Wesley!
The male lead of the movie Wanted. He's sunny, optimistic, sincere, and humble—an ambitious young man with big dreams. So, despite losing his mother early and not knowing whose bodily fluids he actually originated from, he grew up happy and healthy.
Society is the best university, the "School of Hard Knocks." It taught Wesley a profound lesson: If you weren't born with a silver spoon in your mouth, you'd better grow a thick skin!
Stepping into the real world, Wesley worked his ass off to land a "decent" job. Sure, the pay was peanuts, but he had his own cubicle. To the outside world, he could claim to be a "white-collar elite."
He had a team of dedicated coworkers who loved to dump their grunt work on him, helping him quickly become the office record-holder for burning CDs at the speed of light.
He had a sharp, capable female boss. Although she was a 300-pound land-whale who looked for every excuse to dock his pay, without her, Wesley would never have realized just how ugly the face of capitalism truly is.
He had a sexy, beautiful girlfriend. Sure, she was a toxic harpy who despised him for being poor, and she cheated on him like it was an Olympic sport. But you have to look at the bright side: without this "community bicycle" of a girlfriend, Wesley wouldn't know the joy of sharing. Sharing is caring, after all.
Oh, right. Wesley also had a "ride-or-die" best friend.
Whenever Wesley was forced into unpaid overtime, this best friend would step up. He would go over to comfort Wesley's girlfriend, providing full-service "emotional support," deep into the night, rain or shine.
Thanks to this best friend, Wesley wasn't dumped and left as a lonely dog buying bulk toilet paper for one.
Some people try their hardest just to survive.
Wesley understood this deeply. So he stubbornly clung to his pathetic existence, even though he knew perfectly well that his girlfriend had already been molded to fit his best friend's shape.
So what if he was a cuckold? What's the big deal?
People who have never stood on the edge of the abyss don't understand: Heaven is a place where the doors are always open.
The description above? Pure hype... just a necessary plot segue to introduce Wesley... Okay, fine, the above was total horse sh*t.
"Sunny and optimistic"? Yeah, right. That didn't exist. Wesley was a deadbeat wasting oxygen, just waiting to die.
That is, until a moment ago, when a cold, glamorous femme fatale appeared in front of him. Wesley swore, compared to this terrifyingly hot "Big Sister," his current girlfriend looked like Hillbilly from the boonies.
Fox!
A core member of the Fraternity. Since Cross kept slaughtering their members and no one could match him, Fox was ordered to retrieve Wesley and mold him into a top-tier assassin.
In this world, only Wesley could kill Cross!
Cross, who had been shadowing his son, arrived the moment he spotted Fox. But he was a step too slow. Fox had already made contact and gained Wesley's trust.
And really, it was inevitable. A scruffy, unshaven middle-aged man vs. a sexy, dangerous bombshell. Choosing between them?
It was a total no-brainer.
...
Under the night sky, the city lights blazed as the nightlife began.
The roar of a high-performance engine screamed from the distance. A flash of red lightning tore through the streets, whipping up a gale in its wake.
The Dodge Viper sped down the highway. Fox sat in the driver's seat, expression ice-cold, hands steady on the wheel as she pulled off a series of death-defying overtakes.
The red supercar was moving fast enough to induce screams. In the passenger seat, Wesley was pinned to the leather by the G-force. The blaring horns and the blurring city lights were too much. His heart was pounding like a jackhammer.
"Oh God, slow down! There's no way he can catch us!" Wesley's mouth was dry, terrified he'd die in a traffic accident before anything else.
"No. He's right behind us."
Wesley checked the side mirror. Cross's box truck was glued to their tail, getting closer by the second. Remembering the maniac who shot people without blinking, Wesley felt a chill run down his spine.
"Then drive faster, for God's sake!"
Fox's expression tightened. She was already pushing the Viper to its limit. But goddamn it, how was a beat-up pet grooming van keeping up with a supercar? It even looked like it was trying to pass!
Inside the van, Cross gripped the handle with one hand and his gun with the other, eyes locked on the Viper ahead. He had to admit, Russell's driving was solid; they hadn't been shaken off.
However, when he glanced at Russell out of the corner of his eye, his heart nearly jumped out of his throat.
"Fuck!! What are you doing?"
"Finding a tune!" Russell replied as if it were the most natural thing in the world. He was steering with one hand while the other fiddled with the radio knob.
"I know you're changing the station, but could you maybe pick a better time?! Eyes on the road! Both hands on the wheel!!!"
Cross was on the verge of a breakdown. Even he wouldn't guarantee safety at this speed, yet Russell had the nerve to DJ right now.
"Relax. My car doesn't flip." Russell slapped the dashboard in frustration as he cycled through boring traffic news, completely ignoring the blur of other cars whizzing past.
Cross regretted everything. If he had known Russell drove like he was allergic to brake pedals, he wouldn't have dragged him along. Cross was confident in his own driving, but with Russell? Yeah, right. Good luck with that.
After Russell's "Double D" performance last night, trusting him with his life felt like a terrible gamble.
And then, things got even more ridiculous. After a high-speed drift that defied centrifugal force, Russell started chatting.
"You seem nervous. Who's the kid in the sports car? I'm guessing you two go way back."
"Just drive! It's none of your business!" Cross's face darkened. He didn't want Russell knowing too much.
"Let me guess. You guys don't look alike, but judging by the age difference... and the fact that you're too scared to shoot... Is he your distant cousin?"
Cross: "..."
Cross didn't say a word. He simply pressed the barrel of his Magnum Baby Eagle against Russell's temple.
Russell, being a pragmatic man, shut up immediately.
Ten seconds later, heavy metal music blasted through the speakers.
Russell gripped the wheel with both hands, a manic grin spreading across his face. His eyes were practically glowing.
Maybe it was a hallucination, but Cross felt the beat-up van suddenly surge forward, faster than before.
Over the roaring music, Russell shouted, "I bet that's your son! No use denying it! You know, my dad was an assassin too. I know that look in your eyes because I've seen it before!"
Cross kept a poker face, but seemingly needing to vent, he leaned out the window and fired three shots at the red sports car ahead.
The bullets sparked off the taillights and rear window. Fox fired back, but distracted by driving, she hit nothing but air.
___________________________________________
Bonus content can be found on my profile page