The Blog Of a Wanna Be....

PRESENT DAY.
NORTHERN RUSSIA.
1700 HOURS.

The Ice was as stiff as a piece of clay. Any step and you could fall straight through. A person in a Black Uniform armed with a 9mm handgun was skimming the ice for signs of life. his name was Jerald Whitman. He was unshaven, and weary. he was over 30, but wasn't to old. He continued to walk forward, inch by inch. in the horizon he could see silhouettes. he ran over to them sliding and praying for the ice to stay. There was a car there, with a Soldier there. The soldier by the car turned around. Whitman froze in his tracks. Whitman pulled up his pistol. The Soldier turned around. Whitman started to pull the trigger. A shot rang out around the two. it wasn't Whitman's shot. The pistol shot out of Whitmans hand and it flew out of reach. The shot through Whitman to the ground. The soldier pulled out a handgun and aimed toward Whitman. He fired and the bullet teared through his flesh and bones. The bullet wasn't a shot to kill. The injured Whitman was gasping for breath, as the soldier picked him up. Whitman was sight was blurred from the loss of blood. the soldier Shouted some thing out in Russian and the sniper that shot the gun out of his hand emerged along with another man. The man was tall, had a small mustache, and was nearing his 50's. The sniper was covered in white snow suit and had goggles and a Bullet prof vest on. The man smiled and signaled for all of them to get into the car. the Sniper pulled out some medicine. he opened the bleeding Whitmans mouth and poured it in. Whitman was unconscious in a second. The men drove away on to Hard land.


The driver of the car, the sniper, pulled up into a military compound surrounded by troops. He pulled up to a gate with a guard there. The driver whispered something to the guard. the Guard pulled a switch. The big gate opened up. Whitman was still unconscious. The drove in, and it was full of jeeps and tanks and vehicles of the like. They took a right and drove into a room that was parked with other Cars similar to there's. The parked it. they pulled Whitman out. They walked down a corridor and went into a Office. In the desk, was a Big man, shaven, in a suit, with a gray hair piece. the man was really bald, but he wore his hairpiece all the time. The desk was cluttered with paperwork. He put Whitman in a Chair. He signaled for the Soldiers to leave. Whitman started to regain consciousness. Whitman looked up at The man. "Welcome," said the man in a sophisticate voice, "To the Russian Mob"