Ron was just beginning to fall asleep when he heard it, a sharp piercing noise which startled him. He glanced outside, the night was still and the moon’s reflection shimmered in the nearby lake. Ron loved living in the forest. Every breath he took seemed so pure, the air so fresh, the trees so shady, and the lake provided fresh water, all very peaceful. But he was concerned for his family back in England, where he told them the reason for his departure. With a weary sigh he plopped back down onto his comfortable mattress. Then it happened. He heard a deafening crash, as bullets smashed through the windows, reverberating through the air, echoing throughout the manor. Ron rolled over, fell down on the floor, and hid under the bed, knowing what they wanted. please print this and delete this comment before doing so.
The reason Ron lived in such a secluded area far from the suburbs was because he possessed the suit. On the floorboard Ron leaned towards, a slide formed. Ever so slowly, Ron slid down, constantly listening for footsteps. Finally he halted and the slide turned back into a floorboard. Ron was in his secret room, the one that contained the suit. This suit belonged to God and Ron was the Suit Prophet, protector of the suit. Born a fighter, Ron was tall and slim and had exceeded in the martial arts. He had wavy hair and a broad smile but he wasn’t known to be a squire of dames. The suit could only be used once in a lifetime from sunrise to sunset, because its powers were too valuable. Any ambitious man could dominate the world with it. Several groups had tried to steal the suit such as the Genocides and the Volleks, though their attempts were not much better than futile. Ron held on the suit, tensed at the intrusion, and flew out. Yet amidst the trees hid a Genocide, one of the many forces seeking vengeance against the previous owner of the suit, Sir Rackham Charlie Dean, a medieval commander. Aside him stood another man. He was a Vollek, an ally of the Genocides who was fighting for the same purpose. The leader of the Volleks was Vollek, an infamous commander who was the brother of Master, the charismatic leader of the Genocides. Both the Genocide and the Vollek were very thickset, their arms bulged with muscle. The Genocide was short and stout, and the Vollek was tall and masculine. The Genocide eyed Ron through his sniper aiming at his head.
Ron felt an eerie feeling up his spine as though he was being watched. He paused stared behind. I can swear I’m being followed, he thought. The Genocide pulled back the trigger and a startled Ron fell to the floor like a marionette whose strings had been cut. “Lets bring the body for proof!” exclaimed the Vollek. He was about to lift the lumpy body when the Genocide lifted his sniper. “Hey what’s going on?” the Vollek started, but didn’t finish. BANG! BANG! BANG!
“Look’s like the suit is all to myself.” he chuckled.
“I thought you might decide to do that,” snarled a voice from behind. Behind stood Master as well as the other nine Genocides, all of them armed.
“I didn’t mean it, Master. Please forgive me! You know I wouldn’t do that!”
“I’m sorry, but you know my policies, all of which you have flouted, and thus, retribution shall be swift. Take him to the dungeons.” A tall and seemingly athletic man aimed carefully and then fired his tranquilizer gun. The traitorous Vollek fell to the ground, with a look of shock and despair as he took his leave.
“Ahhh,” Ron muttered. He could feel the blood trickling down his forehead, there which seemed to be a large gash.(he didn’t know for sure, as it is impossible to see your own forehead without a reflection.) With an enormous effort he sat up straight and peered into the darkness.
Master waited until Ron gained consciousness as his followers aided Ron. After what seemed like days, Ron opened his eyes again and coughed. “Look you know what we want, give it now and you will not suffer a very painful death!” Master croaked.
“Never!” said Ron vehemently.
“Okay. I’m afraid this will go down the hard way.”
“Wait I”ll give it to you on one condition.”
“You are in no position to bargain!”
“The suit’s destroyed. All this time before you ambushed me I figured out how to destroy it, and now its gone. I have some of the remains, though. Here’s the proof.”
Ron held out the scraps of a golden cloth made of authentic silk Master scrutinized it. Once his inspection was done he sighed.
“Very well then. I see no reason to let you live, after you destroyed the treasure I worked so hard to find. Kill him, Roger, this time five bullets to the head.” BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG!
Master didn’t know it, but he had started a war. News had reached the Volleks’ that one of their men had been murdered by a Genocide. Miles away Vollek, the charismatic leader of the group, set a meeting. He devised a plan to kill all Genocides for their murderous betrayal. In their next meeting with the Genocides, all the Volleks would come armed ready for seizure and attack. Master went back to his company’s headquarters further awaiting forthcoming plans.
A FEW WEEKS LATER………………
The Volleks’ Manor was exquisite. Its was broad and massive, with lavish furniture that seemed to coat the whole house and give it an aura of opulence. Large chandeliers were evenly spread across the ceiling. In the dining room, a large circular table stood at the center. Twenty men sat around the table, all with stern expressions and ready for business. Ten of them were Genocides, and the other ten were Volleks. The two leaders of the groups, Master and Vollek sat beside each other. Lots of food was on the table, mainly turkey and wine.
“So how do you like our Burgundy, fellows?” asked Vollek.
Many shouted raucous cheers of appraisal, but Master remained silent.
“Okay. Lets get down to business, do you have the suit, Master?” asked Vollek.
“No, the suit prophet destroyed it and showed me its scraps.” said Master
“I thought we had a deal for you to bring it back!”
“We did, it was just too late.”
“How could the suit be destroyed?”
A long pause of silence elapsed until finally,
“I don’t know.” Master answered.
“Well then, what shall be done?” mocked Vollek.
“Hands up!” All ten Volleks had stood up, each pointing a gun at a Genocide.
“What the!” started Master, but didn’t finish.
“Hold your hand ups, and we’ll make this simple.”
“You killed one of our men, now it’s your turn.”
“Take them to the dungeon one by one, alright.”
BOOM! A bomb had blasted half the room to smithereens as many backup Genocides had rushed into the room, armed for battle. More shooting commenced, as many fought. However, since the Volleks were outnumbered, they were at a disadvantage Gradually, the fighting slowed down. But then out of nowhere, a man appeared. He was tall and slim, wearing a suit, with his hair neatly combed, and his clothes well ioned. This was Sir Rackham Charlie Dean, owner of the suit. At that moment, all gunfire ceased and the manor was silent. “That’s right the suit’s destroyed. The Genocides were right all along.” With that he vanished. Master glared indignantly at Vollek, who promptly nodded. The Genocides left the manor quietly only to find many of the suit protectors waiting outside. Vollek smiled. As he pulled off his wig and took off some face plaster, the Genocides stared in utter shock, only to find that beneath the disguise was Ron.
“But how?” asked Master. The whole group of Volleks were actually fake. They posed as an ally when truly they were something else . “You won’t be causing any more trouble,” Ron said.