The Temple Run

CHAPTER TEN| Kendrick

"I AM JUSTICE!"
Light Yagami and L Lawliet, DEATH NOTE

~ ~ ~

The moment they BURST INTO the room, there was no one.

     Eyes searched, rolling in underappreciation. They'd all realized that their hard work had been like... chasing the wind! Five weeks they'd used up gave them... nothing.

     Frustrated grunts passed around, and a few murmurs sprouted. They attracted the old man's attention. He came in with a cigarette in between his lips and with his eyes squinting behind his glasses as though he were from a classic movie.

     Then, pulling off the cigarette, he asked, "Where are they?"

     Everyone turned and stood still and without even an attempt of a reply. They just shallowly exchanged looks.

     "I asked you a question." And he grabbed a warden's shirt and pulled closer to his ear. "I gave you all one job, just one!.. to find these... these god-forsaken losers. And they get out of your grip so easily?"

     The warden's heart was already in his throat.

     "These six delinquents- what are their names, Daniel Myers?"

     "I... I dunno, sir," the warden said, quietly. He was definitely shuddering.

     "And you dunno, indeed," the old man said, nodding. "You know what I dunno, kid?"

     The warden shook his head. "No- no, sir."

     "Failure," the old man said, pulling a gun off his pocket. "I dunno failure!"

     He pushed it on the warden's throat, and glared at the side of his face- at his jaw- shaking in rage. "Failure- to me, is nothing but a dull mirror of your laziness. Failure gives off the foul smell of defeat. And defeat, Mr. Myers- defeat- please, don't have the balls to do have that in this job."

      "Ye-yes sir," Myers whispered.

     "Take him away, Chris," he ordered, turning away.

      Myers yelled, but to the old man, his yell sounded distant- distant for him to ignore it. Then, turning to a fellow colleague of Myers, he started talking again. "I gave you one job-"

     Suddenly, a distant voice called. "Uncle! Uncle Walters!"

     The old man in black turned and his face turned pale.

     "Uncle?" he stopped walking and looked at him from afar. He could tell. Then, with his voice shrinking, he asked, "Did you get them?"

     The sixteen-year-old standing next to Rickshaw watched with fear.

     "You didn't kill him?" Rickshaw asked as a tear slipped from his eye.

      The old man said nothing. His face was down, as his hand stretched out- giving him the pistol.

      Rickshaw watched with fear, and not anger. His eyes were swollen with tears now and he bit his tongue as he received it half-heartedly.

     "Now, do what you have to do," the old man said, sternly.

       Rickshaw stared at the pistol in disbelief.

     "Go ahead," his uncle urged him.

      Every eye was on him. Their eyes were on the forty-year-old holding the black, rough, heavy handgun.

     "Uncle?"