...
...
...
Tae‑ho could only stand and watch with scale breaking shock.
His thoughts had been pulling apart for minutes, threads fraying thinner with every fuckin' move the stranger, Cassius, had pulled in this quick game of [~Catches & Clicks~].
Now that wide, totally torturous grin landed the final blow, and something inside him simply tore loose.
He backed up, rubber soles scouring grit and loose stone off the alley floor, sending fine clouds up around his ankles. He did not stop until shoulder blades slammed into rough brick, the impact knocking breath out of him and pinning him in place.
His chest rose and fell in desperation.
The wild energy that had poured off Cassius only moments before drifted away, as though carried off on a draft no one else felt.
Eyes that had stared wide and unblinking narrowed into something unreadable. He tilted his head to one side, worked his jaw around, and spat a thick glob of saliva onto the ground beside his G'ma's slippers.
He had said nothing else since his very edgy show. He simply turned his back on the five huddled boys and strolled toward the exact patch of ground where, minutes earlier, he had tipped his revolver and let five brass casings clatter out one by one.
Yes. Five. Not four.
He came to a halt right over that spot.
And pointed a steady finger straight down:
"Fuckin' obvious, isn't it~? The fifth bullet been here the whole time. Right here with all its little buddies~."
Tae‑ho and the others dragged their gazes downward, following Cassius's finger.
He was right.
Five bullets were arranged in a loose half‑moon at Cassius's feet.
Dull metal caught the glow of the sun leaking over the roofline, and the sight mocked every second of memory they carried from the last minutes.
Questions swarmed inside every head.
We saw it.
We differently saw it.
Every last one of them had watched Cassius thumb that fifth round home into that cylinder.
They had tracked the movement of his hand, the glint of brass, the soft click as it seated. Metal had entered steel.
Their own eyes had told them so.
And yet here it was, on the ground.
Somehow.
Seeing them realize he wasn't bluffing, Cassius sank into a crouch, the single movement unrushed.
It was followed by him plucking one bullet between thumb and index, turning it so light slid along its smooth casing, and held it up between them like a curio found on a path.
"Whatever your thinking right now, its correct. You've hit the cocksucker on the head..." Mr. Money~maker admitted, the tone of his voice now back to that earlier calmness.
"I did load it. But then came that little demonstration I showed y'all. You lot were sooo busy craning your necks, following that coin spin up into the air… and right then? I decided to get creative..."
He thumbed the cylinder release, and somehow, to the boys eardrums, there was not one click when it popped open.
Not. A. Sound.
But before the boys could process the impossible they had just witnessed, Cassius casually tilted the barrel earthward in one easy motion.
And one by one, bullets slid into their chambers, each settling with a sound so precise and cold it raised fine bumps along every arm and thigh among the group.
(Remember, Cassius has the muscle memories of the original, so guns are more like toys to him...)
"In that small window of time, when your eyes went up, I just let that fifth bullet slide out...."
"!?"
Tae‑ho's jaw clamped itself, anger and confusion behind his eyes, rising quicker and quicker~.
"Y-you wHAT!?" The words tore out of his guts, raw and half‑shouted. "What the fuck are you talking about? You let it slide out? SLIDE OUT!?"
"DON'T GIVE ME THAT BULLSHIT, MOTHERFUCKER!!"
His anger, though hilarious, was also understandable. Even Cassius midly agreed with him. That was indeed easy to see as complete bullshit.
After all,
A bullet dropping onto paving stone should ring out clear as a bell. They had heard four such rings already, when he emptied the weapon earlier. This one should have been no different.
Cassius's gaze drifted tae-ho and down toward his own feet again. Something knowing glinted in them, unseen by the ten eyes currently looking at him.
He told them then, almost proud of what he pulled off.
It went like this: As the round fell, he had shifted his weight just so, and caught it on the soft foam heel of the fluffy pink slide he wore on his left foot.
He never looked down at it. Well, he couldn't since his eyes were closed. Still, even with them shut, he simply let the bullet roll silently off the foam, joining its four companions. The motion was timed so perfectly it came to rest the exact same instant the coin slapped into Tae‑ho's open palm.
Click~.
He seated another round. Kept talking all the while, peeling away layer after layer of everything Tae‑ho had believed in.
Click~.
Click~.
Every tremor in his hands.
Every plea to just call it off, every wince, that one curse muttered under his breath.
All of it had been constructed, prepared long before he ever stepped foot between them, his siblings, and these walls.
He had played at being outmatched, at being desperate, at being scared, specifically to feed their confidence, let it bloat and leak until it felt unbreakable.
He had wanted to watch arrogance that wasn't his own, so that when he pulled it all out from under them, the fall would feel endless.
And because this lunatic just loved fucking with people for even a bit of thrill.
"You actually bought that shit, though~," Cassius chuckled lightly as he remembered, amusement in the smirk pulling back his lip corners. "Hate to break it to you, bruv… but that particular feeling? Fear? 'Pooof~!'"
Click~.
He dropped the fifth and final bullet into place. One sharp flick of the wrist, and the heavy steel cylinder swung shut and locked itself with finalization.
Blue eyes moved slowly from face to face, taking in every hollowed‑out expressions, every slump of the shoulders, and shallow breath.
'Should be enough now...'
"Right then. All that silly fun out the way now. Suppose we get on to the part I actually turned up for, yeah~?"
He had unpicked their composure so thoroughly, and in such a short space, that the very idea of lying to him no longer occurred to any of them as an option.
Nothing remained in any of those heads but one single, driving impulse: survival. Survive whatever this thing in front of them was.
Some onlookers, had there been any, might have called the whole display pointless. Nothing but posturing and cruelty for its own sake. And they would have been correct. Cassius, if asked directly, would have nodded along and agreed entirely with them.
He could of just aimed the gun at them, demanded whatever, and he would of got it.
So, yes. This whole thing was pointless. Yet he still did it anyway. BECAUSE of that very reason.
(Bro really just different frfr.)
Un-crouching, Cassius stepped in close, well, inside the boundary of personal space Tae‑ho had guarded so fiercely only minutes before. The Smith & Wesson held firmly in his grip, chamber now full of death.
"So. What do you lot call yourselves, anyway? I can clearly see yous are some wannabes. And wannabes claim gang's and all."
He decided not to drag the information‑gathering stage out any further than necessary. He already has.
Everything that came after the answers, however… he intended to stretch that out as far as it would go.
"And while your at it," he added, "rough headcount. How many buddies you got signed up to this thing?"
Every last scrap of swagger and bravado Tae‑ho had worn like armour left all at once. Seeing no hope of leaving this situation, and feeling a sense of dread he's never felt before, he broke.
He began to shake, tears cutting tracks through sweat on his cheeks, and the words came pouring out in a messy, breathless rush, tripping over one another in their haste to be spoken.
He babbled the name they had chosen for themselves: Iron Dogs.
Stammered through a guess at numbers, somewhere around twenty, give or take, drifting in and out depending on who was in trouble or out of town or lying low.
Cassius listened with half an ear, already doing his own thinking in the background. Gangs always lied about size, always downplayed or padded numbers to suit the moment. The real figure would sit higher. And with numbers came connections, understandings, alliances written in favours and debts.
Rivals, as well.
Tae‑ho went on, gasping between phrases, eyes fixed on Cassius's the whole time, searching for any crack, opening, or any sign that mercy might exist somewhere in that face.
He found nothing.
"Iron Dogs..."
Cassius rolled the name around his mouth once, as if testing the flavour of something new.
'Come to think of it,' he thought. 'They wouldn't happen to be…'
His gaze drifted down to the prints stitched onto their pants and sneakers.
The stylised dog head, wrought in iron grey.
He recognised the lines slowly. Same mark he had seen scrawled on jackets, spray‑painted on walls, worn by loud, mouthy idiots he had run into the previous night on the other side of the district.
He lifted his left hand, flexing fingers inside the tight black cycling glove he wore. It felt firmer, bulkier than fabric alone should be, padded with material none of the boys could identify from where they stood.
"Well, what are coincidence." The words came out to only himself, but something focused flared behind his eyes aswell. "Looks like I won't be waiting till evening to tie up all those loose ends. Morning'll do just fine..."
He mumbled the latter part to himself again, mood lifting fast. Like a child who has just been told a favourite outing is still going ahead despite the rain.
He brought the revolver up in one smooth motion. The muzzle settled on the bridge of Tae‑ho's nose.
"!!!"
Tae‑ho's eyes crossed as they tracked the movement, locking onto the dark circular opening at the end of the barrel. Sobs cut off mid‑breath. Every muscle in his body locked, sweat beading along his hairline and running down his neck, as the full weight of what that opening represented glued itself into his bones.
"I got a proposal for you, dickhead."
The terms were straightforward enough:
Tae‑ho could walk out of the alleyway. He could leave all of this behind him, breathe fresh air, go home, sleep in his own bed and slam his meat again.
But, freedom carried a price.
Someone had to account for the mess, for the trouble, for the fact that they had thought themselves entitled to hurt his precious siblings.
He swung the muzzle sideways, putting it onto the smallest boy in the group.
The one who had first spoken to his siblings. The one who had kicked this whole unfortunate events into motion. His face was already slick, hair plastered to his forehead, shoulders hunched in on themselves.
They would play one single round of rock‑paper‑scissors. No best‑of‑three. No rematches.
Winner walked. Simple.
Loser went straight through the devils gates. Also quite simple.
Tae‑ho's gaze ping‑ponged between the black hole of the barrel and the boy's terrified face. Helplessness drained away in seconds, an older feeling wired into every living thing: the raw, unthinking drive to stay alive, no matter the cost, nor who paid for it.
Cassius nodded once at the youngest boy, jerking his chin to signal him forward. "Come on then, sunshine. Your up~."
(Bruh a liar. He dragging ts 😂)
The boy made a thin sound in his throat, fear over clouding his eyes. His arm stretched out, hands shaking so badly his fingers curled and uncurled at random, unable to hold a shape for more than a moment at a time.
Cassius positioned himself between the two, bouncing lightly on his feet, radiating the energy of someone officiating a schoolyard match at lunch break.
"Right then. Positions boys. On my call!" He counted it off, "Rock… paper… scissors… SHOOT!!"
Tae‑ho's arm snapped out fast. His pick? Paper.
The smaller boy's arm snapped out, too. His pick? Rock.
"!!!" The boys widened in even more fear.
A long, shuddering breath hissed out between Tae‑ho's teeth. For three full seconds, relief washed through him.
He had won. He was; 'I am going to walk awa-"
BANG!!
The sound erased every thought before they could even finish forming.
Cassius had not changed expression. He simply squeezed the trigger.
The round punched clean through Tae‑ho's forehead, and his limbs went loose all at once, dropping like a weighted sacks of shit that he had been.
He hit the ground with a heavy, sloppy thud. Eyes remained open, still holding that last flash of selfish triumph. Slowly, life drained from them.
Cassius peered down at the still form. A breathy little laugh bubbled up out of him.
"Still a fuckin' idiot~!"
'May you rest in piss, fuck~face,' He added inwardly with a smuggy tone.
Echoes still bounced between brick walls when he raised the weapon again.
BANG!
BANG!
BANG!
Three more bullets, muzzle flashes painting the damp walls in brief strokes of white and orange. Three more bodies slumped and slid down the brickwork behind them, until only the smallest boy remained on his feet, staring at the ruin of people he had called brothers.
The boy did remain long of them, though.
Thud!
He fell back, landing on his ass. His mouth opened in a silent scream of fright.
Cassius ignored him for now. Instead, he grabbed the hem of his own shirt and wiped every surface of the revolver thoroughly, working over metal and grip with care. Once satisfied, he held it only by his gloved hand, so nothing new could be left on it.
He then crouched low again, holding the weapon out toward the shaking figure.
"Phone." He snapped the fingers of his bare hand once, grabbing the boys attention instantly. "And the pin."
The boy, who now had tears spilling fast from his eyes, shot deep inside his trouser pockets frantically, and produced a smartphone. He held it out with both hands, arms trembling so hard the device wobbled violently.
Cassius took it, slipped it into the pocket of his shorts, then pressed the still‑warm steel of the gun firmly into the boy's open palm.
"One round left, big guy," Cassius whispered to the boy, "kill yourself with it."
The boy flinched as if burned.
Cassius had opened his mouth again, ready to demand for the code before he did kill himself, when movement caught his attention and he stopped.
Feelings immediately surged through the boy's system; adrenaline, hope, fear, a last‑ditch surge of refusal to go quietly. Something sparked up inside him. His small hands closed hard around the guns grip. Instead of lifting the muzzle toward his own temple, he whipped his arms around and levelled the weapon straight at Cassius's chest.
His jaw fell open. Lungs filled for a shout, a threat, anything that might buy him a way out.
But no sound ever made it past his lips.
Black fabric blurred through the air.
The gun simply vanished from his grasp.
Cassius moved with a speed that sat outside ordinary experience, one quick twist of the wrist, and suddenly the boy was clutching nothing but air.
He did not have time to even blink once. The next thing was hard metal driven hard against the centre of his forehead, the steel still hot enough from firing to sting.
Cassius looked straight into his eyes. There was no anger on his face. If anything, he looked entertained, eyelids curving upward into soft crescents.
"Y'know what~?" He leaned in closer, pushing the muzzle harder against tender flesh. "I respect that. Honestly. Stupid as fuck, don't get me wrong… but you've got more about you than that prick over there ever did." He nodded backward toward Tae‑ho's motionless shape without taking his eyes off the boy.
The boy whimpered and more tears spilled over, running freely down his cheeks, staring straight into a gaze that felt like looking down into a bottomless pit.
"None of that means shit to me, though!" Cassius continued after a pause, "so you can stop lying to yourself that your walking out of here breathing. It's not fucking happening, brother. What is happening, is you're gonna give me those four numbers. Right now..."
Whatever fragile courage had kicked in within him snuffed out altogether.
"Eight…"
"Eight, six, five… four." He delivered the last number, sobbing the moment it left his mouth.
Cassius fished the phone back out of his pocket. Thumb clicked the side to turn it on, flicked his finger up and was blessed with the pin numbers.
{ 8 • 6 • 5 • 4 }
A cheerful chime sounded from the speaker. The screen unlocked to reveal a wallpaper of a stocky bulldog head.
Cassius nodded in satisfaction.
With that small task concluded, he pressed the revolver once more into the boy's unresisting hands.
"Appreciate it. Off you go, then. Finish what we started."
He stood up straight and turned his back completely, attention absorbed entirely by the device in his hand.
Behind him, the boy sank lower among bodies already cooling on the ground. The gun rose by slow, jerky degrees, until the muzzle rested against the side of his head. His finger curled around the trigger, wavered, hovered....
Then it tightened.
BANG!
'... And here I hoped he'll shot me...'
(This crazy cunt !! 😂)
Anyway.
He swiped through contacts with flicks of the thumb, drifting past entry after entry: names he assumed belonged to flings. (Girls)
"Let's find out where all these little darlings like to hang out, ay~?"
His thumb froze in mid‑motion.
He stared at one name glowing on the display, expression unchanging. Then he lifted his free hand and slapped his own forehead, hard enough to make an audible sound.
"Ah. Right."
He slipped the phone away again, and took three deliberate steps backward, before turning on his heel and facing back into the shadows between the buildings.
It was obvious enough, once he thought about it. He couldn't very well just leave them lying about like discarded rubbish. Not if he wanted things to stay quiet long enough to do everything else he had planned.
He walked back in and went straight for Tae‑ho first.
Fingers curled into the thick fabric of an expensive hoodie, he hauled dead weight, literally, along the ground as if it weighed nothing at all, dragging the body all the way to a dented, rust‑green dumpster tucked deep into the darkest corner of the alley. He left him there.
He repeated the process four times more.
One by one, he cleared the ground of every shape that had been alive.
He hauled and dragged and dumped, piling them one atop another inside and beside the container, until they formed a messy sight of the dead.
He moved the last one, the boy who had tried to turn the gun on him, separately, heaving him up onto the top of the pile. Then he walked back across the empty space, retrieved the revolver where it had fallen, and carried it over.
He set it back down among them, adjusting angle and position until it looked exactly as it had the moment it had been fired for the final time.
When he stepped away again, nothing remained in the open centre of the alley but dark, irregular stains slowly drying and darkening into the stone.
He brushed a smudge of grime from his sleeve and surveyed his handiwork.
'Hmm… Should I?' As he stared, a thought drifted through his mind.
"Ah, fuck it." He said aloud. "Can't spend every minute being sensible. A little excitement never hurts anyone..."
What did he mean by that? A riddle.
His gaze then fell back on Tae‑ho's face, stuck to one side at an awkward angle, eyes still open and fixed on nothing.
Cassius drew one leg back, drove the ball of his foot forward in a spiteful kick straight into the dead boys jaw. Thud~.
"...."
There was no strategy to that push kick. No message being sent. No grand statement being made.
He had done it for no reason other than the simple fact that he could.
He lowered his leg again and huffed a quiet laugh, thoroughly pleased with his own pettiness, and with how little any of this seemed to touch or trouble him at all.
He turned on his heel and walked out once more.
<><><><>
END.
(The next three chapters will explain what he meant by 'excitement.')
(My bad for the late ass update. Kinda homeless rn so there'll be very slow updates fod awhile. Thought id release this coz i felt bad lol....)