Ricky’s cracking voice sounded borderline masculine as he called out to his friend with urgency, banging his fist on the back door of the truck. Ricky was sixteen years old, and he was the youngest Death Row Infantry-man who worked for the Death Row Corp. Carlos opened the armored truck’s automatic rear door to reveal a slender, pale-skinned Asian kid with a white mohawk and a black eye patch over his left eye. Ricky was an energetic young man, and he looked a little androgynous, which was why he struggled to grow a mustache beneath his developing nose. “Hey Ricky, what’s the matter, sweet pea?” Amber said, giving Ricky an affectionate smile. Amber always liked Ricky and sometimes she would imagine Ricky as being her son, even though she wasn’t quite old enough to be his mother. “I was walking past the safe room on the North Wing and I overheard them talking about a State of Execution Demand on Carlos,” Ricky told Amber, trying to catch his breath. The young

“You wanna piece of me! Come get some, motherf*ckers!” Carlos roared at the soldiers while shooting back at them with deadly precision. While shooting at the armed men who were hiding behind a white sedan, Carlos relived his drive-by days. He unloaded his semi-automatic 3D printed Glock 352 at the Death Row Infantry-men, and somehow he shot one soldier in the arm and another soldier in the head. Carlos felt more enraged when he heard his girlfriend screaming and crying over Ricky, who was fighting to breathe in Amber’s arms. “He’s dying in my arms!” Amber shouted through her tears while looking down at Ricky, who was gulping for air. The child’s warm blood drenched Amber’s hands and her lap. Ricky saw his life flash in front of him. He was fighting to breathe so hard that he could feel his chest bone cracking. The teen wanted to cry. Every breath made Ricky feel like he was trying to breathe with a thousand-pound weight on his chest. “P-please h-help,

The darkness felt like it lasted for a week, and when Amber opened her eyes, it was so dark at first that she couldn’t tell if she had her eyes opened or closed. Amber knew she wasn’t inside the truck anymore. She could feel cold, wet steel beneath her body. Amber also noticed that she was naked, and that something was clawing at the bottom of her right foot. Amber snatched her foot back when she felt these claws trying to tear through her skin. She couldn’t see at first, but she could hear clicking sounds. It wasn’t the clicking of something mechanical, but more like the clicking of something organic. It only took a minute or two for Amber’s eyes to adjust to the darkness, and when they did, she could see the dark outline of a man standing a few feet away from her. Amber could also hear people sobbing and moaning around her. She looked around to see she was inside what looked like a steel-reinforced cage that was the size of a motorhome. There was a God-awful smell

The gunman sat motionless in a chair inside an empty hospital room. Four FBI agents inside the room surrounded the gunman, and their eyes persecuted him. The gunman didn’t care about the hateful stares that the FBI agents were giving him. The only thing the gunman cared about was killing. He killed seventeen people at a local church and he felt satisfied with himself after placing an explosive device on a toddler’s ankle just a few hours ago. The gunman was a beefy man who intimidated most of his victims by using his physique. He sported a gray ponytail that went all the way down between his shoulder blades. Ritualistic graffiti covered almost every inch of the gunman’s body. And he had piercings that went from his ears down to the tip of his penis. The gunman also had a long and frizzy beard that he dyed a vermillion red. There were tattoos of dragons and guns covering the gunman’s bulky neck and arms. He even had a portrait of the Devil holding a machine gun tattooed on his back.

“Where’s my baby!?” Amy screamed at Irena. The mother had slapped Irena in the face, and she was about to do it a second time. Amy didn’t care about Irena looking identical to her. She didn’t care about the nonsense Irena told her about multiple universes. Amy burned all her attention on getting her son back. She never even noticed that all the wounds on her body were healed. She didn’t care about the black leather dress she wore or how it got on her body. She didn’t care about the semi-automatic, gas-operated pistols strapped to her slender waist. The brawl she had with Paul and her encounter with Christina still left an essence in Amy’s mind. The strongest essence that lingered in Amy’s mind was her memory of Azad. A wrathful hand rose to meet Irena’s face again. Amy wanted to slap the crime lord for good measure, but she restrained herself, waiting for Irena to tell her where her child was. Irena put her hands up defensively. “Your baby is alive!” Princess Death R