LAST MAN STANDING [COMPLETED]

Chapter Eighty-Three

More scraped cars came to view, as we walked past them. One of them, red, looking familiar in my eyes. "Come," he said, leading me to a place with sports cars without number plates and bikes were parked in lines. Workers moved around. My eyes suddenly spotted a familiar figure, amongst the two figures (an old man worker in a navy-blue overall and a tanned man in leather jacket) up ahead.

Oversize long dark brown coat over a familiar brown jacket with a hood. A certain memory came to my mind immediately.

My teeth clenched tightly, whole body suddenly going stiff. A figure on the busy street. My forehead frowned, heart pounded. The huge structure, coat over a jacket with a hood covering his head, left hand carrying a plastic bag, staring back at me.

His right hand moved up and waved at me

"I'll need you to stand here," said the blonde man who had been refereed to as Fox, said interrupting my brain.

"Alright," stopping.

He jogged over to the three individuals. So, I hadn't been crazy, seeing a person with the same figure as...The mysterious man, I was sure was following me from Care-Well street, who had a coat over his jacket, walked away, heading towards the sport cars, which I was close to.

He stopped before a black car, opening the driver's seat door. With the hood hanging over his face, making it hard for me to see his face. He seemed to sense my stare. Also stopping. Chills ran down my spine, feeling like the world around me was being zoomed towards him, like last time.

He moved his hand up and waved, his palm written, I SEE YOU with what I believed was blood. My eyes widened. "Hey!" a deep voice pulled me out of my stare.

A tanned skin man, sharp square face with blue eyes appeared before me. Tall and a little slimmer than me, but still broad and a working out physique. Those eyes...

The black car drove past us. My body finally getting back to normal. "Heard you want to exchange a car, where the fuck is it?"

"A...Andy?" the words came out hoarse.

His eyes widened a little. A picture of him, still fifteen-year-old. Lying dead on the narrow passage after being shot, coming back in my head. "H...Hyphen?"

"It's fuckin you!" I said, tears clouded in my eyes. I embraced him. "I fuckin thought you are died."

His grip tightened on me as I groaned. "Same, same brother," Steaming tears wetting my shirt. Eighteen years, we had not seen one another for eighteen fuckin years, not knowing if one was alive or dead.