AboutIn a suburb in the year 1898, the misted streets cloaked the acts of needy criminals and mobsters. Mobsters, that was what kept people running. They had the new fancy things like peashooters and Gatling guns. There wasn't anyone who could really stop them from killing for the big time man they worked for.
Sketchy men were unloading their trucks and trailers filled with boxes of "cigars". Of course, if looked closer, there were filled with illegal explosives. From behind a stuffy man, which name escapes my mind, I waited and watched for my acknowledgement, which no one cared for. That suited me just fine. To them, I was just the 'new boy'. Younger then most of them, they ignored the likes of just an inexperienced boy.
There were a couple problems with that, though. One, I was a girl, which I hid quite easily. Second was that I wasn't a part of their gang. I was against it.
"Boy," another nameless man said, "Get in the truck. We're leaving."
I didn't feel like moving an inch, but there wasn't much I felt like doing either. I got in, sitting next to a man with an inch long beard and a large rifle sitting across his lap. The truck inched forward and, sooner or latter, the man noticed my tiny side package. He laughed.
"Oh, look here, boy. Guessing you plan on painting something, aren't you?" He still laughed.
"Right," I said with grimness.
The man noticed my Parcel and plucked it from my hands.
"And what is this? Something important? Any reason it has a bow on it?"
With a quick and painless pound of my fist in the back of his thick neck, he slumped back in his seat and the rifle slid down to the floor. I snatched the bow box from him again and put it into my pocket. I hefted the rifle up and held it there in my lap. When it was time to get out, I slung the rifle around my shoulder. No one really noticed the absence of that one guy, which made my plan all the more better. I took out my paintbrush at the front door of the explosive sight. There, I began to work. The man who were unloading the "cigar" boxes into the party, full of rich do-good-ers and fancy dressed patrons. I hung back in the shadows. With my paintbrush in my hand, I opened the Bow Box and selected a color at random. Grass green, maybe. And, quickly, painted a dog on the door. Other than that, with a dab to my clothes, A lime green dress flowed to the floor. I removed my hat and put on my black Bow. The dog, which was a soft sort of green color, stepped in with me. There, all people stared, but no one asked. The rifle, which I had hidden under my dress ruffles, was cocked and ready. The boxes of explosives were prepped and ready, loaded into the back room. This was now what I needed to do. The dog attacked first, biting the main man in the wrist. Secondly, I took out the rifle and butted another in the forehead. The first man stabbed the dog which turned instantly to a splash of green paint, while I, actively, aimed the Rifle at the nearest man. All paused. They watched me, this strange young girl in a green dress aiming a riffle at them. What to do? Nothing they had any idea about. I fired once at a man who was taking out his peashooter. The shot caught him on the shoulder and he screamed with agony. All of the party members stopped their talking, likewise the music stopped. They all started to evacuate. The main man Yelled in fury, but, within that second, I took out my brush and painted a stripe of green down his face. Uselessly, a ribbon slumped down the bridge of his nose and he still tried to attack.
'One more try,' I thought.
I smeared a green stain right on his vest and, like that, It smoldered. The man's eyes rolled back in his head and he let a piercing scream escape him.
'Acid,' I thought with a smile.
Other men were still pulling out guns and weapons, so, quickly, I painted a green slate on the wall. It came off as a leaf, which didn't help me one bit. I ran, running into others as I tried to dodge bullets. I chose another color in my small box and, found it to be a little easier to make of it. I painted a brown circle on the floor and it became a barrel lid. It worked out well in the end.
Running down the road, the bomb detonated and all of the wealthy men and women got away. Not bad.
I let the ink flow of in the form of the dress I was wearing and put on my hat again.
Another day of work, achieved.