Chapter Text
Outside of David Copperfield, there wasn’t a magician in Vegas who could rival Houdini. Ron, or Ron the Resplendent as he always preferred on stage, hoped to be a worthy adversary. Unlike some magicians, Ron fully believed in the power of presentation as an actual power. He was unusually obsessed with presenting a clean, professional appearance. Anytime he was out and about in Vegas, he always wore his trademark white and green suit with gold accents. He never left the house unless he was clean shaven and had his fiery red hair lined into a crisp high fade.
Although this kind of presentation made him look like a celebrity to tourists and locals alike, it gave him the reputation of a narcissist with other professionals. Even tonight, when the crowd roared with passion at his acts, several magicians sneered at him from behind the curtain. He’d been tried, several times, when he billed higher than some of the veteran performers. Real back alley, meet you at your car with a baseball bat and an attitude-type stuff. That stopped real fast when they learned that they weren’t dealing with some pretty boy just looking to make it big. They were dealing with Ex-Shadaloo.
“How we doin’ out there, Vegas?! Lemme hear ya!” The crowd came alive with whistles, screams, and shouts of praise for Ron’s ability. Some audience members audibly gasped when he made their mobile phone screens synchronize to music, usually to some Elvis tune. Others were pulled out of their rampant skepticism when he turned the theatre into a constellation field. But there were always a group of holdouts who thought that their hours of FooTube research and “common sense” could unravel even the most elaborate tricks. Ron’s piercing green eyes cut into each skeptic in the crowd who crossed their arms or rolled their eyes. He was always ready for them.
“Glad to hear we’re having a great time but, I gotta say, there are quite a few people out there who probably can’t wait to get the hell out of here. Am I right?” Ron held his microphone to the crowd, getting a much smaller, much harsher response. The “You sucks” and “I’m just here for the drinks” were scattered among them. Ron smiled and nodded, knowingly. “Yup, yup, totally get that, folks. Hell, I admire your patience! In fact, I’m so proud of you guys enduring to the end that I’m gonna do my brand new act just for you.”
Ron tugged his gloves down tight along his wrist, clapped his gloved hands together, and brought them close to his mouth. Something appeared in his mouth, bulging against his cheek. Ron’s lips popped open to show that it was a multicolored gumball, which he started to chew. The whole audience murmured and some of the skeptics started gathering their belongings to leave mid-act. Attention was mild, even when he blew a bubble twice the size of his body. But once it popped, exploding like a shotgun blast, everyone stopped moving. Every theatre light flickered, as if the lights themselves were as scared as the audience.
“Oh, sorry! Sorry. Didn’t mean to frighten everyone. Just had to calm my nerves with a bit of gum. Here, let me ease your mind.” Ron’s lips parted slightly and inhaled. Starting by the theatre entrance, each flickering light left its device and drifted toward Ron like lightning bugs. Bit by bit, darkness followed, swallowing all but the candlelight that dotted the audience’s tables. Each orb of light, from large to small, drifted inside Ron’s mouth and illuminated his suit. Some clapped, others sighed with relief that the act was seemingly over. But Ron gestured with his finger that it wasn’t the case.
He brought his hands to his mouth once more, rolling bits and pieces of the gum to fit in his mouth. This time, he blew a giant, glowing ball of bubblegum that, instead of popping, gently detached from his mouth. It floated through the air, visiting each and every table on its circuit back to the stage. Ron readied his finger to jab right into the bubble, anticipating an army of glowing butterflies. Bursting the bubble went as planned but what came out was a different kind of animal. Ron whispered, “Oh shit.”
A tiger landed on stage with a heavy, audible thud. It was glowing, supposedly made of light. But both the audience and Ron were skeptical of how much of a trick this animal was, especially once it knocked over one of the table candles. It ignited several glasses of alcohol and set the entire table ablaze. Staff tried to turn the house lights on but nothing worked. Each table the tiger walked on splintered and groaned under its weight, each wild swipe sparking more fires. The tiger roared in frustration, targeting several front row audience members.
“Hey, hey! Ay! Tony the Tiger! Over here!” Ron shouted and whistled while removing his jacket, revealing a pair of chiseled arms that came out of his emerald vest. He flailed the bright jacket around in the darkness to get the tiger’s attention. Ron soon regretted this once he realized that the tiger absorbed the light and heat from the flames. Although the audience was safe, the tiger itself grew flames that lapped the air. It leaped on stage and eyed Ron with its gleaming teeth bared. “Easy, boy. Eaaaasy.”
The audience was a spectacle of chaos. People were doing everything from rushing the exits to throwing water on the tiger to try and put the flames out. Some even tried to call 911. Unfortunately, all of those options were moot. The doors were jammed, water merely slicked the stage, and no one inside could get a signal. Sweat dripped from Ron’s brow as the tiger drew closer. Several crew members rushed the stage with fire extinguishers but the tiger’s roar exploded with heat, singeing their clothing while Ron rolled in the puddles of water. When he stood up, the tiger was inches away from his face.
Every breath Ron took produced a thick cough. The heat threatened to choke him. The tiger’s fangs split, its mouth opening wide. Ron dove backwards, hearing the bite snap the air. The tiger raced forward and slashed at his chest. Blood spewed from the wound while Ron fell on his ass. The tiger pinned him by a speaker, blazing with primal fury. Ron briefly abandoned his stage persona and stepped into his previous role as a Shadaloo enforcer. He remembered something Bison said. “Your strength is the only reason you’re alive. If you lost that strength, your death would be certain. Survival is just that simple.”
The tiger lunged at Ron again, mouth fit to crush his skull. Instead, Ron gripped the tiger’s mouth and gradually pulled it wider. His muscles bulged, his veins popped, and the audience was in awe of what they were seeing. Ron yelled as the flames lapped against his body, burning up his vest and singeing his chest. As he stood, the tiger fell, eventually collapsing when Ron tore its mouth apart with one satisfying snap. The tiger faded into embers and, in its place, thousands of butterflies sprang forth, illuminating the room.
“Ah! Damn tiger ate my final act.” There was a long, uncomfortable silence, one that had every right to stem from anger, confusion, and a throng of potential lawsuits. Instead, there was a unanimous, electrifying cheer that was loud enough to deafen. The butterflies sparked, bringing the house lights all the way up. Ron took a bow before leaving the audience with a bright, brimming smile. “I’ve been Ron the Resplendent and you’ve been a magnificent audience. Thank you, Vegas!”
Once Ron walked backstage, Zoltar was waiting. That slicked back hair, stern glance, vintage business suit, and glasses comically too small for his sloped, wrinkly face — it was burned into Ron’s brain by this point. It was the same with Zoltar’s voice, that gurgling rasp that sounded like he was always on the cusp of clearing his throat. The moment Zoltar opened his mouth, Ron rolled his eyes and made a beeline for his dressing room. “And what the fuck was that?! Ron? Ron, I’m talking to you!”
“Not in a listening mood, Zoltar. I just finished dazzling a full house.” Ron glanced at Zoltar as they speed walked together. “A thank you is all that’s needed. Not all this yapping.”
Zoltar stomped. “You locked the doors, Ron!”
Ron wiggled his hand in the air. “Ehhh, the emergency exit doors were fine.”
“The lights of which were turned off!” Veins bulged along Zoltar’s neck.
Ron shrugged. “Power outage. You saw the lights go out, just like I did.”
“That wasn’t supposed to be part of the trick!” Zoltar grit his teeth, snatching the prosthetic chest plate from Ron’s body. The sharp snap of velcro made Ron pause. “Neither was this! We agreed that we were going to do test runs before any prosthetics! Do you think Shadaloo would allow a thief?”
“Shadaloo only cared about the strongest holding their own, not some second-rate scientist who did all he could to keep his head shoved up Bison’s ass.” Ron turned to Zoltar and jabbed fingers in his chest, shoving him. “Second, that’s what makes the trick work, you bifocaled fuck. It’s supposed to be unexpected! Exciting! That’s why I get top billing and hit the best theatres downtown.”
Zoltar scoffed. “Oh, so you do all the work, huh? You’d better hope those ‘magic’ gloves don’t malfunction or there goes your whole damn act! If it wasn’t for me and my technology, you’d be doing card and coin tricks at the bottom slot! Actually, speaking of pay—”
“Aht aht aht, Zoltar. As much as I’d love to go through this chit chat bullshit for the millionth time, I’ve gotta go. Like, actually gotta be somewhere.” Ron continued speed walking to his room.
“Oh no you don’t! We’re not done talking here!” Zoltar caught up with Ron, arms flailing to keep pace. “You’re not avoiding this conversation to go fuck another fan! Especially when you hog them all for yourself!”
Ron stopped again, bearing a pained grin. “Zoltar, how do I say this….you’re ugly.”
Zoltar stopped. His whole face drooped and his body fidgeted like he needed to get away. “That’s…that can’t be true I…I’ve had plenty of…”
“Plenty of prostitutes that Shadaloo paid for, yes, I know. Shocker! But those women weren’t with you because of your scientific prowess or soothing voice.” Ron wrapped an arm around Zoltar’s shoulders and gestured to the ceiling, like there was a field of stars above them. “Look at the bright side! I keep doing shows like this and you’ll be making enough money to get a hooker at least once a week. How’s that sound?”
Zoltar’s boisterous, enraged demeanor had melted. Emasculated, he became timid, mumbling his answers. “We’ll…talk about it later.”
Ron slapped Zoltar’s back. “There we go! We’ll talk soon. Promise.”
With that, Ron raced to his room while Zoltar waddled over to help the crew break down the stage. Ron opened the door, grabbed a towel to dab his head, and froze when his eyes focused on his dressing room table. A bouquet of roses laid there, the bunch of stems wrapped in white. Jutting from the center of fresh petals was a combat knife. Military. Ron closed and locked his dressing room door before darting over to the table. He carefully examined the knife. Moments later, his heart was in his throat.
“Fuck fuck fuck fuck shiiiiit!” Ron pulled out his phone, fingers trying to hit the right numbers for his pin. He fumbled several times, slammed his fist against the table, and took a deep breath before deliberately pressing the right code. With a few more anxious swipes, he lifted the phone to his ear. She had to pick up. She had to be okay. Every empty ring crushed him.
“Hey.” Carolyn sounded casual, unbothered.
“Oh thank god.” Ron sat down, letting out a big sigh. “Carrie, are you—”
“It’s Roxxie. Not here but you are. Leave a name and number and I’ll get back to you.” The phone beeped and Ron promptly freaked out.
“Fuck! Carrie, if you’re at my apartment, lock the doors and windows. I’ll be there in about ten minutes.” Ron ripped the knife out of his desk and bolted out. Vegas went by in a blur as he raced through the halls. He smashed one of the back exit doors and almost fell on his face. He patted himself down, frantically looking for his keys as waves of sweat blurred his vision. With the towel soaked, he threw it away, cursing, and finally heard the jingle of his car keys. Time lapsed and, before he knew it, he was driving back to his apartment, repeating one thing in his head. “Please be okay. Please be okay. Please be okay.”
Ron pulled into his apartment complex in mere minutes, convinced that some cop was going to give him the third degree about running a few lights and using the curb more than he should have. But he didn’t let the law pull him out of that trance. His mind hyper focused and his body was on autopilot, running to his apartment door. It was all that came into focus with everything else washed into the peripheral. He checked the light. The key was gone. He used his own, heard the click, charged through the door and—
“Oh! Shit. Ron?” Carrie was there, on the couch, dressed like the person Ron saw her as. Or as much of the real her she let him see. Tight denim pants, a deep cut sports bra, and a raggedy olive green jacket with a busted zipper. She was the spitting image of the day they reunited in Vegas two years ago, albeit with her a bit more sullen and a little less high. Instead of the bright glitz of the Strip, there was the dim glow of a lamp beside her. Carrie snapped her fingers when she realized that Ron was standing there for the past thirty seconds, panicked.
“Why didn’t you answer your phone?” It was the first thing Ron blurted out as her snaps pulled him out of the aura of disaster. His heart fluttered relentlessly but he held his chest, desperately trying to stop it. All the while, he inched toward Carolyn and plopped down next to her on the cool, AC-chilled leather.
Carolyn looked Ron up and down, a bit worried. “Uh…sorry. Couldn’t find my charger. Was hoping I could use yours but I couldn’t find it.”
“Oh…oh…kay.” Ron took bigger breaths with slower exhales, leaning back. Carolyn wiped some of the sweat from Ron’s head and held his hand. She squeezed. He leaned on her. “Good.”
“You, uh, been smokin’ some of that blue, Ron?” Carolyn chuckled, pushing to break the tension. “No judgement. Just wanna know what kinda night I’m in for, ya know?”
Ron sat up immediately and shook his head. “Oh god no! I’m not—you thought—?! Carrie, c’mon.”
“Hey! I don’t know what all those magicians do to unwind or get through a show.” Carolyn held her hands up with a smirk. “By the looks of you, it must get pretty damn intense.”
The longer Ron was in Carolyn’s company, the more the danger, or rather the strong implication of such, drifted from his mind. He slid an arm around Carolyn’s shoulders and tilted his head back. “Would you believe I fought a damn tiger about thirty minutes ago?”
“Okay, Siegfried. You’re fighting tigers now?” Carolyn pressed her head against Ron’s chest. His heartbeat raced in her ear at first but, slowly, calmed to her touch.
“Copperfield’s using dinosaurs and UFOs. I gotta step my game up somehow yanno?” Ron laughed. He glanced down at Carolyn but wasn’t expecting to see her looking back. Ron’s heartbeat was a steady drum. “Gotta take a chance. See what works.”
When Ron got a chance to settle, really settle, he started thinking about how little everything else meant to him. He thought back to his days of farming, of simple living, and how far he’d strayed from it. Ron felt so comfortable in such a simple moment and wondered whether he was really cut out for this life. Entranced by Carolyn’s gaze, he cupped her cheek, stroking it with his thumb. Carolyn leaned into it. There was a smile there somewhere, nudging the surface as she spoke. “From farm boy to superstar. Shit writes itself, huh?”
Ron scoffed. “I don’t exactly miss chucking bales of hay and waking up at the crack of dawn to tend to the farm.”
Carolyn blinked rapidly and placed her hand over his. “Hard, dirty work, sure. But it’s honest, yeah? Simple. I wouldn’t mind some of that. At least if I get dirty, I can wash it off. Know it’s gone.”
Ron saw Carolyn’s smile fade. She gazed at other things, from the wood floor to the modest shelf where mediocre trophies and ribbons were littered. Ron looked at the shelf with her, clearing his throat. “That’s where my Merlin award is gonna go. Been trying for a few years now.”
“Merlin award?” Carolyn turned and looked at Ron like he had shit on his face. She took in everything about him, from what remained of his magician outfit to the slightly messy hair that spilled a few locks over his forehead. Then, she laughed. “You’re such a fucking nerd, oh my god. Hahahaha!”
Ron squeezed her cheek, wiggling it between his fingers. “Hey, heeeeey! It’s a serious award! Only the best of the best magicians get it.”
Carolyn sat up, leaning in close enough for her breath to wash over his lips. “So, are you the best yet?”
“I am the most magical ginger on the West Coast.” Ron nudged his nose, giving Eskimo kisses. “Shit, I might be a leprechaun. You’d never know.”
Carolyn’s laughs came soft, easy. She didn’t need to nod her head and remember when to giggle at things that didn’t matter to her. Ron wasn’t her job. He was the only guy she actually loved to work. Carolyn’s hand came up to grip the nape of Ron’s neck, pulling him in for a kiss. “Shut uuuup. Stop being cute.”
Words dwindled into soft laughter and childish noises. Lips drifted against skin, kissing, tasting. They both unraveled, unzipped, and unbuttoned their way to the flesh. Carolyn gestured to the bedroom but Ron was too enraptured to listen. She forgot that her escort autopilot didn’t work on Ron. Not on love. She had shut down the spontaneity of love-making to keep herself safe and, more importantly, sane. But, when Ron’s face buried between her legs and his tongue slid within to taste her, Carolyn gladly forgot about everything.
She reflexively wrapped one leg around Ron’s head, watching his green eyes pop up every once in a while to catch her staring. Carolyn stroked Ron’s fiery locks and, soon, grabbed a handful of hair. The more Ron tasted of her, the more her legs quivered. She yanked his hair, gripping her breast with her other hand. Her head tilted back, toes curled and eyes fluttering.
The moans that crept out between breathy, shallow exhales sounded different. They weren’t the forced, porn star moans that got her clients off or the more innocent, fantasy-like whining that she had to play up for the much older crowd. They came in her voice, her tone, just down the road from her speaking voice. No one knew the directions but Ron. He traveled the off-beaten path often with Carolyn, finding things no one else knew.
Like how she liked her stomach kissed or how she liked to hold hands during sex. Ron even knew when to stop going down on her, sitting up the moment he heard Carolyn speaking French. Strings of fluid glazed Ron’s mouth and dripped from his chin in long, thin strands. It trailed along his chiseled chest and ripped abs, leading Carolyn’s gaze to his throbbing, longing cock. She smiled, gesturing with her fingers that he was too small.
They laughed and Carolyn drew her fingers along Ron’s dick, thicker than it was long. She swiped some precum from the head and tasted, making a joking disgusted face. Ron responded with overdramatic hand gestures and feigned sadness. Carolyn sat up, pulled Ron down, and loved on him. He pushed inside, slowly, gently. Carolyn quivered and, in the midst of their eye contact, she teared up.
“It doesn’t hurt…does it?” Ron asked.
Carolyn shook her head. “N-no. No it doesn’t. It doesn’t hurt at all.”
Carolyn’s toothy smile stretched from ear to ear as tears trailed down her cheeks. She wrapped her arms around Ron’s neck, feeling him sink deeper. They danced to their own rhythm, giving no heed to the worries of the outside world. No timer on a dead phone. No rules to remember. It was sex on her terms.
“I’m sorry. Ngh! I’m…I’m gonna—” Ron’s stomach clenched and his rhythm hastened.
Carolyn whispered in his ear. “It’s okay, Ron.”
Ron tried to pull out but Carolyn’s legs forced him back inside. He heard “please” and nearly wept with his release. Carolyn held onto him with all her strength and breathed in his ear. Her words were a lullaby, serene and earnest in their one request. “Stay. Please stay. Stay with me.”
Ron was unsure how long this lasted or if he drifted into a deep sleep and just dreamt her words repeating in his head. What he did know is that these words went from whispers to screams. Desperate, pleading screams. “Stay! Ron! Please, stay with me! Ron!”
Half of Ron’s vision was blurred by blood. It hurt to breathe. The apartment was dark, only moonlight. It took him a moment to remember what happened. When he saw Balrog racing over to Carolyn, things started coming back. He slurred “Caaarrrrrrlllllnnnnn…”
Balrog snatched Carolyn by her hair. His hand came down with thunderous slaps and backhands. He screamed in her face and shook her like a ragdoll. “I try callin’ an’ callin’ an’ you up here with another nigga?! Huh?! I told you ‘bout this shit. I done told yo ass! Kept tryin’ me, fuckin’ around like I ain’t gonna do shit. Aight, bitch!”
Carolyn’s mouth filled with blood and she soon sounded as incoherent as Ron. She looked over at Ron with pleading eyes, not knowing what to apologize for first. Balrog saw this and flew into a rage. He pulled Carolyn away from Ron and into the adjacent bathroom. The door slammed. Carolyn screamed.
Ron struggled to get to his feet, dazed. His head throbbed in pain and dizziness was the least of his problems. Vision faded in and out. His legs felt like jelly. Carolyn’s cries forced him to focus, piercing through the confusion. Ron stumbled to his room and rummaged through the closet. He uncovered a large wooden chest from beneath a pile of clothes. His fingers felt the Shadaloo insignia etched into the side.
“I’mmmm commmmnnnn…Caaarrrrrlllnnnn….coming….” Ron tried to reassure her, tried to yell over her screams. Ron pulled out two metallic gauntlets, purple and gold. When he slid them on, they crackled to life with electricity and glowed with a long forgotten power. “I’m…comnnn…”
Ron shuffled as quickly as he could toward the washroom, banging his metal fists against the wall. His pain grew to anger as Carolyn’s screams continued, gritting his teeth with occasional tremors. “Bal…rog…! You….bastrrrddd…..!”
Ron approached the washroom, reeled his fist back, and threw an electric punch at the door. Before he hit the door, it hit him. It was knocked clear off his hinges and he was knocked off his feet. Smashed between the thick door and the couch, Ron’s spine flared with pain. Blood gushed between grit teeth. Everything in his vision came in doubles. And still, Ron fought. He shoved the door aside and caught sight of Balrog’s violation of Carolyn.
Even blurred, it was enough to churn his stomach. The half torn shower curtain showed silhouettes of horror. Fluids raced from both bodies. Holes stretched beyond what should have been. The screams were those of animals, of howling beasts in the proximity of death. Of otherworldly creatures whose rage singed the soul. The exhibition of carnage touched a place that Ron hadn’t accessed since the height of Shadaloo. It forced him to rise and ignore every facet of pain that begged him to drift away.
“Bal…ROOOOOOOOOG!” Ron slammed his steel fists together, creating a localized storm. Electricity torched the floor around him as he approached the bathroom.
Balrog rose from the bathtub, slick with blood and spit. His eyes, dilated and furious, stared through Ron. He stepped over the porcelain, shoving his blood-dyed dick into his sweatpants and tying the drawstrings tight. Balrog snorted what little coke was speckled beneath his nose. “Fuck you gon’ do, bitchmade nigga? Them lil’ tasers ain’t gon’ do shit. Do you know who the fuck I am? You know how many niggas I fucked up in my career? Shit, how ‘bout just today? An’ you got the fuckin’ nerve to fuck ‘round with my bitch?! Dickin’ her on the sly when she supposed to be makin’ a livin’ for us.”
Ron spit blood on the floor, his face filled with resolve. “You can either die out here or in that bathroom. That’s the only choice you got.”
And, like that, Balrog was on him. Even in his older years, Balrog was deceptively fast. A right hook aimed to take Ron’s head clean off his shoulders. Ron weaved, grabbed Balrog’s arm, and slammed him with a judo throw. Ron screamed in fury as he electrocuted Balrog with fifty thousand volts of electricity. Balrog’s body twitched and contracted, writhing about from the current. Ron held on for as long as he could until he felt the solid impact of Balrog’s headbutt.
Ron stumbled back, partly in disbelief. Whatever pain surged through his body was carried away by adrenaline. Ron watched Balrog’s body smoke from the five second surge of electricity. Then, he watched him rise to his feet, angrier than ever. A sickening grin spread across Balrog’s face. “Compared to that green nigga, this shit tickled.”
It was then that Ron realized two things. First, Balrog’s body wasn’t the only one injured by his electric outburst. He looked down to see burn marks along his arms and chest, along with some piss in his pants from the muscle contractions. There was a reason Zoltar had him wear the insulating suit with his gauntlets at all times. Second, there was nothing standing between him and being beaten to death. “Goddammit…you should be dead! Bullets, electricity, a fucking kung-fu master —-how the hell do you keep surviving? Why can’t you just die, you piece of shit!”
“Kung-fu Master?” Balrog, perplexed, smashed his fist into Ron’s dazed body. His knuckles ground into Ron’s stomach as he lifted him off the ground, squinting at him. “You talkin’ ‘bout that fat motherfucker, ain’t ya? You was the nigga that hired him. You the one that tried to smoke me, huh?! Ohhh, I get it. Kill me an’ run away wit’ my bitch. Knight in shinin’ armor bullshit. Well, all that’s out the window, playboy.”
Ron puked blood. His ribs cracked and split as Balrog’s arm flexed with muscle, with a highway of bulging veins. He quickly realized why Balrog, someone who could be misconstrued as just some bumbling street thug, was chosen by Bison as one of the Four Heavenly Kings. As Balrog’s fist sank through flesh, bone, and organs, Ron looked past Balrog. He saw Carolyn’s distraught face as she hid in the tub, watching the light go out of her lover’s eyes. Gurgling, he called to her, smiling. “Sorry, Carrie. I’m no Copperfield.”
Balrog’s fist tore out of Ron’s back, leaving him impaled on his flexed arm. Balrog cackled before tossing him on the floor in a bloody heap, turning back to see Carolyn’s horrified face. “Next time you try some slick snake shit like this, it’s gon’ be you on this floor.”
A knock came at the front door. Carolyn looked in the direction of the door, then back at Balrog. She covered her mouth, closed her eyes, and sobbed in the tub. Balrog scoffed. He rolled his eyes while calling out at the door. “Who is it?!”
There was no answer. Instead, another knock came. Several firm raps on wood. Balrog walked closer to the door with heavy thuds and called out again. “Who the fuck is it?!”
A shotgun blast decimated most of the door and tore a hole into Balrog’s side. Several more ripped through what remained of the door just seconds apart. Balrog hit the ground just beside Ron, finding the latter’s dying smile to be all the more ominous. The first thing Balrog saw through the smoke was the barrel of a Spas-12 shotgun, followed by six Gold Cross Gang members. They were armed with rifles, aimed at every pocket and doorway. He saw them dip into rooms, yelling out “clear!”, and dragging Carolyn out, wrapped in the torn shower curtain. Once an “all clear!” was yelled out by the men, a seventh stepped through the front door.
“I knew Ron would die like a dog, but you?” Rolento came into the light, smoking a cigar. Garbed in a gold and black variant of his usual military fatigues, he shook his head at Balrog. “You disappoint me.”