[h2][color=orange][center]Vicker West[/center][/color][/h2]

[color=orange][center]Location: Death Row, Jimenez Mansion.[/center][/color]

Berlach Jimenez. The name of a dead man. Or at least, he was going to be dead. The damn fool was stupid enough to hire his personnel face-to-face instead of anonymously. Everyone knew where his hideout was, but until today, the rich boy had kept coups in line through money-loyal bodyguards. In fact, Vicker was sure that the five grand he and the warehouse lookouts were getting paid was lowball at best. When someone was paying you enough money to buy a luxury car, common sense dictates that you protect him. 

But no guard would save him from justice. Whether it be from Vicker’s gun that night or the police years down the line, justice would come. However, Vicker was particularly impatient that evening. Jimenez’s hideout was damn near the stupidest place he could have picked. For one, it was a mansion. Those marble floors and walls didn’t exactly spell d-i-s-c-r-e-e-t. Also, the warehouse he shipped the cargo to was literally a block away. Yeah, the guy was rich, but no one ever said that he was smart.

Vicker had already passed the gates on his way in, and now he hit a wall. For one, there were way more soldiers than expected. Maybe Jimenez got a call from someone back at the warehouse, or maybe he was just paranoid. Either way, there were about a dozen guards patrolling the perimeter. Vicker knew that Jimenez liked to stay in the top floor inside his fancy room. It sickened him to think of children facing such a monster.

After planning for about ten seconds, Vicker discarded his plan and decided to wing it. A guard came out around the corner in front of him, yelled, and drew his gun. With a simple nod, he was under Vicker’s control. 

[color=orange]“[b]Okay, go to the West Wing and start shooting up the place. Avoid hitting civilians, and stay alive for as long as you can.[/b]”[/color]

“Got it.”

And off he went, carrying his automatic rifle like it was a toy. Vicker waited ‘till he heard the first gunshot, and like clockwork, the guards swarmed out of the mansion towards the West Wing. Then he made his move. It wasn’t hard, he simply walked in through the front door. Now, chances were that there were still some guards guarding Jimenez. Actually, the rich asshole definitely had bodyguards. If you had that much bank, you’d damn sure have the best protection money can buy.

[color=orange][i]Well, that’s why I’ve got a gun too.[/i][/color]

He checked his holster for his pistol, and like always, it was there. Nothing fancy, a Hi-point 9mm. In fact, it was quite crap. The only good thing about it was that it always fired when he pulled the trigger. Where the bullet actually flew anyone could guess, but it was usually anywhere but straight.

So with gun in hand, Vicker strode down the amber-colored hallway. He didn’t see anyone yet, but that was about to change. As he rounded the corner, he stopped dead in his tracks. He saw the door to Jimenez’s personal quarter, but there was a slight complication, and it took the form of two bodyguards pointing AK-47’s directly at his face. 

[color=orange][i]Well, shit.[/i][/color] 

Jimenez came out, his white suit barely able to contain the fat underneath. He wore a pair of aviators and smoked a fat cigar. He also carried a big-ass pistol that looked like it could take out a truck in one shot. 

“Who the fuck are you?” he said with a thick, slurring accent. Actually, he didn’t really have an accent. He was just really drunk at that moment. 

[color=orange]“A guy who really, really hates people like you. Do children ring a bell?”[/color]

He removed the cigar, and the wheels slowly turned in his head. After a long moment, those wheels were finally able to light a bulb.

“I mean hey, we’ve all gotta make money, right?” he said with a slight chuckle. “I’m pretty sure you’ve done bad things for money too, right?”

[color=orange]“There’s lines you don’t cross, Jimenez. Trafficking kids is one of them.”[/color]

“Oh, and you’re going to give me a lesson on morality? Might as well be a Saint.”

[color=orange]“The fuck is a saint?”[/color]

“Don’t matter for you ‘cuz you’re gonna die in a second, but I’ll indulge you; They’re wannabe cops.”

[color=orange]“Vigilante group? Huh, sounds pretty interesting. I’ll make sure to check them out after I’m done here.”[/color] Vicker suddenly ducked behind the corner, just as gunshots shredded the area he had been just a moment ago.

“Hey, what the hell are you–” Jimenez took a step too far forwards, right into Vicker’s range. 

[color=orange]“[b]Kill yourself[/b].”[/color] 

Vicker sprinted out of the building, and about thirty seconds later, he heard two booming gunshots, then a few moments after, a final one. It seemed that his guards tried to stop him. Too bad.

[color=orange][i]Now, for these Saints.[/i][/color]