F3 That Guy

     "So, listen," the strange man in the fedora said, "these things are after you. There's some kind of rumor of prophecy going around. The other side. Well, that's not true. One of the other sides is out to get you." He pointed a finger at me.
      "M-me? Why me?"

      "Like I said, some kind of prophecy. Now, you're not Jesus come back again, but you're special, somehow. The trick is keeping you safe long enough for it to happen." He pulled out a gun, and checked his clip. He tucked the old clip away, then replaced it with a fresh one. I caught the glint of silver in the black clip.
      "What's coming for me?"
      "Demons, hellhounds, shadowhounds. If we're lucky we'll avoid the local supernaturals: vampies, wights. I don't know if the witches and sorcerers will be a problem. They may see you as a threat, or as an opportunity to trade you for some kind of reward. Regardless, we're going to stay away."
      "How do you know all this? Who are you, again?"
      "Name's Matt Allen. And, well, I'm kind of plugged in. I've done a lot of this stuff, so . . . oh, no." A horrified expression came over his face, and he stared past me.
      I looked behind me. "What is it?!"
      "It's me."      "What?"
      "Me. I'm that guy."
      "What guy?"
      "The guy who knows everything. I'm the guy that guides you on your journey, then gets killed. Son of a bitch!"