Bullets

"This is love.

When someone drags you from the wreckage when you have given in,

ready to just lie there and die.

This is love.

When someone, no matter what the cost, shows you there is hope,

a choice, that you can put down your gun."

New York was buried under a layer of snow. The sky, ready to fall off, was giving the news to the entire city. "Stay home,", it said, "away from the streets. Something wicked this way comes."

Every step felt like a whole new reason to turn back. Get away. Blow town. That would have been smart. I'm not that smart. I work by instinct.

The gun, fully loaded, trembled under my jacket, impatiently, as if it knew the long wait was coming to an end.

The snow kept slowing me down. No matter, I had all the time in the world.

Irony hit me like a point-blank range shot straight to the face, when I thought the same snow that was slowing me down was the same that was covering my tracks. I laughed at that fact. I laughed again when sirens started to sound somewhere behind me, too far away to be on my pursuit.

They were looking for someone. For me. A living cliché, dressing black, walking the streets of New York, armed like a single soldier going to war against a small country. I guess I was a living cliché... Luckily for me, they were too. They started looking at the wrong place. Or maybe, it was just a little late to look for me over where they were. They would only find dead bodies. The biggest mobster body count ever, charged to Max Payne. A mass-murderer. A psycho. A pacifier. A vigilante. A cliché.

James Bond would have done this swiftly. Bogart, maybe, would have done a little mess, but it would all clean up by itself.

As I neared the building, I felt myself cold. Cold on the inside. My heart was cold. My mind was cold. All this time they acted separated, each one for its own reasons. Passion, rage, fear, sadness, woe. Now they knew what was coming. Revenge.

A fortress of concrete and steel was just in front of me. A fortress filled with trained henchmen. Military training. Military weaponry. Military equipment.

They could have been hundreds. I was only one. Just me and my gun.

Something blew off in my head and I didn't think about the odds again. Call it rage, call it stupidity. I call it denial.

One gun would do the trick. Only one gun. I was good at improvising.

I've been doing it since three years ago, back at the night where it all started. I did it good. I just got there too little too late.

Maybe it was fate.

Maybe it was just a mistake to take the long detour around the shore that afternoon.

The sirens had faded away into the night. Some other emergency, someplace else.

That would keep them distracted. It was time for the show to start.

Bullets would soon make the air at the Aesir building a little too thick.

"This is love. Love hurts."

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Escribí esto bajo el efecto del sueño y el aburrimiento. Realmente no creo que esté bien redactado, pero hice lo que pude. Está basado en el juego Max Payne. Aquellos que lo hayan jugado van a encontrar frases y escenas por todos lados. Mezclé cosas de ambos Max Payne, para hacerlo un poco más diverso y menos cerrado. Tal vez algún día con un poco más de creatividad, lo oscurezca un poco y haga alguna continuación. Lo más probable es que quede acá tirado en este rincón, como todo lo que escribo. Thanks for reading.

"I had been here before, ground zero."

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