It was a nice spring day in the park. The flowers were beginning their annual bloom, making the field burst with colorful swaths of bloom. Clusters of red and yellows clashed against each other in a peaceful battle amid the greens, their pitched fights interrupted only by the hovering of a hummingbird or the buzz of a bee. Birds chirped noisily in the trees, some plucking crumbs tossed by pedestrians. The setting was peaceful, and the lord seated on a bench enjoyed this scene, absorbing the environment with glee.

He fumbled for his pocketwatch and glanced at the time before promptly putting it away. His company was almost late. Still at peace with his surroundings, however, he scarcely dropped a beat in anxiety, not even hitting his cane in worry of his potentially belated friend. He looked at the passerby, some well dressed businessmen enjoying a bit of free time from their work and a smattering of youthful joggers bouncing down the trails, but none of them matching the descriptions of his ally. He payed closer attention to the businessmen, however, and his heart skipped a beat as they lingered in front of him.

Suddenly, one of the suited men wheeled around and produced a pistol and nonchalantly fired the weapon at the seated lord. The elder man fell back with the bench, which as it happened was not bolted to the ground. The powerful cartridge pounded him with such force that the entire bench dumped him on his back. But there was no blood, no sign of wound; the lord flopped on his back, groaning, an then got up, to the shock of the would-be assassins.

He stood there for a second to give the men a hateful glare before whipping a Skorpion from under his coat and spraying the men with bullets. The two men quickly fell, not protected like their target. But as the lord vanquished the men, he could understand why his friend had not arrived.

Seizing the opportunity, he bolted, and after him the dirt flared and trees splintered. The park tourists fled or ducked away from the violence that brewed. The lord came across another killer and flung his cane at him, and as the shaft of the cudgel met the man’s chest, the pointy end of the sword that was suddenly exposed pierced his jugular, emptying his fortitude with haste.

The lord dropped another killer who hid too casually behind a tree before the telltale click of an empty magazine sounded and he had to duck himself behind a cement barrier to reload. He looked out before him and admired the contrast between the massacre and the beauty of the park, but he knew violence was the only answer now. With his friend dead, there would be no respite in the war brewing in the lord’s home country. There would be no peace.

He primed the chamber of the weapon and emerged from his hiding place, ready to bring his wrath down on the insurgents.