The Assault

“Grab the camera and do as I do.”

As usual, George was leading his troops with a comforting confidence. It was always odd for him to speak with a level of command similar to a sergeant. I liked it though. After all, he is in charge of a profitable paparazzi company. It is something to admire. Well, I’m sure he’d hate that I called his company a paparazzi company, even though I’ve been his third in command for at least 5 years. George calls himself a photographer of human existence. I’ve known George long enough to realize that he doesn’t actually mean it. It’s just for his public image.

Everyone stepped out of the SUV and began following George down the sidewalk. I was beside him, but close enough to whisper in his ear. The other three were behind me. George stopped right at a palm tree on the corner. He stood as though he were hiding, even though it was 1 in the afternoon.

“Our target is in there. The Palorina Restaurant.” George pointed to the fancy Italian restaurant across the street. It was where Natalie Aruvka was having lunch. The actress who is notoriously difficult to photograph, even if you know where she is. “All you new guys, remember what I said back at the studio. We’re getting a picture of a specimen, not a person. I don’t care what you feel, just do it. This is how you get a paycheck for a year. It’s not about exploitation. It’s not about respect. It’s not about art. It’s not about emotion. It’s about the shot. The shot. I don’t care how much our specimen squirms, bends or screams. Get the shot! Do you want to be rich at any cost or not?” George loved to deceive the public, but I knew in moments like this he meant everything that he said. What you see is what you get, hedonism and all. That’s why we all love him.

“Shock and awe.” With that, George began walking across the street to the side entrance of the restaurant, near the garbage dumpsters. I guess this was one of his frequent moments of intuition. The only time he ever dared to move was when he was ready to go in for the attack. Not even I saw anything. All I knew was that something as little as a curtain moving could set off his intuition.

George yelled out to one of the new photographers without turning his head. “Walter, wait at that tree right next to the entrance. Smoke a cigarette or something. Take any pictures you want to." As Walter casually walked to the front, the rest of us walked into the back entrance. We didn’t ask permission, we just walked in.

There were a few chefs in our way, but like George, we simply shoved them out of the way. The floor quickly became a mess of three hundred dollar meals. It didn’t matter though; it is the only way to get to the perfect shot. Damage can be fixed with money. A lost shot can never be found. When we reached the dining area, we walked in the same manner, directly towards Natalie Aruvka’s table. The table was in a secluded and private part of the restaurant, so it was easy to avoid her bodyguards who were more than likely by the entrance to observe who entered.

We all stepped right next to her table, grabbed our cameras, and shot. I’m sure I heard her ask “What are you doing?” Maybe she yelled it, I don’t know. It wasn’t worth being distracted in either case. I got some decent shots, but I could see that George got some incredible close-ups. I don’t know if it was right or wrong. We feed a demand for fame, we get money, we are satisfied. As George always said, morals don’t matter, what matters is if you get what you want. Just like all the famous individuals he photographed. When Natalie’s bodyguards neared us, we ran out the way we came. George dropped a wad of cash onto the floor, which more than compensated for the damage caused by the wake of our invasion. On the way out, I managed to catch a glimpse of Natalie being escorted out of the restaurant. Exactly as planned so Walter could land the killing shot.

Rampage

All that could be heard were the shouts of “Where is he!” The hysterical screaming of Axer was nothing unusual to the regulars at the HYPER Bar. All the buildings in the town were made of wood, even the HYPER Bar, so there were more than just a few visible holes from Axer’s rampages.

He was called Axer because of the Automatic Slicer he always carried around, a weapon developed hundreds of years ago as a blunt axe for combat and clear-cutting the mushroom forests near the Capital Coast. Fortunately, he was too stupid to figure out how to use it. It took special training to use, at least in a manner more effective than a blunt rock. There were so many gears and buttons that it was safer to leave it alone. Everyone knew to treat Axer in the same manner. He could not be understood, nor did anyone want to understand him.

But this time was different. Axer was wildly swinging his Slicer ever since he stepped into the bar minutes before. Apparently someone had angered him, but no one could figure out what it could be or if this “he” even existed. Axer began to break the glasses next to the bartender. He destroyed the holographic light projector. He began striking the HYPER injection tables, but the muscular Axer could not even create as much as an indentation. No one could really understand what was going on. They all were in shock that this is the moment that Axer finally snapped. Maybe he had an overdose of HYPER and was hallucinating. Maybe the man he was searching for was had stolen money. All that really mattered was that in a span of a minute, everything by the entrance was assaulted by Axer’s blind rage. No one was hurt, but many of the people in the bar quickly came to their senses and left. Better to avoid a HYPER addict than reason with him.

A man stood up and began walking towards Axer. The man was least as tall as Axer but certainly not muscular by any indication. While taking confident and purposeful steps across the room, over several chairs, he pulled out his trident shotgun and stabbed Axer right in the side of the neck. There was no time to react.

“God DAMMIT!” the man screamed, sounding even more enraged than Axer. didn’t take his eyes off of Axer for even a moment. “This is private property, so just stop.” Axer was completely incapacitated, so none of the remaining patrons understood who the man was talking. The man, still staring right at Axer, repeated himself. “My name is Vyron, so again, I’m telling you to stop.”

The bartender was the most confused of all. “…excuse me, but, uh, who are you talking to?”

Vyron quickly turned his head quickly, making his long orange and purple hair fly across his face. He looked the bartender in the eye. “Don’t be stupid, I’m talking to you of course.”

“B-but I’m not doing anything!” The bartender was afraid that Vyron may be even crazier than Axer. The shredded and colored hair, the angular and tall sunglasses, asymmetrical clothing in both color and shape. It was certainly not a style seen too often.

“That’s the point. Stop doing nothing. Would you rather wait till the whole damn bar is leveled? It’s your bar, protect it! Do something about this… mess.” Vyron pushed the trident further into Axer’s neck and pulled the trigger, firing shots from the three prongs. Blood splattered on all the nearby tables and bewildered onlookers. Axer was more than just killed. As far as everyone in the room was concerned, his existence was completely erased, the memory of him and all. Without wiping off the blood, Vyron put the trident into the box-like sheath which was on his back.

“I don’t want to take care of what should be your problems, I don’t know why the hell anyone would want to come to this bar, let alone the town.”

Vyron gave the corpse one last firm kick, jumped on his horse and rode to the next nearest town. The sun was about to set, a dangerous time to be on the outskirts of town considering the wandering criminals, but Vyron didn’t care.