No Alarms and No Surprises

It didn't take him long to realise the man was either asleep or unconscious and senseless to the sounds of him and his rampaging section outside – given the noise the rest of the section were making, it was probably the latter. Black hair, rags and blood, mates of his had been shot or blown up in similar circumstances – Mickey would not take chances.

As he watched he saw the man twitch in the gloom, his dark Asian eyes blinked open and seemed to take an age to focus on him. The right hand lifted gently up from the shadows holding something up towards Mickey. It was a small rectangular black thing with a wire snaking back from it into the darkness near the man's neck. His thumb was on top of it and he cradled it in the rest if his hand. He held it like a TV remote control towards Mickey. Was he about to trigger a bomb?

He looked a little like a certain middle-eastern gent, laid out after a hard day on a cross; the appalling innocence behind those dark assassin's eyes. Being who he was he certainly wouldn't have thanked Mickey for such an observation.

Something was stopping Mickey from pressing the trigger of the rifle which he aimed at the chest of the man. It was as if he was showing Mickey something, like an offer of redemption. It was that thought which Mickey couldn't get past and it stopped him from shooting.

"I'm on a roll this time. I feel my luck could change…" Radiohead were haunting him again, Lucky this time.

Then there was a crash as Dook finally lost patience and burst through the door, and a fraction of a second delay as his eyes become acclimatised to the poor light.

About me

This is me: home-writer, book-reader, dog-lover and occasional poet. I make this website to share my and my friends texts with You, dear Reader. Please: read carefully, don't be scary, upgrade your mood and be king and leave your comment. :)