CHOOSE YOUR OWN MINDFUCK: A Night in Eighth Block Tower (A6)
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You’ve chosen to return to the bedroom…
“There’s two-thousand for you and another two-thousand for me,” the smarter one says. You’re standing outside the door of the bedroom, eavesdropping on their conversation. “Okay, now grab that bag over there and let’s get out of here.”
“What about that other guy?” Larry asks. “He’s gonna know we found the cash. Why else would we be leavin’ in such a hurry?”
“If he’s got a problem with this arrangement, then we’ll just have to work it out with our peacemakers here.” The man laughs. Larry doesn’t.
“I don’t know,” Larry says. “Robbing the poor bastard is one thing, but do we have to kill him? The guy just got out of the joint. If he dies tonight, then what the hell did he serve all that time for, huh? It ain’t right.”
“Look, I didn’t say I was gonna kill him,” the other man says. “I’m just sayin’ we may have to threaten him a bit to get him to back off, at least a big enough threat that we can make our getaway.”
“What if he doesn’t back down though?” Larry asks. “What do you suppose we’ll do then?”
“Oh, he’ll back down. He’s smart. He knows if he doesn’t, there’ll be trouble. There ain’t nothin’ good that comes from standin’ between a man and his score.”
“But that’s exactly what you’re doing to him, ain’t it, boss?” Larry asks. You’re beginning to think perhaps he’s the smarter one of the two of them.
“Shut up,” the other man says. “Just grab that bag and let’s go. Whatever happens happens.”
You hear a rustling in the bedroom and know it’s only a matter of seconds before you’re standing face-to-face with them. You take a moment to consider your options. You can either run, avoid trouble, and take the loss, or you can stand your ground, draw your weapon, and take charge of the situation.
Before you even have a chance to decide what you want to do, the fellas come barreling through the door. You withdraw your gun, taking them both off guard, and alternate pointing it at each of their heads.
“I’m not leaving here without my share,” you say, with a quiver in your voice. You’re trying to conceal just how nervous you are, but the shaking gun and your trembling hands give it away.
“Whoa, hey now,” the smarter one says, stepping closer towards you. “Who said anything about you not gettin’ your share?”
You’re pissed. Nothing makes you angrier than someone actively attempting to gaslight you. It’s an insult to your intelligence. As soon as the words leave his lips, you jerk your arm to the side, squeeze the trigger, and unload hot lead into the sheetrock, directly to the left of Larry’s head.
“Holy shit, give him the money, Leonard!” Larry shouts, and now you know the smarter one’s name. “He isn’t playing! Give him the goddamn money!”
“Fine!” Leonard shouts. With great apprehension, he removes the bag of cash from his shoulder and holds it out in front of him. “That’s all of it… take it!”
You grab the bag, and when you do, Leonard lifts his gun and unloads three rounds in your direction. Thankfully, Leonard’s a terrible shot. Even at close range, only a single bullet manages to graze you, splitting the skin on the top side of your left forearm. It’s nothing. Hardly a flesh wound. However, the shots are loud and disorienting, so by the time you realize you’re not dead, the two men have already swept up the bag and taken off down the hall.
You sprint through the living room, trying to catch up with them, but stop dead in your tracks as a thunderous blast echoes throughout the apartment. Was it a gunshot? Couldn’t be… it was much too loud. Perhaps multiple gunshots? Something worse? All you know is it was extremely loud… and close. A little too close. You walk to the front door of the apartment and slowly peek your head outside.
Whatever it was, it isn’t in the hallway, at least not anymore. As curious as you are to know what the sound was, you’re not sure you want to come face-to-face with it.
Regardless, you can’t just sit in the apartment hiding all night. At some point the resident who lives here will be back home and you may end up getting killed over the missing cash, despite the fact that you only have something like fifty dollars to your name, if that.
You look down both ends of the hallway. Either direction looks just as filthy and disgusting as the other, however there’s a woman on the left, just before the end of the hallway, standing outside what you can only assume is her apartment. She’s in her pajamas and seems distraught.
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