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Five Finger Death Punch	By : mmarc56 Category: Celebrities - Misc > Slash - Male/Male Views: 1552 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not know Five Finger Death Punch or any of its members, this story is a work of fiction, and I made no money writing it.

Chapter List
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Chapter Thirty-One: Paintball

Chris’s team was characterized mostly by rednecks. Three of them wore camouflage hats; one of them looked twelve years old, possibly the son of one of the older men; and one of the adults, the one with the honey-colored beard, introduced himself.

“Hey, what’s up, I’m Matt.” They shook hands.

“Chris.”

“Nice to meet you. Is this your first time?”

“Nope.”

“Well it’s my nephew’s first time,” he pointed behind him at the boy, “I was hoping we could get some experienced people to watch out for him, ‘cause some real dicks don’t play this game fair. You wouldn’t mind looking out for him, would ya?”

“No, I don’t mind,” he responded lightly, “You wouldn’t mind helping me out then, too, would you?” He smiled at the boy and gestured for him to join. He scooted forward on his knees and crouched beside his uncle. “There’s a guy here I’m trying to win a bet against. He should be wearing a black vest, netted helmet, and oxyacetylene goggles. If you see him,” he glanced at the kid and smiled, “shoot the living hell out of him.” The boy grinned and gripped his gun tighter. “What’s your name?”

“Damien,” the boy answered, “and that’s my Pa, Douglas,” he pointed back at the other man in the camouflage hat. He waved.

“Nice to meet you, Damien.” They shook hands.

A whistle sounded and Chris and his crew stood up. He, Damien, Matt, a woman with forest-colored face paint, and her husband – a bony man with wispy brown hair compressed by a faded blue bandanna – ran, hunkered down, quickly and lightly, across the tree line to a patch of brush that provided visual security, as Douglas and the rest of his team (those who weren’t staying behind to guard the flag in the outskirts of its platform), all of them displaying their team color of blue somewhere on their bodies, ran the other way and branched out.

Their team’s mission: steal their opponents’ flag and shoot anyone with a red bandanna on their person.

Chris’s blue bandanna was tied around his right bicep, Matt’s and his nephew’s were tied to their pants, and the married couple both displayed theirs on their heads. The couple branch off from them, but Chris stuck with the uncle and nephew as they surveyed the landscape.

Across the field lying between the security blanket of the surrounding trees, a flash of red was seen on a person too small to be Ivan, but the person dropped out of sight when someone on that side of the field – Douglas’s side – fired at them. They began firing back and soon the shots ended without leaving any information on who was shot.

Chris presumed that the red team had done what they had done and split sides of the field so he signaled for Matt and Damien to keep a sharp eye out. No sooner had he done this, however, than he heard the clicking of paintball gunfire start up and spotted the couple shooting several feet diagonally ahead of them. They dropped down and watched one person with a red bandanna on their arm come into view as they fell down upon receiving a yellow splatter on their chest plate. The married man and woman both fell defeated, however, in the hands of the one other red team member they faced off against, so Chris, Matt, and Damien, all of them still undetected, raised their guns and fired upon the perpetrator. His arms and chest plate exploded with greens and purples and a couple of trees behind him were dotted with tiny red bursts of paint from missed shots. He fell down and the three successful gunmen quietly low-fived each other.

They moved forward into an area with large, rusty, steel tubes, but they had been beaten there, because red team members had already claimed the tubes as their own. They began firing at them and the two men and boy ducked quickly behind an unclaimed pipe. Matt stood up over the obstacle and fired a couple shots before ducking down again. He did this again, but his second attempt resulted in him taking an orange paint pellet to the forehead.

“Shit!” he whispered, ducking down again. “I got him too, though. Sorry, bud,” he patted his nephew’s arm as he wiped his brow clean, “but you’re with Chris now.”

“Good job,” Chris complimented him sincerely on at least being successful in killing one of them, even if it resulted in his own death.

“There was probably about three or four of them, so there’s, like, two left,” Damien said, speaking strategically. A couple of taunting pellets burst against their barrier. “We can take ‘em, right?”

“You got it.” Chris hastily checked around the side of the tube and then pulled back as another shot burst against the rusted steel. “I think you’re right.”

“Well shoot ‘em!” Matt commented.

“Be dead, uncle! We got this!” the boy whispered with harsh playfulness accented by nervousness.

Chris rose up and fired over the tube, but hit no one and was forced to duck down again. “Shit, how are we gonna do this?”

Suddenly, an explosion of gunfire took place and Chris, Damien, and Matt all looked around the tube to see Douglas and another man rush into the wooded area and blow it up with paint. Even as they and the red team members were ambushed with paintballs, they continued to shoot each other until their guns clicked and signaled that they were empty. They red team members stood up and showed themselves to be as soaked with paint pellets as the whooping and hollering Douglas and friend were, but they didn’t look nearly as happy about it.

“I shot you first, asshole!” One of the men yelled.

“Too bad, buster! We both got paint on us now,” Douglas laughed.

“Holy crap, Pa!” Damien said to himself with amazement in his eyes and a proud smile on his face.

“Yep, that’s my brother,” Matt commented, beaming with respect, “Crazy son of a bitch…” As he shook his head fondly, a paintball hit his arm, causing the three of them to look up at the angle it came from.

Barely visible, sitting up in a tree, Chris spotted Ivan with his netted helmet on his head, his oxyacetylene goggles over his eyes, and a smirk on his face. They pulled back.

“That’s the guy I told you about!” Chris whispered excitedly to his twelve-year-old partner in crime, “His name’s Ivan.”

Damien nodded. “Let’s get him.” He pulled his hat straight and then the two of them ran into the tree line, keeping their eyes fixed on the direction of Ivan’s tree while simultaneously scanning their environment feverishly.

Chris’s heart was pounding and he spotted the red team’s flag planted on its platform. “Ah, shit,” he breathed, “We’re in shark-infested waters now.”

They ducked back behind a tree and watched with awe as a blue team member emerged from the trees across the field and approached the flag, knees bent and gun up and ready. Just as they expected, hidden opponents open fired on him, and though he dodged the first few pellets with quick feet, he was inevitably shot. This, however, made Chris and Damien aware of the placement of the flag’s guardians.

“We need to get closer,” the bassist said softly. His partner nodded. They shuffled closer to the platform while remaining hidden from sight, crouched in the brush, but Chris could feel Ivan’s presence. He had to be around here somewhere and he tensely looked over his shoulders and up in the trees, hoping to catch sight of him.

Suddenly, Damien slapped him as gunfire started up and they duck down behind a bush. The bush’s leaves shook as it was ambushed with paint pellets, but it adequately protected them from the multi-colored onslaught.

“We’ve been spotted!” Damien spat through his teeth in a harsh whisper.

The shots from across the field ended, but once they did Chris felt his spine prickle. Before he could turn around, a gun clicked and Damien was shot in the back of the head. Chris then slung his gun back hastily, but right as his brain registered the identity of the perpetrator he was shot in the forehead, his own gun going off in his hands.

Ivan laughed, “Ha-ha! Right between the eyes.” Chris had hit him in the chest with a yellow paint pellet too late.

“Damnit!” He cursed, touching his brow and examining the purple paint on his fingers.

“Is that him?” Damien asked, looking up at the helmeted figure looming over them with utter defeat in his eyes.

“Oh, it’s me, son,” Ivan answered. The shadows from the canopy above were cast across his evil smile. He looked at Chris, “Looks like you lost the bet, big guy.”

The older man stood up and Damien stood up with him. He shook his head and chuckled, “I can’t believe you,” as he started walking away.

“Oh, come on, Chris! Don’t be a sore loser now! Ha-ha,” Ivan laughed, following him and the boy. “It ain’t my fault I’ve got more skill than you and your teammate here. What’s your name anyways, boy?”

“Damien,” he answered. He then looked up at his bearded accomplice, “Can we find my Pa and uncle now?”

“Yeah, they should be back in the building already.”

Ivan patted the bassist’s shoulder, “So I guess there was no need for the stopwatches, now was there? I was hoping you’d make it as far as you did, ‘cause I was determined to be the one to do you in.”

“Oh yeah,” Chris took the stopwatch out of his pocket and stopped the time and the singer did the same. He then stopped walking, turned around, and grabbed the younger man’s shoulder. “Are you gonna get back to it?”

“No,” he pointed at the yellow spot on his vest, “I’m gonna call it quits. But I shot you first,” he added.

“I know it,” Chris sighed.

They wrapped their arms around each other’s waists and walked back with Damien to the building.

“Ah, man, you two got shot?” Douglas asked as Damien and his adult company entered the room. “We were really holding out for you two, ‘cause you two were out there a long time.”

Damien joined his father and uncle. “You should have seen us, though, Pa! We got right up next to the flag! But then he shot us,” he pointed back at Ivan.

“Yeah, I lost the bet,” Chris told them.

“Shame,” Matt chuckled, “What were the stakes?”

Ivan didn’t give Chris a chance to go red in the face or stumble on his words; he immediately answered, “Case of beer. Kept it classic, you know: it’s all just for fun in the end anyways.” His eyes twinkled at the older man on the word “fun”, and he made his stomach swell with heat.

“You’re boy did real well for his first time playing paintball,” Chris said, changing the subject fluently.

“Well, I mean, I didn’t really do anything,” Damien said.

“Well you survived longer than me and your Pa,” his uncle told him, patting his back proudly. He then stood up and shook Chris’s hand. “I can’t thank you enough for helping him out like you did,” he said.

“Oh, it was no trouble, really!” he responded lightly.

Ivan waited patiently with a smile as his lover and Matt finished talking and exchanging phone numbers, waved goodbye to them when they were done, and accompanied Chris out to the parking lot, taking his hand as they walked to the car.

Once in the vehicle, Ivan in the driver’s seat, Chris looked at him and asked, “So what are you gonna do to me?”

The younger man chuckled. “You’ll find out.”
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Five Finger Death Punch