Reload

Marco slipped the small, tubular device into his pocket, making sure to let the heavier end point down so that he would now which of the buttons placed on each end of it was which. As he kicked open the door, one hand wrapped tight around the button, he hit the closer button and set his foot down on the ground. It wasn't even entirely on purpose, but once he hit the button, he felt a surge go through him, like an understanding of what he had done. He didn't quite get it. But he kept it in mind.

He was having a weird day coming off of a weird week. He had been on the run. Five days prior, the front door to his home had been broken down, and a group of men had invaded his living space, each holding a pistol and a stern look on their face. He had tried to question them. He had tried to be reasonable. And then they had planted a bullet square in the flesh of his thigh.

It had been difficult running away after that, especially since the blood trail showed them exactly where he was going. He had been fortunate that he had been picked up by a concerned innocent, who had driven him away at high speed to a hospital. Or at least, it had seemed fortunate at the time. Marco didn't know what had happened to that person. All he knew was that their car hadn't been there after he had been patched up, and that it didn't take very long for his pursuers to resurface.

He took a right as he exited the abandoned home that he had spent the night in, skirting down a side alleyway that lead to the park. He was hoping to disappear into the crowd so that he could buy some time, but it was still too early in the morning, and the usual families with their children hadn't yet arrived.

Trying to move around the edge, he saw them appear quite abruptly up ahead. He didn't know how they moved around so quietly, or how people weren't perturbed by their armaments until he made a noise. But it never took long once they had arrived for the madness to start. Usually because he screamed.

He tried to make a break for it, but the movement caught their attention. The gunfire shot trough the air, but his movements were erratic, helping to keep them from getting a clean line of fire on him. But the bullets grazed his arms and legs, and he cried out from the burning pain. One bullet clanged off of the metal in his pocket, and he reached in hastily, trying to withdraw it to see if it was ok. Just at that moment, a bullet caught home, and it pierced his spine.

As he fell forward, he managed to pull the metal cone from his pocket. He could see a dent in its side as he fell in slow motion. He had pressed the large button before. With his pinky, he reached underneath, and his crashing into the ground forced it into the other button.

His foot fell onto the ground as the doors swung open in front of him, his hand wrapped tightly around the metal in his pocket. He looked back and forth, gaining his ground. He was back at the house he had stayed the night in.

He decided to try going left instead of right this time.