The room was heavy with the stench of blood. Under the dim, flickering overhead light, a sea of corpses littered the floor. Red pooled in dark patches on the cement, glistening ominously. In the span of mere seconds, the two-man team had eradicated every last one of their enemies—except the two men who had ordered the bloodshed in the first place: Wesley and Vladimir.
Vladimir stood rigid, mouth slightly open, pale with disbelief. Wesley, usually collected, looked shaken to the core. They had underestimated their opponents—thinking two mercenaries couldn't possibly wipe out a warehouse full of armed men.
But Robert and Wade were far from ordinary.
"Kid, you're something else," Wade said, slipping his twin katanas back into the scabbards on his back and checking his phone with a satisfied smile. "Four million bucks, split fifty-fifty—two million for me. That's way easier than traveling the globe collecting bounties."
Robert smacked his own forehead dramatically. "Damn! If I knew it'd be this easy, I should've turned in Frank, too. That would've bumped us up to fifteen mil easy. What a waste!"
Frank, still chained and bruised, looked at Robert with disbelief. "I'm literally right here," he grunted. "Still breathing. You know that, right?"
"Oh yeah." Robert turned toward him sheepishly. "Let's get you out of those chains."
He walked over to Frank, only to pause when he realized the iron cuffs had a heavy-duty lock attached.
"Where's the key?"
Frank, lips chapped and swollen, nodded toward Wesley. "On him."
Robert didn't hesitate. He strode over to Wesley and began patting him down. Wesley stiffened.
"I think we can talk," Wesley said quickly. "There's no need for this to get any more violent—just let me—"
"The keys are in your left pocket," he blurted as Robert's hand wandered lower.
Robert gave a satisfied grunt and dug into the pocket, pulling out the key—and, incidentally, a leather wallet.
"What's this?"
"My wallet."
Robert's eyes sparkled. "Nope. I found it. It's mine now." He stuffed it into his own pocket with a casual grin.
Wesley's jaw clenched, but he said nothing.
Then, without warning, Vladimir made his move.
While Robert's back was turned, Vladimir whipped out a revolver he had hidden in his coat. In a flash, he aimed at Wade and fired multiple times. Wade dropped to the floor with a grunt, the impact sending him sprawling across the blood-slick ground.
Vladimir spun, the barrel now leveled at Robert. His face twisted into a smug grin. "You're dead, you Asian bastard!"
Robert stood still, eyes locked on the barrel. He didn't flinch. Instead, he smiled with a weird sense of calm.
"I counted your shots," Robert said coolly. "You're out. I bet you don't have any bullets left."
BANG!
The shot rang out, and Robert's body dropped limply to the floor. A bullet hole bloomed red across his chest.
Vladimir let out a wild, victorious laugh. "Idiot! I had one more bullet! You're not so smart now, are you?!"
Wesley exhaled, his knees nearly buckling with relief. The situation had flipped. Against all odds, Vladimir had turned the tide.
But then Robert moved.
First a twitch of the fingers. Then a jerk of the arm.
And then—he sat up.
Frank, who'd seen some crazy things in his time, could hardly believe it. He watched as the bullet wound in Robert's chest sealed itself up, the torn skin knitting back together like a time-lapse in reverse.
Not to be outdone, Wade groaned and sat up as well, dusting himself off. Bullet holes in his torso had already begun to close.
"Seriously?" Frank muttered. "This kind of regeneration... it's like they're handing out cheat codes now."
Robert stood up and walked slowly toward Vladimir, who stared at him like he was seeing a ghost.
Before Vladimir could react, Robert snatched the revolver out of his hand.
"You know what?" Robert said as he pressed the cold steel to his own forehead. "Let's play again. I bet your gun is really empty this time."
He pulled the trigger.
Click.
Nothing.
Robert smirked. "Knew it."
Then, he turned the gun on Vladimir and asked, "Now your turn—wanna bet if my gun has bullets?"
Vladimir was trembling. "Y-yeah... I bet it does."
BANG!
Robert blew the smoke from the barrel with a sigh. "Damn. You keep winning these bets."
Vladimir slumped to the ground, lifeless.
Wesley, the only one still standing, watched in horror. He backed away slowly, his face pale, hands up.
Robert ignored him and picked up the keys again, walking over to Frank.
"You look like a train wreck," Robert observed. "You're gonna need a mask if you don't want to terrify people."
He pulled something out of his pocket and held it out to Frank.
It was... a plastic bag. With two crudely cut eyeholes. And a "Pork Discount" sticker on the back.
Frank stared at it.
"This... this is what you were wearing when you got captured, wasn't it?"
Robert shrugged. "Hey, it worked, didn't it?"
Frank deadpanned. "You think I'm going to wear a plastic bag with a pork discount tag?"
"Why not?" Robert asked earnestly. "You've got a scary rep to maintain. Can't have people laughing at your bruised mug."
Frank squinted at him. "You want me to wear a pig face?"
"I mean," Robert said, scratching his chin, "technically, it's a discount pig. That's even worse, actually."
Frank let out a long, weary breath and turned his head away.
He would rather show up with a face full of bruises than ever wear that disgraceful thing.
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