Bad Boy Carlos and The Shootout Part 1

Ricky’s cracking voice sounded borderline masculine as he called out to his friend with urgency, banging his fist on the back door of the truck. Ricky was sixteen years old, and he was the youngest Death Row Infantry-man who worked for the Death Row Corp.

Carlos opened the armored truck’s automatic rear door to reveal a slender, pale-skinned Asian kid with a white mohawk and a black eye patch over his left eye. Ricky was an energetic young man, and he looked a little androgynous, which was why he struggled to grow a mustache beneath his developing nose.

“Hey Ricky, what’s the matter, sweet pea?” Amber said, giving Ricky an affectionate smile. Amber always liked Ricky and sometimes she would imagine Ricky as being her son, even though she wasn’t quite old enough to be his mother.

“I was walking past the safe room on the North Wing and I overheard them talking about a State of Execution Demand on Carlos,” Ricky told Amber, trying to catch his breath. The young