Yesterday's Gone: Season One

can do the math, I surrender.” He kept inching forward. “My hands are up. You got me.”  
    “Stand down or I will shoot you in the face!”
    Boricio stopped, ten feet from the guard. Would’ve been plenty close if the flunky wasn’t waving a .45, but it was a few feet farther up shit creek than Boricio would’ve liked considering Team Boricio was unarmed and GI Joe was just seconds from gathering another round of breath to order them all dead.
    “Chill out, man. I said I surrender. Need me to start speaking French so’s I can prove it?” Boricio kneeled, lay the gun on the floor, barrel first, then stood with his hands in the air.  
    He kicked the gun across the room just past the guard and between Adam and Charlie. “See,” he said, raising his eyebrows. “I’m surrendered, just like I told ya’.”
    The prisoners were all too scared to move.  
    Boricio heard Testosterone’s heavy breath rising from the floor behind him.
    Team Boricio is made up of flash frozen idiots. If I was standing over there, that fucker’s gun would already be in his mouth. They may as well be playing pocket pool. If you’re on Team Boricio, you best be useful.  
    Boricio charged toward a surprised Manny, tackling and then spinning him around until Boricio’s eyes were bolted on the flunkie with Manny between them.  
    Boricio hurled Manny into the guard then dove to the ground.  
    Testosterone was back on his feet, but Boricio had already hit the floor, sweeping the guard’s feet from under him. The guard’s head landed with a loud crack on the concrete. Boricio lifted him by the hair, then sent his head back to the floor with a fatal aftershock, coating the floor in the man’s blood.
    “The fuck man!” Manny screamed.  
    “Tell me I’ve been naughty later,” Boricio growled and blew a kiss, then turned to face Testosterone.  
    “Not so fast,” Testosterone said, aiming his gun behind Boricio. Predator’s guess said it was at one of the prisoners trying to retrieve a weapon.  
    “Why don’t you kick that over here instead?” Testosterone said.
    The gun slid across the concrete and through Testosterone’s splayed legs, landing just behind him, a few feet from the wall. He smiled and turned his gun to Boricio. “You know,” he said, “We were just on our way in here to deal with you. We were gonna take our sweet, sweet time, have ourselves a little fun.”
    Pile of shit wants to mother fucking monologue. Tell me how big and bad he is, and how he’s gonna make me pay. But no shots have been fired, so if they were really planning on taking their sweet, sweet time, and I expect they were, no one else is coming in for a while. I get that gun, it’s game over.  
    Boricio said, “Easy to be the Grim Reaper’s right hand when you’re waving a loaded gun. And the way you probably toss off all the lonely boys around here, your trigger finger’s probably even faster than that tiny pecker of yours.”  
    Testosterone laughed, then crossed the floor to the baseball bat, keeping his aim on Boricio. He kneeled, picked up the bat, then slipped his gun back in its holster.  
    “Bullets wouldn’t be much fun,” he said. “I’d rather beat the loud right out of your mouth. Maybe I’ll celebrate with a shot or two to the kneecap once I’m through. Or maybe…”
    He didn’t wait to finish his sentence — tried to catch Boricio by surprise instead with a wide swing somewhere around the word “or” But Boricio saw the bat coming. He dodged the blow and the bat whistled by him.
    Boricio charged Testosterone, throwing both hands around the bat. Testosterone saw him coming and tightened his grip as Boricio latched on. They stumbled across the room, each trying to gain control of the bat as Team Boricio stood on the sidelines like fucking spectators or cheerleaders, nobody going for the other gun in the room.
    In a battle of brute strength, Testosterone had the edge. He pulled the bat free, sent Boricio sailing to the floor with a swift kick to his chest, then landed the first blow to Boricio’s ribs before he was halfway up.  
    Boricio fell back to the floor, just as the tip of Testosterone’s boot clipped him beneath his chin. Another half-inch or so and the fucker would’ve broken his jaw.
    “You’re gonna wanna stop right there.” Charlie said.
    Well how about that? Janie got a gun. Looks like someone just made the highlight reel on Sportscenter.  
    “Shoot him!” Boricio yelled.
    “No,