They keep saying we’re all going to die, they just keep saying that as if that’s the only English phrases they now…maybe it is. No bother, death, as I’ve learnt from so many other situations such as this, is the most overrated event in life. Sure the pearly gates are nice and that St. Peter dude is the best bouncer since Sid over at Dream Girls…but well I’ve flat lined once my dear friends and as for this schmuck who thinks that a 9mm is really going to do damage to 20 people, well he’s got another thing coming.
There’s 16 bullets in that clip, 16, meaning he can’t kill all of us and if memory serves me correctly you actually have to have brass balls to pull a gun on a person and this brainy little fuck is about as chopped as a tranny with a bad sex change. Should I enlighten him to the fact that I have a 6 inch long knife concealed in my boot? God only knows what he’s packing in that towel wrapped around his head. I mean I’m not trying to be racist here folks but unless you’re carrying a sandwich up there or a can of Coke Classic, I don’t see much of a point in wrapping that head up ever.
So I guess here’s my plan, this being a moving train and all I might just need one…I’m still trying to figure out what asshole hijacks a moving train, did he flunk out of terrorist school or what? This jackass deserves to die, maybe those 40 virgins he’s promised are the reason why he’s here…I guess there’s only one way to find out.
I slip out from my seat as he begins to wave his piece around again. There’s two kids shaking terrified at this odorous atrocity of a man. I’ve gotta make this quick, maybe there’s some hidden agenda here, he’s strapped with a bomb or something…what a world we live in huh. I pull my knife from my boot
I slink in close and just as Habib, honestly I think his name was Chuck…but that doesn’t sound Arab at ALL, turns to check the passengers I slip my had over his mouth and my knife to his throat. He raises the gun in a panic; I quickly turn him and slam him up against a plexi-glass partion. The gun drops to the train floor and my knife sinks into the flesh surrounding his windpipe. He quickly loses his grasp of my hands and reaches for his throat. He slides down to the ground holding his throat as blood oozes out around his fingers. I swipe the gun from the floor before he can even make a move for it. I look back up at the kids who are even more terrified; I look to their parents and mouth “Sorry”.
The adjoining door to the next car slides open and I turn to see another sly devil in a turban boasting a GLOCK, he attempts to aim, but I’m already two steps and a trigger pull ahead of him, his brains splatter the train walls.
These guys picked the wrong train, they picked the wrong city, and they picked the wrong white collar business guy to fuck with…my name’s Will Boney, named after my great grandfather, you may know him, Billy the Kid
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