60 Days In Hell

The rough urban scene stretched out before me like a living being—moving, pulsing, and just as dangerous. I pushed through the busy crowds, my mind racing as I thought about what my life meant and the path I had been given.

The walls were covered in graffiti—bold signs of rebellion mixed with the faded remains of a once-vibrant neighborhood. The far-off sound of sirens echoed, reminding me of the chaos lurking just below the surface.

Catch the criminals, and eliminate your enemies. Every step I take in this city is a step closer to being a fully sick person.

I surveyed the crowd—hardened faces, empty eyes, and fleeting glances that betrayed an underlying fear. I was an observer, an outsider navigating a world where I could easily slip into the shadows.

I found a quiet spot away from the constant noise and curious gazes. The air felt thick with unspoken tension, and the shadows wrapped around me like an old friend. The ground was littered with reminders of the city’s life—crumpled fast-food wrappers and broken bottles.

I took out my Desert Eagle .50 pistol, holding it in my hands and studying the cold metal that promised power.

It’s just a game, right?

But the weight of reality pressed heavily on me, a sharp contrast to the escape offered by video games.

What does it mean to wield such a weapon? I pondered, unease creeping in. I wasn’t prepared for this—this was real life, not a level to conquer. But I needed to overcome this.

Ten minutes slipped by in quiet thought as I wandered aimlessly until I spotted a small gun store nestled between two decaying buildings.

It had an old-world charm that hinted at hidden stories—dusty shelves filled with firearms and hunting gear. The air was heavy with the smell of oil and metal, while hunting trophies hung on the walls, frozen in time.

I stepped inside, and the bell above the door jingled—a sound that felt like a relic from a forgotten era.

Behind the counter stood a tall, elderly man, rough-looking but giving off a warmth that made the shop feel more welcoming. His face was marked with wrinkles, each one telling a story about his life experiences.

“Can I help you, kid?” he asked, a mixture of skepticism and curiosity in his voice. I approached the counter, my nerves a coiled spring ready to snap.

“Uh, yeah. I just… wanted to look around,” I replied, trying to mask my nerves with feigned confidence.

“Look all you want, but don’t touch anything you can’t afford,” he chuckled, his gaze sharp yet playful.

A strange mix of intrigue and nervousness bubbled within me. I needed to take the plunge. “Actually, I’m interested in learning how to use a gun. This one specifically.” I gestured towards the Desert Eagle, my voice steadier than I felt.

The old man laughed, the sound rich and unexpected. “You want to learn how to handle that beast? What do you think this is, a game?”

Exactly, I thought, feeling the flush of embarrassment creep up my neck. “This is not just any fun game, I'm aware of that old man” I replied, my voice low. “But I'm motivated to learn not just for my own interest.”

His laughter faded, replaced by a contemplative gaze. “Alright, alright, I’ll teach you. But you better not waste my time.”

“I’ll repay you somehow,” I said, surprised by my own boldness.

The old man studied me, and I saw a flicker of something in his eyes—a reflection of lost potential. “Just don’t expect it to be easy, kid.”

His teaching began, and the old man walked me through the details of the Desert Eagle. I held the pistol carefully, feeling its weight—a mix of power and responsibility.

“Keep your stance steady. It’s all about control,” he instructed, demonstrating how to align the sights.

I focused intently, absorbing every word. This isn’t a game. My hands trembled slightly as I processed the information, understanding the gravity of the situation.

As our session wrapped up, the old man's expression changed. “I need a favor from you,” he said, the seriousness of his words clear. “My daughter, Estella… she’s been missing for a week.”

His voice wavered, and I could see the fight in his eyes to hold back tears. I felt a surge of empathy; I understood that pain all too well.

What could I do? My mind raced with the implications of his request.

“old man, tell me more about her” I asked, my voice steady despite the turmoil within.

He took a deep breath, looking around as if the shadows were eavesdropping. “She’s in her twenties, with long black hair and striking green eyes. The last I heard, she was spotted near the old docks, associating with some guy. I tried, I tried to stop her from meeting this guy but it all comes to this.” He shared fragments of her last known whereabouts, his expression clouded with concern.

"And what's the name of that guy, old man?" I asked.

"Ronan, Ronan Mercer. I didn’t know him personally but my daughter spoke about him quite a few times." He replied.

After he finished his story, I stood firm, a resolve settling in my chest.

“Aight seems I’ll start finding some useful information about your daughter for now” I declared, my voice firm and unwavering. “I promise I’ll return with information.”

The old man’s expression softened, gratitude shining through the pain.

Two missions, one path. As I left the store, the promise lingered in the air, a double-edged sword. The city stretched out before me, filled with dangers yet to come, but I was prepared. I had a mission—not just for myself, but for someone else as well.

Stepping into the chaotic streets, the weight of my commitments began to take shape. I would confront whatever challenges awaited me. I had to.

As I stepped out of the gun shop, the weight of the Desert Eagle felt unfamiliar yet thrilling in my hand.

The bell jingled softly behind me, and for a moment, I savored the crisp city air, a refreshing change from the stale scent of metal and oil inside.

My mind raced with the old man's words about training and responsibility, but I couldn't shake the feeling that danger was lurking just beneath the surface of my new life.

The streets buzzed with energy, alive with chatter, honking cars, and distant sirens echoing off the crumbling buildings.

However, as I wandered deeper into the urban sprawl, that vibrancy began to fade, replaced by an unsettling sense of dread. I could feel the city's dark side closing in around me, like a predator stalking its prey.

Then I heard something, no, someone—a scream, sharp and desperate, cutting through the chatter like a knife.

Most people don't care, few finding the scream. But me, my heart raced, adrenaline flooding my veins.

I instinctively turned toward the sound, my instincts urging me to move. With each hurried step, the world around me blurred as I struggled to pinpoint the source of that horrifying cry.

I found myself in a part of the city that felt foreign, a no-man's land where the noise of civilization faded into a heavy silence.

The buildings loomed over me like giants, their darkened windows resembling empty eyes, watching my every move.

My feet carried me deeper into the shadows, the alleyways narrowing until they felt like a funnel leading into a dark abyss.

That’s when I saw them. Three men were huddled over a woman pressed against the grimy wall, their laughter a twisted melody that sent a chill down my spine.

The tallest among them was gaunt and twitchy, as if he’d been fueled by a mix of some drugs and violence.

He walks toward the woman, and my heart raced, pounding like a war drum in my chest. I felt frozen, a mere spectator in this horrifying scene.

The woman’s eyes darted around, wide with fear, tears streaking down her cheeks, then she looked at me. The ground seemed to shift beneath me, pulling me into a whirlwind of confusion.

I’d never faced anything like this—raw, desperate violence.

My mind raced to think what to do in this situation, but my body remained paralyzed, trapped in shock.

Suddenly, the tallest man lunged forward, hands reaching for her body.

That’s when instinct kicked in.

Fear morphed into a surge of rage, fueling my resolve. I tightened my grip on my Desert Eagle, steadying my breath as I focused on the moment.

In a flash, I squeezed the trigger.

bang!

The gunshot rang out, echoing through the alley and drowning out the woman’s cries.

The bullet shot through the air with lethal precision, finding its mark. The tall man’s head burst apart in a spray of blood and bone, splattering the wall behind him.

I stood there, horrified but strangely satisfied, as pieces of his skull flew through the air. It was a moment frozen in time, a stark reminder of the brutality in this city.

The other two men froze, shock plastered on their faces as they turned toward me, eyes wide in disbelief.

The woman, still crouched against the wall, stared at me, confusion and horror mingling in her expression. For a heartbeat, the world felt like it had paused. I had crossed a line I never thought I would, and now I was inextricably tied to the violence around me.

As I processed what I had done, a single thought echoed in my mind: I could never go back.

“Who the hell are you?” one of the remaining men barked, his bravado evaporating as fear took over. His hands instinctively reached for a knife at his belt, a desperate bid to reclaim some control.

The chaos unfolded in a surreal haze, like I was watching a movie on slow motion. Adrenaline coursed through my veins, sharpening my senses as I braced for whatever came next.

Before I could react, the second man charged at me like a wild animal cornered. I aimed the Desert Eagle, my heart pounding in my ears, and fired again. The gun kicked against my hand, the shot resonating through the narrow alleyway.

Bang!

This time, the bullet struck true. The man crumpled to the ground, shock etched on his face.

The echo of the gunshot lingered in the air like a ghost, mixing with the sounds of the woman’s sobs and the faint drip of blood pooling around the bodies.

In the silence that followed, the reality of my actions crashed over me like a tidal wave.

I had killed two men, reduced them to lifeless husks in the blink of an eye.

The weight of the Desert Eagle felt heavier than ever, a stark reminder of the line I had crossed.

The woman, trembling, looked up at me, fear mingling with something else—was it gratitude?

But I couldn’t dwell on that now. I had to act quickly. The gunshots would attract attention, it's an open weakness, and I couldn’t afford to be caught here.

“Are you okay?” I asked, forcing my voice to sound steadier than I felt.

She nodded slowly, tears still streaming down her cheeks. “I… I’m fine. T..th.thank you”

After ensuring the area was clear, I left the woman for a brief second, moving towards the trash cans where her coat lay crumpled on the ground. The fabric was dark and worn, its presence a stark reminder of the chaos that had just unfolded.

As I bent down to retrieve it, the last image I had of her was heartbreaking—her head bowed low, tears falling silently. I felt a pang of sympathy and urgency.

I needed to get her out of this hellhole, back to safety where she must stay.

But as I straightened up, coat in hand, everything shifted in an instant.

My instincts screamed at me as I turned back to her, and there it was—a gun pointed straight at my head.

The metallic glint of the barrel caught the dim light, and the realization hit me like a punch to the gut.

The one aiming the pistol was the very girl I had just saved.

"Don't move" she said.