“Everyone dies.” Rawstone stepped towards the Testarossa as its headlights rose out of their red housing, lighting up the highway in front of him. “I promise. Tonight, everyone dies.”

He looked down over his ice white suit, brushed a spec of dirt off his shoulder with his leather-gloved hands, fixed his none-more-black shades on his face and stepped into the car. Gripping the wheel, hammering the accelerator, speeding through the tyrian-purple night of the Pacific Coast Highway he remembered. Just for a second he allowed himself to remember.

What they’d done, everything they’d been through, the scores won, the nights had, the laughs, the cries, but what the fuck did it matter now? They’d gotten in too deep, it was his fault and he knew it. How the fuck did I get so distracted? When did I let it all get away from me?

The Ferrari’s tires billowed smoke as he skidded into the club parking lot, leaning over and grabbing his duel Berettas he heard the screams kicking up. Sharp heels snapping against concrete, the crowd fleeing as the smile grew across the side of his face and he opened the door.

“Hey, come on, Rawstone–” the rippling bouncer backed himself into the club, thick arms raised to the air. “Look, man, you know me, I ain’t connected, I ain’t got anything to do with this. Come on man?”

“I know that, Jackson. It’s just, I made a promise.” He pulled his shades down to look him in the eye. “Tonight, everyone dies.”

Blood was spurting out of the bouncer’s face before he could even shout fuck, and the chaos began. Scream, you’re dead, stay quiet you’re dead, run you’re dead, freeze you’re dead. The bullets rang out as the club’s neon lights still danced to music, piercing his gun smoke and mixing with the dry ice still pumping out from underneath the DJ booth.

He paused for a second, before shouting to the DJ. “Put me on some Phil Collins!”

“Sh-sure, Rawstone!” The DJ shouted through a nervous laugh. “An-and you promise not to kill me?”

He laughed and shook his head. “Not tonight, Champ. Tonight everyone dies.” He blasted the DJ booth as the Collins clicked on. Stepping over the bodies, screams still ringing out behind him, before he reached the door, he knew what was behind there, he knew who was behind there.

Hitting the smoking hot barrel of his gun lightly against his temple he smiled. “I got us into this, and I guess this is the only way out.” He raised his leg against the door and paused, he knew that tonight they would all die and he was no exception as he hammered through, screaming and firing into a wall of bullets.

Musical inspiration — Michael J Webber — Midnight Withdrawal