Rated M for possible mature content including sex, violence, language, graphic situations, alcohol, and drug use.
The cool night air lingered upon the black top of downtown Black Iron City. The dew already making the old worn road glisten. It was 11 P.M. and Booker was coming out of his favorite restaurant in this part of town. The best steak and potatoes in the part of the B.I.C. he had just gotten a job to play bodyguard for some visiting dignitaries for a few days. Legit work for a change, handed down from an embassy, since leaving the criminal life being a bodyguard suited his skillset the best.
Things were beginning to look up for the underworld's foremost hitman. But little did he know tonight would be his last and the steak would the last thing he would taste. As he got into his car and turned the ignition a fireball engulfed him as the bomb hidden under his car went off. Last thing he remembered was a bright flash, intense pain, and then nothingness. The next time he opened his eyes he was standing outside of his car looking at the flaming wreck of his car and the blackened remains of his own body. He never often thought about death or what came after it, but he figured whatever would be his fate it'd be hot and terrible, but now he felt he'd been sold a false bill of goods. He should feel some kind of despair or remorse as he watched his body burn. But he always knew his death would be something violent and disturbing. You don't live the live he lived and go out an old man dying in his bed. He was more surprised it took this long honestly.
But now he might as well see how far the ghost world goes until he crosses over or something. So turning from his boyd Booker began walking off into the night, another ghost in a city of ghosts.