Neon is the Colour of Vengeance (Flappers and False Gods)

BURN

End it. Burn it down. That was what Bobby had asked for and that was exactly what he was going to do.

Hugo dropped the duffel bag he had packed full of weapons on the floor in the lobby of Borden Tower. He had shot and killed Hann with a bullet to the head before anyone spotted him. He had killed another two guards before a single shot was fired in his direction. The remaining four were too slow and paid for it with their lives.

Abandoning his handgun, he picked up the duffel once more and headed to the elevator. Somehow, he knew the code. He punched in Mariam’s birthday and the doors opened.

Hugo was at peace as he rode the elevator up to the penthouse for the last time. He was excited. He pulled a Thompson submachine gun from the bag then slung it back over his shoulder.

There was a moment of silence as the doors opened and those waiting for him processed what they were seeing.

“It’s him! It’s fucking him!”

They opened fire. So did he. He gunned down countless mobsters until he heard the click that told him he was out of ammo. He peered out of the lift into the large open space. Bodies were laid out in their dozens.

“It’s no fun if you hide.”

A tall man came barrelling around one of the pillars. Hugo swung his empty gun like a bat, catching the man around the face and sending him careening to the ground. He threw the tommy gun aside and reached back into his duffel. He pulled out his pulse weapon next and fired blindly down the hall that had led to Samuel’s office. A wet thud told him he had hit his target.

He moved with practised efficiency through the penthouse, killing everyone he came into contact with, before heading for the stairwell. There were more mobsters waiting for him there. The first to reach him was thrown over the banister; he was still falling when Hugo killed his companion with three rapid shots to the chest. The next abandoned her weapons and grabbed Hugo, throwing them both down a flight of stairs.

He grunted in pain as he laid sprawled at the bottom while she got to her feet. She kicked him, once, twice, three times in the stomach; all devastating blows, but as she raised her foot for a fourth strike, Hugo pressed his gun to her knee and pulled the trigger. She screamed in pain as the blast severed her leg at the joint. He left her to bleed out as he continued his descent. More scuffles, more bullets fired, more death.

Hugo finally broke through onto a landing some twenty floors below. This time, he pulled several bottles of alcohol from the bag. The floor he found himself on was residential, containing twelve apartments in total. Hugo walked the length of the corridor, sloshing the flammable liquid on the carpets, walls, and doors before making his way back to the stairs. He clicked his lighter, threw it into the hallway then closed the stairwell door behind him. He tossed the remaining weapons out of the duffel and used the fabric to tie the door shut. He could already hear the screams as he made his way down.

Hugo was in a blind frenzy as he gunned down anyone in his path. He cleared flight after flight with brutal precision, his body count rapidly rising into triple digits.

BANG.

Hugo heard the shot before he felt it. The bullet tore through his lower back on the left side exiting out of his stomach at the front. He tumbled forwards, clutching his abdomen as another shot hit him in the shoulder and then another struck his arm.

He turned as best he could and fired blindly. If he hit his assailant, he never found out, he just pushed his way onto the nearest landing and closed the stairwell door.

Hugo slumped against the closest wall to assess the damage. It would be a fatal wound if he didn’t seek medical attention. Good.

He set three more floors ablaze as he made his way back to the lobby and killed countless of his former brethren to get there.

Hugo could barely walk when he finally made it to the marbled atrium. The fire alarms raged, and the sprinklers soaked everything in sight. He could hear footsteps chasing after him, but he didn’t care. The fires had taken hold as smoke billowed. It would all be gone soon.

He dragged himself into Southside and dropped down onto a stool at the bar. Hugo could barely breathe. He could taste copper in his mouth and the front of his shirt and trousers were soaked with his own blood.

Hugo reached over the counter for the nearest bottle of whiskey. It was an aged scotch, Samuel’s favourite. He smirked as he took a long draft.

The crash of a door being rammed open told him what was left of Samuel’s forces had found him.

“He’s in the restaurant! Get him!”

“Are you crazy? This place is gonna come crashing down around us.”

It was true, Hugo could feel the heat of the fire that raged above as it tried desperately to claim the floors it hadn’t reached yet.

“You go,” a voice called, coughing as it did so. “I’m making sure we kill the sonuvabitch.”

A White man with blond hair and a thick moustache stood at the entrance to the restaurant. He held a rag to his mouth against the ever-thickening haze of smoke.

“Burn in hell,” he said, and he fired his gun.

Hugo expected the man to aim for him, he welcomed it, but the man didn’t. He aimed for the bottles of liquor behind him. Alcohol soaked the floor, the bar and Hugo, but he didn’t move.

The fire broke through the ceiling with and almighty roar, quickly engulfing the restaurant. Hugo grinned as the flames licked at his flesh, the heat unbearable, even the air scorched his lungs.

“I’ll see you soon, my love,” he muttered, and he took one final draught.

As his skin peeled away, and the fire warped and contracted his muscles, Hugo thought of nothing but Evan. As the heat melted away his nerves and fused his bones, he laughed. He was finally free.