Baptism By Gunfire

The early morning sun hadn't yet shown its face through the smog hanging over Sydney as Tommy Bannister made his way to the designated meeting spot. A rundown warehouse on the outskirts of the city, a place where deals were struck and bones were broken. The air was thick with the stench of oil and decay a fitting backdrop for the day's business.

Tommy's pulse started to race as he approached the warehouse. Mick was already there, leaning against his car, cigarette in hand, eyes narrowed against the rising sun. Smoke curled around his face, making him look every bit the dangerous bastard that he was.

"Bannister," Mick called out, a smirk tugging at his lips as Tommy approached. "Ready to prove you've got more balls than brains?"

Tommy nodded, steeling himself. "Born ready, Mick. What's the job?"

Mick flicked his cigarette to the ground, crushing it beneath his boot. "Simple enough. There's a delivery coming—something we're interested in, you and I are gonna take it before the other pricks can get their grubby hands on it."

Tommy's heart pounded, excitement mingling with the sharp edge of fear. "What are we lifting?"

"Doesn't matter," Mick replied, his tone casual but his eyes deadly serious. "What matters is that it's ours by the end of the day.

They didn't waste time. Mick drove them to the docks, where the shipment was scheduled to arrive. The plan was straightforward: interecept the goods, make a quick getaway, and leave the other crew wondering what happened.

But as with most things in life, nothing went according to the plan.

As they approached the target, things went sideways fast. The moment they moved in they were met with a hail of gunfire—someone had tippped off the other crew, and they weren't fucking around.

"Shit!" Tommy swore, diving behind a stack of crates as bullets splintered the wood around him. The air was thick with the scent of gunpowder and the sound of men shouting, swearing and dying.

Mick, calm as a bloody monk in a temple, was already returning fire, his face set in grimace. "Fucking hell, Tommy! Keep your head down and shoot back, or you'll end up with more holes than Swiss cheese!"

Tommy's hands shook, but he forced himself to focus. He leaned out, squeezing off a few shots, his ears ringing from the noise. One of the rival crew members went down hard, a spray of blood misting the air as he it the ground.

The sight of blood—real, vibrant, and far too much of it—made Tommy's stomach churn, but he didn't have time to think about it. Another enemy appeared, and Tommy fired again, his aim shaky but true. The man dropped, clutching his side , blood pooling on the filthy docks.

"Good!" Mick barked, moving forward, bullets whizzing past his head. "But we're not out of the woods yet, kid! Grab the package and let's get the fuck outta here!"

Tommy's adrenaline was spiking, every nerve on fire. He sprinted forward, dodging gunfire and he reached the shipment—a heavy, metal briefcase that felt like it weighed a ton. He grabbed it, cursing under his breath he turned to run back to Mick.

But just as he did, a fist like a sledgehammer caught him in the ribs, the air exploded out of his lungs and he hit the ground hard. The briefcase skidding across the pavement. A massive bastard—built like a brick shit house—loomed over him, face twisted in a snarl.

"You little shit!" the man growled pulling back his fist for another devastating blow.

Tommy barely managed to roll out of the way, gasping for air, but the bastard was relentless. He grabbed Tommy by the collar, lifting him off of the ground he weighed nothing, and slammed him against the wall.

Pain shot through Tommy's body and stars exploded his vision. This was it—he was going to die here, and for what? A goddamn briefcase?

Just as the thought crossed his mind, Mick was there. "Get your hands off him you ugly fuck!" He roared, driving a knife into the mans side with brutal precision.

The goons grip went loose, and Tommy fell to the ground gasping. Mick yanked the knife free, a spray of blood following the blade, the man crumpled clutching at his wound.

Mick grabbed Tommy by the arm, hauling him to his feet. "You alright, kid? No time for a nap let's move!"

Tommy's head was spinning, but he grabbed the briefcase and followed Mick, their exit as chaotic as their entrance. By the time they reached the car, they were both covered in blood, some of it theirs, most of it not.

As they sped away, Mick glanced over to Tommy, a grim smile on his face. "Welcome to the big leagues, kid. Not exactly the smoothest job, but you didn't shit yourself, so I'd call that a win."

Tommy managed a weak chuckle, still trying to catch his breath. "Could've gone better."

Mick lit another cigarette, offering one to Tommy, who took it with a shaky hand. "Yeah, we'll, not every days a walk in the park. But you'll learn. The streets of Sydney don't play fair and neither do we."

Tommy took a long drag, the smoke calming his nerves. His first mission hadn't gone as planned, but he was still alive, still standing. He was bloodied, bruised and a hell of a lot more aware of what he'd truly signed up for. As the city skyline loomed in the distance, Tommy knew one thing for sure, this was just his beginning.