“Who gave Terry a shotgun?” sounds over a radio in a feline’s pocket, echoing through the halls, followed by silence. It is only broken by the breath of the beholder. Another voice comes through “What else were we supposed to give em?” The feline, a white cat, grabs the radio. “Well, I do-” is said right before it cuts out. Their head bobs down towards the ground and they grin the widest they can, closing their eyes. Resisting laughter, their neck snaps in the opposite direction as they lift their head. An emotionless stare. The button to the door gets pressed and the big metal door starts to rise. From the inside, the door reveals the cat inch by inch. First you see their white shoes, followed by white pants. There is a semi-automatic shotgun trailing down their left leg. The inhabitant of the storage unit notices this and frighteningly stares at the ominous figure. Their face is revealed, as cold as the door that covered it. They take a few steps inside, stopping at the beginning of the huge mess. The inhabitant is sitting on a couch watching TV, surrounded by his own filth and junk. It is clear this person does not care about cleanliness. “Who...? What the fuck?” stutters the inhabitant. Flashing a disgusted look, the cat puts on a low effort smile. “You need to leave.” They calmly say, still pointing the gun at the floor. The inhabitant realizes something, “Ooooh, did they send you to kick me out? But... With a gun?” “You need to leave sir” replies the cat, this time in a more demanding sense. “They, they said I have 2 weeks to move out my stuff. It’s only been like 1!” The cat lowers their fake smile and brings up the gun onto their shoulder. “You need to leave.” They say in an even more demanding and angry tone. “We had a legal agreement! He told me I have 2 weeks! It’s only been like a week and a half! Not even close to two!” he says trying to reason with the cat. With no facial expression, the cat lowers the gun and rest the end in their right hand, now pointing in the general direction of the inhabitant. “OK OK, I’ll go! Can I at least get 1 or 2 days? I can’t move all this shit right now! It’s ab-” A very loud bang bounces off the cramped walls of the storage unit, directly into the inhabitants’ ears. An empty shell falls to the ground as a bit of smoke hovers over the barrel. The inhabitant is now ducking on the floor covering his ears. He stays there for a second and starts to crawl to the left. He doesn’t make it very far as shattered glass digs into his arms. Glass burrows into his knees as he slowly rises. The cat has not moved an inch. Dazed and confused, the inhabitant screams “WHAT THE FUCK IS WRONG WITH YOU?!” at the cat. They stare at each other; the inhabitant is cut short when the barrel faces him. He ducks under the junk again and screams. There is so much of it that it takes about 30 seconds for him to tunnel to the exit. Out of fear and instinct, the inhabitant ignores the shooter and runs right past them, down the hallway.

This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.