[color=silver][center][img]https://i.ibb.co/dwVVFgvB/FJ44Yj9.png[/img] [img]https://i.ibb.co/pN5DVpx/sdvddvgrove1.jpg[/img] [/center] [center] [sub] [color=B8533E][b]Location[/b][/color] — [i]His truck / The bad place[/i] [color=B8533E][b]Interacting With[/b][/color] — [i]N/A[/i] [/sub] [h3][color=black]────────────────────────────[/color][/h3] [/center] The hum of the [url=https://preview.redd.it/my-1988-ford-f150-v0-4eq58ooj5p791.jpg?width=1080&crop=smart&auto=webp&s=e5f2d38a31fbfe67ca23de46906b03c863e2f1a1]’88 Ford’s[/url] engine purred to life with a bit of a stutter. The truck wasn’t as vital as it once was, but Boone did what he could to keep it going. He much preferred his bike, but sometimes an extra seat, like the one Banjo currently occupied, was required. Banjo shifted beside him, nails clicking softly against the worn floorboard before settling in on the seat. His tail thumped lazily against the leather, excited for the opportunity to go along for the ride. Gravel crunched beneath the tires as they pulled out, and Banjo wasted no time shoving his head out the window, ears flattening back as the wind rushed past. His tongue lolled out, tail wagging even faster. They barely made it past the bend when his phone buzzed. Boone’s brow furrowed with curiosity as he reached for it, glancing down at the screen. The glow lit his face faintly, washing him in pale blue as he looked at the notification. It was a message…from Ms. Stella, which was odd because she historically struggled with using her phone to do anything other than make calls. What was even stranger was the contents of the message. It was just an address followed by one word: [b]Help[/b]. Boone’s hand tightened around the phone as something cold settled low in his gut. He looked at it again like maybe it would change, like maybe there’d be more to it the second time, but there wasn’t, and it was obvious that something wasn’t right. Banjo huffed happily into the wind, oblivious to the dread that began to grow in his human’s chest, and Boone let out a slow breath through his nose as his thumb hovered for a moment over the phone. He thought about the bar, about the power being out… about minding his own business for once. But he had never been particularly good at that, and if something really was wrong with Ms. Stella and she needed his help, he’d never be able to live with himself if he didn’t try. So, he turned the wheel. The truck lurched slightly as he accelerated, the sudden motion pulling them in the opposite direction. Boone shook his head faintly, a quiet exhale leaving him as he settled back into the drive. The road stretched longer than it should have. By the time the house came into view, the sky had dimmed into that heavy gray that came with the outage, and the place itself sat in complete stillness. No lights or movement, just quiet. Boone slowed as he approached, eyes scanning the house and the yard as he pulled to a stop. It looked normal enough at first glance. A regular place on a regular street, though maybe abandoned for some time. Across the way, kids played like nothing was wrong, laughter carrying faintly through the air as a ball bounced against pavement. He killed the engine. Banjo turned toward him, head tilting with that same puzzled curiosity, like he could sense something had shifted but didn’t understand what. Boone reached over, scratching behind his ears for a moment. The gesture was just as much about comforting himself as it was for the dog. [color=B8533E]“Stay,”[/color] he said softly. Banjo’s tail wagged, but he did what he was told. Boone leaned back in, turning the AC up just a touch before rolling the windows up enough to keep the dog from jumping out. Then he stepped out, the truck door creaking faintly as he pushed it open. He paused for a moment as a thought came into his mind. Turning back to the truck, he leaned in and opened the glove box. His hand wrapped around the grip of the pistol tucked inside, the familiar weight settling into his palm as his thumb brushed along the edge. For a moment, he just stood there, considering it. Then his eyes flicked across the street to those kids playing in the yard. Boone held onto the gun for another second before letting it go, the decision settling quietly as he closed the glove box with a soft click. All he could think about was something going wrong and one of those innocent kids paying the price, something he wasn’t willing to manifest. The walk up to the front door felt louder than it should have, gravel shifting beneath his boots and the old porch creaking faintly under his weight. A faded sign hung near the door, its edges worn and peeling from time. It read: [i]Knock around back.[/i] Boone frowned slightly but reached for the handle anyway, but of course it was locked. He sighed again, tension settling into his shoulders as he glanced back toward the truck. Banjo was watching him, head tilted, ears perked as if waiting for some kind of cue. Boone gave a small shake of his head. [color=B8533E]“Yeah… I know, buddy.”[/color] He whispered. [color=B8533E]“This is a terrible idea.”[/color] Then he turned and made his way around the side of the house, his pace slowing with each step as that feeling in his gut grew heavier. The backyard came into view, and with it the back door… which, of course, was eerily cracked open and dark as black on the inside. Boone stopped about fifteen feet away, his posture tightening slightly as he took it in. [color=B8533E]“Ms. Stella?”[/color] he called out, his voice carrying just enough to fill the space. Nothing answered him. He swallowed, pulling his phone out again and checking the message, confirming what he already knew. The address was right. He hadn’t made some kind of mistake or pulled up to the wrong place. This was it. He considered his options for a few seconds that felt like minutes, but soon, his thumb hit the call button. He raised the phone to his ear, listening as it rang… and then his chest tightened when he realized the sound wasn’t just in his ear. The phone was ringing inside the house. He hung up and slid his phone back into his pocket. [h3][color=B8533E]“Ms. Stella?”[/color][/h3] He called again, louder now, concern threading into his voice. Still, there was no response. The hesitation didn’t disappear, but it shifted, buried beneath a growing urgency. He stepped forward out of the instinctive need to move, pushed the door all the way open as he reached it, and crossed the threshold. [b]And the fuckers hit him before he had a chance to react.[/b] Hands came from both sides, slamming into him with practiced force as his arms were wrenched back and his balance thrown forward. Boone fought immediately, twisting and driving his shoulder, trying to break free on instinct alone, but the grip on him was tight and controlled. A fist cracked across his face, snapping his head to the side as pain flared sharp through his nose. Another followed, catching him in the eye and flashing white across his vision. The third strike drove into his stomach, folding him in on himself as the air left his lungs in a broken, strangled gasp. For a moment, everything tilted. Darkness edged in at the corners of his vision, threatening to pull him under, but he forced it back, refusing to give them that much. His breathing came in ragged, shallow pulls as he struggled to stay upright, held in place by the man on either side of him. He lifted his head slowly, blinking through blood and blurry vision, and when his eyes focused enough to make out the figure in front of him, recognition hit. The man smiled. [color=#F4A460]“Hi there, Booney boy…”[/color] Boone swallowed, his voice rough and thin when it finally came. [color=B8533E]“Where is she… what did you do with her…”[/color] The man chuckled as he reached into his pocket, pulling out a small flip phone and holding it up between them. [color=#F4A460] “Oh, the old bitch is at home with her husband. She’s fine,”[/color] he said casually. [color=#F4A460] “Bet she’s looking for this right about now.”[/color] He laughed, the sound sharp and mocking as Boone’s gaze fixed on the phone. [color=#F4A460] “You’re such a fucking idiot, Boone.”[/color] The man stepped forward, grabbing Boone’s face hard, fingers digging into his jaw as he forced him to look up. [color=#F4A460]“You think just ‘cause you’re one of the dogs that you can take our business?”[/color] He leaned in closer, his voice lowering just enough to carry something more dangerous in its tone [color=#F4A460] “Did you think Pope wasn’t gonna find out you were dealing in his town?”[/color] Boone struggled slightly against the grip, but he said nothing. There wasn’t anything to say. The knee came fast, driving into his stomach and knocking what little breath he’d managed to recover right back out of him. His body folded, and before he could recover, the man yanked him free from the hold, gripping the back of his head. Then he slammed him down. The side of Boone’s head smashed against the table with a sick, dull sound, and the world dropped out from under him as his body hit the floor. A broken, involuntary noise dragged from his chest as he tried to pull air back in, his lungs refusing to cooperate for a few agonizing seconds. Boots stepped into view, stopping just in front of him as he lay there, struggling to breathe. [color=#AEC6CF]“Pope watches everything, boy,”[/color] the second man said, his tone calm and measured. [color=#AEC6CF]“And no one can save you from the consequences if you keep meddling in his business. Not your club. Not your cop daddy. No one.”[/color] There was a pause, and then a sharp snap echoed in the room. Boone’s gaze shifted just enough to see the first man break the flip phone clean in half before tossing it down onto his chest. [color=#F4A460] “Consider this your one and only warning,”[/color] he said with a grin. [color=#F4A460] “You’re lucky you even get this, because Pope isn’t big on second chances.”[/color] Their footsteps moved away, the sound of the door following shortly after, and then there was nothing but silence. Boone lay there on the floor, his breathing slowly finding its way back to him in uneven pulls as the pain settled in where adrenaline began to fade. His chest rose and fell, each breath a little steadier than the last, though it still burned. Somewhere outside, muffled through the walls and distance, Banjo barked. After a moment, Boone rolled onto his back, staring up at the ceiling as the room spun just a little less than it had before. The world felt distant and muted as his chest rose, fell, and rose again. And when his eyes settled, there was nothing in them. No anger. No fear. Not even grief. Just emptiness. [/color]