An essay response to your blog.

Seeing that you wrote a really nice story, I decided to write one too using the same picture. Its not as good yours though. And its a bit long. This is probably just the 1st part. If you like it then I might continue writing on this story. Hope you enjoy it! Do give me comments later! I want positive and negative comments, hehe...i love you lin!!

CHAPTER 1 - THE MAD IRON

Marx Caesar was fidgety as he sat in his white Gallardo Spyder Lamborghini. Not exactly the best vehicle to drive when you’re trying to avoid public attention, especially in a rural mountaintop. No point complaining now as he was already waiting in broad daylight in his prized German model. Besides, he was given exact instructions to bring a car which can go anywhere near 180 miles per hour. The best he had was this Lamborghini, which goes 190 miles. The rest of his collections were more valued for aesthetic value rather than performance. As he sat now, Marx started wondering who had the right to order him anyway. Marx should be the one giving orders, not him.
The man who picked up the phone the day before had a distinctive tone to his voice, a voice that made you feel like everything you had done all along was a big mistake. But Marx Caesar had no other choice, the man on the other line was considered one of the best in his field. And Marx only wanted the best. His luck was running thin. One slip and everything would be blown out of order. The only way to get Don Raiz out of the picture was to call him. The ‘Mad Iron’ as he was famously known as spoke with a solemn and raspy voice. Just a couple of seconds and the conversation was over. The Mad Iron truly was a man of little words. Yet, the message was delivered and everything miraculous seemed to be in place. All that had to be done now was to give him a little piece of information. The Mad Iron started to fit into the category of expert assassin.

The reason he was called the Mad Iron was relatively simple. He was literally made out of steel. When he was in his prime as an assassin, he immersed his fingers in pure acid of pH 2 to erode his fingers, barely leaving any muscles in his fingers. Some consider this utterly foolish, but what he did next was pure genius. He coated what was left of his fingers with alloys, making it into a mixture of cold hard steel of unknown proportions. He made all his killings clean, no fingerprints. This also made the term killing in cold blood even more gruesome, as his hands were always cold. No one could imagine where did the man find the strength to have control of his metal fingers after immersing it in acid. Some would even die of the horrid pain. The Mad Iron’s will to live was definitely strong. The only thing stronger was his will to kill.

Marx had been sitting at that spot for almost 20 minutes. The longer he waited the more anxious he became. Marx himself was a wanted mobster. Three departments wants him for questioning, four departments wants him in trial, and two more just want him dead. Just as his anxiety was building to its peak, a large crowd started to gather just 100 meters away from where he parked his car. This large mob would only attract the attention of unwanted feds. Something he did certainly did not favor. His stomach started forming knots. Where was this so called Mad Iron??

The large crowd worked perfectly as a diversion. All attention was drawn there. Even Marx Caesar did not realize the Mad Iron drifting his black 911 Targa 4S. A Porsche coupled to its inner strength. The Mad Iron arrived moments earlier and had parked a Nissan Sentra filled with what seems like cold hard cash which amount could barely fit a bank vault. No one knew that they were struggling for counterfeit money near a planted car. He sat idle for a moment till Marx finally realized the Mad Iron sitting in the flesh in front of him. He quickly got out the car and approached the Mad Iron while having mixed feelings of fear and hate.

“What took you so long?? A moment longer and I’ll probably be behind bars in a dilapidated police building somewhere!” Marx loudly whispered.

“Shut up and relax. We have plenty of time. Give me the piece of information” the Mad Iron said without looking up even for a second.

“Here. Of all the things why’d you need that?”

“Good. Now listen. You have exactly three and a half minutes to be a couple of miles away. Drive at 80 miles per hour and head north from this road. The cops will be heading here from the south in four minutes.”

“What?? What do you mean the cops are already on their way? Besides, there’s a freaking police station to the north!”

“Shut up and relax. You panic too much. Everything’s taken care of. Now go. You’ve wasted precious 30 seconds.”

In a split second what was left of the Mad Iron was the dust from his car. Marx jumped into his car and hit the pedals. He did what he was told and headed north, passing the large crowd that gathered earlier. Two minutes down and he passed a police station. As he quickly glanced at the police building, he noticed that one of its buildings was engulfed in flames. That was timely for him. His answer for a safe getaway. Another minute down the road and a loud explosion was heard. It came from where the crowd was gathering.

These chain of events send shivers down Marx’s bones. First the burning police building, then a sound that is undoubtedly the sound of an explosion. Pure luck or a work of a genius?

As the Mad Iron sped by in his Porsche, he carved half a grin. Earlier, he had started a fire by causing some wires to short circuit. The electric box was too old that everyone would accept that as the most logical reason for the fire to start. Then he made an anonymous call to the other police station south to inform of a riot. That way only one police department had to be on the scene. The planted bomb in the car was the whole diversion. A group of good fifty people blown to bits was the best way to disappear. No witnesses, a ton of suspects. The Mad Iron swoops by again. This was just one out of his thousands of escape maneuvers. The September 11 bombings was rumored to be his diversion of getting out of New York while having 2 cargo ships in his command.

Now that he had his piece of information, the Mad Iron was heading towards the abode of Marx Caesar.

End of first chapter