V
Dylan arrived at the address listed on Liza's license. He got out of the car and walked towards an old brownstone. The first step shifted as his weight fell on it. Dylan grabbed a rusted rail next to the stairs. It moved whenever he pulled or pushed against it.
As he approached the door, he noticed the dent in the wood. The footprint of a boot slammed next to the handle warping the edge. Dylan pushed the edge of the door. The door creaked open, and Dylan drew one pistol.
He stepped into the halls walking to another door with a similar boot print. The inside of Liza's apartment was a mess. Cotton covered the floor from couch cushions and pillows, everything on the tables was knocked aside, toys scattered, and a brown chest sat wide open. Whoever searched the apartment shattered the TV's glass. He sniffed the air, something lingered around him, but he couldn't place what.
A picture frame sat on the ground. The glass fell out as Dylan picked it up. It was a picture of Liza and a little girl. He took the picture out and looked at the back, written "Liza 24" and "Abby 6."
Dylan put the picture down and stood. "She has a daughter." He put his fist into the drywall. "When I find that bastard, I will empty my magazine into his skull."
He walked through the living room and passed through an arch towards the kitchen. Something pushed against his ankle. A wire lay across the threshold.
The wire led into the kitchen and pulled the trigger of a long-reach butane lighter. The lighter ignited under a note saying, "Welcome Home". Dylan's eyes grew wide. The air shifted in the kitchen, and an active gas stove sat in the kitchen. The smell in the living room was gas. The note caught fire.
Dylan dashed through the living room. He drove through the living room window as an explosion ripped through the brownstone. The flames rolled towards him, but the shockwave slammed into Dylan throwing him farther from the now burning building. He lay on the ground with rubble all around him. His vision blurred, and he crawled forward.
His ears rang as a group of men stood around him. The figure of a man stood over him in a dark blue long coat. "Eto ne ona," a voice said.
Dylan struggled to lift his gun.
The blurry man bent down, "Zhalost." A boot fired into his face, and Dylan blacked out.
