It is not often that you find a murderous monk. It is less often that you find a murderous monk on your back, viciously trying to knock you over. It is even less often that you find a murderous monk on your back, viciously trying to knock you over and you, somehow, manage to bring said monk over your head and take the advantage.
However, Jamez Blak had a strange life and this, it seemed, was becoming quite a common ordeal to find him in. Therefore, he was amazingly able to tackle such a situation - with one of several different possible solutions. He did, of course, settle for the incredibly improbable one and defeated the monk. His pistol loaded, ready to fire, and outstretched in front of him, pointing at the monk on the ground, Jamez raised his head to face the first one yet again.
“Now, may I ask again?” Jamez asked.
“Be my guest,” the monk said, a definite accent sounding out through his voice.
“Why have you and your little monk friends killed four people in the last week?” Jamez repeated.
“Look behind you,” the monk said, his malicious smile back again.
Jamez began to turn before realizing that the outcome could be nothing good at all. Therefore, he resolved to thrusting his elbow quickly behind him to collide with whatever monk was standing inches from him.
There was none.
“Huh?” he exclaimed, turning around in surprise.
There were nine.
“Oh,” he said simply.
They all charged toward him in unison, screaming something in an unknown language. Jamez ducked and the predictable kick aimed at his solar plexus was left in the air. He spun once, leg outstretched, attempting to trip them and failing completely. His leg merely collided with one of their's and began to throb painfully.
He had to overcome his hurt leg, though, or he would be the fifth death in one week. This is what he told himself as he attempted to crawl to safety. The monks, however, had a different idea in mind and grabbed onto his legs, pulling him right back.
Resignedly and with a sigh he took his gun right back out of its holster and shot one of the monks in the hand, releasing his leg. He merely had to point the gun at the other monk restraining him for the other leg to be set free.
Quickly he stood up and punched one of the monks in the face and kicked another in the chest. He shot a third in the leg and, by an accidental misfortune, shot a fourth in the face. Jamez swore. He hadn't wanted to kill any of them. His mission had stated that he should dispose of them in any way, but he was hoping on merely reasoning with them rather than resorting to gun play. The fact that he had gone back on his hope angered Jamez greatly.
Ten minutes later, the convergence of monks were lying on the ground, unconscious or in very much pain. Jamez walked down the sidewalk to a group of curious bystanders and teleported away right in front of them, leaving the remains of a bright blue flash in their eyes.
“What the hell was that?” screamed one person.
“He said his name was Jamez Blak!” piped up the boy from the window.
“He specializes in explosions!” said the child's mother excitedly.
“I thought that he said that he specializes in those people he was fighting!” corrected the child.
“Oh, well! What's important is that he likes tea!” the mom said.
“What are you on about?” said some other person.
The conversation continued on like this for another two hours inside the comfort of one of the congregated people's houses. They discussed nothing of importance - such as what to do with all of these unconscious, murderous monks in their street, or how they were going to protect themselves if the monks attacked again - merely who this mysterious man was, who he was dating, and who was the manufacturer of his gun?
These people needed lives.
Meanwhile, across the Atlantic ocean, Jamez Blak was lying on the couch of his futuristic apartment. There, as a matter of fact, was not much that was futuristic abut the place, but Jamez liked to explain that it was made thirty years previously and that, back then, it was quite an odd design and, frankly, ugly.
Nowadays, however, the apartment was quite a standard design. It was, you may have noted had you spent a day there yourself, abundantly white, contrasting Jamez's rather black appearance in a way that did, oddly enough, make the apartment seem futuristic. The only other thing that you may have noticed that was slightly futuristic was the high definition television attached to the opposite wall of the room. It was pure white and blended with the wall, except, that is, when it is turned on with a small beep.
