Cervantes stands tall in the center of the room, his face obscured by the bright white robes engulfing him. Eleanor stands just behind him with her hand on the man’s shoulder. Avery leans against the back wall of the room, eyeing Cervantes, while Flynt stares down at his hands. Braellyn remains perched on top of the bed in the back of the room.

  “Hey… What’s with the robe?”

  Flynt grabs the deck of cards from off the counter, studies it for a moment, and stuffs it into his sweatshirt pocket, just behind Cervantes. He cranks his head toward Flynt, idling there for a moment. His eyes grow wide.

  “You have it?”

  Flynt shrugs. In a flash of light, Cervantes raises his leg, drawing it backwards, and hooks Flynt’s head into the floor, catching the cards in his palm as the deck flies into the air. Eleanor lunges toward the man, grabbing at his shoulder. In an instant, he folds down, driving his fist through her gut, and she falls onto the ground, clutching at her stomach. Avery lurches toward the man as well, and the man draws back his arm, swiping at her in a blaze of light. Avery flies through the side of the shack, the wooden planks splintering apart, creating a massive hole in the wall through which Avery flies out into the snow, staining it a faint shade of red.

  Braellyn draws her pistol from across the room.

  “What the fuck are you doing?”

  “You have it! You really have it! When did you get this?”

  Sweat beads down Braellyn’s face as she aims the gun up toward the man.

  “What the fuck is your problem?”

  Eleanor inches toward the man. His eyes veer downward for a moment, toward Eleanor, and he stomps overtop her back, forcing the air out of her lungs as she wheezes on the floor. At once, Braellyn lets out a volley of gunfire at the man, letting out thin clouds of blood as the bullets pierce his flesh. A black, viscous fluid seeps through his shirt as he paces toward Braellyn, grabbing the woman and hurling her out the front door into the gravel street. He cocks his gaze toward Flynt, leaning against the wall of the shack.

  “Thank you, my friend, for the delivery!”

Stolen story; please report.

  Flynt opens his eyes, and he steps away from the wall. He yawns, with his hand up to his mouth, as he ambles past Cervantes, who looks on in confusion. Flynt steps out onto the street, staring down at Braellyn. He looks back at Cervantes, who leans just outside the doorway of the shack, approaching Flynt. Flynt reaches a hand down toward Braellyn, who looks up for a moment, grabs his hand, and pulls herself up, jolting Flynt downward for a second.

  Cervantes grimaces. He rummages through his pocket for a moment, staring down at the floor as Flynt paces into the snow. Behind Cervantes, Eleanor pulls herself up from the cold ground, and she paces up behind him, hanging over him. He sighs.

  “Alright. I have work to do.”

  He snatches out a thin knife, and he thrusts it backwards into Eleanor’s gut. He steps forward as she falls back, and he paces out into the snow, toward Flynt, as he wanders toward Avery. Braellyn steps between the two. Standing still, staring at the man in the street. Cervantes laughs a guttural laugh, throws off his robe, and walks toward Braellyn. She grabs the switchblade from out of her pocket, clicks it open, and holds it up toward the man. Behind them, Flynt pulls Avery up to her feet, and he walks around the back of the house, hoists up a flag, and walks out onto the lake behind the house. Cervantes repeats the process, walking past Braellyn, stabbing her in the gut, dropping her to the ground. Avery lunges at the man once more, and, all the same, he ducks beneath her strike, and he stabs her in the stomach.

  Cervantes looks up toward the lake, on which Flynt stands in the center, waving a flag up in the air, staring back at Cervantes. In a flash of light, Cervantes flies down the lake, stopping just beside Flynt with a smirk on his face.

  “I would like to thank you guys again, for coming up with such a bad plan, that is.”

  Flynt pulls up the flag, and he crashes the pole against the ice, creating a major crack. At once, the man swings the blade toward Flynt. Flynt slides backward, avoiding the swipe, but the man grabs the collar of Flynt’s shirt, crashing him against the ice once more. The crack grows more widespread.

  “Oh. I get it. That was your idea.”

  He grabs Flynt by the collar once more, holding him above the ground.

  “Not a bad try.”

  He pulls his arm back, and he hurls Flynt across the ice, where he slides into a bank on the edge of the frozen lake, being stopped by his head on a log at the end of the straight. Flynt stops moving. At once, a bright light shines overtop the man. A truck pulls up, over the side of the road, into the deep snow, grinding to a halt on the snowbank just beside the frozen lake.

  The driver’s door cracks open, and a thin man wearing a large coat steps out of the vehicle. He steps onto the edge of the lake, and he pulls a revolver from out of his pocket. Avery, overtop a small red blotch in the snow, lifts her head up, staring at the figure as he steps out of the car. Wide-eyed, she pulls herself to her feet.

  “What the fuck… Jack?!”