big man, we affectionately call him, captain, points to a location.

We pull in. I want some burritos. Price is half off after 4 p.m. After gaining weight with every ounce we consume, enjoying happy hour, knocking back several. several bruskees, three of us leave, and I drop them both off at their respective flats. At home now, blowing off steam, killing hookers playing GTA 5. It's the following day, I'm half awake. One of the throwaway phones rings out loud. Captain, do you have any info on the Johnson case? I ask, frustrated. Tonell Johnson was supposed to have committed many horrifically.

crimes and murders, but was never convicted. Years ago due to witnesses mysteriously disappearing. Now a free man, able to kill and rape again. You wouldn't believe it. The defense attorney got him off on a technicality. This son of a bitch raped, robbed and burned three women while they were still alive. Now he walks free because the arresting officer didn't read him his rights, the captain explains. So, this means he's all ours, right, Cap?

Asking permission. You bet your ass he is. I want in on this one. This bastard has slid through the cracks for years. I've been wanting to nail him down to across my own damn self. Right, I'll send over all his info. Thanks, kid. The captain says, with a growly voice.

Parked across the street from the courthouse, Jordan and I watch as this garbage of a human walks out with a smile and all-around smugness about him moving with a strut, believing he will actually be a free man. Reaching the sidewalk, a black Cadillac appears, blaring loud rap music, smoke coming from all the windows. The man enters the car. Jordan, write down that plate number and send it to the captain,

I urge. We begin following the car to the other side of town To a modest home with people and cars parked everywhere up and down the street Smoke and alcohol flood the area Great looks like a party No, not tonight Jordan Oh come on man we can take him He says excitedly holding his weapon

Spinning the silencer counterclockwise onto his weapon No there's too many of my men Besides, we're only after Johnson. But another time. Disappointed, he disengages the safety of the weapon back to the on position. Driving off to take a break while calling our contact, telling him there's drugs and illegal guns everywhere,

hoping he can draw out this dead man. You did good, boys. That location is a known trap house. I'll set up a SWAT rate tonight. Surprise, surprise, assholes. You watch Johnson and see if he leaves first, he orders. Back at the killer's neighborhood, we wait a block away, munching on snacks and burgers, using binoculars to see all the foot traffic in and out of the house.

Hours pass as we take turns. There he is! Jordan shouts, while hitting my arm. Quickly, I sit up, looking out the window. starting the car, waiting for him to leave. His vehicle blows past us, trash and dirt flying through the air as he speeds away. With our associate in the area, Jordan calls and updates our position as we tail our mark.

Heading east on 22nd Street towards Broadway, he says. Got it. I'm in a marked unit on route. I'll pull him over once located. Several minutes pass Okay, I'm right behind you boys My turn Siren is allowed with the lights flashing Pulling over the vehicle

We wait a few cars back Just in case there's a resistance or struggle Turning off his dash cam With the cruiser He approaches the vehicle Oh good evening Mr Johnson Could you step out of the car please The captain insists

What's the problem, officer? Was I speeding? This retarded criminal asks. We have reason to believe there might be guns or drugs in the car. Step out so I can check. I'll just put you in cuffs until I finish searching the car. The man refuses, so he gets hit with a taser and becomes incapacitated. The captain opens the driver's door and yanks him out, cuffing the man and walking him back to the squad car.

I exit my car and grab my roll of duct tape, walking towards them both. Oh, the hell are you, homie, he asks, pissed off. I am retribution, covering his mouth with a whole hell of a lot of tape after striking him over the head, knocking him unconscious and throwing his useless ass in the back seat. Sitting next to the captain in the front now, with a Jordan following behind. Hey, where are we going now? He asked with a smile. Oh, don't worry.

I know a good place. He nods. Driving for approximately 45 minutes, we're in the middle of the woods. This area looks awfully familiar. I noticed many of the same fallen trees from before. Oh, wait a minute. Hey, isn't this where all those girls were kept and held hostage? It was all over the news, right?

I asked, while knowing damn well the answer. Yes, forensics is all done here. They won't be back, turning off the squad car, hearing muffled cries from the back seat. Just then he throws his door open, yelling while taking out three photos from a manila envelope, showing each one to the suspect in the back. Hey, remember these girls? and they were young and instant and you took that away from them

they didn't deserve to be raped and burned alive you sick sadistic psychopath the captain yells then Jordan grabs the man removing the tape from his mouth screw you and those girls I'll do the same to your daughter when I'm free

you weak ass cop the man says looking back at me the captain sees the array of knives I now hold in a silk cloth He grabs one while yelling. You'll never hurt anyone again. Pushing the man forward, he forces him to walk into the building with no windows.

Our flashlights brighten the room. Laying plastic on the ground, setting up the kill sight to catch all the blood. The mark showing absolute emptiness in his heart and no emotion. His face is blank. No remorse. The captain looks at him and says I hope you said your prayer, son and begins stabbing him multiple times in the stomach,

then slices his carotid artery. He falls to the ground, still yelling with rage, he stomps on the man's head until his skull caves in. Blood and brain matter now everywhere, painted on the floorboard. Taking out the saw knife, cutting the deceased man's limbs and head for the disposal, using heavy-duty trash bags, gathering all the parts. I repeat the same steps as last time,

keeping the kill sight clean, carefully covering our tracks and cleaning up the mess. I take a break, studying our associate. Now getting a grip and watching me, finally calm down, the captain says. Damn, you sure know what you're doing. Looks like you've done this before. Oh, damn, I have to go.

The raid is supposed to be starting at the trap house. See you boys again, soon. Wondering how he felt about killing, and if he could hold it together, we begin to discuss if there's any way we can trust him not to go mad like that again. He's a loose cannon man. Next time we have to walk him,

through the process or he can't join us. In agreement, I nod. He just got caught up in the moment. It happens. Just glad we're out here. Throwing each garbage bag into the trunk. Now let's get rid of this asshole, saying while laughing.

Driving for a short while, we decided in a good spot to dump the bags after filling them with heavy rocks and taping them closed. Rapidly tossing bags in the wood. water, Jordan notices someone in the distance. Damn it, look. There's a man over there. He's looking right at us. It's dark. He couldn't have seen anything, right? Tire screeching, dirt and small rocks flying from the tires of the all-wheel-drive vehicle. Engine revving, we speed out of the area.

Dude, who the hell was that? Why was he out of there? Jordan asks, totally freaked to out. Calm down. He didn't see anything. Besides, the back sank to the bottom. We're in the clear, I assure him. The headlights brightly illuminate our path many yards ahead of us. Woods are quiet. So quiet indeed, we can hear our hearts beating rapidly. Suddenly a deer appears in front of us. Slamming on my brakes, the SUV attempts to slow down, although unable to do so on the dirt roads. covered in small rocks. Unfortunately, not being able to come to a full stop in time and still hitting the poor creature. Exiting the vehicle, Jordan and I assess the damage and look over this poor white-tailed beast

which lies there motionless. Is it dead? Jordan cries out. Examining the deer, I notice it's approximately 80 pounds with little to no wounds. It's fur a light brown color with the touches of white over. its coat. It's still breathing, yet with slow, labored breaths. It appears to be unconscious, but still alive. You might be surprised, but we are actually animal movers. Jordan, get over here and help me with it. We'll hold on to him until he regains consciousness. I beckon him over.

Carefully, we lift the deer's limb body and move it into the cargo area of my vehicle, using duct tape to tie its arms and legs together. His mouth, as well, ensuring it can still breathe. I don't know if they bite, but I sure as hell don't want to find out. Wouldn't want this soft-bodied beast to wake up in a rage and go apeshit on us. We load him up, shut the back hatch, and continue to leave the woods. About ten minutes later, Jordan and I are discussing our next move, and targets, when he hears a commotion behind us.

The deer awakens in a daze. Slowly he begins to move his head, side to side, scanning his new surroundings. I pull over, and we reach the rear of the SUV, opening the hatch. The beast is now flailing violently. We're picking up, and Jordan grabs a knife. He removes the tape from the deer's mouth and limbs.

Letting it go free, the beast gets up quickly and scurries off back into its natural. habitat. Back on the road again, satisfied with our latest kill. I'm tired now, seeing how I did all the work dismembering the body and cleaning up the kill site, as they watched and learned my techniques, covering our tracks, so to speak. Jordan sits beside me, wired and ready to celebrate. He turns on loud heavy metal music, grabbing his favorite drink, adjusting his chair back, relaxing. and listens. After about seven minutes, I look over to see this numb nuts playing air drums. Settle down, Jordan. We'll be home soon, I urge him. He stops and veers in my direction.

Screw that, man. Let's go get some drinks. And from now on, you call me J. Money, okay? He says that while smiling. What about your restaurant? You have an arcade and pool tables, right? It's only about a 10-minute I inquire. Jordan laughs. Hell no, we're not going there. That place has rats, dude. I begin choking on my cold drink.

What the hell, Jay? Are you serious? That's disgusting. Okay, then. Where to? Guide us, oh, great one. Marking him, I bow, while saying it. He begins giving directions as we near our destination.

Yeah. Yeah, just keep your eyes on the road, you crazy bastard. Yeah, I know a good place we can scout our next kill and have a few drinks. Turn left on St. James Street. It's a club called Legends. A lot of scumbags requent that place. I grin and say? Oh, yeah, you would know, you know a ball having turtle dick.

We arrived promptly. I stuffed my beretta into its concealed carry holster. Hey, they serve beer inside. You can't carry here. That's illegal, bro, he says quietly. Disarming myself and hiding our weapons in our log vehicle, heading towards the entrance. The bouncer begins to conduct a search.

Welcome to legends, fools. Arms up, the bouncer says aggressively. Jordan looks at me frustrated. Here's a short fuse, and I know that look. Not him, not here. I whispered to him. Besides, we must be absolutely certain our kills are justified and our marks are well vetted. We pay the admission fee, heading to the bar while looking around at the local talent,

all the while scoping out the area for our next lucky condestant. On you're about to get murdered game show. Lights flashing and loud music blaring. Dozens of young men and women are dancing and drinking. After mingling for a while, Jordan comes over and stands beside me. He begins to inform me that he learned a shock caller for a local gang is here up on the balcony in the VIP area. In prison, the shock caller is the leader of a gang who issues orders from prison to be committed on the streets, such as drug deals, gun trafficking, tax collections on drug money,

beat downs of fellow gang members, and even the murders of rival gang members. and even the murders of rival gangbangers, if necessary. These same rules apply to a mafia darn as well. Do you have his name? I ask while finishing my drink. Yeah, his street name is Lil Boy. I'll text the captain and see if he can run his alias in the system. Jordan begins smiling, anticipating the kill. Little boy?

That guy has to be at least six foot six and weighs over 300. ounce. Okay, you keep an eye on Bigfoot. I have to drain the dragon, I say. Making him my way to the restroom, I receive a phone call from the captain on a burner phone. Hey boss, how'd the raid go? I ask while relieving myself. Not good. The judge wouldn't sign off on it. Couldn't even get a search warrant, he says, clearly upset. Okay, well, don't worry about them for now. Jordan and I will keep an eye out for those guys.

In the meantime, do you think you could do us a favor and run a name? Hearing rustling in the background over the phone. Yeah, it's his street name, little boy. Holding the phone close, I speak quietly. What? You mean Juan Cortez. I've been building a case over the little. that puto for years, but we can never link any murders to him. We just can't seem to find a

prosecutor who will try him or even look at the evidence. It's so damn hard to get convictions in this jurisdiction with all the politics and their bullshit. I have everything there is to know about that asshole and his acolytes. He is pure a scum of the earth, this one. They use a killing method of machetes. They are real savages who look. love their violence up close and personal. Their ammo is to cut out the eyes and tongues of their victims after they're beheaded. I know for a fact he's already killed at least six women, and is suspected of being behind many more, he explains.

Thanks, Captain. I'll talk to Jordan. For sure, this son of a bitch is next on our list. Send me all the info you have on him. I'll talk to you later. I hang up and exit the restroom. I began walking towards where I last saw Jordan to tell him the good news when I'm approached by this young, beautiful brunette woman standing about five foot nine inches, wearing a quite revealing

blue dress and high heels. Looking down at my phone, I noticed a new text message from Jordan. It reads, Nice job, man. Who is she? I'm out of here. See you later. Hey, handsome, I've been watching you from the other side of the club. Did you even notice me?"

She smiles while asking. Oh, sorry. I'm here with a friend. I guess we just got carried away in a conversation. He's right over... I started nervously as I begin to point to an empty bar stool. That son of a bitch, did he leave me? That's okay.

How about we chat for a few? And if you need a ride, I can take you... She says with an inviting soft voice. reaching in my pockets for my keys, realizing they're now gone. Oh, that mother, did Jordan put you up to this? I ask in anger.

What? No, I just saw you across the way, and you looked interesting, so I wanted to talk to you, she explained. Damn, I'm sorry. My name's Frank Castle. I've just been under a lot of stress from work lately.

It's been a long week, I exclaim. Her right arm reaches out and extends forward to shake mine. That's okay. Nice to meet you, Frank. I'm Miranda Jones. So, what do you do for work? She inquires. With a big grin on my face, I respond, laughing inside.

Oh, me, I'm in the medical field. A transporter. I deliver and dispose of medical waste efficiently and quickly. I inform her. Thinking for a minute Her finely plucked eyebrows rays And her dimples crinkle in her adorable cheeks

Her face is now lit up with a beautiful smile Wow, that's really interesting It sounds intense You're not killing people and harvesting their organs Are you? She says while laughing and nudging me We continue for about an hour I really like this girl

She offers me a ride home I accept, of course. I mean, I'm a guy. She's hot. We head to my place and arrive there after about 15 minutes of driving. Sliding a paper across the center compartment with my number on it, I speak confidently. This is me right here.

Well, it was great to meet you. She looks over at me, as if she's thinking of what to say next. Hey, I have to use the restroom. Do you mind if I come up? She asks, looking all cute. Sure, no problem. Give me a minute to clean up. Wait a here a second, okay?

I ask, politely. I run upstairs to my apartment. Shit, my keys. I swear I'm going to kick his ass tomorrow. Fortunately, I leave a spare key above the front door, hidden behind a loose brick in the wall. Again, yeah, screw you. Don't judge me.

I grabbed the key and let myself in. I didn't need to really clean up. That was a lie. I began locking up more my gun cleaning supplies, weapons and killing tools in a large gun safe I bought recently. Now, with everything out of sight, I poke my head outside, motioning for her to come up. She gets out of her car and walks up the stairs slowly,

ensuring she doesn't slip and fall in those high heels. I reach out and take her hand as she is she. nears the top step. Come on in. Bathroom's the last room on the left. I say while pointing, as if she doesn't know where left is. It's the next morning. And I find myself disoriented, but feeling good.

I've been looking around, noticing clothes all over the floor. That isn't my stuff. Arising from my bed and springing up to investigate, walking from my bedroom to the bathroom, I noticed someone in the kitchen. Who the hell? I'm interrupted. There she stands with nothing but my t-shirt and shorts.

Oh, hey Frank. Just making us breakfast. Hope you like omelets. I also made bacon and toast, she says, while smiling. Taking in what the hell just happened. I asked quizzically. I... Sorry, I don't remember much from last night.

It's kind of a blur. "'Are you Jordan's girlfriend?' "'She stops cooking and turns around. "'No, silly. I'm yours. Well, not officially. "'I suppose that's up to you, isn't it?' "'Now I'm more confused than Father's Day in West Virginia,' I reply. "'Is it?' "'Oh, I'll be right back,' I utter.

"'What the hell just happened?' "'I make my way into the restroom, emptying the seemingly endless water hose, thinking to myself how dumb I am. I have this smoking hot chick in my kitchen, damn near half-naked, cooking me breakfast, and I got nothing. A voice speaks inside me.

Thomas, my actual name, get your dumb ass in there and talk to the girl. I arrive back in the kitchen, now dressed, and sit at the table. Thank you so much. for breakfast. I don't remember buying all this food, I say, while chomping down on my bountiful feast. It's no trouble. You were sleeping soundly, so I didn't want to wake you. I went to the store and picked up a few things for you. Hope you enjoy it. I look up into her angelic hazel eyes and say,

You didn't secretly buy yourself a toothbrush and put it in my medicine cabinet, did you? She laughs and then begins to look deep into my eyes. It's weird. It's as if we've known each other for years, and I've just met this girl. Yeah, it's all really... I stutter over my words. It's great. Thank you so much. I struggle speaking. What's wrong? she asks. Sorry, I'm not used to having anyone over. I suppose I'm nervous, because you're just so damn gorgeous. I don't want to mess this up.

whatever it is we have. Relax. Everything's fine. I'm really enjoying myself with you. I haven't had this good of a time in years. I do however have to get to work in about an hour. Maybe we can catch up again soon, she asserts. Calmly, she walks over and kisses me on the cheek.

She begins to walk away, and I rise up from my chair and horse for a moment. That's it. A kiss on the cheek I'm such a loser Fuck this I thought Swiftly I chase after her Slamming the door shut as she begins to open it

Grabbing her and turning Miranda's amazing body around I begin kissing her like I mean it See you soon I say smiling She turns around reaching for the door once more Smiling back at me And then heads out to her car Feeling good

and my heart racing. A sudden realization comes over me. What the hell did I just do? I wanted to have a simple life. Hell, it's already getting complicated enough as it is, trying to live this double life. Now I have yet another masterware. I'm not sure what I have to do. Maybe catch and release. I know I only just met her, but she's so amazing. The way I felt just in those few moments with her, it was incredible. If I pursue this any further, I may have to give up my current life. Am I willing to give it all up for a woman? This I most certainly have to think about. Well, until next time, I have some homework to do on my new friend.

Who is she, really? Jordan stops by to give my keys and vehicle back to me. He knocks and walks in the front door. Hey Thomas, how to go last night? Oh, brought us some drinks, holding up a 12-pack and a smile. I look at him, frustrated. Why the hell did you leave me last night? Tossing my keys to me.

Relax, man. When you went to the bathroom, I told that girl you wanted to talk to her, but you were too shy, he says. I don't know. I'm worried. It went really well, actually. Perhaps too well even. Still waiting to hear back from the captain about her. I say, with a concern, look on my face. Enough about her. Let's get serious. That big bastard we saw last night makes the rest of these guys we killed look like boy scouts. I explain everything Alvarez sent me about the shot caller and turn my laptop around, pointing to the pictures of the grotesque murder scenes.

This is the carnage these savages leave behind. Senseless violence and murder. They attack at random. Kidnapping, torture, and eventually dismembering innocent bystanders. Leaving their body parts in public parks with absolutely no regard for human life. I say, enraged. Jordan, examining the pictures, sickened, covering his mouth. Scrolling down further and further.

I notice his demeanor is changing rapidly. He closes the laptop furiously. Clearly bothered by what he's just seen. He looks up with me and speaks. They're sending a message. Puzzled. I inquire, asking, What message is that?

Still holding the case of beer, which he no longer has interest in, places it on the table and sits down. These gangbangers are saying that he, It's their town, and they can kill and terrorize neighborhoods as they please. From one victim to the next. No remorse. No conscience.

Truly terrifying. He continues. Well, let's send him a message right back, I urge. These public officials won't act, and we need to assure the general public they can feel safe walking down the street with their families. Leaving home to buy a gallon of milk. without fearing for their lives. How do you plan to do that? Jordan asks, seemingly interested.

Simple. We make an example of these low-life scum, humiliating them out in the open for everyone to see. Displaying banners overhead the dead bodies of the criminals we kill, reading, violent crimes will go unnoticed and unpunished no longer. Yeah, that'll definitely get their attention, I exclaim. Jordan thinks for a moment, glancing in my direction.

Yeah, I'm just not sure that's the kind of attention we want to draw. Besides, shouldn't we stay low profile? Seems like a sure way to get caught, he says. Maybe you're right, I sigh. But we must do something. I want to take these guys out before they hurt anyone else, I tell him, very frustrated. Assuring me, we'll get them. He explains we must keep our composure and be rational.

Being well organized and prepared is key. Our emotions cannot get in the way of our planning and execution, or we will certainly be caught. I nod and agree. Let's just cool off and enjoy those drinks. Then we can begin the process. After watching a few movies and down in the twelve pack, my place is now a mess. Food boxes and little Debbie wrappers are everywhere. Beer cans cover the coffee table.

Dammit, Jordan. Help me clean up you sorry excuse for a human being. He walks by, smacking me over the back of my head, then begins picking up the array of trash lit it about, grabs his things and heads out of the door. I'll get a lift driver to take me back to my place. then I'll start following Cortez. I'll check in with you later, he says. I follow him outside to my Toyota, unlocking it and grabbing the rest of my weapons and gathering other supplies.

We live in an open carry state, which essentially means you aren't required to have a concealed weapons permit to carry a firearm and can openly holster most any guns, even carrying them into businesses and parks, well, unless it's a lot of, a federal building, or a certain business that has science posted, strictly prohibiting it.

I say this because I carry wherever I go, sometimes concealed, sometimes open. While still outside, I hear loud music coming from a vehicle, and turned to see this car slowly passing by with four men staring at me, one of them pointing, speaking inaudibly. On this particular day, I have my concealed holster on me, and my oh, so precious Beretta, which I will from now on refer to as Samantha. Yes, I name my weapons. Noticing the men are acting strange, or perhaps I'm just being judgmental, I reach behind on my lower back and turn off the safety while gripping the handle, readying myself in case they make any sudden moves. More talking amongst the men takes place, and I see one of them noticeably shaking his head in a no fashion.

The men drive off. Me, now relieved, not wanting a gunfight in my own neighbourhood, especially one that's so completely unprovoked. I haven't seen them before, but perhaps I will see them again soon. I take down the number plate just in case. head towards my apartment. Going up the stairs and walking through the door, immediately engaging all the logs. Relaxing on the couch,

going over all these sickening pictures of the deceased victims on my laptop, I hear from the captain. My phone rings. Hey Tom, did you get the files I sent you? He asks. Yeah, I'm looking at them now. Hey, did you find anything? out about the name I gave you. I ask with a worried tone of voice. In fact, I did. Let's see here.

Miranda Jones, 28 years old, college graduate, works at the county hospital, full-time employee, registered nurse at the ER, two moving violations, speeding tickets, no arrests. Why? Who is she? He says with a growly voice. this nice girl I met, wanted to get some info on her. Seemed too perfect. I felt off about it, I explained. Well, kid, one thing to learning life, that if something looks too good to be true, it prop...

I cut him off. Yeah, yeah, I know. Thanks for checking for me, I reply. Listen, the reason I called is something big is happening. I sat in a briefing this morning. It seems the FBI is brought in one of their top agents. He's a veteran. He upsold many high-profile cases involving well-known serial killers.

They're investigating these recent murders and are trying to find evidence to build a case. Even looking for patterns in the murders. The FBI isn't sharing all of their files with us. So, at the moment, we aren't sure how much they know. I'm going to try to steer their investigation in a different route Planning evidence, hair, fingerprints, whatever I have to So they're focused on some worthless gangbangers Instead of potentially us

They could be getting close For now, hold off on killing the big man Cortez Until I can reduce the heat Talk to you later kid He hangs up abruptly Several days past, I stay home playing video games, generally keeping to myself. Miranda came over a few nights after work.

We spent some quality time together, watching movies and talking, getting to know one another. Of course, I am cautious in my words with her. She is so good to me. Oh, I find myself afraid to really let her into my world. Oh, if she knew what I really was. I follow her into the kitchen. Damn, she really seems to enjoy cooking for me. Things are going well with us.

She stays the night. Laying on the couch, she's now out like a light. It's late and my phone rings loudly. Jordan, what's up, man? You okay? I ask. Frantically, he begins to speak his words faintly with heavy breathing. He's running. I can hear rustling in the background and wind blowing from his movements. They're after me, man. Hold on, I'm hiding.

He begins whispering. Shit. I thought they didn't see me. Damn, I was being careful. Even watching from a distance. I've been following the big man for a few days now. Somehow they spotted me till I hear them coming. Just then I hear multiple men shouting while speaking. Spanish. From what I could understand, they said to find and kill him. Loud shots ringing out. I hear the phone falling to the ground and Jordan shouting while shooting back at them. His voice muffled by the gun blasts. Jordan, are you okay? What happened? I yell into the phone.

Four more gunshots are heard very close to the phone. I hear grunting and slow movement. Footsteps approaching and more chattering. Voice is getting louder with every step. Talk to me, Jordan. Damn it, man. Are you hit? Where are you? I cry out. Hearing the phone being picked up, Hispanic man's voice is clearly heard. Your little friend is dead. You try to mess with our business. You fucked with the wrong homies. The phone line goes dead. Completely speechless, I dropped my phone on the floor.

In a rage, I begin destroying my apartment, yelling at the top of my lungs, throwing lamps, flipping over furniture, spiraling out of control and into madness, simply tearing the whole world apart. I was so loud my neighbor comes over to check on me, worried I was being robbed or attacked. After a few moments I slowly calm down as my back hits the wall and I slide down to the floor.

The anger subsiding, turning to sadness. I'm now crying. A depression hits me immediately. I go into a dark place in my mind. My judgment clouded by waves of emotion and rage. It's been weeks now. I barely leave the house. Haven't seen or spoken to anyone in a while.

Devastated by the loss of my best friend. Wondering, if it's even worth it anymore, my health is deteriorating. I don't eat right. Booze all day and night. It's really taking a toll on my body. Stopped exercising entirely. All I can think about is Jordan. He's been gone a while now, but I still see him sometimes.

In the corner of my eyes, he dissipates quickly. Some nights I wake up from a horrible dream. I call out yelling Jordan's name, even though I know it really isn't him. Nightmares haunt me, losing hope and just wanting to give up altogether, which is not in my nature at all. This has hit me harder than I could ever have imagined. Sitting on my couch, feeling sorry for myself. There's a knock on my door.

Hey Frank. I still haven't told him my real name. Why won't you answer your phone? Open up. I want to talk. Slowly I arise from my sorrow and walk towards the door. Turning around to look at my apartment, which is a complete mess. So am I.

answering the door in a daze, face pale, sleep deprived and looking extremely disheveled. Oh my God, what the hell happened to you? Miranda asks with a worried expression on her face. She pushes me aside, letting herself in, heading to the kitchen, making me a glass of water and grabbing meds from her purse. Here, take this. She insists forcing the drugs on me. I accept them and begin gulping the water down. Talk to me. Why have you been so distant? I begin explaining everything that happened to Jordan

and how I basically shut down mentally and emotionally. She embraces me and holds me tightly for minutes, starts crying, telling me how sorry she was. Feeling dead inside, I say, with a cold blank expression, I think you should go. now is a really bad time. She refuses, putting her purse down. No, you look horrible.

I'm going to stay right here. I have some vacation saved up. I'll call him from work for a few days. And so, she does. Slowly nursing me back to hell. Each day, I start feeling more and more like myself again. Whole almost. Truly amazed.

I can't believe the effect she has on me. It's incredible. Can psychopaths genuinely fall in love? The only thing that would feel even better is to seek vengeance for my fallen comrade. Jordan, I will avenge your death. For those of you responsible for his murder in cold blood, my life is now dedicated to your demise.

Each day I will hunt them down. Their blood will rain down from the skies. Your deaths will be slow and painful. I will not rest until each one of you feels true agony. The worst hell imaginable. You will suffer my wrath. The lovely Miranda sees me almost daily now. I can tell she's worried.

I think she feels I'm unstable If only she knew the beast inside of me I've never felt so focused on anything I am determined now more than ever However Her frequent visits really make my killing methods Quite difficult I'm literally stalking prey

And planning important kills around my love life Born an excellent problem solve her, but this is the one thing I have yet to conquer. Becoming more and more difficult now, to come up with reasons I can't see her. It feels wrong to do this, but I must do something. She has to go, even if it means hurting this poor soul. Okay, now, settle down. I don't mean I'm going to kill her. It just means I may have to come up with some incredibly ridiculous lie.

An evil, malicious plot. What the hell could I possibly say to her that would make her not ever want to speak to me again? Say that I'm married? Maybe I'm a leader of a local neo-Nazi group. No, that's stupid. She would never believe me. Just then, a thought hits me like an anvil

falling on roadrunner from a cliff. Are you dead people? Yeah. That's what I'll tell her. If that doesn't make this sweet innocent girl run for the hills, I don't know what will. Several days pass as I completely ignore Miranda. I swear if I wasn't a killer, I'd keep her as my trophy wife. An amazing woman.

She finally comes over, demanding an explanation, banging on the door. The usual, very kind girl, is now in a fit-y and a fit-y woman. is now in a fit of rage. Hey, open the door, asshole. The banging continues. Let me in now, she screams. I wait a few moments, then invite her in calmly. She walks in, sits on the couch, clearly distraught.

I begin to tell her my horrible secret. She gasps, grabbing her hands quickly, covering her mouth, trying not to vomit. Running to the door and slamming it shut hard. A footstep slamming down on each step. As she flees my apartment complex. Well, that's about the reaction I expected and was hoping for. I began cheering, jumping up and down.

Then, horrified, as I begin to realize just how happy it made me to be truly a love. alone. Well, now that this smoking hog girl is out of my life, I suppose it's time to get back to what I do best, stalking and killing. Turning my focus once more to the evil monsters who took Jordan's life. I call the captain to get the okay. Hey kid, how are you holding up? He says while smoking a cigar. Better, thanks. Listen, how are we on the Cortez case? Where's the FBI's investigation heading?

And he leads as to who their primary suspect is? I ask, intensively. He begins laughing. Oh, that? I had a few of my boys plan some evidence. They left a week ago, closing the case. Locked up a few low-level guys, he says. Hell yes.

Don't worry, Cap. I'm going to put this coward away. permanently, I cheeringly say. Oh, hell no, you won't. Not without me. I set this one up. We'll kill this guy together, he exclaims. Captain comes over, bringing with him two plain-clothed offices I've never seen before.

Come on in, guys. We've got some work to do. I greet them, showing them the way. My laptop is pulled up with all the info on course. Cortez and his ruthless crimes. The two men begin going through all the photos. I can tell they're quickly becoming interested. Each man becoming more and more frustrated with every moment.

Disgusted, one of them closes the laptop. Okay, we're sold. When are we doing this? The men ask, convincingly. Right, we strike them tonight. From watching them over the last few months, Captain says there's anywhere between two and five men that come and go from the house. The men grabbing their baseball bats, placing them down on the table. What kind of job is this exactly?

One officer asks. I look at him with a smile. Well, an execution. You can keep the Louisville slugger. Come with me, I urge. Walking everyone to my gun side. safe, opening the door. There, take your pick, gentlemen,

keep your service pistols at my home. Can't afford anything being traced back to us. Inspecting each weapon, one officer speaks with an Eastern European accent. I'll take this one, he says with a smile. Grabbing the 12-gauge Mossberg 550 pump-action shotgun. Excellent choice. but I want the modified AR-15, says the captain.

The third man grabs the remaining nine millimeter. The two officers holding the weapons, now sitting back on the couch, removing the magazines and rounds. I look at them as they disassemble each gun. The European man says, We must clean. Nodding in agreement, I smile,

pulling the captain aside. Are these guys trustworthy? I ask, slightly off-put. Oh, hell yeah. Two of my best men. Serve with me for years now. The big one saved my ass a few times, he says, reassuringly patting me on the back. Nightfall comes as everyone is ready, sitting outside the house of this murderous gangbanger Cortez. The men examining their guns, putting on.

their black leather gloves. The larger man gets out of the car. We all follow. He kicks the front door in as there's loud music being played throughout the home. Two men are in the living room smoking pot. We all fire at will, slaying them. One man tried to jump out from a nearby bathroom. He also was subsequently shot down, walking over to each man, quickly, fading from this earth. The captain says, No, not him. Move on.

I'm first in life. We clear the first floor of the house. Strategically holding my gun with my body placed against the wall, moving my arm around the corner, veering ahead. Slowly peeking out, I move my head. Shots ring out in our direction.

Dry wall, flying through the air. The man fired behind me, taking out the grunt. His body, limp, falls down the stairs completely lit up and bullet-ridden. I double-tap this low-life scum, hearing yelling, coming from upstairs. Faintly, a voice cries out. Who the hell are you Vatos? We make her way up the stairs slowly, with guns raised. The last man in the house comes to. The last man in the house comes out of a bedroom wielding two oozy nine millimeters, running down the hall. Gunblast light up the entire house as each weapon's muzzle flash fire on this dark, moving object. As the man falls, his body reacts as several rounds pour into the dry wall.

Falling to the floor, blood is pouring everywhere. Cortez is choking and coughing on blood, trying to use any strength he has like. Attempting to raise his gun, both of the men and the captain all fire simultaneously. Me yelling, this is for Jordan! Firing recklessly, unloading my weapon completely, I feel the captain grabbed my arm sternly. Let's go. We've already been here too long, and this is a rough neighborhood. With rapid movements, each of us run down the stairs, reaching the now broken front door.

Advancing through the front yard now, outside, a loud explosion bursts out. Car parts flying everywhere and flames rising. Ears ringing, not hearing sound. In a days, we realize my SUV has just been blown to hell. All of us, now on edge, weapons raised, frantically looking around. Seeing no one, we make a run for it. Passing through several neighborhoods, we're out of breath. Did someone follow us here?

What the hell was that? We each begin asking questions to the others, accusingly, pointing fingers to one another. We've been compromised, boys. Let's get the hell out of here, the captain explains. We travel on foot for a few miles until we feel safe. Setting up a lift driver to pick us up. The captain and other men dispose of their large firearms, taking them apart and placing each piece into different trash cans and dumpsters.

A few minutes past as our driver arrives and takes us back to my place. The two men leave with only the captain and myself still at home. Kid, there's something I have to tell you. One of the guys I framed is the son of a federal judge, who's been taking kickbacks and bribes, preventing the sentencing of gangbangers to prison. His son, who I arrested, got life. I testified a few days ago of the court hearing. I have reason to believe he may be after me.

He's protected by some really bad guys, looking at him for a moment, thinking about everything he just told me. Well, looks like you owe me a new car then, you old bastard. Shocked? He peers in my direction and knots. Okay,

I'll check the Impel lot. See what I can find for you. Want anything in particular? He asks. Yeah, something fast as hell, I say, smiling. Well, you're in luck. Actually, busted a couple of illegal street races a while back. If I remember correctly, one of them had a

3,000 GT with a VR4 twin turbo. Will that work? I smile with excitement. Hell yeah, I'll take that. I begin cheering. All right. Talk to you a tomorrow, kid. Be safe. The captain leaves as I begin considering the new risks and dangers that I now face. Hmm. A federal judge who keeps violent criminals out of prison. You are next. I'll walk on my door if I breaks loudly. Echoes throughout the hallway. Looking out the peephole of the door, I see a large man in uniform.

It's the captain. Let me in, your useless waste of space, he says. They open the door and he tosses me the keys. Here you go, kid, as promised. I catch the keys and walk over to the window, peering outside. I don't say a word, and leave my apartment running down the steps, racing to my new car. What do you think? he asks. I love it, I exclaim.

Lifting the hood, seeing all the modifications to the car. Is she even street legal? I ask. No, but she's all yours. Hey, let's go for a ride, he insists. We hop in the car. The two front seats have been replaced with racing seats. He even has the safety harness seatbelts.

Starting the car. The engine roars fiercely. Reving her up, she purrs like a lion. Taking off at a high rate of speed, shifting into second, then third gear, driving around recklessly for a while. eventually heading back home. Captain says, Okay, settle down.

Glad you liked the car. Now, let's get down to business. Here's all the info I have on the judge. Good luck, kid. After speaking to the captain for a while, I learned the judge's schedule and begin attending his court hearings. I want to see this asshole in action firsthand. Arriving at the courthouse.

going through the metal detectors, wandering to myself as I emptying my pockets if it would be possible to commit a killing in a courtroom. Assessing the dangers, no, far too risky. I see there are tons of officers and deputies all over the place. That plan is out. Walking around a bit, eventually finding the right courtroom. I read the list of cases on the outside of the door.

The Honorable Jennifer Turner. Oh, no. There must be some mistake. Calling the captain once more. Hey, I think you gave me the wrong room number. It's a woman, judge, I say, frustrated. Yeah, kid, that's her, the captain utters. I begin stuttering over my words.

I don't feel comfortable doing this. He pauses. Oh, don't you worry, kid. You will, trust me. Sit in for the sentencing of today's hearing. Listen to all the facts, then make your decision. The captain explains. It's almost 8.45.

Today's trial begins soon. I take a seat in the back. Wearing a decently tailored suit I had acquired recently. Well, it's not tailored, actually, but it fits perfect. Whoever died in this had good taste. All rise, the Honourable Judge, Turner presides, the bailiff speaks. Reaching in front of me, grabbing the hard wooden row of seats.

Geez, I really have to get back to the gym. I've gotten lazy. I stand up slowly. The deputy glances in my direction. Begin feeling uncomfortable as he's looking at me like I'm a cheeseburger. Hey buddy, this isn't Burger King. You can't have it your way. Please be seated.

judge orders. The trial goes on for hours as each attorney battles back and forth, each trying to discredit the other circumstantial evidence and witnesses. I learned that the defendant has killed a pair of twins in front of their mom while she watched in horror, brutally raped each little girl, stabbing them to death as the mother looked on in disgust. She sat three rows in front of me. I was seated in a way I could see her reactions as they brought forth the crime scene photos. It broke my heart as the mom relived each moment over and over again in front of everyone. The mother was bound and gagged in the home, tied to a post and left for dead, until a concerned neighbor eventually called the police for a welfare check.

The man who committed these heinous acts was eventually found guilty but was given only a three-year sentence and would most likely serve half of that term. The courtroom burst into complete and utter chaos as sentence was given. The family of the victim shouting loudly. Several men forced their way to the killer

and began assaulting him. Deputies begin pouring in, trying to gain control and bring order in the court. courtroom. It was madness. I slowly walk out, completely disgusted with this judge. How could anyone be all right with that result? Well, I will fucking end you. I promise, you won't be walking free like these rapists and killers. You are just as guilty as they are, if not more so, putting everyone in danger. After making the decision

to kill her. Yes, I know it goes against my principles. I can't let her side. I begin following her and stalking her every move. Learning her schedule, finding her home. She goes jogging in a nearby park late at night.

The path she runs on is dimly lit and not visited by many people. So, I wait. Each night hiding in the woods, finding the opportune time and place to strike. Footsteps are nearing me as I hide behind a tree. Eating a protein bar I brought with me, I'm kneeling down, remaining motionless.

Hearing branches breaking and leaves rustling. A woman grows near. I can see a figure get closer and closer. My heart racing, I jump out from behind the tree and launch my knife right into the woman stomach. Hearing her grunt, gasping for air, she looks up of me, begging for mercy. In horror, I look back at the woman, realizing I've just stabbed the wrong woman. I can't see her entirely, but I'm certain this isn't her. This girl is young, and the judge must be in her 50s. I'm an all black with a mask on. She hasn't seen my face. I lift her up over my shoulder,

running with her as I try to put pressure on the wound. Arriving to my car, I toss this mystery woman onto plastic. She passes out from blood loss. It's dark. I can't see her face. Opening my car door, the overhead dome light illuminates the vehicle. Complete shock, I now see the woman before me. I begin hyperventilating as the sudden realization overwhelms me. It's Miranda. I toss her in the backseat, turning over the engine, speeding off, driving like hell to the nearest hospital, speeds reaching well over a hundred miles an hour. I'm hauling ass, driving faster than I've ever driven before, passing cars going into oncoming traffic. She's losing blood rapidly. I can't keep pressure on her room and shift gears simultaneously. I'm freaking out, breathing heavily,

yelling at the cars in front of me, looking back every so often. Stay with me, I yell. Ten minutes later, we arrive at the ER, screeching to a halt. The car stops quickly. Carrying her into the ER, I cry out. I need a doctor, now. This girl has been stabbed. She needs blood immediately. She's rushed into surgery. I begin filling out paperwork as they question me about the circumstances. I tell them I just found her like that. Sitting in the hospital ER waiting area, my nerves are getting the best of me.

I can't stand this any longer. My heart's pounding in my chest. Worried if she'll make it, she lost so much blood. I'm now in the surgery part of the hospital. the doctor comes out I rushed him is she going to be okay I ask intently

she's in serious but stable condition she may need one more surgery currently she's unconscious I think she's gonna pull through it's best she stay here a while though it's a good thing you got here when you did if she lost any more blood

she certainly would have died you're a hero he explained He passed me on the shoulder and walks away. Walking over to the nursey station, I asked one of the ladies there which room she's in. Room 347, sir. Just down the hall.

She's in recovery, but she isn't awake. The girl says, Okay, thank you, I respond. Walking towards the room. I see two offices heading towards me. Heart, racing. Oh crap. they're going to question me.

Excuse me, sir. Can we talk to you for a moment? One of them says. I stop and look around as if I had no idea who they were talking about. What? Oh, sure, yeah. How can I help you, fellas? I ask. Just needed some info for our report.

Is that your car out front of the hospital? Yeah, the officer asks. Yeah, that's mine, I tell them. and you found this woman injured in the park on a path. The officer inquired. Yeah, I think she was attacked. Not sure what happened. I rushed to hear as soon as I found her, I explained.

I read the report given to the nurse. Well, there's only one problem we have with that, he says. He looks at the other officer who's now holding a plastic bag with a bloody knife. We found that in your own. car. Can you explain this? Glaring at the offices for a moment. I look left, then to the right, seeing exit signs. Making a run for it, I take off at a high rate of speed, blowing past nurses and patience, knocking over machines, tripping over my own, over-exaggerated movements, fall into the ground, jumping back up. Almost to the end of the corridor, I'm about to turn the corner and run

down the stairs as I plow into two more officers. These men are large. One of them falls backwards. The other grabs me and slams my body to the floor as the first two officers catch up. I try bringing up a fight, but I'm soon overwhelmed and overpowered. Face first on the floor, out of breath from running and fighting. I'm placed in handcuffs. Halled off to the police station.

I say nothing on the way there. Being booked and questioned, I try to hide my identity, hoping I'll only be charged with a simple assault. Sitting in a chair as one of the offices is searching the database. I see the captain on the other side of the station. I call out to him. He ignores me. Acts like he doesn't even know me. Damn.

Looks like I'm all alone now. Lost my best friend, my girl, my mentor. And now my freedom. The police finished searching through my car, finding several knives and many guns, rope, duct, tape, and so much more. I see one man logging them all into evidence, each with their own little clear plastic bag, including the one they showed me at the hospital,

in county jail now, waiting for my court date. I make a phone call to my father, asking if there's anything he can do, informing him I have money in a safety deposit box, but he'll have to come and get the key for it. Dad, I need a good lawyer. You have to help me, I say. More gay kid, I'll see what I can do, he replies. Dad shows up and declares my keys with his own property, making me feel like he's on my side, in and out of court. I learned who searched my home and found everything.

Months go by as I try to contact my father. I haven't seen or spoken to him since he visited and took my keys. No one comes to see me. No friends, no family. The captain won't answer or return my calls. I don't blame him. I wouldn't want to be in this shit hole either. My next court hearing is tomorrow.

I make an appearance and learn they now have all the evidence they need to put me away for good. I never did get a high-paid lawyer. Simply a public defender. Well, if you're unaware, public defenders are paid by the government, but they work on behalf of clients who can't otherwise afford private representation. If you're charged with a crime that could lead to incarceration, but you're unable to afford a private attorney, then you may be eligible for public defense.

This is also referred to as court-appointed representation. It's difficult to really get good representation, as most of them could have thousands of cases they're dealing with at one time, meaning the quality of your defence is next to nothing. DNA samples are found on my knives from the deceased. After conducting weapons checks and comparing bullet fragments found at multiple crime scenes, I'm charged with a whole laundry list of crimes. Of course, pleading not guilty. My sentencing comes, and they read the verdict.

Guilty on all counts, the man says. My heart falling from my chest as I hear those words. Life without the possibility of parole, the judge orders. I'm sent to a federal prison, where I learn many of the gang members' friends and families that I killed are incarcerated. this is either going to be a long-ass prison sentence or a very short one. The food here, as you can no doubt imagine, is horrible. You looked at and deem less than human from the start.

I feel like a caged animal. The blank smell of concrete and metal everywhere. Cloring at the caged door, attacking it, wanting to break out and kill once more. Labelled a threat, a danger to other inmates. I'm housed in the section of the prison with some of the worst criminals imaginable. Thinking to myself, this would be the perfect place to vet my marks from within. Just because I'm not on the outside, doesn't mean I have to stop killing. My thirst for murder has not yet been quenched.

Talking to other inmates, informing them that I'm looking for a weapon. One man tells me I should go to the prison metal shop and talk to one of them. A man known as the Friday night bandit. Thinking for a moment. Wait a minute. Isn't that the guy who robbed all those banks? I meet him the following day and strike up a conversation. It looks at me as if I'm interrupting him.

The man is focused, driven, determined. I can tell he's in deep. thought of something important. Only, not his job in the metal shop. Scanning over me a moment, he asks, What the hell do you want? Call off guard by his intense presence, I ask him. So I hear you the man to talk to if I need something special. Looking back down at his work table, sharpening some piece of metal, he says, well, that depends what you're looking for. friend. In prison, almost anything can be traded as collateral. That all depends on who the person is and what they like. They might be after simple snacks or cigarettes, but it could be a wide range

anywhere from books to drugs. That's the currency in prison. Eventually, I get a job in the prison shop with him, and we talk almost daily, sometimes being interrupted by guards, as I'm not always paying attention to my job, slacking off, only there to hang out with my new friend. He opens up and tells me he's gained the trust of many guards, carrying with him a sack. Oftentimes he smuggles items from the prison shop. I ask him if he's trading those items for anything. He nods his head back and forth, signaling, no. I've been carving into the concrete blocks over the past few months.

I'm going to break the hell out of here. He whispers. I look at him, laughing. Come on, man. Don't be foolish. It can't be done. This is a maximum security prison, I urge. Weeks past, as he tells me the progress he's made.

Intrigued. I ask him how he's getting rid of the mess he's making. What kind of tools he's using? He begins to explain his method, telling me that he hangs a shell. sheet over the prison cell, so he can't be seen when he's working on the concrete wall. Even how he's hollowed out the window unit at the outside, cutting the rebar, fashioning a dark blanket over his prison uniform. One day, I arrive at the metal shop and he says,

Hey man, a major set of tools. You should get started soon. I won't be here much longer. I laid your tools onto your mattress. Oh, good luck. I begin cutting away at the wall, using his method. This work is harder than anything else I've ever done. Each night I dedicate hours to removing one block after another, seeing the problems that he faced. I've been going at this for months now. My friend has since escaped.

I must be careful, as the security is heightened even more so now, adding guards to the towers, even K-9 units surrounding the prison. The bunk checks are even more frequent. I go out to the yard every day, making notes of each guard's movements and schedules, trying to find any weakness. The canines walk around the entire outside of the prison every ten minutes,

so my window of time will be short. They added another truck that drives around as well. My plan has failed. All that work for nothing. After weeks of watching them, I realize it'll be almost impossible to escape the same way he did. Now with more guards around the perimeter, I must come up with a new plan. Still working my job in the prison metal shop, I begin to devise a new plan to escape. I notice there's a large box truck that comes in and picks up different items made by the inmates in prison.

Working as a welder, I begin to familiarize myself with a truck still. delivery schedule. I observe the trucks going in and out, and the officers and how they conduct a search of the vehicles, looking for weaknesses in the security checks. Correctional officers have a mirror they used to look up under the truck attached to a long metal pole. They open the back door and search the inside, ensuring no inmates are hiding within. I realize the only way I can escape is to make myself invisible. This particular The truck is a large box truck, with an interesting layout in the undercarriage. When no one was looking, I would slide under the truck very quickly and measure the width and

length of the frame rail. With the measurements, I go back to my workstation in the prison metal shop. There are screens around me as I work, protecting from the spread of sparks flying everywhere to prevent a fire. It would also prevent anyone from seeing what kind of work I would be doing. Using a piece of plywood lying around the shop, I painted completely black. After that, I began making clothes for myself, for after the escape. Using prison shirts, I cut them short and sew patches over the numbers,

so as to look like regular civilian clothes. Made pants into shorts, even created cargo pockets. Using cigarettes, I began trading them for information about the surrounding area, asking where to hide and how to survive upon escape in the local towns nearby. Weeks past as I get all my gear ready. This is it. The truck is here and about to leave. Grabbing all my supplies, I quickly hide under the truck, placing the plywood face down

with the black paint showing. Using my custom-made board as a platform, I conceal myself in the chassis of the truck, so that when they use the mirror, it will reflect only darkness. Laying down on top of the wooden plank, I position myself the best I can. Holding on to the metal frame rails, I obtained a mass to protect myself from debris and fumes. Preparing myself now for the hazardous ride, my entire escape plan hinges on an illusion. I hear the men walk around the truck, examining it. the engine starts and it begins to drive forward.

It's approximately 4pm as the truck takes off. Exiting the prison. A massive relief washes over me as my heart is still pumping rapidly. An hour passes as the truck comes to a stop at a local gas station. Jumping out from my hiding spot, I ran into the nearby woods.

After eight months behind bars, I'm on the run, all alone with no friends and no money. I begin hitchhiking, getting several rides. I moved to the nearest town, eating food from dumpsters, even begging for change at some point. Remembering my discussions with my inmate friend, I moved to a department store and hide in plain sight. Knowing the police a canvas in the area, I steal some clothes and put them on. changing out of my custom prison clothes I've been wearing, deciding now that I can't leave the store until the police presence dies down. Now I have all the food and drinks I could want. I create a hiding place, stay here for a while, stealing knives and the other tools I need.

This place has everything. Knowing I need to stay on the move, though, I leave the area. wearing a hat trying to disguise myself heading to Jordan's old restaurant trying to get back any normalcy in my life I notice a police cruiser is heading in my direction acting like I don't see the car I head across the street

the car screeches to a halt yelling is heard a few feet away Thomas get in damn it I gotta get you out of here a man says I look over to see the captain Knowing I'm running out of options I run and hop in the back seat

Holy shit How'd you find me? I ask I've just been driving around Any location I thought you might run to I'm getting back to what you know I'd heard you escaped So I've been trying to find you before they do Look

Here's your new identity He explains, handing me an envelope. I open it and see passports, money and other documents. Where are we going? I ask. We aren't going anywhere, but you are. Ever since you got locked up, I've been talking to a friend of yours. A former inmate. You remember him.

He told me that when I found you, that you are to meet him in Havana. Here's a phone and keys to the boat he left for you. I'm taking you to the border. Hey, good luck, kid. Reaching southern Florida, I locate the boat that was left for me and begin heading south to Havana. After days of travel and constantly stopping

to fuel up every so often, my voyage comes to an end. Arriving at the port, instructed to me on the envelope. I'm greeted by a well-dressed man as soon as I docked. the boat. Right this way, sir, he says.

Just then, I see a familiar face. It's the man I met at the prison shop, the bank robber. Welcome to Cuba, Kendall speaks. We'll get started as soon as you're ready, he says. I look at him, puzzled. Ready for what? I inquire. He looks at me with a.

huge grin on his face. A partnership. You help me rob banks and casinos. I'll finance your kills. I want to take this worldwide. Oh, prepare yourself. There's a storm coming. A big one.

And so once again, reach the end of tonight's podcast. My thanks as always to the authors of those wonderful stories and to you for taking the time to listen. Now, I'd ask one small favor of you. Wherever you get your podcast wrong, please write a few nice words and leave a five-star review as it really helps the podcast.

That's it for this week, but I'll be back again, same time, same place, and I do so hope you'll join me once more. Until next time, sweet dreams and bye-bye.