This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, locales, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
Tarriq Madu just logged off from the chatroom. Leaning back in his office recliner yawning with outstretched arms, the veteran Watcher, son of the legendary Real Blood himself, shook his head in disbelief.
“This muh fucka here,” Madu stared at his laptop screen. Bet Dad never had to put up with marks like this back in the seventies, he smirked. After nearly a year of establishing a 21st century online persona as the notorious troll Tron, his patience had begun to run thin. Nevertheless, he finally won over the confidence of his primary target.
Wrathful Willie, aka Dub
A faceless stranger whom bragged about torturing and mutilating those “selfish, pretty bitches.” Oh, sure, the rest of the merry band of INCEL disciples thought it was the usual hyperbolic prose, merely fueling their collective lust for sexual revenge. However, Madu knew better.
He’d been stalking this one particular involuntary celibate Millennial for what felt like forever, and was about to give up to move onto another one until fate stepped in. See, Dub re-caught his full attention just moments ago after a failed mass shooting on the private grounds of the University of Southern California. LAPD’s finest successfully apprehended the male white adult suspect without firing a shot.
The shooter’s wording, his deep thoughts from a recently published manifesto were more than just angry venting. The certified lame had personally known Dub, sharing morbid suggestions on the Internet on how to “take out the trash” among the sexually unwilling female population.
Now with the perpetrator in police custody, no doubt, the self-proclaimed “God of War” had every intention of finishing up what his gun-toting homie started. Well, at least, that’s what a balaclava masked Dub yelled about during a four-hour long impromptu podcast from his MeTube channel INCEL Warrior.
Who are the WATCHERS
Usually, Madu wouldn’t lift a gloved trigger finger to prevent such a madman from engaging the public. That mentality of do or die, remains a cornerstone of the High Council’s reign via its WATCHER (World Alliance to Create Harmony) organization. This so-called nonprofit had invested a lot of resources into successfully indoctrinating all of its select professional guns for hire.
The WATCHERS’ sole purpose? Indirect action via covert ops, secretly instigating the unsuspecting poor masses to continue murdering one another for decades to come. Or in layman’s terms, hell on Earth.
Most people will always continue to wonder just how in the world did yesterday’s Chicago ever become today’s Chiraq, or what seems likes the endless wars across the African continent. Well, there’s a reason why it’s called a secret society.
Because just like freedom isn’t free, neither is world domination by any means necessary. Profits over people trumps the clichéd money over bitches.
And up to now, the High Council hadn’t lost faith in Madu to carry out his newest mission to the letter. Well, like his late father, he also had a change of heart, opting to put down one life to save many.
Thus, maintaining the cover of his lethal cover was draining him. He was beginning wonder if it was even worth his time.
“Hell, yeah, it’s worth it,” Madu stood up from his office desk.
I CAN’T WAIT TO BATH IN THEIR STANK BLOOD! Madu pressed the print button for a hardcopy of Dub’s all-caps rant. FUCK ALL OF THESE BITCHES!
ASSume the obvious
Although making assumptions in his line of work was unheard of, if not outright foolish and dangerous, Madu trusted his killer instinct. He was dealing with a Black North American male, native Californian, college educated and probably around 28 to 33 years of age who most likely never seen the inside of an actual woman’s heart, let alone her pussy. See, he infiltrated their “holy temple,” of course, joking his way into the sexually frustrated mind of the new head INCEL-in-charge.
“Well, Dub, you’re ‘bout to finally meet ‘Tron,’” Madu wrote down the directions before shutting off the GPS on his phone.
The Expo Line
The Expo Line train was packed. Apparently, some peace activists scheduled an unscheduled without permit march on the USC campus via social media, and Madu took advantage of the opportunity to hook up with Mr. Willie himself.
He decided to leave his usual tools, a newly acquired Glock 19 semi auto pistol for starters, back at his Leimert Park Village bachelor pad. The brown skinned hitman carried only a white pocket sized plastic box of dental floss hidden inside the inner left breast pocket of his black casual suit jacket with simple, loose fitting jeans.
The train stopped at Expo/USC, not too far from Exposition Boulevard and Watt Way. Madu stepped off.
Half past 10 pm.
Protesters already in full swing.
Hoard of uniformed campus police join heavily armed cops from the larger LAPD Southwest Division.
Madu unbuttons his suit jacket, revealing a black tee shirt with a bright yellow smiley face logo with the black lettering of INCEL Warrior Foe Life!
“Excuse me,” Madu blends in with the multiracial crowd at ground zero of a thwarted gun attack.
The Watcher dons a pair of dark shades, popping up his lapels. That’s one of the INCEL Warrior’s trade mark tell-tell signs to be recognized in a public setting.
“Move, slut,” a tall, lanky Black guy in nearly identical attire (except for the skinny jeans) shoves his way past a group of drop dead gorgeous college girls. “The God of War’s passing through.”
Madu’s visually locks in on his moving target. Fuck, he tactically pauses. Too much collateral.
He heard the lanky suspect yell another expletive, and advanced toward him. He was almost in arm’s reach when he felt a tap on his left shoulder.
“Hey, there, brother,” Madu had already reached backward for the unknown assailant with his left hand, grabbing a sweaty throat as he spun on his right boot heel while violently swinging him around in front of his view to be handled. “Whoa, dude! Chill out!”
To be continued. . .
Based on the novel Rogue: The Watcher Chronicles by Marcus love, Real Bloods is a NEW multipart eSeries SOLELY FOR THE NEGROMANOSPHERE. A prequel to the birth of a professional assassin who switches up the rules of engagement of this deadly game.
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