BF: Prologue

A large, muscular figure ambled by imperiously, a commanding air about him. “Boss, the new shipment came in.” Another figure jumped out and said formally, cringing slightly, causing the larger figure to turn completely around, along with his two large guards.

“Good, where?” the large figure said, turning into the dim neon glow, the vaguely visible form of a large, long-snout crocodile was definable, alongside him a burly, brown hedgehog, and a shorter, black squirrel, each of them grasping heavy sub machine guns.

“This way, sir.” the smaller, obviously inferior, creature said quietly, turning to lead the three down a long corridor of concrete and dim florescent bulbs, most of them burnt out. He turned, a door was opened, allowing them through into a large, warehouse-like area. The door opener stepped aside and stood upright, nodding in acknowledgement to the four. They entered and the leader turned a few times more through a seemingly endless maze of crates and palettes. They stopped near a loading dock, a black moving truck awaiting outside, back open, lights off. A few men were unloading crates identical to the one they stopped by, two more approached with crowbars, and pried off the lid. The crate lid was lifted, the two with crowbars stood back. The crate was filled to the brim with rows upon rows of what looked like small, grey rectangles. The prominent crocodile stepped forward and lifted one of the rectangles, it was a smaller, compact, sub machine gun. He rolled it over in his hands, scrutinizing it, he lifted it and sighted down the barrel. He lowered it and looked at it again. He grasped either end tightly, clenched his teeth, elbows pointed out. The gun bent slightly, into about a 140° angle. The small figure, now visibly a hedgehog, stared in awestruck terror.

“Good, strong.” he said, tossing the bent weapon, he lifted another from the crate. “Clip.” He said curtly, holding an empty hand out to his right. One guard, the squirrel, made a slight movement, the sound of scraping metal resounded, he stepped forward and plopped a sub machine gun magazine into the crocodiles hand. Loading it in, he cocked the SMG, lifted with one hand, and fired about fifteen rounds at an empty crate, about 35 feet away, tearing several holes and ripping off an entire corner. “Very nice. Withour specialized bullets, these’ll do nicely. No one can stand a chance against us, you know.” He said, removing the clip, handing it back to his guard, and dropping the smoking SMG onto the crate. “We are the best, we are unstoppable. We can not be opposed, we are the rulers of the city, and the rulers of the surrounding area. No other organization can defeat us.” He laughed maniacally, and turned to tromp away and out of the warehouse, leaving the grunts to lug the rest of the weapons into the warehouse.

This could prove problematic for me later. Not to mention the fortress-like structure and guard of this scum-hole. A fleeting shadow flittered across the rafters, above the lights and beyond the reaches of the tallest crate piles. The black figure skimmed over the web of rafters like a ghost, its speed making it extremely difficult to keep track of, luckily no one was trying. The dark, silent, spectre-like movement tore across the upper area of the warehouse, unseen and unheard, following in the general direction of the large crocodile’s exit. Rest assured, I am approaching. A faint glint as the unearthly dark-green whisp fluttered down silently and dashed into the large door, and leapt up, becoming, once again, unseen.

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