One shot is all it takes they say. One shot to do it all, to finish it, one shot is all you need.

That's what they say.

My name's Samuel E. Rosenberg, I'm an architect, recently after a long line of working nonstop for a job I dislike and for a woman I don't love; I've decided to take a breather from all this chaos. So, I board a jet heading to anywhere and see where I'm taken. I read a short inflight magazine to help kill the time of the flight, and all I get is inane babble about a cult looking for their new leader. Absolute friddle this is. Just like the rest of the plane's services, ugly stewardesses, bad food and a pilot who can barely speak English. Fantastic.

The flight is brief, with the noise radiating from the planes turbines preventing me from having a proper sleep; My sleeplessness and hunger is interrupted by a crash.

The crash, as it goes by, makes little impact on my psyche. Seeing the exterior of the plane burn up from the window and hearing the desperate pleas of all the passengers was more bothersome than anything.

All this ends when the nose of the plane makes a soft impact on the surface of the water. A ripple is formed, expanding in size as the plane goes deeper and deeper, until finally it comes to a halt, with the planes cockpit area parting a rather large part of a shoreline of an island.

I disengage my seat belt and look at the mangled corpses of all my fellow passengers. Their faces all tell a story of their own, each having an individual expression of agony formed on the canvas of their face. I see blood smeared everywhere, with spatter formed everywhere in an erratic fashion. The air is tainted with the aroma of decomposition.

I scan the interior of the plane for other survivors, I find a child, whom I could not tell the gender of. I find a sleazy woman wearing skimpy clothing and an attitude to boot, and I find a large, bald man with a beard and a seemingly prosthetic arm.

I gather my companions and divert them to the exit of the plane, each of them have their own snide comments for me, the phase through me as I light a cigarette and inhale the smoke, exhaling it afterwards in a swift motion.

I step onto the face of the beach and make my own stains on its otherwise pristine face, the shape of my shoe is imprinted on it like spatter from a brush, and the other footprints I find are from other brushes.

I follow the footprints and find that the others have settled down on a particular spot down by the shore. I see that construction of a rudimentary hut and a fireplace is underway, and while the men are working I can see that my lady friend is busy catching some rays on a primitive beach chair, wearing nothing but her lingerie. I can see the crude shape of her breasts from here, along with the Coke bottle silhouette she has, "what a sexy woman" I think out loud, my words not reaching anyone but me and the scuttling crab burrowing a hole in front of me.

I take several steps towards the trio, and as I do so, two clouds part in front of me, summoning a small ray of light to highlight my arrival like a savior of sorts. Everyone's attention is directed to me.

I ignore their empty stares and keep on walking, my destination being the cargo hold of the plane, as it presumably detached during the crash. After a few strides I reach the cargo hold; I see that its edges are burnt up and several parts of it are dented and distorted.

I force open the door, and begin to rummage through the belongings of the deceased. I find a working Jericho 941 and several boxes of ammunition, I find a high-end laptop with all it's accessories and parts intact, and I find a hefty amount of food, ranging from a simple candy bar to several uncooked prime steaks.

Perfect, I say to myself, my voice echoing throughout the hold like how a fire spreads. I exit the hold, and carry my supplies over to the crew.

Predictably, they show no interest. They carry on their menial routine as I work, scouring as far as I can for supplies, while they construct that hut of theirs. What a poorly designed hut, It'd go down in a minute during a tropical storm. They should've asked for my help; the bastards.

A plane then disrespectfully flies above us, at an altitude where our small encampment can be seen even. I make a gun out of my hand and fire my imaginary bullets of resentment at them.

Night falls, and I've collected more than enough to keep us going for about half a year. The amount of food the other passengers were carrying is staggering, and the variety is endless. There's a box of Instant Ramen noodles, there's a crate of clothes and assorted canned goods and there's even live chickens. What isn't brought abroad, I wonder.

As I lay on a straw sheet shielding me from the jagged rocks and venomous insects on the surface my fellow survivors picked, I spot a dark, tall figure silently moving at the edge of our settlement. The way it moves is so... unnatural. The figure has an arched back and seems to have a flowing cape, which dances with the wind as it moves in a zigzagged pattern, it investigates our settlement by further arching its back until it looks like the letter C.

Sweat drips from my forehead as I see this. I make an attempt to alert my comrades but a dark, blackish gas is released in the hut, subduing me and sending me into a deep sleep.

As the darkness fades and the light is brought in, a great pain jolts me from my slumber and on my feet. I examine the interiors of where I am apparently held captive. Everything is of a clean, blank white color. From the chairs, the floor, the walls, our garments, and.. us. Strangely, our skin pigment has been altered to make us incredibly pale. I look into a mirror to my left, and my reflection scares me.

I see myself, but instead of a healthy pinkish white hue and flowing golden locks, I see myself, but my skin is unhealthily white, along with my hair, and I seem to have no irises or pupils, as all of my eyes are white. I open my mouth and see that my teeth no longer have a slight yellow tinge, and my tongue is no longer a few tones lighter than crimson, and the rest of the insides of my mouth are white. I also see that I am covered with a white garment, similar to that of a "Long John" stocking, except the fabric used is extremely comfortable and sensitive areas are padded.

I walk around, and see that my comrades are gone, and that I am solitary in this seemingly endless white room. I sit down, and think, noticing that most of my other bodily functions are missing. Such as a secretion of an odor or sweat, and the inability the burp, fart of even laugh. I notice my face is stiff and cannot express any emotion anymore. Too much things are running through my head; but the only thing I am certain about is that escape is necessary.

A sprint. A cycling motion done with my legs. Computer like precision and movement; so it seems that my bodily functions have been augmented, and my less than pertinent functions have been erased. I feel a little grateful to whoever has done this, but now is not the time to salute and patronize, now is the time to act.

I find an opening in the walls and take advantage of it, I keep moving down the hall and find a doorway. I apply minimal force and it swings open, the light seamlessly transitioning from the exclusively white room I was in.

Faster. Faster.

I reach where my settlement used to be, and find that it is still there; untouched. Even more to my surprise is that I see my fellow survivors still sleeping in it, not a care in the world as usual.

I see my Jericho 941 lying on the ground, with the boxes of ammunition I found along with it still there as well. The sun reflecting on it, and how it is positioned with the bullets creates an image I will never forget. This is the day I could finally live, I guess.

"Finally a use for Baby Eagle." I tell myself, my words reaching no one but myself.

Walking around the island, hearing the somber tweets of the birds flying around and seeing mystifying billowing smoke emerging from not too far away are what I notice first.

I ready my gun, and prime it for use. I stick in some bullets in the magazine and hold it directly in front of me, pointing to whatever hazard lurks beyond me. My arms in a 90 degree angle, perfectly straight and perfectly steady. Perfect to kill with.

A dozen rows of the shadowy figure appear. Each of them pulling down their hoods and revealing a mangled face, with either missing teeth, missing eyes or a missing nose. Each one was broken in its own special way, with an ever threatening expression slapped on it, all with the same message of death.

"Showtime."

I fire a series of shots at the oncoming onslaught, one bullet for every creature in the row. Reloading once for every row taken down. The sound of the bullet ejecting and the gunpowder activating happen a few milliseconds before the sound of the bullet hitting the flesh and bone of the foul beasts was ultimately satisfying for a curious soul like mine.

I run out of ammunition and hold my last stand.

I release a flurry of punches and kicks. I use the arched back of one of the beasts as a jumping pad and let loose a flying kick towards a trio of them. I knock two heads together and do all sorts of other brutal deeds to them, my humanity is put into a corner after every creature I kill.

I take them all out one by one, and walk on over to the collection of corpses. I step on them, my feet applying the correct force to usher either a splash of blood or a crack of bone.

Anger and confusion run amok in my head, controlling my actions. I march on forward, unopposed, finding nothing but a book. A book instructing me to what must be done and when.

"Chapter one. Finding the King.

Aghast! Vin trommen ent Fermiccht

Dhast dule En Von Wriemmer

Furt Van Bron Klisner

The King runs among us

The King creates immeasurably large art

The King is here

The King will arrive at June 18th in the year 2031

Once the King is captured, one must chop his mortal soul

And prepare him for use

One must dye the entire King a ghastly shade of white

And remove all human bodily functions

And replace with robotic

Once is done

Get King and use heavenly vessels of death

King will be power source

Will create new society

Religion will be severely implemented

Freedom will not exist"

One shot is all it takes they say. One shot to do it all, to finish it, one shot is all you need.

Then, bang.