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Blessed Mosaic Of Imperial Darkness

Frank- that was what the man in the cell called him, the man that he was helping to escape. His name was not Frank, but he knew that Frank was the term that summoned him. Why he was summoned was an altogether different matter. The man in the cell had beckoned to him in the darkest hour of the night.

Nathaniel sprinted down a dusty alley way and stopped in front of a rusted dumpster to catch his breath. Then when he was no longer dizzy from the jog he dug through the dumpster and found a worn pair of jeans with a large ketchup stain streaked across the left leg. “It’ll do,” he said to himself.

He had a name.
His mother had called him Jonathon Christopher when he came into her world, lo those 27 years ago.
As he lay there on the floor of his girlfriend Lana’s kitchen, the name mattered not.
The sheer hatred in the demeanor of the man who had just killed him had thrown a blanket over what was left of his world.

How could she have known that the Blonde had a gun? Okay everyone was supposed to be carrying a gun in LA these days, but really - had you ever actually seen one? Outside of police and shopkeepers and bartenders?