Last Action Wizard

Author's Warning: Bloody Violence and Language PS- A New Ending is on the way!

Last Action Wizard

“Do you know why wizards can’t be caught?” he asked the man tied to the chair.

His victim rolled his eyes. “Why not,”

“Guess!” Wizard perked up with a bright smile. A knife was subconsciously twirling itself within his fingers.

“I don’t know,”

Wizard gazed down at him with the stupid, sappy smile still on his face. “Sooo,” he drawled with wide eyes.

His victim, a man by the name of Carl- which should have been said earlier- gazed back at Wizard with the most confused look on his face. Carl was a man of such average proportions that looking at him was growing increasingly boring. “What?” Carl screamed.

“Do you know why wizards can’t be caught?”

“Of for fuck’s sake,” Carl muttered, shaking his head. A schlock of greasy and stringy black hair fell into his eyes. “You just asked that,”

Wizard blanched and stepped back, placing the knife back in the sheath at his right hip. Instead he produced a basic handgun from a shoulder holster. He didn’t want to touch that hair- If unwashed, ignore it completely! His father had once said. “So answer it!”

“Look ma, I really don’t know.”

“Fine then, play it that way! The reason you can’t catch wizards is because…” he paused for dramatic effect- and then it finally dawned on him about Carl calling him ma- “Because I am a wizard!” he screamed! His voice echoed around the large, crate filled warehouse. His smile was wide and that of a pedophile.

Carl mumbled a curse under his breath.

Before Wizard could create a flashy response, the vast steel doors ahead crumpled. “Shit,” he cursed and commenced diving behind the nearest crate. It was ridged along the edges and created by the same material as the doors. Wizard didn’t quite make his mark and belly flopped onto the concrete ground. His knees hurt and his ribs were bruised so he coughed. Seconds later he was up again and planting himself at the corner of the crate, facing a brick wall.

It was an escape, a great ambush! Consisting of only two men- footsteps cascaded at the other end of the crate. Two men in black body suits leaped around the steel box in front of him. Both were average height, faces covered by ski masks. Lips drawn in tight lines in the mouth gap, their eyes widened, they lifted their automatic rifles. Frowning himself, he lifted the gun and pulled the trigger twice.

The shorter man on the right took a bullet to the throat, body jerking back to the ground, writhing violently as arterial blood sprayed high in the air. He grabbed at his throat, flopped to the side, a scarlet river flowing through his fingers. The left man was struck between the eyes, brains splattering in a wide arc across the floor. His head snapped back, body falling hard to the ground. Warlock shot the man holding his throat through the hand.

Wizard peeked around the corner he just came from and continued down. A man charged from the doors, leather trench coat flapping around his ankles. Unstrung blonde hair flapped wildly as if enjoying the ride. Or that was until Warlock pulled the trigger. Momentum carried the man off of his feet and crashing to the floor in a heap. No one else appeared to be coming from somewhere.

Carl was grumbling about epic failures to himself. “Well that was unfair,” he said loud enough for Wizard to hear over the ringing of gunshots.

“So, wizards aren’t nice.”

“Who are you?”

“Wizard,”

Carl tried to face-palm himself with his hands tied to the armrest. It only succeeded in smacking chin to chest. “What do you really do for a living?”

“Own a gas station,”

“Bullshit,”

“Explain,”

“Wizard my ass,”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Aren’t wizards supposed to be smart?”

“I am too smart,”

Carl snorted, blowing greenish snot into a few dangling strands of hair. Wizard didn’t notice it. “Really,” Carl tried to knock the strands away but they just stuck to his cheek. He frowned morbidly.

“I shot the idiot trying to charge me,” Wizard pointed to the corpse. “So in turn that makes me smart,”

Carl gave him a narrowed look. “So what are you?” he went back to his former question.

Wizard waved the gun at his victim. “Unacceptable!” he nearly screeched.

“What?”

“Only I can repeat former questions we stopped talking about!”

Carl rolled his eyes. “This is my torture scene, not yours asshole!” Wizard continued.

“Come on man; just answer the question.” Carl begged, sweat brightening his pale complexion. To Wizard he looked like the dead man that he was.

“I’m a wizard,”

“Motherfucker, you can shove magic up my hairy ass!” Carl screamed in exasperation.

“I can if I wanted to,”

“So where’s the wand?”

Wizard smiled and waved the gun around. “Next time don’t go around trying to rob a wizard at gunpoint. And don’t bring only three guys,” he started walking forward but stopped a foot away from Carl. “By the way, you seriously only had three guys come and get you?”

“Well,” Carl became misty eyed. "I couldn't afford more," He began to tell some morbid tale about his life.

“Not my problem you lived under a bridge,” he interrupted at the point where Carl was talking of being raped by a mystical horse. Wizard did not want to hear of such things.

“I’m not a troll!” Carl protested.

“Do you have access to the internet? They’ll love fucking around with you on there,”

“Not my problem the wand is only as narrow as your dick!”

Now it was Wizard’s turn to morbidly frown. He was highly self-conscious of his junk. “Do you believe in magic, punk?”

“Fuck no!” Carl screamed.

“Feel the magic bitch!” Wizard pressed the barrel against Carl’s head and pulled the trigger.



Splashes of dark emeralds and pitch black speared the man in my night vision scope. He was of the average variety but broad around the shoulders. Narrow legs somehow held the body up. Thick patches of greasy, shining, black hair spilled out of the ski mask. My victim was facing me. His hand absent mindedly reached for his crotch and scratched- afterwards he readjusted his camouflage pants. I rolled my eyes in disgust and pinpointed that obscenely large head in my crosshairs.

My sleek M16A4 rifle was outfitted with suppressive fire. A little pfft- recoiled against my shoulder with a soft blast of white lead. The man’s head exploded against the brick of the warehouse wall in a mixture of brains and skull fragments. His body crumpled and slid into a sitting position with blood trailing downwards. I shifted on my stomach for comfort and waited.

I sort of grinned and continued my gaze around the perimeter I could see. There was no one else on this side of the building. These guys didn’t think ahead very well. Everyone should attempt to guard the back entrance much better than this.

I stepped over the boulder I had been leaning against. A cloudless night greeted my rise. Forests sang with the wind as leaves rustled; dust picked up and permeated my steel-toed boots. I was ready for war.

A blinding flash turned night to day and screams flanked the left wall of the warehouse. My angle protected me from most of the blast. Unfortunately purple dots still seared my vision for an instant. I immediately planted my chest to the ground. Knee high grass hid me well enough so I bent my knees and arched my back, ready to charge.

Three pairs of feet charged past my position. I watched their every move, only tilting my head for better angles. Without any night vision they were only shadows against the wall. It would serve a better purpose for me though. My favorite tactics could be used; guerilla warfare.

Intestines clenching to accommodate the bent spine, I inched forward like a crocodile. Before I went a foot though, grass damp against my pants- a boot lightly nudged my right hip. Immediately rolling, dropping the gun, and rolling for my knife in one fluid movement, I rolled on my side. Almost instinctively I kicked my leg in a violent arc, twisting my upper body with its movements. Steel met thigh with a grunt from my opponent. I recalculated and followed by pushing my foot deeper between his legs and wrenching to the left. With the position of my left foot against his other ankle, the man fell easily.

Before he could make another moan I flipped over and picked him up by the throat. We were in an awkward angle- him halfway on his knees before my deep slouch. My right hand gripped the knife and flashed it in his eyes. He wouldn’t see his life before those widened orbs; he’ll see my malicious tool. Left hand still in a death vice around his throat, I dipped down. The serrated blade went through an arc and struck him hard below the chin, narrowly missing my hand. It went through his tongue and got stuck on the roof of the mouth; so I shoved all the harder.

Gouts of blood sprayed over my hands from below his chin. A sickening snap of tendons and a squishy sound indicated that I had pierced the brain. He stopped jerking and I yanked the knife out in another spurt of fluids. I hadn’t noticed a few seconds before that he was wearing a ski mask. It was too hot for that though. His body slumped back too slowly for my taste- I reared back up and kicked the corpse in the chest. Oh he fell hard alright.

Placing the knife back in its sheath, I leaned down to pick up the rifle. The men were still screaming, now in a vicious argument. I couldn’t tell what each of them was saying; although it was clear this had something to do with the flash grenade. Shaking my head, I continued on my path towards the right side. I would deal with the others later.

Not knowing who was around the corner was dangerous, so I leaned against the wall’s edge. I smelled the men before anything. They were smoking after an explosion? No, it was a trap. A much larger threat knew I was here. He would be alone and without a weapon; or at least a knife of sorts. If he spoke it would bring him down. Speaking wastes energy we would need for the fight. I lowered the rifle and leaned it against the wall. I was satisfied with my theory.

Faint breathing laced the corner of the building. It was only one breath and hardly perceptible. We were inches from each other. My hand craned for the rifle again and lightly hefted it by the barrel. He knew I was there; I knew he was there. It was a battle of wills. Whoever moved first loses.

I wasn’t expecting the man to talk. Amongst the screams, which were still continuing- at least from the burn victim- his voice was low. First the man sniffed the air like a dog with a wet inhalation. “The sweat of a predator,” he breathed. “You are dangerous,” he continued with a New York accent.

He didn’t get a response from me. A creepy factor was oozing from his voice. Sniffing people was just socially wrong. I may have been a sociopath but I never sniffed a poor bastard. My hand crept ever closer to the rifle, I didn’t have time for this.

“Wait,” the man suddenly said after a brief silence.

I hefted the rifle. “Why should I,”

“I’m not here to stop you,”

There was a click in his voice that told me he wasn’t lying. My eyes focused on the corner at the other end of the building. “Then why are you here?”

“To merely observe,”

“Specifics,” I told him. Even though I didn’t have the time for this, things seemed to be moving remarkably slow everywhere else. Maybe it didn’t matter to have a strange chat with a non-goon.

“I’ve already done what I have to,”

A long tendril of bluish cigarette smoke leaked into my view. I followed its ghostly path along the horizon line of the menacing tree line. “Harold,” I said his name. Finally it made since. An innocent man wouldn’t dare go after a man like me.

“Yeah,”

“You got yourself into a lot of shit,”

“It needed to be done,”

“Sure, but not by you,”

“Of course by me,” he said defensively.

“No,”

“I’m a wizard; I can do whatever the fuck I want, whenever the fuck I want.”

I face palmed myself. The bastard still thought he was an actual wizard. “Quit calling yourself a wizard,” I said into my palm.

“Huh?”

A rustling of clothes told me he was turning to finally look at me.

I glared to my left. “Call yourself a wizard one more time and I’ll shoot you for bullshit.”

“Asshole,”

I sighed and lifted my head. “Silence!” he curtly cut me off.

“What?”

“Silence,” a slimy hand slapped the back of my head. Blanching, I wiped some of the gunk off and looked at my hand in the moonlight. It was blood. No, I was not going to be silent.

“You better start talking!” I hissed at him, peeking around the corner. I reached around and blindly grasped for my rifle.

Harold was a semi-tall man with the facial structures of Tommy Chong. He was dressed in a trench coat which reached down to his knees. A twig was in his hand and he was twirling it by his wrist. Pale, wizened eyes watched me in a side glance. “Okay, the turtles have spoken.”

I gave him a blank stare. What response could I possibly have to that?

“Dave, you okay?”

“I’m afraid to even ask,”

“What? Turtles are always talking to me,”

Air whistled out of my pursed lips. My job was essentially three quarters of the way through now. I was paid to find him alive. Harold the Wizard was in fact alive, so we could leave. But, I was also paid to get rid of the thugs- all of them. “Just stay out of sight until all of the gun-smoke clears,” I told him.

“I can help,” he said in an offended tone.

“Gonna talk to more turtles?”

“No, I’m gonna blow them up.” His smile was so serious I backed away. I was hired to protect a loony. Great, just what I needed on my resume.

“Fuck no,”

“Natural frag grenades man; and I can make them fly!”

I made a show of looking down at the wand in his hand. “With a twig,”

“Yes!” he grinned excitedly; glad I was catching on to the plan. Harold didn’t seriously believe me did he?

“Do you plan on poking their eyes out?”

He frowned at me like I was the mentally ill child around here. “I just told you I was gonna blow them up,”

“No, you aren’t,”

“I thought you were a big tough army man, not a pussy.”

My fist clenched. The muscles of my calf clenched. His gut suddenly became magnetized to my boots. Without glancing anywhere lower than his chin I kicked out. The strike was hard and centered and knocked him back a few feet. Leather flapped around his legs as he fell ass first, trying to catch the impact on his wrists. Too surprised to do much, he stared up at me with shocked eyes. “Don’t ever disrespect the military, understood?”

He sputtered some unintelligible dribble and nodded fast.

“One more word about exploding turtles and I’ll show you the meaning of closed-casket funerals. Now get the fuck up!” I ordered.

Harold complied, wincing as he pushed himself up by sprained hands. Hissing pushed through his stiff mustache as he reached to prod at the base of his spine. A .9mm pistol hung loosely from a shoulder holster until Harold pulled the lapels higher up his throat. “How many have you killed?” I asked.

“Four,” he said quietly. “Including the leader,”

“So they’re really pissed now,”

“Most likely,”

“At least you have experience,”

“Not with this many men,” he admitted. “I wasn’t expecting the ambush,”

Movement at his feet drew my attention down. Shadows were spearing the light below the rusty metallic door. I knew it led to the bathroom, one of the only back entrances to the warehouse. The blueprints were running through my mind and confirmed the fact. Before he followed my eyes I surged forward and pulled him by the shoulder. Gunfire pelted the door and both darkness and light exploded in sporadic holes at around waist height.

I kept Harold down with my foot and swung my gun in an arc. White heat silently went to war against the loud streams of fire. M16s were powerful and the door retracted with each burst. My bullets struck a man on the right first and speared the second directly to the left. Immediately after the enemy fire stopped I kicked the door open.

A metal slab slapped two different men and knocked them down. “Get up,” I called over my shoulder to Harold, moving forward. Blood had already slicked the floor. My eyes dropped to the first victim- goon on the right. Bullets had speared his gut and drifted up for the chest in a gory mess. Grimacing, I left the door on the other victim.

“Thanks,” Harold muttered behind me. His tone was light. He was embarrassed. Even I didn’t bother to tell him about trying to lighten our projection. It was a mistake that shouldn’t happen again. We would both redeem it by the end of the night.

“I’m just doing my job,”

We didn’t have long before other men appeared. “I can’t believe I didn’t see that,” he muttered disappointedly again.

“It happens alright, you get the left,”

He was about to say thank you again. I shook my hand dismissively and eyed the stalls. Normally I was a lone wolf because others got in my way. It was just in my nature. Survival is a game; it rarely involves more than one player.

I only had about five bullets left in the clip. I pulled another clip from my pocket and ejected the unfinished one, jamming the other in with the palm of my hand. An old colleague told me to not waste time with only a little left. Go ahead with the whole thing; it’ll save your life.

“Check the stalls, I’ll take the door,” I told Harold. In response to my prediction footstalls pounded on concrete. There were two stalls and only two seconds wasted.

Harold beat me and planted himself on the left side of the doorframe. I repeated his procedure on the opposite. We met eyes. I nodded in a respectful glare; there was a cocky smile on his face. It may be a problem later. But he lasted this long.

The door opened, surprising both of us. I jackhammered the barrel into the back of the first man’s head, the others backed off. I repeated the move against the center of his spine.

The goon was wearing a denim jacket with blue jeans. He stumbled to the ground and Harold slammed the door shut on a gun barrel. A flash of light brightened the sides of my vision; a bullet grazed the crown of my skull. I winced from the heat and fell into a crouch, only rising to go with the momentum and kicking my victim in the face. Teeth shattered and sprayed against the grimy tile.

He wasn’t wearing a ski mask. Crew cut black hair rested over his ovular head. I had a few inches over him, at least twenty pounds. None of it mattered though. Before he looked up I pressed his face against the ground with the barrel and pulled the trigger. It matched the sporadic explosions of gunfire behind me. Chunky red fluids splattered against my chest and craned throat. Without looking back down at the carnage I turned for the door.

Bullets sprayed over Harold’s shoulder and I rushed forward in a war cry. I was ordered to protect him. I would do so. Wrapping one hand across the back of his throat and the other on a piece of coat; I used the momentum and tossed him away from the door. Harold crashed into a corner and I turned to the door. A man was already in the doorway with a nervous glance at the corpse at my heels.

“Drop the gun,” he ordered, lifting a shotgun.

Mine was already moving and mid-arc I pulled the trigger once. Two bullets went through the air. The first struck his left ear and it vanished in a long spray of cartilage. He didn’t have time to scream before the second one penetrated his right eye and exited the back of his skull. A fine mess of blood slicked the wall behind him. Before his body fell I pushed myself forward.

There were two men at the door. A pistol had shot Harold, not a shotgun. Footsteps pounded away. “Harold, are ya still alive?” I called over my shoulder.

“Yeah,”

“Stay here; open the door when you hear three knocks,”

“Okay,” he resignedly grunted. I couldn’t risk him getting hurt again. Also, I’m pretty sure he didn’t want to get his ass kicked again. When I order people around, they damn well better cooperate.

I stepped into the corridor and looked down at the shotgun. The heated barrel of my rifle touched my wrist and I jerked it away. A military issued .9mm was in a shoulder holster for back up. I decided not to take it out for the night. Just get this shit over with. I pulled the door shut and it bounced back an inch. A gloved fist collided with my jaw.

I grunted, dropping the gun. It slid farther down the corridor. I should’ve seen that one coming. This man was a decoy. Before I could even turn towards the door he jabbed me in the ribs. The blow didn’t lift me off my feet but set me in the right stance. I turned to the right and clotheslined him. Two strong hands wrapped around my upper arm, pulled forward, and brought my pits down into a hard knee.

Trying to ignore the pain of tugged muscles, I used the momentum and pushed forward. Using the same trapped shoulder I used it as a battering ram against his gut. The man was off his feet but as I rolled he kicked me off with both legs. He was fast and efficient. But I was better; I wasn’t slipping on blood. Ass still on the ground I spread both legs and bunched them at the knees before he could recover.

Steel toes cracked against both ears once and then twice. He screamed and tried to roll away. I finally got a good look at him. As with the ski mask but in jeans and a t-shirt with a bulbous and bald head to top it off; damn bad guys were getting ugly. I swung the side of my foot under his chin and rolled to push myself up. He was squirming on the ground, rubbing at his jaw. “Wrong move,” I told him and ducked to wrap both hands against his neck. Without a second’s hesitation or drive to hear a groan I savagely wrenched it to both sides. My thumbs were deep in each enflamed ear.

The crick-crick of his snapping spine was loud in the silence. His legs were flailed over the torso of his downed comrade. I left them in that position and walked around the bodies, gingerly stepping on the blood. My rifle was three feet away and I stooped down to grab the barrel while I walked past. Rage at the interruption burned through my veins. There was no time for this.

My steps were light-footed enough to not slip on the floor; which would be highly embarrassing. Men like me don’t slip.

It was a short corridor and the corner to the right came up fast. I already had the rifle at the ready and anchored my upper body in the direction I was heading to. Actions like that helped whatever the hell I was going to do, go smoothly. No one appeared and the air throbbed with electricity from the naked ceiling bulbs from above. When I stepped out of the corridor I came upon a container to my left; as an addition to the other container.

Sparks and sharp explosions from above rained down in front of me. I immediately jerked back into the corridor. The bullets followed and pelted the top of the entrance in a dusting of shattered brick. My new target was standing on the catwalk. He was too close to the entrance for me to see him. Whoever he was; he was a bit smarter than the others. I knew he had the barrel of his own automatic rifle directed at the entrance.

Trying to run out would turn me into thorough Swiss cheese. “I have a proposition to make,” he called down, voice echoing.

“Too late for that,” I answered, gazing at what I could see. Which wasn’t much; two more long containers at narrow intervals from each other on the left and brick wall to the right.

“Too many have died. There’s no reason for me to continue the kidnapping,”

“Not my problem,”

There was no answer. Shadows moved above, away from the entrance. Footsteps clattered above. I followed it through the meshed metal of the catwalk. A hand crept over the ledge with a round object. It was small and green. They had a grenade. I didn’t panic but backed up and aimed at the hand. I was in a safe enough position from the blast.

I pulled the trigger and held it down to get maximum range and spanned the adjacent ledge. As soon as I fired I backed into the corridor again. The explosion was a bright dragon’s fire of orange against the wall. It shook the ground so hard my shoulder bounced into the wall I was leaning against. Pieces of metal from the catwalk and container littered the floor before me. I couldn’t hear his screams amongst the deafening roar.

I stepped out of the corridor again and saw the corpse resting against bits of the container. He was right along the edge. All I saw was a mangled face complete with blackened skin and melted eyeballs. Dark blood streaked and dripped along the ridges of the container. His hair was a sickening mess of exposed bone with tendrils of smoke and flame lifting whatever few strands were untouched. Both ears were sheared off.

I shook my head and walked on. The poor bastard shouldn’t have stuck his head down to see where the grenade would go. He shouldn’t have decided to kidnap a little girl. At least he didn’t do so.

Finally angry yells met my ears. Only one of them; their shadow speared the brick wall and I took aim for the end of this container. Graffiti of pinks and greens and an ugly turquoise painted the side and rusted metal added a vintage state to this place. He came out slowly. “I surrender man, I surrender!” he screamed in a shaky voice. I glanced at the shadow. He had his hands above his head.

“Come on out,” I ordered.

He complied and I gazed at him menacingly. He was short and stocky with green fatigues. That was mistake number one for him. “Please,” he said, sweaty and red faced. There was a weird mustache, unfinished in the center and a pointy goatee. His hair was wild and unkempt, greasy under the light. Bad skin from stress, I understood.

“Put your arms out to the side,”

“I don’t have anything on me man,”

I watched his eyes and glanced at his front side. An empty holster hung at his right hip. Nothing seemed wrong around his boots. “Lift up the hems of your pants,”

He swallowed and leaned down to reach his feet; pulled up both hems clumsily, one hand each. Nothing but white heel socks. “See?” he asked breathlessly. The whites of his eyes were clear from wide eyes.

“Calm down and breathe,” I strapped the rifle over my shoulders. This man was too scared to be a threat. I was in a merciful mood. He was one lucky bastard.

After taking a few deep breaths and me nodding in encouragement; he spoke again. “I may rob people but I don’t kidnap,”

“Hmm,” I grunted, sort of uninterested. “What’s your last name?”

“Parker sir,” he swallowed. “How about you sir, what’s yours?”

I smirked down at him- having a good five inches on him. “Confidential,”

His eyes widened and he backed against the wall. “Special Forces,” he inquired.

“A hell of a lot more top secret than that kid,”

“Can I at least get your rank?”

I cocked my head and crossed my arms against my chest, shoulder blades resting against the container. Did it really matter if this piece of shit got my rank? Not really. Despite him being a robber- on Army time- he seemed to be an okay kid. “Nope, not gonna tell ya,”

Parker saluted. “I know you’re higher ranked than me sir,”

“At ease boy, damn,”

“Sorry sir,” he put his arm down shakily and flicked at his leg.

“What rank were you?”

“Private,”

I chuckled. “Private Parker, they must have had a hoot with that one.”

His smile was a nervous gesture. “They did sometimes,”

“What Fort?”

“Fort Monroe, in Virginia,”

“What the fuck are you doing here?”

“I was uh… released,”

I wagged my hand in a continue gesture.

“For insubordination, years ago,”

No wonder he looked so disarrayed. I shook my head and frowned down at him. “Good job on their part,”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“No drill sergeant with brains would let a pussy like you carry a gun; with soldiers- actually scratch that. I can’t even call you a private. No American soldier surrenders like you just did. You’re a disgrace to the greatest military on earth!”

“I’m sorry man!” he cried, eyes literally tearing up.

I hefted the rifle in my hands again and aimed for his head. Before he moved a step I pulled the trigger. Again silent death rewarded its deep justice. Hot sticky fluids of a scarlet color lanced against the floor and the brick wall behind him. The spine smacked and dragged and slurped as the body fell into a sitting position.

“I thought you were gonna let him go for a second,” Harold said from the dark corridor.

“Your wife wasn’t paying me for an unfinished job,” I looked at him. His shoulder seemed to be okay; he stopped the bleeding all by himself. Good wizard! “She wanted all of the goons gone, all loose ends cut.”

“So we can get out of here?”

“After we wash up,”

“Oh come on,”

“I don’t care if you’re a stage magician; make yourself look presentable to your wife for once.”