Something is wrong. Very, very wrong. Jason knows this the second he steps into the Penthouse.
Perhaps it’s the eerie silence. Perhaps it’s because not a single light is on as far as Jason can tell. Perhaps because the door was unlocked and partially ajar. Or, perhaps it’s the blood spatters on the floor.
He has his gun out before he even has the door shut behind him. Who is responsible for this? Franco? Zacchara? The police? His mind races as he searches for the source of the crimson liquid staining his floor.
Jason follows the rather disconcerting path of blood drops to where it proceeds to the upstairs, wherein the trail leads him toward the regrettably pink room.
“Spinelli!” He calls out, hoping beyond all hope for a response. For a simple explanation for all of this – maybe the kid shot himself in the foot again or something. But, no reassuring Jackal-speak comes his way. As he slowly edges the door open, however, he hears indistinct muffled noises.
Spinelli is pressed against the wall just to the side of the door, with a bloodied nose and the beginnings of what will undoubtedly be a blackened eye. He has some type of cloth stuffed in his mouth, which explains the muffled noises, and his hands bound behind his back.. And he looks utterly terrified, his eyes glued to the other side of the room.
Jason’s own gaze shifts to the unexpected sight on the other side of the room. Sonny. He’s armed.
Panic. Confusion. Fear. Anger. Stone Cold stance immediately invoked.
“What do you think you’re doing?” He growls out. He doesn’t want to believe this is happening. That Sonny could do this. He’s more than aware that Sonny is capable of murder, after all, it was Sonny who shaped Jason into the loyal mob enforcer that he is. But, there is no reason for Sonny to be anywhere near Spinelli.
Sonny waves his firearm around flippantly, letting it settle on Spinelli for what is probably not the first time. “It’s his fault.”
Jason reaches out to pull the cloth from Spinelli’s mouth, but the gun levels then, and stays pointed squarely at Spinelli’s head.
“Wouldn’t do that, if I were you. I’m in the mood for his psychotic babbling.” Sonny orders, and Jason drops his hand away from his grasshopper.
“What do you mean ‘it’s his fault’? What is?” He demands, his own gun pointed at the floor.
Stand Alone Complex Pt 1
Perhaps it’s the eerie silence. Perhaps it’s because not a single light is on as far as Jason can tell. Perhaps because the door was unlocked and partially ajar. Or, perhaps it’s the blood spatters on the floor.
He has his gun out before he even has the door shut behind him. Who is responsible for this? Franco? Zacchara? The police? His mind races as he searches for the source of the crimson liquid staining his floor.
Jason follows the rather disconcerting path of blood drops to where it proceeds to the upstairs, wherein the trail leads him toward the regrettably pink room.
“Spinelli!” He calls out, hoping beyond all hope for a response. For a simple explanation for all of this – maybe the kid shot himself in the foot again or something. But, no reassuring Jackal-speak comes his way. As he slowly edges the door open, however, he hears indistinct muffled noises.
Spinelli is pressed against the wall just to the side of the door, with a bloodied nose and the beginnings of what will undoubtedly be a blackened eye. He has some type of cloth stuffed in his mouth, which explains the muffled noises, and his hands bound behind his back.. And he looks utterly terrified, his eyes glued to the other side of the room.
Jason’s own gaze shifts to the unexpected sight on the other side of the room. Sonny. He’s armed.
Panic. Confusion. Fear. Anger. Stone Cold stance immediately invoked.
“What do you think you’re doing?” He growls out. He doesn’t want to believe this is happening. That Sonny could do this. He’s more than aware that Sonny is capable of murder, after all, it was Sonny who shaped Jason into the loyal mob enforcer that he is. But, there is no reason for Sonny to be anywhere near Spinelli.
Sonny waves his firearm around flippantly, letting it settle on Spinelli for what is probably not the first time. “It’s his fault.”
Jason reaches out to pull the cloth from Spinelli’s mouth, but the gun levels then, and stays pointed squarely at Spinelli’s head.
“Wouldn’t do that, if I were you. I’m in the mood for his psychotic babbling.” Sonny orders, and Jason drops his hand away from his grasshopper.
“What do you mean ‘it’s his fault’? What is?” He demands, his own gun pointed at the floor.