FicWad

A man fell to the ground with great force, blood squirted from the back of his head. Yes, he had just been shot and killed. No, it wasn't no usual murder, if you could call it a murder. It may have just been self-defense, or needed to be done to protect someone. Well, no. To Carl Max, he had done it because in his eyes it was right. Carl Max was in the F.B.I. He was one of the top ranking agents. This man that lied on the ground, blood cascading from his head, was the first kill he had ever had. Carl Max had killed a fellow F.B.I agent, in fact it was his partner, Stan Dutch. Stan had recently threaten Carl with "killing" his family if he didn't clean up the "mistakes" he had made. But, did he really mean kill? The answer was yes to Carl. Was his mistakes that bad, that if they were to be found out by the chief that they would both be took into the slammer? The answer was yes, to Carl. But, Carl had been misunderstood. The truth was that his "partner" was in trouble for stealing one-hundred bucks from a gas station not to long ago. To the agency, to the court, to everyone, a desperate cry on Stan's part. A minor mistake. But that's what Stan wanted Carl to "clear up" before a court trial would be made. Carl remembered the scene that took place four weeks before the murder. "You better clean this up Carl, before I kill your family!" were the words he growled out. Stan never meant he was actually going to kill his family. That had just been the word of frustration, desperation, and anxiety that had managed to slur out. More into the truth is that Carl was the reason Stan had robbed the store. Carl had secretly borrowed some money from a shark not to long ago, one-hundred dollars only, and that's all he owed. So he made a deal: "If you do this for me man, I'll get you a new house in the LA area and put some good words in for ya' to the chief," is the feint words Carl Max had used to bribe his partner of four years. Stan did so. Turns out, Carl never cleared up the mess, and when court day came for Stan is when Carl looked for anything to do to keep his family safe. To kill. That was the night Carl had killed Stan. But, that was all 4 years ago. Carl had been sitting in his prison cell on his old, rock, cot that hung on the side of the wall. In fact, he had been sitting there for four years. The night he killed Stan is the night he had been sent to a high security prison. An unknown prison for agents and "cops gone bad". It was given the dreaded title: Pull Bones Prison. Carl's cell bars opened. A fat and round cop stood with keys in his chubby hand and a donut in the other. "It's time, Carl," the officer shouted, his command muffled between the chunks of donut. Carl hopped off his cot and walked. He stopped when he reached the side of the guard. "Gonna miss ya' you messed up mine!" the officer laugh. Carl fake-laughed along has his head slowly turned and stared at the cop. "Heh, gonna miss your fat ass, too. Make sure you go on that diet finally."
"Get outta here!" the fat cop yelled, pushing Carl down the hall. He was finally to go and live the free life out of this miserable place with nothing but moaning people, disturbing people, some too disturbing to go into detail. Carl signed his papers, and he retrieved the clothes they had stripped him of when he came here, 4 years ago. Only a white T-shirt and some torn black cargo pants. "Wheres my vest?" he asked, noticing his F.B.I vest was missing. "What vest? You killed another officer of the F.B.I, why for the sake of God do you think they would let you have "their" vest back?" Carl hadn't replied, he just smirked and growled at the front desk cop as he picked up his thin cloth, more like tissue paper. Two guards escorted him to the outskirts of the prison gate, then ran back in. The huge gate behind him closed. The officers didn't even want the orange prison jump suit back. He took the prison uniform off and put on his T-Shirt and cargo jeans. He also put on some fancy shades that he had snuck from his cell mate. "Last crime I'd commit," he laughed. He would've been more eager and happy to be on the outsides of the gates, if his family had been waiting there with their car ready to take him home. Truth was, he had no more family, after the incident his wife left him, his children went with her, and all other relatives in other states didn't wish to have anything to do with him. He began to walk, when suddenly a car came speeding towards the entrance. "What, the hell?" he thought. The car stopped and the passenger's window slowly scrolled down, then revealed the face of a man about fifty years old, dress like a rancher. "Get in"