Orange clouds covered the horizon, and a white-blue light beamed opposite to it, the perfect evening landscape. Two kinds of crowds formed at the airport, an angry mob demanding reason for their delay and a curious crowd around several heavily armoured SUVs pulling up and men wearing black and holding large guns stepped out in a solid circle formation around two other men in casual wear. They kept a tight formation through a workers only entrance to the airfield and were taken to the closest airfield, a titanic steel plane was being loaded full of boxes and modified supercars. Mark and Adam may have blown the rest of their heist cut on security, but everything on the plane would make up to as if they'd never had any trouble leaving. Better than nothing, they decided. The prey set their suitcases inside the plane, Mark headed up to the cockpit to ensure they were leaving on time before Adam left to the restroom. All was in position, guards littered every door and corridor inside the hanger building, but also at the main gate and doubled at what was usually open to the public. Whilst Adam was away, Mark sorted the plan from start to finish, America to England. Every merc's position was checked every five minutes, and every two cameras had a specific man assigned. There was no way he'd sneak in, Mark thought- no, he knew. Simply take off, that's all they had to do. Once on the move it would be almost impossible for one man to catch up to them, even a man as so-called talented and unstoppable as the Kataigìda.

Meanwhile, back at side gate, sliding aside automatically, a speeding black car smashed through and circled the men in black on guard. They took several precise shots at the windows but nothing went through - bulletproof. It stopped after being surrounded and fell silent. The men had submachine and heavy machine guns of all kinds ready to light it up if necessary, as they all closed in around it. They were trained to take the pain of a car smacking them from a few metres distance, and all had the same mastery of the close quarters and specialised firing skills fined into near-perfection. Whatever was inside, they could kill ten times over - were their last thoughts.

A gun let loose a barrage of bullets, dropping one after the other and what looked like a stunt biker closed the gap between him and his car. It took highgrounded snipers just one attempt at his body to figure out his entire torso was covered in armour. His chest was protected by heavy military grade body armour under a clean, white v-neck, his knees and shins were padded as well as his forearms and elbows underneath loaded cargo trousers, including the thigh-pad, and a slick, black leather jacket. Topping it all, a matte black motorbike helmet, visor down and mirrored showing shooters only themselves before gunning them down. They all knew who had come to claim them. Skies darkened the further justice came. Using the car as cover from incoming fire, the invader and their car cruised alongside the open area, often returning fire. The aim? A side door of the private hanger, leading toward two corridors that would take them to the hanger. Rather than take the most obvious gigantic hole in the front of the building, a side door that lead to a more confined space and opened up to an angle of the hanger much more ideal for the attacking force would be the smarter move. Before moving to exterminate their targets, the storm personified needed to ensure complete security of the perimeter. It could hear nearby screams of people as they called out gunshot after gunshot. Kataigìda noticed they were close to the hanger's side entrance before seeing two bullets smack their visor and the impact knocked them off their feet. Tapping commands to the car, it rapidly screeched to a stop. The helmet's visor was cracked, but it was still padding around the head nevertheless - bulletproof all over and in such a position to go against a small army, it was needed.

The indescribable monster took off it's jacket, threw it into the car alongside the assault rifle and instead took out a shotgun. A belt and pockets bulked up entirely by ammo and miscellaneous equipment were revealed. There was enough. It crept along to the side entrance with it's car to shield them and quickly had it circle around to run down the front defences. It could be seen and heard speeding forward with intent on slamming into men trying to dive and roll out the way. Black clouds now fully covered the sky, and one rumble of thunder spread across the atmosphere for miles as Kataigìda could only slither closer to his goal. Several came to stop him, some with large knives and machetes to substitute machine guns and pistols that had been since knocked from their grip. All were cut down with only some difficulty, as a result of agitated anticipation. At the same time as intense chaos erupted mere moments away, Adam stood peacefully at a urinal, earphones blocking the impending death. If it weren't for a song ending, and a brief silence between songs just as more gunshots were fired outside, he wouldn't have gotten out in time. He paced out the restroom to multiple men being dropped from around the corner. He watched in terror as a bulky killer veteran was launched back against the wall, blood leaking from the buckshot fired into his chest. He was stone-still until the ruthless predator emerged from around the corner to executed him. It's gaze set upon Adam. He gulped, shrieked and darted the opposite direction. His hunter only wandered forward, taking out a P99 pistol from a holster with his free hand to fire at his target. By this point, they were exiting the corridor and opened up to the entire hanger. Plane in sight and roaring ready to leave. For a short moment, certain justice was one step away, but a mercenary shoved the predator out the way and the bullet fired and flew aimlessly at the ceiling. Of course it did. Growling as it felt even more enraged, the failed shooter flipped their pistol around to greet the challenger with a swift strike to the head with the handle. It was flipped back to fire again, but couldn't be fired until an opposition to the right was taken down. Kataigìda kneeled down to dodge a blade from the right, firing in the opposer's knee and then head to finish him off. Thunder now rumbled over the sound of the plane jet engine, even as close as Adam was to it. Science and logic went out the window as two undefeatable storms narrowed in on him. His legs were aching from moving so fast, his steps heavy with a tensed up body to brace for some kind of pain. It wouldn't help. If anything, it flooded him with doubt to the point of him drowning on the everlasting distance he seemed to have with his escape. The storm struck Adam to the back of the knee with a bullet, disabling him. He'd still try, though, crawling desperately for life. The plane suddenly moved forward. No time to bask in his pain and despair, a move was in order. Mark watched his friend struggle and cry out with regret in his eyes. There was no hope for him. Kataigìda had already claimed the poor man's life. The plane sped up and turned out of the hanger. The killer chased after it, pushing fingers at the thigh-pad in order to have the car drift through them, just after pulling the roof down. It did as commanded and came at it's owner, then drifted just in time for them to dive onto the back seat.

For about half a minute, Mark was happy with himself. He'd escaped Kataigída, the unstoppable storm. His friends may not have been so lucky but the most important thing was that somebody did. Somebody needed to tell the tale: an opinion not shared by the murderous being behind him - it'd had enough tales told. Mark's happiness was short lived, of course, as his enemy returned behind the plane, tailing it in a convertible it didn't need hands to drive. It had just finished putting a jacket back on, arrogantly, as he came into view. The devil's reaper had every reason to be cocky, as it lived up to more than what his reputation stated. The cracked helmet tilted to the side. Mark felt fear tear up his insides once more, only this time throwing him into unparalleled panic. The traitor could only stare back at himself, sliced and distorted in the damaged visor. He froze. Thunder rumbled louder and lightning struck only once, but very close. This weather wasn't something conjured by nature's water cycle, but cast upon the attempted-escapee, intent on rising his stress and making the approaching villain - whatever it was, more powerful. Kataigída bent down to pick up a gun and Mark demanded all his men to the back of the plane.  The mercenaries were all that were left now, they shoved one or two boxes out the way to make room for each other and open fired. Their target took cover behind the windshield and waited for them to reload. He peaked and took small bursts of fire at them, one by one, carefully. Two moving vehicles and a cracked visor was enough to shake any man's aim. Call it luck or call it spinechilling, but this was no man. Upon receiving fire, the hires scattered into cover where they could. Sacrificing their wellbeing to get a peak at their maker and feel the breeze of a bullet whizz by them. Some weren't so lucky to feel the breeze, but rather the bullet colliding with their skull and ending them instantly. Finally at a stalemate, Mark found it within himself to calm down. He even began firing also - an MP5 submachine gun he'd picked up from the bodies amounting around him. Massive military trucks joined the chase and landed three shots in the enemy's back. Only three? They should've learnt how to handle a soulless embodiment of lightning and death itself. Kataigída, enraged now beyond description, struck back by lowering it's five claws to the grenade launcher attachment below the barrel. With a low growl, the inhuman creature pulled the trigger twice on the trucks and they were blown to smithereens. Both flipped one after enough, engulfed in flames and crushed between the concrete runway and gravity. It seemed every shot the living legend took, thunder would smash along the clouds and lightning would slip through the cracks of the sky and secure ground for Mark's death incarnate. The storm-on-the-ground turned back to the plane.

Shooting continued but a slow yet certain edge came to the lone gunman. Not much of the runway was left and pilots feared for the lightning that stirred in the skies up ahead. Regardless of their fear they were forced to lift the plane up and braced as it wobbled. Two remaining grenades chased each other into one of the plane's propellers and sealed the fate of everyone on board. Those that were only just trying to recover from turbulence completely toppled over. They created a pile of dead and alive bodies to the side of the plane as it tilted on an axis until the wing tore into the ground, causing more than just a problem on the right side. The tailing car was compelled to a halt whilst the plane took a gigantic, slow full roll on the wing and the cockpit was caught in the concrete. It flung off and turned the rest of the plane sideways, setting off explosions that could be seen and heard for miles. Lightning even struck the plane as it's main body rolled to the very end of the runway, leaving metal, bodies parts, destroyed cars and boxes of weapons and illegal equipment littered everywhere. Even the rafts of officers and SWAT vans that had replaced civilians to secure the airport grounds and the private hanger now fled for cover and their lives.

Smoke and fire layered the last quarter of the runway like a deadly settling of snow. Mark barely survived, a metal shard pierced his hip and groin and only shuffled deeper into him as he attempted to limp away. He'd cough and spit blood on the floor then scanned over the fires of his wrecked escape. He watched with child-like fright as Colt Cain revealed himself from out of the fire, a pistol in hand. He'd taken his helmet and full body armour off, and was now wearing his shades to shield his eyes. Mark limped faster, fighting through the pain. Quiet bleeps came from his hunter in which started a car engine's race towards the injured traitor. It swirved and the backdoor flung Mark into the side of a propeller. The metal shard deepened dramatically and he fell onto his back screaming in emmense pain. Colt grabbed him by the collar and planted him against the metal, pushing the gun into the same place he shot him over a year ago. Finally. After a year, Mark spoke to him. "The fuck is wrong with you?! You raided a nightclub, invaded a hospital, then crashed my fucking plane! You fucking psycho!"
  "What did we learn?" The killer growled.
  "Me? Fuck me, you weren't hugged enough as a child."
  "Finally, justice."
  "You say that like you're doing God's work, but what you've done is the Devil's. You killed more and committed ten times- no, one hundred times the crimes we did back then-"
  "I had anyway."
  "Fuck you, Kataigída. The storm ends tonight." Mark wrestled for the gun, almost getting it to begin with. But his opponent was trained. And way more than he was. He was slammed againat again the the propeller side then thrown to the ground. He continued to fight for his life, attempting an uppercut after clamouring to his feet. His uppercut missed and his arm was twisted, spinning him around and taking him down to his knees. An elbow struck down against his own and he felt it shatter and break as a cracking sound like lightning sent pain through his body. An arm came round his neck and clenched. He was suffocated to the point of near death but let go to breathe. He choked and gasped for air as he spoke. "I thought- I thought you wanted me dead?"
  "I do. But not like that. I want them to know you were murdered." A hand came to his hair, grasped it tight and flung him into a burning fire. He felt the burning on his body instantly and tried to escape. He was kicked back and his ragged, bloody clothes caught fire. His skin scorched and his screams loud, the famous killer lifted his gun to Mark Dwayne and finished the mag into his body, cursing dryly at his pain. "Fuck you."

It was done. Colt stepped away and looked around at the scene. At what he'd done. He felt very little regret, but then looked at the body of Mark. His enemy. Sirens came closer and Colt knew he had to leave. As he looked down at his accomplishment he couldn't help but let out a sign of emotion. He put his pistol away, took off his shades, and smiled. When pulling out his phone as he walked away, he saw hundreds of texts from Richie, lecturing him about not falling into 'the darkness' or 'going too far' as well as from Jess worrying about his whereabouts. He was about to put it away but an unknown caller popped up. He answered and put the phone to his ear. "Yes?" He greeted formally.
  "Colt Cain. I have a job for you. Needs to be done within the next three days. Pays well. The details will be discussed if you choose to accept."
  Colt thought for a minute. He had gotten outside and already had the car dump itself in the ocean with the weapons and armour he carried. Even if they were recovered, they'd be too wet to get prints from. For a minute, the call was silent. Then, he replied, "Maybe another time."
  "Oh," He seemed surprised, disappointed even. "You always seem so eager for work, can I ask, what changed?" The caller's voice was puzzled and unlike before, didn't seem like he was reading from a script.
  Colt paused before answering with a different, lighter tone. "Figured I need a break." He ended the call, and put his phone away. He continued on to leave through entering the airport. Sneaking by passing officers, he successfully got away from the scene. An eye for an eye, he thought. That was justice.