January 5, 2025
~64 Days until the The Synchronization~
Okay. So there was an unknown man standing in Wyatt's kitchen. He was dressed in shaggy clothing and had clearly never taken a shower in his life. Wyatt could smell his stench from where he was, which was a good two to three meters away. Oh, and get this, the stranger also had a gun.
Yup, that was definitely a gun. He was holding it in his right hand as his left hand rummaged through Wyatt's drawers.
Sucks for him, I got jack shit in my kitchen.
Wyatt could tell the gun was a kind of pistol. Based on the size of the barrel he thought it was some kind of glock. Since California had somewhat strict gun laws, he assumed it would be something popular and common. His best guess was a glock 43, but it could be some other kind of model. It was hard to make a guess when there was little to no light and the guy was constantly shuffling.
Hey, Wyatt might be dumb but he wasn’t a hopeless idiot. He knew his guns, at least to an extent. Wyatt was born and raised in Texas, heck his best friend was his fathers Benelli Nova Shotgun. A beauty it was too, the sleek black metal was spotless and the barrel made a nice boom when shot. Damn he missed that gun.
Wyatt would also have owned a gun if he wasn’t so fucking broke. Also it was a pain in the ass to sign up for a permit and wait a couple months for it to be approved. Eh, he just thought it was just too much of a hassle.
Well, now he was kind of regretting his former self for being so lazy.
I should have bought a gun when Ryan insisted to pay for one as an early birthday present. Damn…
Ryan was one of the only friends he made in California. He was also a simple laborer, but he was a clean man. No drinking, no smoking, and no drugs of any kind. Damn guy even had children. Wyatt always held a certain level of respect for the guy. Too bad he moved a few years ago, after the 2020 virus had killed his mother Ryan had moved back to Ohio to take care of his old man.
Wyatt was still standing where the wall used to be, still going unnoticed by the intruder. So, he quietly sneaked over to his toppled couch and crouched behind it. Trying to hide behind the only large object in the room.
This is my fucking home, no one goes snooping through my stuff. Or my current lack of. I got nowhere else to go. I need to get my shit and leave.
The shaggy guy was too busy now raiding his fridge to notice anyone sneaking around. Thank God. Maybe the guy was deaf? He did have a few grey areas in his hair, so maybe just senile? No matter, the point was that Wyatt was now army crawling to the dude. His goal was to get to the other side of the kitchen counter and then take the guy from behind.
As he snaked his way to the guy, he heard him close the final drawer and the sound of shuffling feet. The guy was moving! Bonus, he was moving towards where Wyatt was.
No way the guy knows where he's currently at, the dude didn’t even notice him while he was standing in plain sight!
Quickly, he moved to the closest barrier between him and the unknown guy. It just so happened to be his broken table for one and singular chair. Wyatt slowly got up from the floor and crouched on the tips of his feet, ready to bounce upwards. He kept his body low to the ground, just in case the guy could see the top of his head or something. There, he waited for the man to walk by.
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It only took a few seconds before the man shuffled his feet out of the kitchen and past Wyatt. In those few seconds, Wyatt felt as though an eternity had passed. His heart rate was racing, the spike in adrenaline made him sweat, and his ears had a small ring in them.
Oddly, though, he was mostly calm and composed. He could think clearly and he felt a kind of connection to his body in a way he hadn’t felt for a long time. The best way to think of it is when you are about to pull the trigger of a gun. Or when you pull back an arrow on a bow. That kind of serenity and peace before you commit to something.
That was when he jumped up from his hiding place and pounced onto the stranger.
The unknown man was clearly shocked, he actually stumbled and almost fell. He dropped a bag of chips from one of his hands and gasped, fumbling for a grip on his pistol.
With a thump and a whimper, Wyatt managed to tackle the guy. Completely knocking the intruder off his feet and both men came crashing down, landing on the hardwood floor. The gun the stranger was carrying was flung out of his hand as Wyatt pinned the guy down. He sat on top of the guy, his butt on the guy's stomach and his hands reaching for his wrists.
The stranger yelped and whimpered as Wyatt took both of the man's wrists into his hands. He struggled to hold down the man's hands, trying to keep the guy from punching or slapping him. All the while the stranger was flopping around like a fish out of water, his legs flailing around trying to kick Wyatt. He was yelling slurs and swears as he tried to fight Wyatts grip.
Wyatt was a relatively large guy standing at a nice 187cm (6’2) with broad shoulders and a decent build. He was by no means a ripped, tanned, cocky six pack looking kind of guy. He had muscle in his arms and legs but hr also sported a beer belly, something he was actually pretty self conscious about.
Anyways. It was basically him versus a malnourished, smelly, old man. So while the guy did have a gun, it was flung away from the initial pounce.
He put both the guys wrists into his left hand grip and began to punch the intruder. He aimed for the cheek, chest, and collarbone area. From his personal experience, mostly bar fights, these were the places that generally hurt the most. The quicker the guy fell unconscious the quicker he could get his shit and leave.
Unfortunately, this guy seemed to be hyped up. His eyes were bloodshot and his face red as a tomato.
Damn, is this guy on something?
Eventually, his punches became weaker and weaker as his stamina and willpower started to wane. The fucking hobo was just fully of energy and seemed incapable of feeling pain! The bastard was still kicking and worming around, trying to break free from Wyatt.
SNAP
The noise reverberated throughout Wyatts mind. Even if he was high on adrenaline he still felt the snap in his left ring finger.
Stopping his punching berate, Wyatt glanced at his left hand. There, the stranger's hand had managed to wiggle from his grip and clench onto his ring finger where he managed to break it.
He screamed.
Yeah, it hurt like hell.
Wyatt reeled back from the pain, his grip loosening to the point where the stranger could release himself. After he did, he immediately threw Wyatt off his belly. As the stranger lifted his body, he managed to kick Wyatts stomach which made him retch and gag.
Coming back to the present, he tried to ignore his wounds and focus on the hobo. Wyatt jumped up, pulled the guy's arm behind his back, and pulled. He heard a sickening snap and pop as he dislocated the hobos arm. Pain shot through his left arm as he used his broken finger to pull and pop the guy's arm.
This time, the hobo shrieked and reeled back in pain.
Haha… take that you fucking bastard!
He ignored his growing pride and searched for something to knock out this guy with. Unfortunately, the freaking hobo managed to use this split second delay to turn around and bite Wyatt’s right arm.
Wyatt fell backwards, his head hitting the floor. Wyatt opened his eyes and started to see double, the lines of reality were blurry and he couldn’t make out distinctive objects.
The hobo, now up and off the floor, was looking down on Wyatt. He said nothing, only breathing heavily.
After a few seconds Wyatt realized he was down and the stranger was up, definitely not good. He began to panic and looked around for something, anything to help him. That was when his gaze landed on the black piece of metal sitting not two feet away from him.
Luckily, the stranger seemed to be equally as dazed as he was. With a sudden move of desperation, Wyatt lunged for the metal. He was a cornered rat, a man on his last legs.
Picking it up he held the item in both hands, ignoring the searing pain from his left hand, and aimed.
His world slowed down, the man before him became still and the only thing Wyatt could hear was his own breathing. The world was quiet, no distant sound of sirens and screams. It was him and the object in his hand.
That was when he pulled the trigger.
BANG.
After a few seconds, he pulled again.
BANG.
And again.
BANG.
And again…
BANG. BANG. BANG.
Then the world came alive again. The echoing sirens, the remote screams, and the now falling body. Blood ran wild, painting the world around Wyatt in a shining crimson. For a moment, he almost thought it was beautiful. The distant wails, the spinning red paint, and the dull shade of pink and yellow from the setting sun.
That was Wyatt's last thought before he felt the world go black.