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Lying on the 16th floor of the derelict block of flat was Darren Clark, a renowned artist and actor. In the blank canvaste of a room he rolled in a pool of blood with 8 inch blade sticking out of his once immaculate silk suit. Stood in front of him was a foreign looking man dressed in all black with white Nicky trainer. The odd dressed man stared at Darren with his pale blue eyes, who was gasping for air and was repeatedly whispering “don’t hurt her just don’t….please” then Darren Clark layed still, on the ice cold concrete floor. Silence broke free in the block once again….
Strolling through Madison Gardens Jason Allen was in a jolly mood. In his casual jeans and white polo shirt with a cheap watch on he look down and saw his shoe laced untied so he went to lift his shoe on to a bench his phone rank with a distinctive ring tune of Star Wars. Every time it rang passers by would turn and look and force a smile at him .He listened to what the voice had to say and hung up with-out reply. He reached his BMW once again his phone rang this time he did not answer.
15 minuets later he reached a house. A large modern manor house with 5 bedrooms all decorated to the highest standard in fact the whole house was to the highest quality. It’s was situated in the countryside all secluded from the rest of the world. Parked out side the gates, now transformed. Jason made light work of hauling himself over the 6 foot wall .Then he focused on his target.
Darren Clark was about 5 foot 8 inches tall with shoulder length jet black hair. He had perfectly smooth skin and was in perfect shape. Darren was in the main house when he heard a smash and he immediately dived for cover. With a spray of bullets he desperately crawled to the kitchen and leaped for the phone. In horror of the phone missing he sprinted through the utility area to the games room. As he leaped up the stairs an explosion of fire seemingly chased him, like a bolt of lightning. In the adrenaline moment of escaping...