A Quiet Life Denied

The car moved with a sickeningly smooth efficiency, a black capsule of dread melting into the city's indifferent traffic. Inside, the air was thick and claustrophobic, heavy with the scent of cheap pine air freshener, fear-sweat, and the cold, metallic tang of the guns pointed at them. The windows were so darkly tinted that the morning sun was reduced to a dull, grey light, smearing the passing world into an unrecognizable blur.

The man sitting directly behind Franz, John, was visibly trembling. He fumbled in his jacket for his own pack of cigarettes, his movements jerky and uncoordinated.

"Fuck, man," he whispered, his voice a ragged, panicked thing as he lit his cigarette with a shaking hand. He took a deep, desperate drag, the ember flaring wildly. Smoke billowed from his mouth in a panicked, choking cloud. "Fuck. Nikolai. He's sending us to Nikolai."

The other gunman beside him, who had been quiet and stoic until now, let out a weary sigh. "Calm down, John. You're losing your damn mind."

"Calm down?!" John hissed, his voice cracking. He gestured wildly with his cigarette, ash snowing onto the car seat. "No, you haven't met him. That's why you're saying that! You've only heard the stories. I've seen what he does. He's going to kill us for this! No, worse, he'll kill our families! He's fucking crazy, man!"

Franz, who had been smoking his own cigarette with a slow, almost meditative calm, sat motionless between Zane and Jason. The thick, acrid smoke from both his and John's cigarettes filled the small, sealed space. Zane, sitting beside him, started to cough, a dry, hacking sound that grated on Franz's nerves.

With a small, almost imperceptible sigh of annoyance, Franz reached out and flicked his own half-smoked cigarette out the cracked-open window.

Zane, his eyes watery from the smoke, shot him a look of appreciation.

The car finally lurched to a halt, the engine cutting out and plunging them into a sudden, heavy silence. They were in a vast, dark space, the only light coming from the car's own headlights, which illuminated a forest of concrete pillars and exposed rebar. An abandoned building, still under construction, its skeletal frame a perfect tomb. The air smelled of wet concrete, mildew, and decay.

"Alright," the driver barked, his voice tight with fear. "Get out. Slowly."

They were herded out of the car into the damp, cold air of the underground site. Franz got out and stretched his arms over his head, a long, lazy motion, as if he'd just woken up from a nap.

"I need to take a piss," he announced to no one in particular.

The gunman John, a burly man with a shaved head, said in an frustrated voice. "Do you think we're on a fucking vacation, you fuc—"

Before he could finish, Franz leaned in close to him, the panicking one, his voice a low, conspiratorial whisper that only he could hear. "Hey. Look at me."

John flinched, but his terrified eyes met Franz's.

"I can help you," Franz whispered, his voice a seductive, calming melody. "You heard your boss on the phone. He sounded pretty mad. Do you really think he's going to forgive any of you for this mess?"

John's eyes darted nervously towards his partners.

"No," Franz continued, his voice a silken thread of logic. "He's not. He's going to hand you all to Nikolai. But… with my help, you can put all the blame on them." He gave a subtle nod towards the others. "There's a chance. Maybe your boss will even give you something extra for saving the day. Think about it. I'm just telling you this because, man… I like you. You didn't stop me from smoking. You even joined me. We have a connection." He smiled, a thin, knowing expression. "You can survive this, John."

The man gulped, the simple word "survive" echoing in his mind. It was for survival. That was the reason. He gave himself that justification, a flimsy shield against the betrayal he was contemplating. He knew how crazy his bosses were. And if it was Nikolai… death would be the least of his worries. But these were his friends. He'd known them for years. Sweat ran down his forehead, tracing a cold path down his temple.

"Hey! You at the back!" the burly man called out, his voice sharp and suspicious. "What's happening John ?"

"I was just telling him I really need to take a piss," Franz replied loudly, his tone casual again.

The burly man started walking towards them, his face a mask of pure irritation. "This crazy fucker," he grumbled. "He's testing my patience." He got up to Franz, ready to teach him a lesson.

John made his decision.

"Hey, I'll take this fucker," he said, grabbing Franz's arm. "He keeps whining. Otherwise, he's just going to make a scene in front of Nikolai, too. It'll be bad for all of us."

The burly man stopped, considered it for a moment, then grunted. "Fine, man. Whatever. Just make it quick."

John started dragging Franz away from the group, towards a more secluded area behind a high wall of unfinished concrete. His heart pounded in his chest, a frantic drumbeat of terror and betrayal. As they reached the cover of the wall, John looked back, checking to see if they were a safe distance away, his mind racing.

"Okay," he said, turning back to Franz, his voice a low, nervous whisper. "If your plan isn't good, I'll ki—"

He never finished the sentence.

In the split second he took to turn his head, Franz moved with a speed that defied reality. His left hand shot out, clamping over John's mouth, stifling the scream before it could even form. His right hand came up, not in a fist, but cupping the back of John's skull, his fingers digging into the bone.

John's body went rigid, his eyes blowing wide with a final, uncomprehending shock.

Franz didn't release him. He maintained his grip, his entire body coiling like a spring. With a final, brutal wrench that was both impossibly fast and horrifyingly deliberate, he twisted.

There was a series of obscene, wet cracks and pops, a sound of cartilage shredding and vertebrae snapping like dry twigs. John's head rotated, past his shoulder, past his own back, until it had completed a full, grotesque 360-degree turn, his dead, terrified eyes now facing forward again over a ruined, twisted column of a neck.

"Do svidaniya, John," he said, his voice a cold, flat whisper. He looked up, his gaze sweeping over the dark, unfinished battlefield of the construction site.

Franz looked down at the dead man, his expression as calm and empty. He flexed his fingers, then cracked them one by one, the sound sharp and clean in the sudden, dead silence. He adjusted his glasses with one hand.

"Let's begin now."

A/N

Thanks for reading the chapter. Please share your opinions in comments.

g the chapter! Please keep commenting; it really helps. I'm also thinking of changing the cover, and I'm looking for a character illustration of Franz. If you have any ideas for his design, I'd love to hear them.Thanks for reading the chapter! Please keep commenting; it really helps. I'm also thinking of changing the cover, and I'm looking for a character illustration of Franz. If you have any ideas for his design, I'd love to hear them.Thanks for reading the chapter! Please keep commenting; it really helps. I'm also thinking of changing the cover, and I'm looking for a character illustration of Franz. If you have any ideas for his design, I'd love to hear them.Thanks for reading the chapter! Please keep commenting; it really helps. I'm also thinking of changing the cover, andThanks for reading the chapter! Please keep commenting; it really helps. I'm also thinking of changing the cover, and I'm looking for a character illustration of Franz. If you have any ideas for his design, I'd love to hear them.Thanks for reading the chapter! Please keep commenting; it really helps. I'm also thinking of changing the cover, , and I'm looking for a character illustration of Franz. If you have any ideas for his design, I'd love to hear them.Thanks for reading the chapter! Please keep commenting; it really helps. I'm also thinking of changing the cover, I'd love to hear them.Thanks for reading the chapter! Please keep commenting; it really helps. I'm also thinking of changing the cover