a man, a plan, a bar

Ryan awoke to the crisp breeze that wrapped itself around his cold, chiseled body. He had grown accustomed to the broken window of apartment 420, and it was a convenient way to be woken up. After all, he could fix it, if he wanted to, but what the hell did he care anyway? Besides, an alarm clock might disturb the neighbors through the thin walls of Washington Heights, which would attract too much attention. He moved to his closet and extracted a new wrinkled black t-shirt before leaving the apartment. Headaches from hangovers no longer bothered or mattered to Ryan, but he figured he’d go have a hair of the dog at the bar to prevent distraction during the day. Screw the elevator; the piece of shit takes too long. Stairs would be fine. On the way down, Ryan passed a few indistinct faces; he was too focused on the day ahead to concern himself with others, though they seemed to pause expectantly as he descended towards the door. At last he made it outside. He eyed his 1967 Shelby Mustang GT500 and decided he would drive to the bar, in spite of the fact that it was only a few yards away from where he was standing. He lost himself in the beautiful growl the big-block V8 emanated. As soon as he placed his foot on the accelerator he was already at the bar. As he walked in, his face became magnetically attracted to the stunning figure walking the opposite direction. The rest of the time he was there, all he could think about was red…

Now that Ryan was done with his drinks, he was ready to begin. He took the car to the abandoned lot behind the Last Resort Thrift Store and began his work with the scrap metal he had stored behind the dumpster. After hours of hard work, the car was a vision of pure beauty. The car was in every way reinforced (which did put an unfortunate dent in the car’s horsepower) and there were weapons hidden in every crevice imaginable. Also, the car could, at the touch of a button, explode in the case of an extreme emergency that Ryan hoped would never come. In the absence of his human family, Ryan seemed to have made one out of the cold and unfeeling machinery that he now poured his misplaced love into. Ryan would probably be completely insane if it weren’t for his sister Clio. He wondered what would happen if she knew everything, or much of anything that was going on with Ryan for that matter. Hopefully she would never find out, but the fact was that it was inevitable that she would. He would worry about this when the time came. He had other more important matters to concern himself with at the moment. Through his sources he had managed to find an address. He thought about that source, one of their lowlife thugs who they had most likely hired. He recognized the face, and knew exactly what to do with him. After strapping the man to a table and grating his skin off, Ryan chopped his legs off and threw him into a child-size grave in the grave yard down Barton Street, while he was still breathing. Ryan then forcibly shoved a gravestone into the dirt and through his neck, to make sure that he never came back. He knew with further examination the plan would all come together. He could already feel the saw blade cutting into their flesh, smell the blood pouring out of them. His heart pounded with rage. They will pay.