The knocking didn't just continue, but even became more incessant as Mal got out of their sleeping bag. Slightly tilting the door open because there was no peephole, mal was met face-to-face with the barrel of a vintage .44 magnum held by the shotgun man whose name Mal still couldn't recall, who spoke “yeah, Stik, buddy, I'm going to need those things back now”
‘Shit’ Mal tried to shut the door on him but was overpowered by the revolver-wielding man who was quite strong for his age.
“Look pal, that ain't gonna work you know” the man continued, “besides despite this baby’s age, it can more than well enough punch a hole through that door, you, and the wall behind you.”
Mal took a second to compose themself and overcame their social awkwardness with their survival instincts and spoke “can’t we do this another way?”
The man sighed, his grip tightening on the revolver, squeezing the trigger a little bit more “Fraid not pal, now let's return those things of mine to me”
This was a problem for Mal, the things they took were too useful and hard to get to give up. So, without any rational thought, Mal tried to inconspicuously reach for the pistol on their belt as they said “alright, alright fine, here yo–”
Mal didn't get to finish their sentence as a loud bang resounded through the empty streets.
Mal toppled over, clutching their chest as they fell. A man with a smoking revolver sighed “I may be an old man, but I ain't no idiot, I didn't want it to end like this y’know” Those were the last things Mal heard before everything went black.
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Friday
Mal “awoke” back in their current residence without the looted supplies, it seems they died.
Mal recounted the events before their death and realized how stupid their plan was. They tried to pull a fast one on someone who was more experienced than them and who had a magnum pressed against their chest.
Both the man and Mal were criminals from a dead organization. They held no loyalty to each other and wouldn't think too much about killing each other if it benefited them.
This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.
Come to think of it, the only reason mal was not shot in the “warehouse” was because the man knew them. If not, mal probably would have died right then and there.
Mal wanted those supplies and after getting shot, they wouldn't be against returning the favor. And lucky enough, mal had the advantage of foresight and planning. And plan they did.
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Friday afternoon
Mal yawned as they set their pack and rifle down, they knew that they had to be ready tomorrow morning. They had repeated the same actions at the warehouse as before. After all, the plan required the man to come knocking.
And with that in mind, Mal retired to the fortress of dreams. However, the dream was different this time.
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Mal’s dream
Mal found themself on the floor of a large grey coliseum in a black void with the feeling of being watched.
Checking their surroundings, mal saw that there were shadowy figures among the seats, and upon thethe throne was a large silhouette with penetrating yellow eyes.
Voices began to whisper and jeer at mal.
“Weak”
“Disappointing honestly”
“ do they really think they can walk the path with that attitude”
“So anywaye and kieth are going to the-”
“I could have done better”
“ENOUGH”
A voice penetrated through the voices, silencing them at once. All the figures turned towards the throne as the imposing figure stood up from the throne.
The figure stepped into the light to reveal something most unorthodox.
As the figure stepped into the light, instead of some powerful warlord, a short guy with a Hawaiian shirt and cat ears stepped forth and spoke in a peppy voice To the audience of shadows “Now come on guys, no need to be so rude to our guest”
There was some disappointed murmuring as the cat boy tourist turned towards Mal saying “but yeah, that really stunk my guy? Gal? Velociraptor? I dunno, Anywho you really got to step up your game if you want to walk this path”
Mal stared utterly confused “what? The hel-” Mal was cut off by the oxymoron of a figure. “I mean the gate thing was funny and making an 052 quit is a classic, your bombs are so uninspired, and leaving them as traps” the cat boy faked a yawn. “Boooring. Get creative or something”
Mal was taken aback “is this even real” they muttered to themself.
The yellow-eyed chatterbox continued as a knocking sound gradually increased in the background “now anyways. My name is dave, the lord of the abyss, destroyer of hope blah blah blah, you got to work on your production skills and- ope! You got to wake up now, do something crazy. Ta Ta for now”
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Mal woke up to the sounds of knuckles the second time, well technically the first time but that's beside the point. Instead of answering the door, Mal reached for their belt and 7 shots, two clicks, and a thud disturbed the morning air before falling quiet. The sound of knocking no longer sounding