Saturday, January 18th, 2014 - 12:05 AM PST - A Dirty Dingy Sidewalk/Possible Grave - Los Angeles, California

Almost in unison; Jorge, myself, and the guy I originally met with all drop to the ground, covering our heads as bullets fly by over top of us, clipping, smashing and exploding the bricks of the buildings behind us. The shattering of windows and the feeling of brick portions and glass shards raining down above gives a sense of urgency that the ceaseless firing of an SMG just doesn't seem to invoke on its own. In the fall, my sunglasses falls off and hit the sidewalk below. Without thinking I reach for them first instead of my own gun to return fire. Sliding them back over my eyes, I watch as Jorge pulls out his Glock and opens fire on the truck that the gunfire came from as it turns around, ready for round two. His wild, poorly aimed shot glides through the air and collides with the bottom of the driver's side door; the man with the Uzi leaning out the window and resting his elbows on the hood of the truck.

"Come on guys, move!" the man says, waving us over to where he was heading; down the sidewalk. The opposite direction that the truck was driving in. Back into the alley. They couldn't get us there, right?

"What the fuck? I thought we had a truce!" screamed Jorge as he trailed behind the pair of us, keeping his Glock pointed to the ground. We hit the alleyway and I slid up against one of the walls, beside a metal trashcan, filled over the brim with assorted garbage.

"It's broken now," I stated, looking down at the trashcan. As Jorge passed by me, I pushed it over sideways onto the ground behind him and took off further down the alley.

And we ended up right where we started. Surrounded by brick and bullets, mortar and murder. Right, the side exit I walked out of to get here in the first place! In the darkness, I look around the wall on the left, searching for a way in. "Hand me your lighter," I mutter to the man who dropped his cigarette on the ground when the bullets started to fly.

"Why?"

"Just give it to me."

He sighed, handing the item to me. Perfect. I flick the spark wheel and the flame shoots out, bathing the area around me and within 2 feet in light. Spinning around on one heel, I hold the light out and manage to find the door. Handing the lighter back to him, I slam, shoulder first into the door in an attempt at pushing it open, to no avail. The fucking thing was locked. Of course, nothing could be simple, could it? Shit, where are the assholes in the car at? I try the door again, slamming against it harder and getting it to budge a bit further, but ultimately it falls back into place.

"A little help here?"

"Hey yo, I think they went down this way!" Well, that answers both of my questions. Jorge straightens up, raising his Glock and pointing it towards where the assholes would be coming. The other guy comes over near me and on three we both smash into the door, finally breaking it open but causing both of us to fall flat on our faces, onto the grimy, uncleaned floor of the back room of this local corner store. The glasses fly off my head again, skidding across the ground before sticking to a patch of pale green goop. That's when it dawns on me that there's light. Fuck yeah. I get back to my feet, looking down at the ground on my way to retrieving the identity concealers while Jorge backs into the building with us. The sound of footsteps from the outermost part of the alleyway turns into a sprint, due to the light exploding out of the empty doorway. That, or the sound of crashing. Either way, they were onto us, and that wasn't good.

I slid the glasses back on, and broke into a sprint, towards the collection of saran wrapped pallets on the right hand side of the containment room. Behind the conglomerate, as I had left it, was the AK-47 I threatened guy number one with before shit started going down. Now all I need is...

Oh god fucking dammit where's that silencer? I could've sworn I left it on me. Great. We're going to have to get loud. I take the strap and sling it over my shoulder, gripping the grip in my right hand. Click that switch to full auto, release the safety. Time to rock and roll.

"Oh my fucking God..." whispers the man as I emerge from behind the pallets. Jorge's eyes go wide, but a smile creeps over his face.

"Looks like the odds just got evened up."

"My thoughts exactly."

"Eighteenth Street!" screams the asshole with the SMG as he steps into the building and haphazardly takes aim at the three of us standing across the room from him. Then his eyes fall upon what he's really up against. I take aim, but say from behind the sights:

"Till death, huh?" He lowers his weapon, pleading with his eyes for me not to shoot. I don't understand why, he could easily have pulled the trigger while I was making the snarky comment. Maybe he thinks I have a bullet proof vest on and he knows he won't get a headshot. Either or, he looks like he's about ready to shit himself. "Come on, fucker. What are you going to do?"

His friend stumbles into the building behind him, pistol in hand. This'll be easy.

I pull the trigger first, not letting him give an answer. The bullets ripped through the air, and through their clothes and skin, getting lodged somewhere between the entrance point and the confusing the mess of veins and organs that exist in one's torso. The pair drop to the ground, clutching their wounds to try and stop themselves from bleeding out so soon. Their guns fall to the ground beside them, just out of reach. I look to Jorge and the other guy, and slowly we make our way towards the bodies, trying to crawl on one arm towards their weapons. Looking down at their pathetic, though oddly admirable display, I turn to the two men on my side and say loud enough for the soon to be dead men to hear: "Finish them."

Jorge, ever the eager to impress shoots the man who had the Uzi in the head before I even finish. The other one however, struggles and hesitates, allowing the guy on the ground to struggle closer, ever closer to his gun. I stomp on his hand, and say again, almost shouting: "Fucking do it!"

Shaky hands take unsteady aim. Unsure finger pulls the irreversible trigger and the bullet of condemnation splatters the man's unused brains against the grime ridden floor, the last thing he saw before death was his means to an end; his possible though unlikely attempt at escape from this sticky situation; the gun. Tears run down the man's face as he shakily slides the gun back into his waistband. I point to his victim's gun on the floor and whisper, barley audible underneath the bandanna: "Take it." Unsurprisingly, he was much more cooperative with this order than the last. While he did that, I tell Jorge to do the same and with their weapons now ours, we make our way out of the building, out of the alley, down the street and into the car that Jorge showed up in.

Jorge hops in the driver's seat, the other guy takes the passenger's, leaving me alone in the back. Just how I wanted it.

"You're taking us to it, right?"

"Yeah man, I know what I'm doing."

"Good, good..." I lean back in the seat, as Jorge flips on the car's CD Player. "Man, who's this?"

"Pusha T."

"Cool." Things were finally looking to be going right for a change.

That's when the police sirens broke over the music, speeding down the street behind us, converging on the crime scene. Without warning, Jorge makes a hard turn right, hopefully disappearing down the new road before the police saw us fleeing the scene. That was close.

Though I can't shake the feeling that we were just a couple seconds late. Or maybe, they were early.