ONESHOTS - Markicest, Darkstache, & More

Chapter 1 | Flashwave - Darkstache

When I was first planning Flashwave, this was the original concept! Idk why I'm so excited, but I just think it's cool how a story can change so much 😂

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SYNOPSIS:

After graduating college, Dark and his friend, Jack, move west to the bustling streets of San Bernardino, California. It's the perfect place to start a new life, filled with opportunity, jobs, money, and... drugs.

With Dark's keen eye for anything illegal, and Jack's taste for marijuana, both of them try and search for the famed "Warfstache" that everyone talks about. However, San Bernadino—known for its criminal activity—still gives them no preparation for the harsh reality of "Warfstache's" infamous persona.

When Jack goes missing after a night out at the bar, Dark panics, searching for his friend in every crevice of the city and asking every person he can if he'd been seen. His panic becomes known by Warfstache, and Dark only realizes how much he's made himself an open target when he comes face to face with the infamous criminal at his very doorstep.

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CHAPTER 1

"Five hundred dollars," slurred Wilford, pressing the gun against the man's lips.

    Fear glistened through the tears in his eyes as the cool metal of the gun pressed against his skin, the blood from his head quivering down his face with each violent shake of his body. Whimpers stole from his throat in curt sounds. Dog-like.

    "Five hundred fuckin' dollars, Chappie," he growled. His finger tightened over the trigger, and Chappie's eyes widened further. "I've given you a week, and you still don't have my goddamn money. What do you have to say for yourself?"

    Chappie thickly swallowed, pressing himself harder into the wall. "B-b—business hasn't been too good lately, Wilford, I-I—the customers, t-the shop, y-yknow how it is—"

    "Like hell I do," hissed Will. "I don't take shit from nobody, you hear me? Especially lowlife scum like you. I'm tired of your goddamn excuses."

    Wilford scoffed and tore the gun from Chappie's face, leaving him flinching and trembling. He stared down at him, eyes dark and nose scrunched in utter distaste, his shadow dark over Chappie's quivering body.

    "I won't even waste a bullet on you," he spat.

    Chappie trembled, though his eyes lit up. "O-oh... W-Wilford, thank you—"

    "Take care of him," said Wilford, nodding back at one of the men behind him. "And make sure you clean up all of his guts from the floor." He shoved the gun back in his holster, the heels of his shoes clicking against the pavement as he began to walk away. "I don't wanna big ol' mess like last time."

    Chappie's eyes widened, and he shriveled against the wall as the other men surrounded him, crying and begging for mercy.

    "P-please—please, Mr. Warfstache! Don't kill me—oh, God, no, p-please—!"

    Wilford smiled at the sound of his screams and walked off, utter delight coiling in his stomach at the sound of fists pounding into his helpless figure. He stopped at the edge of the sidewalk, lazily staring into the street and the darkness ahead.