Death is no Excuse

“Oi! You fuck! Look at me!”

Hernando slammed the butt of his rifle into Jack’s face, breaking his nose. Jack groaned in pain, already bleeding from a gunshot wound in his arm. So much for covert ops.

The mission had been a bust from the start. Jack knew it too, but his wallet was tighter than a hooker’s during sunday. Even though the job was from the ass-holes who had once employed him, the mother-fuckin’ C.I of A, Jack thought it was going to be legit. Proves him to be dumber than he realized.

He was dropped over Spain at 0300 hours, and hit the ground at 0302 hours, East Coast Time. Jack was never fond of skydiving, but he just brushed it off as a C.I.A plot to kill him. He was too paranoid for his own good. Sometimes, being paranoid is okay. But not to the point when you hear a clock in the IKEA store, you pull out a DE.50 and turn it into dust. That was quite embarrassing for Jack.

He landed inside the compound of the famous Hernando Vega, who funnily enough, was not spanish. He was mexican, but played a good spaniard, seeing as how his skin was fair enough. He was wanted for drugs, murder, theft, human trafficking, border jumping, and finally, last but not least, pirating porn. Hey, a guy who is as ugly as Hernando is only going to be getting any action from his right hand. Or maybe its his left. Either way, a man who is missing half of his face at the hands of a dud-mortar in brazil back when he was still screwing drug-lord’s daughters, is not going to have any sex, any time soon.

The compound probably knew he was coming, as within a matter of seconds, he was under fire from multiple positions. Now Jack, being more street smart than brains smart (didn’t even graduate from college) realized that there was no way to win. Especially after he suffered a .45 caliber bullet wound in his left bicep. Now, he was stuck in a small, interrigation room, with only the most wanted criminal in the world. Whoop de fucking doo.

“Do you think you are that privileged, to come into my compound, and try and shoot up the place? You are stupid as fuck, you piece of shit white trash gringo cracker,” Said Hernando, in a misplaced british accent. Probably picked it up from living in a british prison for so long.

“Woah, no need to get racist on me, ass dragon,” Jack said, and Hernando started to laugh.
“You know, I don’t think you get it. After I’m done torturing you in here, ass-fuck, I’m going to drive a fucking bullet through your goddamned brain,” Said Hernando, pulling out a Colt .45. American classic, being used by a mexican living in spain, who talks like a brit. Talk about cultural fusion.

“Good. It’ll get me away from my ex-wife’s constant badgering,” said Jack, completely unfased by the thought of death.
Hernando bellowed with laughter, slapping the grey walls of the room. Blood was splattered across them, but Jack just liked to think that it was paint. Same thing with the red hand prints on the two-way mirror. “You know, I actually kind of like you, Jack. How old are you anyway? You sound like a 42 year old who lives in his mothers basement and strokes the oak to furry porn all day.”

“I’m 24. I sound 42 because I drink too much whiskey. And there is nothing wrong with 42 year old men who live in their mothers basements, jerking to furry porn. It’s just their thing.”

“You mean like its my thing to shove sharp objects up womens ass-hole, and then twist until their colon looks like a mutilated baby?” asked Hernando, and Jack nodded.

“Yes, except yours is a bit more on the brutal side,” Said Jack, and the butt of the rifle was brought down upon his brown hair, splattering blood into his green eyes.

“Shut the fuck up, you stupid fucking gringo! I am in control here! So shut the fuck up, and answer these questions! Where were you born?” Asked Hernando, and Jack sighed.

“San Diego, California,”

“Where does your ex-wife live?”

“Dude, if you want to hook up with her, she doesn’t have rock bottom standards.”

“Just answer the fucking question, faggot.”

“Fine. Malibu.”

“Good. I can answer these questions. Sex? Male. Eye color? Green. Hair color? Brown. Height? 6’1”. Weight? 183 pounds.” Hernando went down the list, and then nodded.

“Okay, I think we’re done for now... I’ll come back when I see fit. Also, I suggest you tell your C.I.A handlers that you’re fucked so deep my dick is coming out your mouth, faggot,” Said Hernando.

“Yet you’re the one using that analogy. I need a phone,” Said Jack, and Hernando shrugged.

“Why don’t you just tell them in person?” Asked Hernando, as a suited man opened the door into the interrogation room. He was wearing black everything, and smiled at Jack.

“You have got to be fucking joking. So my paranoia was correct?” asked Jack, struggling to get out of his binds. The only thing he got for his effort was a gun butt to the chest.

“I guess it was, Jack, you cocky ass fucker,” Said the suited man in a southern accent.

It was true. Jack was cocky. But he also knew his limits. Kinda a contradiction if you thought about it. He had a reason to be cocky though. 134 missions, only 32 of them failed. He did not have a reason to be such a bitter and angry bastard. Addicted to cocaine, alcohol, and pretty much hates everything around him. Makes him a good mercenary, though.

“So, the old and grand wizard of the C.I.A comes to greet me in my final hours, eh?” Asked Jack, and the suited man nodded, runnning his fingers through his silvery hair. “Goldburn the grey.”

Goldburn scoffed, nodding. He took out a lighter and lit a smoke. “You know, I pity you, Jack.”

“Oh?”

“You were such a good fucking agent. It was a shame that you had to kill that innocent child.”

“Such a shame that the real person who did it has now dissapeared off the face of this earth,” Jack replied, getting another rifle but to the chest. Blood splattered out of his mouth, onto Hernando’s pants.

“Ah, fuck! I just had these things stolen from sweatshops in argentina! These things are hard to come by!” Shouted Hernando into Jack’s face.

“Their Adidas. Deal with it,” Jack replied, before being punched in the face.

Jack fell over, blood pouring out of his broken left brow. He lifted his arms, and wiped the blood off on his intricate tattoo. A tribal mark he had received in Africa notioning that he was a great warrior.

Goldburg kneeled down next to Jack, and took off his glasses, looking Jack in his bloodshot eyes.

“Have fun in hell, Jack. Probably better than here,” He said, and Jack nodded.

“Yeah, especially when I don’t have your wife calling me 24/7 asking me to come and fuck her again,” Said Jack.

Goldburg turned around, and shoved his lit cigarette into Jack’s open bullet wound. Jack screamed in pain, until Goldburg released the cigarette from his wound.

“I want him dead, within the next hour. Okay, Hernando?” Asked Goldburg, and Hernando nodded.

“Consider it done, boss,” Said Hernando, looking at Jack. “Prepare to die, motherfucker.”

Jack saw the boot come down upon his head, and it all went black.

“Did you hear that, Angel?” asked Fluttershy, her ears perking up. She took her hands away from the tea cup she was holding, and looked out the window, which was facing the everfree forest.

The butter colored pegasus stood up, brushing off crumbs from her stomach. She was still in her pajamas, or the bare minimum of what you could call pajamas (that of consisting of bra and panties) so she didn’t dare wander outside. Her small bunny companion tugs at her leg, angrily pouting about his breakfast cut short.

“Oh, I know Angel. I’m just worried. Weird noises have been coming from the forest lately,”Said Fluttershy, pulling her mane into a ponytail. She pushed the plate of salad towards Angel with her foot, and Angel hopped up, eating quickly, taking in the delicious cucumber-yogurt salad dressing.

The sun was just barely rising, and Fluttershy could make out a small glint of light on top of a boulder. It wasn’t there the last time she looked.

“Angel bunny, why don’t you stay here while Momma goes and takes a look?” She said sweetly. Angel just nodded with content, wagging his fluffy nub of a tail.

Suddenly, Fluttershy took her bra off, showing her bare breasts. Her wings fanned out and Angel looked her slim figure over. He reckoned her breasts, which he had been observing since the butter-colored pegasus had adopted him, were c-cups. One day, he vowed to touch them, feel her soft, warm, furry milk jugs in his little paws. One day...

Fluttershy then pulled on a pair of sweatpants, and a sweat jacket.

"The zipper just really hurts when it hits my bra," She mutters to herself, as if she needed to explain herself to why she wasn't wearing a bra.

She then walked outside, examining the small, shiny object on the boulder outside her small cottage.

It was a necklace, covered in blood. There were two tag like objects connected to the silvery beads holding the necklace together. Both had general information on it.

“Hmm... What’s this? Jack Ross, born 2/21/1988, C.I.A, lucky number .20?” Fluttershy read aloud as she examined the necklace’s tags.

Suddenly, she heard a very loud groan. She turned to the chicken coup, noting that was where it was from. She carefully walked over to it, when she saw some blood pooling out of one of the vacant coups. She covered her mouth, and walked over to the coup.

The door was half open, giving a small sliver of light to look inside. There was a tall-looking being inside, covered in blood, and looked terribly hurt. He was much too big to be a stallion. No, he had to be something else. Fluttershy gasped, pulling the poor thing out of the coup. He was brutally battered, his face morphed out of recognition, and there was a bloody hole looking like it entered through the very front and came out the side about 1 inch back. He seemed aware, but in shock.

“W-water...” He muttered, as Fluttershy looked him over.

“Water? Of course!” She shouted, running back inside.

Angel bunny stared at the creature in amazement. He was huge! Probably 6 foot tall, unlike the stallions here. If a stallion was tall, it usually meant he was around 5’8. Most mares were about two-three inches shorter than the stallions. This thing was a goliath compared to most of the ponies here.

Fluttershy burst in, filling up a jug of water, and grabbing a small, first aid kit. She sprinted back outside. Angel knew it was a bad thing, but the only thing he could focus on was her breasts, bobbing up and down, up and down.

Oh sweet mercy, those titties shall be mine, one day, Angel thought to himself.

Fluttershy ran up to the poor creature, and doused him with water. He swallowed some, but immediately coughed most of it back up. She wiped the blood from his face, and noticed that unlike her, he did not have fur. His face was much flatter, and he did not have they perky ears that most ponies had. He had no fur, and he was massive, even for a tall mare like Fluttershy. She immediately started to clean out his facial wounds, pouring peroxide onto them, and then rubbing it with an alcohol wipe. She then turned her attention to the major wounds. Something had been lodged in his arm, and the hole in his head. Fluttershy decided best that she let Nurse Redheart do something about it, rather than try and operate herself.

“It’s going to be okay, sir. I’ll be right back, with help,” Fluttershy said, only getting a grunt in return.

“You stupid fuck! You made me miss!” Shouted Hernando at one of his henchmen.

“Sir, you’re drunk. You made yourself miss,” Said the henchman, and Hernando sighed.

“I know. I know. Well, at least he got a hole through his head, mate. Now... where was I? Oh yes, killing Goldburg...”