Bruce Wince, captivated in his own home, against his will, held at gunpoint. But let us get to the part where this all started. It was two thirty and Bruce was packing up at his job on the Daily American newspaper. Many people called him a mudracker, for his exposing of the scum in his society. Some wished for him to be dead, for his lies about people, and scenes of most tell-tail horror. As he walked home he noticed a man being robbed on the corner of thirty and thirty one. This muggar had a urge to get what that man had in his briefcase, which was halfway open. Done trying to wrestle the case out of his hand, the robber pulled out a snubnosed revolver out of his holster. In the city, keeping your life is a chour, the victim dropped the briefcase and fell to his knees. Knowing his defeat, he raised his hands and winced for the moment. Until the sound of a gack was heard throughout the street. Bruce snuck over to the robber, finding a board with a nail in it, came behind him and whacked him over the back with it. Paralyzed the muggar fell face first into the asplalt. Staring down upon the dead man, with a bullet wound in his neck, Bruce began to shake rapidly, he had seen crime scenes before, but never saw anyone die in front of him. Hurrying over to the briefcase, before anyone saw what he was doing, opeing it he saw a stone with different colored scribtures on it. Reaching down and grabbing it, his vision turned into a dark blue, a globe absorbed his vision, and black filled his eye lids as he hit the ground. Dazed, but not out, he checked his wrist watch, it was two hours after the unwanted affair with the muggar. Bruce started for his apartment again, wondering what had happend to him, until he noticed it started to rain, but not water as we all know. It was a red substance, not knowing what it was he stuck his finger out, catching a drop, he put it to his nose. No scent whatsoever, dipping it in his mouth, it had a taste of iron, which reminded him of one thing that it could possibly be. Blood. His walk had turned into a power walk, his power walk into a light run, until his was sprinting to his apartment complex. Fumbling with the keys he unlocked the door and ran inside. ” Hunny i’m home!” No answer, until footsteps followed by the sound of clicking. Bruce turned the corner to see his wife holding a pistol to his face. Her expression told him that she was doing it intentionally. That gun was the same exact snub-nosed revolver from the robbery. ” Welcome back dear, Junior has been waiting for you this whole time, he is in the tub now, go in and say hi.” As he walked down the hallway, he noticed blood smeared across every inch of wall. Junior was not swimming in water, it was red, red, but it smelled of death. Bruce’s heart was in pain, he stumbled ofer the carpet and hit the bathroom floor. Bruce’s wife pulled down the handgun and shot bruce in the right side of the chest. ” Do you think he is going to be okay docter, please save his life.” Docter Flooaris gave Bruce chest commpressions. ” I don’t know Mrs. Wince, he was shot by a robber that wanted his briefcase, or that’s at least what the police reports said. A man took out the robber though, he is in police custody.” Junior cried right beside his mother.