One Billion

Proulougue

"Aye, man, we can't be going out here!" A black man in a leather jacket and baggy pants shoved another man away from the door. "They'll shoot us out in seconds!" He held the other man back. The other man was in a blizzard white sports jacket, topped with a jet black tie wrapped around his neck. On his thigh rested a small handgun, and a short switchblade. His skin was a pale white, and his stubble was messy and scratched. His wavy haired grabbed attention.
"I'll shoot them first,"
"We both know that well be dead quicker than that guy over there," He waved off to a bloodstained body bag.
"Burn him, and then we leave." He was in a cold steep tone, keeping his authority clear.
"Fine." The black man walked off and pulled out a small phone.
"He's here," He glanced at the tall man, frozen in fear.
"Thank you, police will be there soon." The tall man flicked out a gun, aiming it at the mans stomach, ready to kill.
"Who you talking to?"
"Just Damien, y'know my lil bro is out in jail, can't be ignoring him," He winked at the man.
"Well tell that to the cops." He finished the sentence with a grin, and shot 3 bullets through the guys shoulder. He grabbed a duffel bag, and climbed out into the fire escape. The sirens blared. He had 3 minutes to get out of here. He clambered up. He hit the roof and stared at the long, thick power line. He threw the duffel on top, and wrapped his limbs around it, shuffling to the next rooftop. He saw cops in his apartment. He pulled out a flip phone, and called his house phone. Immediately, thousands af shards of glass and drywall threw themselves into the smog. He made it to the next rooftop. There was his escape. Running down the fire escape, spitting out his tabacco on the stairs. He was on the ground. And across the street, his red Ferrari Spyder. He hopped in, and drove through the streets, splitting corners. And as he hit 6th gear, the engine hissed, letting out a basket of fire. He jumped out, as his car erupted in pain. His leg had hundreds of glass shards in it. There was no moving. He was stuck.
"MICHEAL MATTHEWS STATON, YOU ARE UNDER ARREST FOR MASS MURDER!" The officer listed rights, but Micheal Matthews Staton couldn't listen. He was dying.
He woke in a cell, with medical equipment surrounding him. His leg raised above his head. The pain was overwhelming. He was in white coveralls, stained in scarlet blood.
"He's awake," Three doctors hustled in, and behind them was Deputy Hackles. A familiar name.
"Micheal Matthews Staton, the most dangerous man in New York City- Hell, America!" He chuckled. "And he's finally in my damned station,"
He wanted to strangle the stupid cop.
"I- I'm not gonna be here for long," He coughed out some blood onto his white clothes.
"Wow, you're right for once. You're being shipped out to Montana. Death's Row." He had excitement in his eyes.