“Another whiskey Jim” said a slightly chubby man sitting on a bar stool at the Drunk’o, a run down old bar on the east side of New York City

“I think you’ve had enough whiskey for now Mr.F”, Jim quietly said in a half scared voice. The light overhead flickered to reveal an eye patch on the man on the stool that must have scared the bar tender into pouring another drink cause he did just that.

WHAM! WHAM! WHAM! the door started to shake then pieces of splintered wood flew in all directions, two men in black suits walked in, guns barely visible under their long black coats but they were defiantly there, a 9mm each. Jim dived under the bar and hid between two racks of rum, Mr.F jumped up and quietly muttered to himself “I’m getting to old for this” just as he threw a punch at the face of the closest man. He felt the man’s skull cave in with the force of the blow the second man went for his gun, fumbled with the holster and was on the floor with 3 broken ribs before he could get it out, Mr.F standing over him with blood on his fists.

“Who are you?” He yelled at the man. The man then went for a combat knife, the kind the army issued, for that he got his head punched in, brains and bits and skull spatted the floor

Chapter 2, two weeks later, time: 10:36 AM. Location: east side of NY

Mr.F awoke to a knock at his door he was startled at first, then remembering what happened two weeks ago he was afraid. What if they were back, he could handle 2 maybe 3 but what if there were reinforcements? What if there were more? He quietly slid down the stairs and ducked behind the liquor cabinet

“Sir!” exclaimed a high pitched voice outside his door

“Sir Do you want your paper or not?” the voice said again shrilly, with a sigh of relief Mr.F got up and strode toward the door, as he opened it he heard a low muffled ping and everything went blurry, he tasted copper in his mouth, blood he hit the floor with a dull thud, all went black

Chapter 3, date: unknown, time: unknown, location: unknown.

Mr.F awoke in the back of a jeep, he tried to sit up but when he did it felt as if one hundred hollow tipped bullets tore threw his side. He looked down only to see a puncture wound in his gut and dried blood around him, at least he wasn’t dead. Although he wished he was, he struggled to get up and look out the window only to see it had been replaced with a sheet of steel. The jeep slowed and then stopped he heard muffled voices