Broken
You stand up from your bed and quickly put on a pair of worn-out black jogging pants that you've left thrown on the floor. You turn to your bedside table, open the drawer and take out your .22 ruger pistol and a silencer. You like to keep it loaded and in reach. Your contacts, not even Don, know where you live, but you can never be too sure. Unexpected visits are always that, unexpected. You screw on the silencer, chamber a round, set the safety on and put the gun between your pants and your back. You most probably won't need it, but experience and a few close call situations have taught you that being unprepared is bound to get you killed.
Normally you wouldn't even consider getting involved in other people's business, no matter how violent or cruel. You don't need to fix anyone else's life. You're not a cliché antihero saviour. You have enough trouble as it is with yourself. But for some reason, now you decide to take a look at what's going on. You're not quite sure if it is out of curiosity, or because you simply don't give a fuck anymore. You're getting careless, and that's exactly when one's career is going to come to a stop. One way or another.
Your apartment door has three safety chains, one at the top, another at the mid section and the last one at the bottom. They all rattle as you quickly remove them, one at a time, and open the door. You can hear the voices clearly now, they're coming from the left, at the end of the hallway. Right outside your door are the building stairs leading up and down. The corridors continue to your left and your right for three doors each way. You take your keys from the top of the little table aside the entrance and step out. The final door in the left is open. The loud sound seems to be coming from there.
"You ungrateful slut". A male voice.
You walk with determination, like you always do when in alert, to the door and take a look inside. You see a dimly lit studio apartment, just like the one you have, but with some shabby wooden furniture and a dirty mattress in a corner, near the place where you keep your bed. The bathroom door is open.
"I don't know where it is! Stop! Don't...hit me!" It's the woman.
"Help! Please, somebody!", she screams.
Normally you wouldn't even consider getting involved in other people's business, no matter how violent or cruel. You don't need to fix anyone else's life. You're not a cliché antihero saviour. You have enough trouble as it is with yourself. But for some reason, now you decide to take a look at what's going on. You're not quite sure if it is out of curiosity, or because you simply don't give a fuck anymore. You're getting careless, and that's exactly when one's career is going to come to a stop. One way or another.
Your apartment door has three safety chains, one at the top, another at the mid section and the last one at the bottom. They all rattle as you quickly remove them, one at a time, and open the door. You can hear the voices clearly now, they're coming from the left, at the end of the hallway. Right outside your door are the building stairs leading up and down. The corridors continue to your left and your right for three doors each way. You take your keys from the top of the little table aside the entrance and step out. The final door in the left is open. The loud sound seems to be coming from there.
"You ungrateful slut". A male voice.
You walk with determination, like you always do when in alert, to the door and take a look inside. You see a dimly lit studio apartment, just like the one you have, but with some shabby wooden furniture and a dirty mattress in a corner, near the place where you keep your bed. The bathroom door is open.
"I don't know where it is! Stop! Don't...hit me!" It's the woman.
"Help! Please, somebody!", she screams.