The man was big. About 6' 4". He had black hair, gray eyes, and a gun. A rifle, actually. A rifle with a scope. He was watching a bridge. A concrete, arched bridge, that had been placed over a river. A very pretty river that was not brown, and had trees scantily lining the banks.

It looked like a park. It would've been especially pretty if the road had been dirt, and the bridge wooden. But, sadly, it was not. Which is why very few photographers, who wanted very scenic pictures, stopped there. Because the road was in fact asphalt, and the bridge, concrete. If the bridge was mad up of stones stacked together, and the road dirt, it would've been much nicer. Though, I myself would've preferred it to be a wooden bridge, for brown is a much nicer scenic color, than varying shades of gray. However, on its behalf, stones would've been very quaint.

But, the bridge and road can not be helped, because we live in a modern age. Which includes concrete bridges, asphalt roads, and guns. Which means that we must get on with the story. And the man. And our two young heroes, whom the man is waiting for.

A yellow mustang convertible presently arrived, and was being driven by a black haired teenager, toward the bridge. Beside him was another young man, blond and slightly younger. Both were smiling and laughing as if they didn't have a care in the world.

The man smiled as he cocked his sniper rifle. Making a quick calculation, he aimed and fired. The right front tire of the car suddenly gave out, and the car careened out of control. It flipped, and landed with one side propped up against the side of the bridge.

He watched with satisfaction as the boys slowly crawled out of the car. This was the time that Fenton Hardy would pay for finding his boy, and putting him in jail. The judge put his boy on death row. Now, his boy was dead. And Fenton Hardy had to pay for that. The only question was, which boy would he shoot?

There was eighteen-year-old Frank. He was the first born with black hair and brown eyes. He was also the most serious and intellectual one. Looking at Frank through the scope, the man realized how much he was reminded of his own son.

Shaking the feeling off, he turned the scope toward the blonde. That was Joe. Seventeen years old, and very impetuous. The man smiled. If he killed the younger one, then Frank would be overcome with guilt for not watching his baby brother more carefully.

He cocked the gun again. But he didn't shoot. Joe had bent down to look a the tire. Frank walked to the far side of the bridge, and pulled out his cell-phone. The man didn't know why, but he aimed for the older boy's neck, and pulled the trigger.

Joe looked back just in time to see his older brother flip over the railing. He thought he heard a dull crack, but wasn't paying attention. He was already pulling off his shoes and jacket. Joe raced over and jumped into the river after Frank.

In the water, he opened his eyes just in time to see Frank's dark hair sink out of sight. Swimming deeper, he grabbed his brother, and started dragging him to the surface, and the bank. On firm ground, Joe noticed that Frank wasn't breathing. After performing mouth-to-mouth for several anxious moments, Frank finally coughed up water. His eyes flickered open momentarily before shutting.

"Frank! Frank!" Joe cried fruitlessly, shaking his brother lightly.

"Is he dead?" Joe jerked hi head up at the sound of a deep male voice.

"Well?" The man said after a few moments of silence. "If he isn't, I can shoot him again."

Slightly puzzled, Joe looked down at his brother again. It was then that he noticed the blood coming out of Frank's neck. He began to see red.

Sub-consciously, he put some mud over the wound, before rushing the man. He let out a cry of rage, almost the exact same moment the bullet hit him. But that didn't slow him. A brief, but violent, struggle followed. Joe ended up rending his opponent senseless. Using his belt to tie the man's hands, Joe placed the gun in the water.

Then, he half carried, half-dragged Frank back up to the bridge. Noting that he lost his cell-phone in the river, he picked up his brother's which was still lay on the ground. He dialed 911, then called his father. After making the calls, he limped painfully back to his brother.

Relieved to still find a pulse, Joe began to take Frank's jacket and shirt off. Not much caring for his own discomfort, he grabbed the jacket that he had discarded before jumping into the river, and wrapped it around Frank. He then hugged his brother close to him, and just waited for help to arrive.