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Portland Chase

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Ziggy455
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#1

Posted 27 March 2010 - 10:46 PM Edited by Ziggy455, 06 May 2012 - 11:20 PM.


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Prologue


The bar was lit dimly; the constant hustle and bustle of a Friday night was a tradition here. Crowds of dock workers and industrial labourers were pouring in after a hard day’s work. The smell of fish, oil and piss was common in the air. Junk’s arms were slouched on the mahogany bar; covered in glasses of cheap pisswater and lager.

He’d been working in Portland’s regular waterhole; the fish bucket for quite a few years. Before then he had nothing. No home, no friends and definitely no one to watch his back. Danny, the owner, had saved him from a gun to head a while back. From there, Danny hooked him up with a nice room, a good salary, and some sort of life.

He’d been fostered throughout his teenage life, most of the families disowning him for showing ‘Unethical adult like tendencies.’ He was snorting SPANK; ‘Yes sir, on all accounts, I’m addicted to the stuff.’

Life had moved on. He had a steady job, steady life. Yet he couldn’t tear himself away from SPANK. It was like powdered sex, but since the Colombians weren’t around anymore, it was hard to come by. Junk would spend his days and nights working and his late nights snorting remnants of cut SPANK, which his salary was mostly spent on.

Danny was the owner here, he was a SPANK dealer on the side, always using the alleyway behind the club to make out transactions; Junk was usually on the buying end. Business had been slow lately, every now and again he’d say ‘Something big’s going to turn up’ or ‘I have a buyer coming soon’.

Friday was just another dull night, or so Junk had thought. Danny walked in with a big smile on his old Italian face, he walked past Junk with a familiar nod. We’ve got a buyer! Ding ding! He walked straight up to the alleyway door and waited.

Junk hadn’t had SPANK in a few days and was coming down hard; eventually his addiction had kicked in. Somebody had SPANK nearby or was on their way with a big amount. He should have stopped himself then and there, but he didn’t and this is how it all went to sh*t.


Part One coming soon

Landstalker
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#2

Posted 28 March 2010 - 12:03 AM

Well, it's good for a prologue. I hope to see chapter one real soon. Where there was "SPANK" writen, it was giving me an additional attraction.

For a rate, I'll give you 4.5/5.

Oxidizer
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#3

Posted 28 March 2010 - 01:09 AM

Oh my God, I love you this. inlove.gif

I've been waiting for a III-esque fanfic for years!

Ziggy455
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#4

Posted 28 March 2010 - 01:17 AM

QUOTE (Oxidizer @ Mar 28 2010, 01:09)
Oh my God, I love you this. inlove.gif

I've been waiting for a III-esque fanfic for years!

smile.gif Well it's only a six part series Oxi, but I may focus on another project after this. smile.gif

Oxidizer
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#5

Posted 28 March 2010 - 01:22 AM

Six is the perfect number of chapters for a miniseries, so I'm genuinely looking forward to this one, mate. colgate.gif

Ziggy455
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#6

Posted 28 March 2010 - 01:57 AM

QUOTE (Oxidizer @ Mar 28 2010, 01:22)
Six is the perfect number of chapters for a miniseries, so I'm genuinely looking forward to this one, mate. colgate.gif

As you can tell it focuses mainly on a junkies chase through portland, but another character is also a protagonist.

Cashy
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#7

Posted 28 March 2010 - 02:17 AM

Hahah, Zigman back to scratch!

Can't wait to see more of this!

Ziggy455
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#8

Posted 28 March 2010 - 02:56 AM Edited by Ziggy455, 28 March 2010 - 10:12 AM.

Lol, yeah I wanted to go old school again.

Ziggy455
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#9

Posted 18 April 2010 - 11:22 PM Edited by Ziggy455, 06 May 2012 - 11:13 PM.

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Junk’s fingers strummed on the mahogany bar, the addiction was certainly heavy tonight. Dock workers stumbled in, a few straight to the bar asking for the usual. Every bastard that walked in here wanted ‘The usual’. Pisswater, Danny made a killing off cheap booze.

As his addiction was coming down hard he was going through a crazy withdrawal. sh*t that didn’t usually piss him off as much as it did tonight. Junkie could stop himself most of the time when withdrawal was such a bitch but tonight was one of those really bad nights – where the bastard who clogs up the toilet or the fat prick who spills the booze was just a pinch closer to being plugged in the head. Danny wouldn’t think twice about taking anybody out, he was the cold blooded kind of guy – warming and welcoming but he’d sooner blow a shell in your face than shake your hand at times. Junk wasn’t like that at all.

Whenever sh*t would go down in the bar, Danny would always take care of it. While Junk was probably hiding behind the bar, hiding from a stray bullet or fist to the face. Danny was the fighter. Junk was just the working boy. Tonight though, Danny was staying near the back exit with his arms crossed; facial expression blank. This meant a seller was on his way to the back alley. It’d been like this for as long as Junk could remember. A seller comes in the alleyway, Danny takes the money and they make the transaction; if any problems occur then there’s the pump action shotgun taped under the dumpster to the left of the exit or door or the baseball bat tucked neatly into a wall right of the door. The transactions always ran smoothly, and most of the SPANK was traded easily and with a firm handshake.

Christ, Danny wasn’t the brainiest but he normally had one up – always thinking out a strategic plan. He was the reason Junkie had survived these mean streets of Liberty for as long as he had. He was clever, not too clever, but smart enough. Junk didn’t know much about Danny really. He’d heard he used to be a Leone somewhere maybe, a high ranking one at that, but besides the old gang history, he had not one clue about him, he just showed up in his wreckage of a life and took control. He was quiet most of the time, one of those quiet types.

Danny seemed to like Junkie but he didn’t know why. Junk was just that waste of space junkie that won’t learn his lesson. As the foster parents and orphanage leaders once said. There are plenty of people out like Junk; the one in the movie who would jump the gaps of death and run from army of police just for that extra sniff of pure powdered sex – He was exactly like them only, there’s no sugar at the end of the rainbow.

Junk accepted that when he’d snorted my fifth batch of whatever chemical substance he was using back in the nineties. Now he just wanted to snort as much of the stuff as possible. He knew it was a bleak outlook compared to the John Doe Jerseys down the road and living up Shoreside; The one with the two cars, a hot wife, a hot piece of ass on the side, a big house and a fat pay check but that wasn’t for Junk. He wanted SPANK. It’s all he pretty much wanted but it was at an all time low lately, when he heard that Danny had a seller coming to trade, his brain imploded. How much do they have, what’s the cost, is it cut!? The human brain on SPANK is a dangerous one, when under the influence he’d done some crazy sh*t.

Danny waited by the exit door a little longer, the bar was filling up. The smell of fish was getting heavier in the air. How much longer was he going to wait by the door? Junk’s mind flew like a speeding train coming hard off the rails. Withdrawal had hit him hard most of the time but he always knew how to deal with it, but this was worse. He wanted that SPANK, he needed it more than anybody.

Luckily a few others were working the bar, none of them noticing he had his eyes fixed on Danny. When he moved; the deal was on. He kept his arms crossed until a horn was just audible over the banter and chit chat of the fish stinking pesthole. Danny turned his head first then pushed the door open. He nodded towards Junk and went out; the headlight illuminating him as he stepped outside.

Junk motioned for somebody to watch his spot as he edged over to the door; the sweating had started to set in. Each foot dragged after the next; he felt like he was turning into a cabbage. As he edged closer to the door the sweating had started to profuse. The sounds of drunken slurs and yelling began to fade out as his attention turned fully to the door. There was a letter flap which he used to watch previous deals.

His eyes were getting hazy due to the withdrawal but he could make out what he was supposed to see: Danny was standing by the dumpster, a crimson Esperanto had parked in front of him. Rain began to pour down as the silhouetted figure stepped out of the car. The heavy smell of pot was thick, even through the thick downpour and stench of the garbage in the alley, obviously this guy was a Triad. Blue overalls were apparent, so were the bandana and the greasy fish smelling essence, but, he had SPANK. Fish stinking Triad bastard or not, he had the powder. Danny just stood there, his arms still crossed.

“You have the stuff?” he asked, the Triad nodded throwing the case forward. “Yeah,” he replied in a thick accent “I want three hundred”. Danny moved forward tapping head while looking down, he was thinking. “That was funny I...I think I JUST heard you say you wanted three hundred for a one fifty batch,” he said in a sly tone.

The triad gave a cold stare; his eyes were focused on Danny. “Three hundred or you gonna be sorry.” Was the reply. I could tell Danny was going to head for the Pump action as a bargaining chip.

“Oh sure,” his face gave off a friendly vibe, “The rest of the cash is in the dumpster.” He lied moving towards the gun container. He motioned for the Triad to come take a look. The fool moved towards the bin with curiosity diluted stupidity.

“Don’t forget the stuff!” he yelled sneakily, the Triad turned to grab the SPANK, a dumb move on his part, as his turned to continue with the transaction he was greeted with a pump action to the face.

“How much is it supposed to cost?” Danny asked, the dumb prick dropped the case. As the SPANK spilled out onto the floor Junk was shocked, he was sweating even worse as his eyes watched the situation unfold.

“One...one erm one fifty, “his eyes focused the barrel of the shotgun. “Just Give me the cash and I’ll be on ma’ way.” He opened his palm so Danny could offer him the money. D, held onto the gun with one hand, his other was reaching for the cash.

“Pigs!” yelled the Triad.

“What!?” yelled Danny aiming past the car, He didn’t notice the Triad has pulled out a silenced Colt, as the poor man was taken by surprise three bullets flew into his stomach. My hands began to tremble and shock overwhelmed me, Oh my god, what the f*ck!? Why can’t I move! Junk tried to move but only watched as the Triad began to beat Danny, his head spinning by what he could see.

Danny was still on the ground, only the faint sound of rain patted as Junk listened intently. As the Triad grabbed his case and filled it all back up Junk began to shake with rage. He slammed open the door with a loud thud, not caring if anybody in the bar had heard or seen him.

He grabbed the bat as he moved out. “Put the f*cking case down cocksucker!” his yells emitting loud enough to pierce the banter in the bar. “f*ck you!” he yelled back, his gun fired off at Junk, a bullet strayed to his hand. The pain was numb and tingly. He ran off suddenly, addiction and rage fuelling him. The Triad’s gun clicked, after that he just grabbed the stuff and began to run. Junk grabbed the gun by Danny’s body and ran off, leaving Danny in the rain.

Junk headed off around the corner, tailing the small trail of SPANK that was on the floor. The bag had split; this was the only lifeline to catching that bastard. Suddenly up ahead, he came into view.

As he kept following him, the thoughts of SPANK filled his head. He hoped Danny was alright, he was sure he would be. He’d let the others deal with him and he’d go save the SPANK. Maybe he’d use some as a reward, yeah.

As the blue overalls shone in a light a few hundred yards down a road Junk’s feet picked up, this guy was his, and so was that white colored bliss.

VercettiTheNiter
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#10

Posted 21 April 2010 - 09:23 PM

This is fantastic. You really captured the dark mood of GTA III. I can't wait for Part Two! colgate.gif

Ziggy455
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#11

Posted 21 April 2010 - 10:15 PM

QUOTE (VercettiTheNiter @ Apr 21 2010, 21:23)
This is fantastic. You really captured the dark mood of GTA III. I can't wait for Part Two! colgate.gif

Thankyou for the feedback man, I'm glad you think it's giving off a III appeal. smile.gif

Keep the feedback coming smile.gif

Ziggy455
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#12

Posted 22 September 2010 - 06:59 PM Edited by Ziggy455, 11 November 2011 - 12:26 PM.

[Reserved.]

Claude4Catalina
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#13

Posted 29 September 2010 - 09:15 PM

i like the main character. you've captured the whole 'yeah, i'm up sh*ts creek and my only paddle is my next hit of spank,' attitude. he feels real, like the kind of smackhead you see, hunched up in a corner, begging for spare change.

Ziggy455
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#14

Posted 11 November 2011 - 07:18 PM Edited by Ziggy455, 06 May 2012 - 10:51 PM.

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Danny’s body was wheeled into the morgue moments after his death. His eyes were glazed with that false emotion of death. Marv, the fat morgue worker gave a low grunt as he lifted him onto the autopsy table. He was preparing him for his final resting place. He left again, not really caring if it was procedure to prep when the body came in, the dead were dead, and they didn’t get up once they went down and this poor f*cker was most certainly dead, several shots to the stomach with a standard wetback held piece, it was just a regular natural causes case here in Liberty City. Marv went into the hallway and decided that a fifteen minute break was in order, ‘I’ll pick you up a Joe, Danny boy!’ he yelled, laughing all the way down the dark hallway and around the corner. His fat legs slowly carried him away into the darkness.

Danny himself was in his own darkness. He scanned around; a small circle of light was upon him directly above. Angelic white light shined down on him like some heavenly alien ray was going to beam him up. Beyond that light, nothing was visible. Suddenly, THUNK! The sound of stone hitting stone, all around in the darkness, Danny looked into the black, he was blind, and whatever was with him was obviously blessed with night vision. His mind shot back to his death, the gunshots, the screaming. He rubbed his stomach but felt no wounds, his checked himself, he was clean like he’d just gotten dressed, shaved an all. He realized he was dead and took a hard swallow, if this was what death was like, he’d give anything to get back to that real world. THUNK, that f*cking noise again! It sounded like a damn rock golem was coming forward. ‘Danny.’ said a very normal voice, the voice of a generic white man. THUNK, THUNK, THUNK! Ah sh*t, thought Danny, I’m so dead. ‘You’re already dead.’

‘Who are you?’ He asked curiously.

The being came into his vision for the first time, what Danny saw caused him to fall back. A huge man, well over seven feet, his body made of stone, his face the one of those stone gargoyles Danny could remember seeing in a movie once. A pair of stone wings were on his back. ‘Holy sh*t!’ he yelled shuffling backwards, he hit the edge of the light and was unable to move any further. The stone gargoyle crossed his arms and sighed. ‘I’m not here to eat you, you nutcase.’ Danny relaxed, he stumbled upwards and stared at the monstrosity before him. ‘What are you?’ he whispered.

‘I’m Grim.’ his voice, regardless of a stone body, had the calm resonation of a nice, young male. It helped Danny to loosen up, he scoffed at the thought that even through death, fear was still provident.

‘Oh hardy f*ckin’ har.’ Grim laughed a little.

‘So..is this it?’ asked Danny.

‘Is what?’ Grim seemed more confused then he did.

‘Is this the afterlife? No heaven, no clouds? No satan?’

‘Oh, well no, but it’s not important.’ And he spoke in riddles.

Danny was curious, here was this huge being, and he was as sociable as the fat man next door or the whore up the street.

‘What am I doing here then?’

‘Somebody’s decided to give you a second chance.’

‘At life?’

‘No,’ he paused, looked around quickly and shifted his gaze back to Danny. ‘Revenge. Against that Triad and the man you’ve put a lot into, who left you for dead over a drug.’

Danny was hit with a flashback, screams, gunshots, the junkie bastard running off, the white powder, the pain. He remembered all of it suddenly and rage shot over him.

‘Urgh, f*ck it.’

‘In good time my friend, but I’ve been asked to give you a choice. You think hard over this.’ Grim could see how much rage a soul could retain, causing them to burst back into the real world as poltergeists. Danny took a deep breath and began to pace around. ‘Now my constituents and I have decided to give you a choice, life or death. You ready for the options?’

Danny kept moving around, he nodded lightly. Grim cleared his throat and remained still. ‘I will send you back into that world, you’ll wake up in the Morgue, Fat Marv has gone for a coffee, I’ll leave a Carbine rifle under the table and I will push you in the right direction to find that junkie and the triad,’ Danny’s eyes glazed over, he licked his lips, he wanted that it was clear enough to see. ‘-or you can accept it, and I will personally take you to the other world.’

Silence took over, the man’s eyes flitted. He was thinking hard alright. This was a choice that Grim had seen many times before, over thousands of years, and they usually made the right choice but there was always some who chose otherwise, it was the way of life.
Danny thought quickly, he wanted revenge, he needed it. He’d been raised to never let go of the pain, to make things right no matter what. It was what he wanted, but this prospect of Paradise, or the other world was something that tugged at him, like a woman begging him not to leave and feeling that remorse for a few split seconds, he didn’t know what it revealed, but he realized that if he was to take revenge, once he died, he’d go there anyway. It was set in his mind, he wanted the Junk dead, and he wanted the Triad’s head on a pole, for all to see. He made his decision as he stared at Grim.

‘Send me back, send me back there now.’ he did not flinch or show any emotion other than pure dedication to his choice. Grim nodded and raised both his arms as if to summon something like a wizard, then stopped, lowered his arms and gave a crooked smile. ‘It’s done.’

A sudden flicker of light went in Danny ‘s eyes like when a bright light hits your eyes. He was lying in a dark cold room, the walls covered in little doors. He stared down, his body was mangled, his clothes dirty. He rubbed his stomach and felt no bullet holes. No pain or anything else, just nothing but the burning desire to go in one direction, towards Junkie and Triad. He realized he was in the morgue of Portland hospital!

‘sh*t.’ he said to himself. But he knew what was needed to be done, and once he’d gotten over the crazy idea of resurrection, he got off the table, gripped the M16 under the table and stumbled outside of the room, he stumbled further down the hallway and as he turned the corner he collided with big Marv. The two stared at each other for few seconds. ‘You’re dead!’ he whispered. ‘Funny,’ he raised the M16 and brought the butt crashing into Marv’s face, he hit the floor with a thud, boiling coffee spilled out onto the green linoleum while blood seeped from his head. ‘I thought the same thing.’ He walked off to the exit and into the cold night, coffee and blood mixed together onto the floor.

The back Morgue exit led up to a pair of metallic bay doors and into the main street. Danny didn’t want to go left. Strolling past LCPD with an M16 in your hand was a good way to get shot. He headed right, something was pushing him forward. Like somehow he already knew where he was going, a room was in his mind, a dirty, graffiti filled sh*thole with no lights and an open briefcase. Junkie was near, the crack den was near, and he couldn’t wait to just get there and get everything done. ‘I’m coming for you, you f*cksticks.’

***


Junk followed the c*nt straight to his place, he’d been upstairs for the good part of an hour, probably shooting up with his cronies or taking my SPANK with the rest of them! He checked Danny’s gun: three rounds, that was okay if his aim was good, and if he wasn’t coming down like a loose building! Added was the fact he didn’t know how many were up there, it could have been eighteen families of wetbacks all carrying pieces. Three rounds were better than nothing he guessed and the thought of that white sex forced him to slowly creep up the stairs. Bass music lightly vibrated the walls and floor, that was good, he could use it to his advantage. The graffiti on the walls was memorable to say the least, he passed a ‘You’re all cock-a-roaches!’ and a ‘Maria4Fido’ in old red lipstick with a small sigh. Up the stairs, the hallway was dirty, no lighting was up here and only one door was visible. Junk scanned it and realized the music was in there, and so was the c*nt. It took a few moments to breathe and clear his head. I’m was going crazy. The shotgun was cocked and ready. He pushed the door open lightly with the gun, inside was the Triad, crouched in a corner, obviously on a SPANK high while two other triads were mating over a table, loud bass music vibrated the lower room, a few remnants of the last tenant remained but this place was just a dirty crack den. A single lamp on an old desk was the only real light source. Nobody noticed the Junkie come in, and as he aimed his shotgun at the two consummating triads he saw how much SPANK had been spilled on the floor, all logic left him as he eyed the powder. His finger squeezed the trigger, plugging the guy on top the other guy in the back.

He hit the floor with a convulsive reflex and was dead before he had stopped moving, the other one turned in shock, not expecting things to go from ass-pounding to shot gunning. ‘Por Favo-’ Junk squeezed the trigger again; he was blown into the wall, a gaping hole in his chest. SPANK was all Junk could see and he was still prepared to do anything to get it. Junk turned to the other Triad. He wasn’t in the corner anymore; he’d moved, jumped into the bathroom and shut the door. He had nowhere to go, but before I Junk dealt with him, he was going to take what was his. He put the shotgun on the floor, and grabbed the spilt bag of SPANK. One snort and his world just dissolved. He couldn’t stop as he continued to snort more and more, this was the purest stuff he’d ever had. He was ready for anything. f*ck Danny, f*ck anything, this was what he wanted, and it was all his, all mine! He felt like a god, the world pulsed; he played with the blood around him. Licking it up, squeezing the plump legs of the two he had just killed. Now he wanted to kill something else! He wanted the triad! Straight to the door, Junk screamed as loud as possible, a roar of a lion emitted. The prey was on the other side. Another screamed and he collided with the door, it creaked. He slammed it again and again; his shoulder cracked a little, the frame budged. Another budge and it snapped open at the hinges. The Triad was by the toilet. Junk stared in at him with a haunting gaze of insanity and lust, the walls screamed for justice! ‘I’ll give you justice!’ He needed a weapon, he scanned for something, a razor by the sink, dirty and rust covered. He snatched it, blood smeared on the piss colored ceramics. Junk went forward to the cowering triad who he towered over like a king. ‘I’m doing the walls a favor!’ He screamed at the cowering mess, with a heavy flow of blood from his nose, Junk realized he was about to achieve what Buddhists dedicated their lives to!

***


Danny walked down the same path as Junkie. He noticed the small patches of his powder were leading towards him, he followed them for what felt like hours, some patches were small, others large. He remembered when he was tasked with going to Carcer City, and something similar to this had happened at some rich guys estate and one of his workers had tried to escape with some regular cut coke.
They found him by tracing the spilt powder through his maze. Struckweather was his name, or something close to it. He turned a corner and that was where the coke ended. It led to a open door and a set of stairs, graffiti littered the walls, Danny read a few as he climbed up the stairs, a few patches of powder on every step. Lights cascaded from cars outside, showing the graffiti on the walls ‘ELBURRO RULEZ’ and ‘LeonesSUCK4LYFE’.

He moved on, the sound of bass vibrating the floor beneath him. He was ready for whatever was around the corner, he aimed his M16 and took a deep breath. He turned the corner, he held his breath. In front of him was a wide open door, the music blared louder and more clearly. Danny stepped inside, he felt his stomach clench as he saw two triads, both stark naked, both dead. Blood was everywhere on the floor, and then he noticed his shotgun, on the floor, caked in blood and red tinted SPANK. ‘sh*t.’ he said to himself, he lowered his M16. The music blared from a stereo across the room, he headed over to it and booted in the speakers, it cackled for a moment and then a low vibration was all that was felt. ‘f*ckin’ spic music.’

Suddenly, a crash was heard from the bathroom. The door was ajar, Danny could see a shape moving inside. He raised his M16 once more and steadily moved forward. ‘Junkie!’ he yelled, he pushed the door open with the tip of the gun, it swung open with a creak, and when it did, his stomach did a flip, and he could only bend over and let his contents come up.

Mokrie Dela
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#15

Posted 28 November 2011 - 02:40 AM

I wasn't expecting the resurrection detail - it confused me at first tbh. An interesting choice. I thought it was a mind trick at first - like the scarecrow in batman.

I won't point out spelling or grammatical errors, but the writing seems ok to me. For the most part you've put over what's going on well. Only the supernatural element confused me.

Go on then man, bring that bad boy up! Let's see the next bit!

Ziggy455
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#16

Posted 20 December 2011 - 04:12 PM

QUOTE (Mokrie Dela @ Monday, Nov 28 2011, 02:40)
I wasn't expecting the resurrection detail - it confused me at first tbh. An interesting choice. I thought it was a mind trick at first - like the scarecrow in batman.

I won't point out spelling or grammatical errors, but the writing seems ok to me. For the most part you've put over what's going on well. Only the supernatural element confused me.

Go on then man, bring that bad boy up! Let's see the next bit!

Sorry, I've been kind of out of it for a while. The supernatural part is what I like to confuse the reader over. I mean, did that SPANK that spill jump-start his heart? Does he really have an M16? Was it a ghost that brought him back. I've lost my part III and IV of this which I have to re-write thanks to only keeping a copy on my memory stick which I've misplaced. suicidal.gif

Thankyou for reading this. I am currently in the process of reading City of lies From prologue to epilogue! Luckily, I have converted it to MOBI onto my kindle. wow.gif

Ziggy455
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#17

Posted 06 May 2012 - 11:37 PM Edited by Ziggy455, 06 May 2012 - 11:41 PM.

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Junk sat with the Triad on a cloud. Both of their arms were around each other lovingly, both of them laughing together in eternal paradise. ‘Listen man, I don’t want any hard feelings over tonight, you feel me?’ asked the Triad with tear stained eyes. ‘Oh it’s all cool, brother. Don’t sweat it. Here, have a hit.’ He took some powder off Junk’s hand once more they laughed. Unicorns fluttered by with golden manes in slow motion, lizards with bloody tongues waved in refined ways then toddled off. A lizard with a monocle strolled by twiddling a cane. Hardy har! You could smell the love in the air. The triad kissed suddenly kissed Junk on the lips if only for a moment! Junk had just shared a moment of forbidden passion! Oh no! He smiled, he liked that. He found himself falling in love with him the moment he did it. He could faintly hear the muffled echoes of outside, the sound of gunshots. ‘f*ckin’ spic music.’ Echoed a distorted voice in the background, the faint rumbling of something stopped. Triad looked at Junk with fresh tears. ‘My love for you is in my stomach Junk! Get it! Take it with you my love!’ Junk kissed him one last time and reached into his stomach, he had no problem with what he was doing.

The paradise faded. Junk felt like something had cracked his skull open when his memory went back to the bathroom! Good lord! This was the worst withdrawal ever. His eyes flitted to the right; hands in the stomach of the Triad, his intestines and other contents all over the floor, askew in a radius of blood. Triad was surely dead. His eyes were fully white, as if he had died mid-way like a snake. Junk noticed his hands were buried deep in his torso, ; it felt like silly putty but slippier. He enjoyed the feeling. His chest cavity was torn open and Junk found himself asking, did I do that? In my rage of obsession?

Something was in front of him but he hadn’t seen it until just this moment. His eyes flitted to the doorway. It swung open lightly, panicking Junk who eyed for some type of defensive weapon. The rusty knife protruded from the Triad’s head, jammed into the bone and mush of his brain most likely. Junk continued to panic as his world shifted from light to dark, black to white, normal to demon, heaven to hell. The being in the doorway terrified him as it became fully visible in the light. It was a huge stone gargoyle with a frame no taller than a man, its stone wings retracted to the back, hidden. Something blurry was in its hand! It hunched over suddenly, lowered its mouth and to Junks surprise it puked up. It regained it’s stance after a moment of heaving. Junk’s arms had refused to leave the deep insides of the Triad! He couldn’t pull his hands out! He hadn’t found the Triad’s love, unless he meant his heart? He reached upwards, pushing past his lungs and bones that lightly bent. His hands felt the muscle and he squeezed it harder and harder.

‘You really are better off dead.’ the gargoyle raised his hands, Junk took a chance and out of fear he retracted his blood-stained hands, yanked out the rusted knife with popped out with a crunch and charged forward screaming wildly, feeling invincible.


A bright light came from the blurry stick in the gargoyles stone palm. Then a tingling of his right hand came. He stopped in his tracks and lifted his arm which now had pins and needles. A small hole had appeared on his hand, straight through the knife, through his blood covered flesh. He looked back to the demon and lunged forward, his hands landed on the stick and as he lost his footing he collapsed into the demon with full force. Both Junk and the Demon hit the floor of the main room with a crash, the stick flew off into the corner of the room. Junk scratched and bit fiercely, the Demon raising his arms to keep him at bay but Junk continued to thrash.

‘Just get off me you f*cking c*nt!’ the Gargoyle screamed in such a dark voice that for a moment Junk found himself stopping, no, he wouldn’t let this beast win. He brought his head down as low as possible and smashed it fully into the Gargoyle’s face, a crack was heard and Junk took no time in bringing his head down once more, this time blood landing on his own face, he screamed and laughed. The Demon began to lose control. ‘Die!’ Junk shot up suddenly, he scramble to his feet, stared down at the now barely conscious beast and brought his foot down hard on its face, it didn’t break anything and no crunch was heard but the stony monster was finished for now. The hallway! Muffled screams came from downstairs! Must be my true love’s reinforcements! Junk had become more aware; through fear he grabbed the remaining SPANK packages and shuffled them into the bag. He grabbed the briefcase with a yell and ran out onto the balcony, the L train shot by suddenly from around the corner within personal distance. The yelling was louder now from the apartment, f*ck it! No redemption! He flitted over the edge of the balcony, the blurring lights of the L train zooming past his head before he collided with the concrete floor.

His entire body crashed into the floor but the SPANK was rejuvenating him. He felt strong, like nothing could stop him! Not even a shootout between the Cops and the Triads. Why did he think of that just now? He scrambled to his feet. He needed to get somewhere safe to snort the rest of the SPANK. Yeah, that was it, get to a secluded area. The Docks hadn’t been salvaged yet since the collapse of the Leones. That would be a good place to go, he peered up at the balcony, muffled yells came from inside and as he limped away into the darkness he could faintly hear gunshots and see bright lights from whence he came.

Danny’s head throbbed; the stench of blood nauseated his senses. He didn’t want to get up, or even live anymore. Junk was a f*cking tank on SPANK. He –was- the SPANK TANK. He’d easily broken his nose just then. Blood gushed down his face, sweat and dabbles of white powder were on his cheeks. He sat up slowly, the transpired events floating in his head. He couldn’t look at that body again, not after what Junk had done to it. He looked around and noticed the askew doors. The crazy bastard had jumped off the balcony, and not only that but he’d escaped with the f*cking drugs once again! sh*t.

No time to think now. The yells of familiar gangsters filled the hallway ahead. Reinforcements were on their way. He had to get out of here! His eyes fixated on the askew doors again. No way, he couldn’t jump off there. He scrambled to his feet and looked around for his gun. He’d dropped it when the sicko had jumped him. The voices got louder, the gun was nowhere in sight. Door bangs were heard and when the gun was in sight, the main door to the crack den flew open with a thunderous splinter of wood. Danny grabbed the gun and as the Triads came into view he dived behind the door to the bathroom, his breath was heavy, he had to control it. The M16 was cradled to his chest. He turned it to the side and checked the magazine as quietly as he could, almost a full round in the clip. That was good, some luck tonight was nice.

‘f*ckin’ sh*t. Eh! Pavatros! Look at this man.’ said one of the silly spics as he stepped into the room.

‘What the f*ck man.’ Said another one, Danny assumed this was Pavatros. ‘What happened?’

‘You think it those new guys in town?’ asked another one, the Chinese accent much thicker.

‘Nah, this some crazy sh*t. No Triad do this to their own people.’ said another random one. Christ how many were here? The whole of f*cking China!?

Pavatros moved to the bathroom door. ‘We going to find out who did this and we going to defend their honor with-’ He paused for a moment, he had obviously just seen the aftermath of Junk’s episode, ‘Jesus Christ.’ He did the exact same reaction as Danny had, he bent over and spewed. The sound of multiple Triad’s feet were heard as they stampeded to the doorway, all of them moaning and groaning as they all got their own little look of the pulp mush and bone that was Danny’s killer. A bunch of Chinese dialect began to fill the room, a few yelled while others muttered to themselves erratically. They were going to be looking for Junk too. The voices shot off downstairs and as seconds passed most of them left. Danny aimed his M16 and shot around the corner, the gun raised high. Two of the Triads were standing together and as they slowly turned to view the bloodstained M16 toting man in front of them, they realized their number was up. They reached for their weapons but a hail of gunfire rained down onto them, they hit the floor hard. Thud one, thud two. His barrel flitted to the doorway take a breath, heart’s beating like crazy. He waited for an army to run up the stairs but it never came. He scanned the two now almost dead Triads (One had breathed his final breath a few moments after his thud, the second continued to breathe, his eyes wide) for weapons. A premium Colt 45 was lazily askew on the grimy floor. Danny grabbed it, checked the clip and stuffed it into his waistline. He tightened the bandage over his head and headed downstairs with his M16 aiming into darkness. What if they’re all down there, waiting? Then you die like Butch and Sundance.

f*ck it! There was no time for fear, no time for anything but for his feet to move. He headed downstairs and out into the cold Liberty air. Nobody was in sight, no fish vans, no people and definitely no blood and SPANK. Danny hadn’t been able to breathe properly in the last half an hour, and as he walked along Chinatown’s neon lit streets, he found himself finally being able to breathe in cool air that flooded his lungs like ice cool water. He found himself craving a cigarette even though only minutes before he’d have vowed to quit if only his throat would loosen up. What could he say? He liked pain. That was such a part of the human cycle, get a whiff of pleasure, douse it with pain.

He slowly limped back to the bar. The M16 was lazily slung over his back by the strap, he didn’t care who saw him on the way home. Passing a few random people who saw the man coated in blood and bandages decided to keep their distance, and if they didn’t, Mr. Carbine was a better teacher than any. The encroaching grey clouds began to envelop the yellow moon that was high above the docks. Danny looked over the cliff that leaded down to the old harbor and realized he had made it back to the bar relatively easy, he didn’t bother to look in the alleyway at his own blood. The lights were off inside yet the main entrance doors were ajar and lightly swinging in the faint wind. He stepped inside casually, not expecting the fist that came swinging at his face. He fell backward and landed on his M16. ‘What the f*ck!?’ he yelled, scrambling backwards. He shot up and slammed his hand on the pressure lights, the main part of the bar lit up but kept the attacker in the dark. Another fist came down, this one colliding with him full on his stomach. He gave a short gasp of breath and hit the floor with a familiar thud. There was more than one of them in here; he could see that by the light and the sounds of shuffling. His stomach hurt something fierce but he wasn’t about to get jumped in his own bar. As he lay on the floor he whipped out the Colt 45. and aimed it at the closest attacker, a fat brute of a man who stunk of body odor and cheap lager. Noticing the glint of the pistol the attacker backed away with a mumble. ‘Get the hell out of my bar!’ he yelled, slowly getting to his feet, ‘Now!’

His eyes flitted around the area; there were three of them in there and they’d trashed the place completely; all of them heavily drunk. The bastards had emptied the pipes no doubt. ‘All of you, out, I won’t say it again alright?’ More groans and then the silhouetted figures stumbled out of the backdoor like cockroaches, Liberty was full of people like them, looters and marauders who’d pick clean a corpse if they found something of minimal value on it. As the last looter left he could only think of one other cockroach, one he’d decided to let Portland squish instead. Danny eyed the aftermath of his bar. Shattered glasses and over turned tables greeted Danny with about as much happiness as the previous swinging fist. The Bar had turned from a bubbling place into a corpse of the corner of the street. I was dead only two hours ago and this is what’s left of it? The thick stench of scotch and vodka was in the air, mixing with the stale smoke of cigars and roll up cigarettes concocted with that heavy fish like odor. It was enough to make Danny feel sick, not to his stomach, but because he owned the property. This was all he had to show for his life, a piece of sh*t rundown bar that even the patrons didn’t give a f*ck about unless the cheap booze was flowing. He hated this place with a god damn vengeance. He’d bought it after the Don had died a few years back, hoping for it to be a respectable place. Instead, it was a fisherman’s palace, a palace that he loathed and planned to burn down one day. The smell of fish reminded him of when his doped up mother would return home with a bunch of them wrapped in dirty paper. ‘There’s supper, eat up.’ She’d slammed them on a table and Danny would stare back at the eye of the fish that looked like it was frozen in perpetual fear of death. You’re already dead, fish; you’re already dead so why are you so scared? Danny couldn’t understand how he’d come back. Was it really a gargoyle who gave him a choice? Was he so doped up on a miraculous hit of SPANK his body had jump started? He didn’t know, and right now he really didn’t care. He took off the M16 and placed it under the bar. His hands grabbed hold on a broken bottle of scotch and the least chipped class. The bottle glugged with huge air bubbles as the warm liquid poured into the glass. This wasn’t any scotch on the rocks, this was a pint full of scotch, and Danny didn’t give two f*cks. He put the pint to his mouth and lightly sipped. His teeth clenched at the strength and warmness of it as it went down.

‘Some place.’ Said somebody from the doorway ahead, causing Danny to stop and put down his pint. As the figure stepped into the light, Danny could see him full on. The glint of the LCPD Detective badge hit him first.

‘It’s under renovations, what do you want? A drink? Does it look like we’re running as per usual?’ He hadn’t time for any smartass cops, not today of all days. The cop didn’t look like a normal cop. His black suspenders over the rolled up white shirt hid the arsenal of well toned muscular peaks of his arms and upper body poorly. His dark ginger moustache shook as he spoke; it was the same color as his hair.

‘Calm down there boy,’ he slowly walked over to the bar and slumped his hands onto it as if he was a regular customer. His eyes scanned the drink list. Danny wasn’t buying it, ‘Lemme have a ugh, Sex on the Beach?’

Danny paused for a moment then slid the pint of scotch to him. ‘Sex on the Beach.’

‘You sur-’

‘Sex on the Beach.’ The cop took it and began to lightly sip it, clenching like Danny did before. ‘That’s some good sex.’ Danny nodded and looked around the Bar; he began to clean glass off the side with a dustpan and brush.

‘Can I help you, officer, or are you just here to drink?’ he continued to clean, his eyes off the cop.

‘Heard something about a deal outside and a botched shootout ending?’ he seemed quite to the point, calm and quiet. A normal LCPD cop thought Danny. Don’t give him anything to go on.

‘As you can see, I’ve just got back from the hospital, so I wouldn’t know.’

The cop nodded and smiled. ‘What were you in the Hospital for?’

‘Car accident.’

‘The car?’

‘Impounded.’

‘Where?’

‘I don’t know. I just got pulled away into an ambulance.’

He gave a grunt; the polite cop act was wearing thin. Now it was interrogating Danny til’ the f*cking cows came home time.

‘I get a lot of calls here.’ He put down the pint glass; half empty. Or half full from where I’m standing. Danny started cleaning up glasses in the sink, away from the cop.

‘Oh yeah, what about? The cheap lager?’

‘Drugs partner, drugs.’

‘Not from this establishment.’

A glass shattered, Danny turned and noticed the strong smell of scotch from behind the bar. The cop looked at him with a concentrated gaze. He kept his eyes forward on him.

‘Let’s cut the bullsh*t, Fonze. You frequent in the distribution of SPANK. Kee-rect?’ he’d dropped the whole f*cking act, now all that stood staring at Danny was a typical violent thug of a cop.

‘Don’t know what you’re talking about.’ Play it cool, deny it all. He went back to cleaning up the glasses. The cop circled around the bar, he leapt over an askew chair and slid his cop chain from around his neck and slid it in front of Danny’s. With wide eyes, he gasped as he began to struggle from air. The f*cking cop was like a ninja! The chain tightened, catching skin and pinching at the neck. Danny’s hands flailed in the water as he erratically budged, the sound of air whistling through the tight windpipe. His eyes turned red, his heart beated rapidly and after another quick pull, he was on the floor. The air had escaped him and not returned. The chain slid from around his neck and the cop left like a shadow into the night.

Mokrie Dela
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#18

Posted 07 May 2012 - 06:05 PM

How have I only just seen this. This is going on my reading list. I'll post again when I've read it all, but the first part seems cool so far smile.gif

Ziggy455
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#19

Posted 07 May 2012 - 07:23 PM

QUOTE (Mokrie Dela @ Monday, May 7 2012, 18:05)
How have I only just seen this. This is going on my reading list. I'll post again when I've read it all, but the first part seems cool so far smile.gif

Cheers mate.

I've redrafted each chapter and made it a little more legible and coherent with up to date corrections. Thanks for taking the time to read it. tounge2.gif

Mokrie Dela
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#20

Posted 10 May 2012 - 11:51 AM

Here's the strange thing. I started reading it all then i thought "This sounds familiar"

Then i realised i have already read this!

I did notice a few errors though, but i don't believe in pointing them out. Any writer worth his salt can identify them with a read over, so i don't bother pointing them out (and in this case it's minor mistakes that we all make. I'm sure City of Lies/Justice in Flames is littered with them, even after proof reading).

This has a strange spin to it, I'm getting the atmosphere of the city, but also a twist to it, kind of like if the hue's f*cked up on your screen, but in narrative terms, if that makes sense.

At one point A scanner darkly came to mind, but i've no idea why.
I've spent the last few months reading the tom clancy series (i'm only up to The Sum of All Fears!) so it's nice to read something that's a million miles away from that.

Also the thing i like about fanfiction, as loose to the game this is, or as tied in as mine, is identifability (i may have invented a word there). Things are suggested or reffered to that the reader recognises from the games. I only really got that a little in this to be honest and imo you'd be better suited to do one of two things:

1 - have set this outside of the GTA-verse (though spank would make that difficult)

2 - tried to put in a couple of references or so such to the GTA universe. It's easier with IV era, with street names, more varied districts etc, but the subtle things that hint at little things from the game i think really help to route the reader in to the story.

But ultimately, that's a matter of style, and obviously two writers' styles will vary. For example m work i try to focus on the little details. instead of saying "the gun" or "the bullet" i try to say "The beretta" or "the .22" but as said, my writing style isn't the same as yours, but i'll share my opinion anyway. This work is good - don't think i'm knocking it - but as much as i'm enjoying reading it, i'm struggling to get immersed in it. I feel detatched like watching a football match, not playing in it.

Ziggy455
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#21

Posted 13 May 2012 - 07:09 PM

user posted image


Dogs barked in the distance as Junk stumbled past the entrance of the docks. The parking lot was full of askew junk and debris of cars and the preferences of other addicts. Broken glass and needles littered the area that was rife in not only blood but also the prime example of how far the city had fallen in the last few years. Junks breaths were heavy; he was panic-stricken as he made it down to the garages. The darkness that surrounded the area wasn’t from the night, this was from the soul of the docks. The darkness surrounded every wall and between the few randomly scattered flaming barrels, and the flickering shapes of homeless people. Where could he go? The containers on the far side of the place seemed the best place to go. Ahead of him lay the abyss of homeless and god knew what else. He was going to go through there alright, he was going to get this SPANK in his system before the night was out, he knew that much. He clenched onto the bag and briefcase with undying obsession. Slowly his feet moved into the darkness, a faint cough made him jump back a little and a laugh now and then from groups of hobos caused his throat to tighten up and heart to beat rapidly. He was comign down again. SPANK’s potency and high time was only a few minutes, unless it was flowing freely, and in all his time in Liberty, he’d never had a consistent amount of it to keep the good times rolling. He passed each garage and felt like he was like a stone in the ocean, sinking ever deeper into the crushing darkness. The further he went, the more sleeping bags he had to step over, that meant more groans until he felt a harmonic choir of moans and curses from each hobo he stepped over.

He thought back to the apartment. The gargoyle beast that had attacked him sounded strikingly familiar to somebody else, but that wasn’t possible, because that person was In the hospital; bleeding to death. No, he’d won against the beast and it suffered a fate it was deserved of. Junk shook the deep voice from his mind and found himself out at the other end of the garages. The faint rustling of the polluted ocean bashed against the concrete barriers. The docks had never stunk of fish, because even before the Leones, it was more of a drug and illegal cargo distribution area than anywhere else. Everything was corrupt in this city, even the damn Bitch’N Dog company. Junk couldn’t be angry at that, he was corrupt himself. The world was corrupt. He stopped in front of the containers and looked down at the remains of the ships that were abanadoned.

What if he could stop this? What if he could return the drugs and money and get into a rehab program? What if he could kick the habit and maybe try to square up things with Danny and they could make a go of things. Maybe- no, you’ve got the drugs, they’re real, and they’re here now. Yeah but what if- No! Get into the containers! Now, now, now! His weaker mind had been overpowered by addiction once more just like when a lazy man sets himself a goal and ignores it. He knows he should acknowledge his motivation, but he chooses to ignore him. People like Junk were made from that kind of apathy.

The containers were all rusted and empty. Their insides were most likely empty and the outsides were coated in graffiti and stale blood from god knows how many baseball bat sessions or cat like fights over substances. He felt at home here in-between the filth and rust of the metallic boxes. Tinny coughs echoed close by, the hobos must be living here as, Junk thought.

The first laughs came from above, Junk’s head shot upwards, the yellow moon cascading down into the crevaces of the boxes. More laughter came from around him, and then different accents and styles began to fill the area.

‘Look at this.’ Said the voice atop of the containers that now hung over Junk like monstrous beings. The huge metallic skyscrapers seemed to look down on him.

‘What you doing down here?’ said another from the alley next to him, Junk’s eyes shot to the side but the silhouette with wide white eyes had dissapeared around the corner. These were beings of darkness, Junk could tell.

‘Who are you?’ Junk yelled, his hands still clenched tightly on the two bags.

‘Hey Marcus, this spitf*ck has brought us somethin’!’ Junk couldn’t tell how many there were now. A noise up ahead, Junk stared forward and a silhouette stood inbetween two containers. His body dark and undescriptive, his eyes fully white and omnipotently staring at the shell of a man.

‘What have you brought me?’ it asked with a demonic tone, enshrouded in darkness.

It moved forward into the moolight and that was when Junk could see him for what he was. He sported a football jacket and jeans with regular running shoes. A bat clenched in his right hand and a cut tight over his head to conceal his face. He looked like a burglar down on his luck, but as more familiar dressed thugs appeared on the containers and in the alleyways, Junk soon realized he’d stepped into gang territory.

‘I’ll just, be-‘

‘Be what?’ the accent was thick Liberty bred accent, slangish with traces of Italian. It reminded him of Danny, if only he was here now, he thought.

‘What’s in the bags scrawny?’ asked one of the gang members on the containers.

‘Nothing, nothing at all.’ It wasn’t safe here now, he had to turn and run. He had to escape before the cornered him. Nobody was getting this SPANK!

‘Now it’s only a matter of time before we find out what’s in there anyways,’ he moved closer to Junk, all of them began to slowly move in like cockroaches, ‘so might as well pony it up now yeah?’

‘No!’ He turned and shot into a sprint, the screams and yells of the gang members all in a loud crescendo as he escaped the containers. He wasn’t going back through hobo country, he ran forward past some cyclinder fuel containers. The heavy padded footing of the gang members was close behind him now.

‘Get back here!’

His heart punched at his chest cavity, his breath was hot and smoked out of him like a chimney. He felt cold and hot at the same tiem as his feet forced him to sprint, he didn’t want to look back but he knew they were close. The bag and the suitcase bashed against him as if to try and slow him down.

CRACK!

Something collided with the back of his head and he hit the floor, immediately colliding into the concrete, the last thing he saw before darkness was the bag of SPANK splitting open and his pursuers going over to it in their silhouetted form, and then nothing.

***


Darkness once more, this time there was nothing. No light, no Grim, and no redemption. He was out for the count and this time he had no quarrel with it. He was dead, he’d been strangled to death by a sneaky dirty cop and he really couldn’t care. Like the brief moments after an orgasm, he really couldn’t care about anything anymore. f*ck it all, f*ck the drugs, f*ck the cop, and f*ck Junk. They could all tear the f*ck out of each other for all he cared, he was out of the game and he was happy of it. You’re not dead, and you’re not done.

Yes I am, leave me alone.

No you’re not, you’re passed out. The silly bastard didn’t finish through.

Yes he did.

No, he didn’t. He thought he did but you’re going to wake up in a few moments with a worse headache than you had before, and you’re going to finish what you’ve chosen to finish.

Grim, he killed me. I’m dead.

Wake up Danny, wake up now and be a bloody man for Christ’s sake.

No! Jesus doesn’t eve-

Yes! Shut up.

He coughed violently as oxygen seeped back into his lungs. The rush of air and blood made his head feel like a horse had given it a good blast with it’s hind leg. He felt pain but he couldn’t see. He was still in that void of darkness. Grim’s voice began to diminish into a tinny echo until it was nothing more than a faint scratch down a long tunnel.

You’ll hear where he is soon enough, keep your eye on the yellow moon.

The familiar floor of the bar crept into his vision like the opening to a noir movie; slow and steady. The stench of the scotch was stronger down here since he was lying in it. He would stink like it for a long time.

Oh god. Grim was right, he wasn’t dead. At that point, Danny hated the stony bastard. He weakly climbed onto the bar and with a groan, his eyes still clamped shut from the brightness of the fluoerescent lights. They buzzed and taunted with their brightness. He lightly swiped at them like a cat with a piece of string. Thud! He hit the floor of the bar again with a groan, this time his eyes were stronger. He stumbled to his feet and looked around the bar, his tired hands rubbed his blood-oozing head. A lot of good the damn bandage did.

He grabbed the Carbine and checked it. Luckily the turncoat cop hadn’t spotted it on the way out. He wrapped the gun back on his back and checked the Beretta in his waistline. Syumbling out of the Bar, he remembed Grim. Yellow Moon. He’d noticed it above the docks, just across in the corner of the road from where Marco’s Bistro was, and now where his Bar resided. He slowly limped across the road to the grassy hill that lead down to Portland’s docks. He was waiting for something, only time would tell. He remembered the first time he’d been down there in the docks. A young kid, hanging with the other Italian kids of the neighborhoods. All of them looking up to the Leones and their gangster ways.

‘You’ll end up schmuck, just like your father, all of them, stupid guys who wanted to be just like those guys in the movies. You wanna be a badfella?’ his mother yelled at him once after he’d returned from the docks with more than a few bruises.

He did end up being the schmuck really in all things. Everything he’d ever invested in had turned on it’s head. His business, his loyalty, his money. All flittered away in the blink of a few gunshots. He slumped down onto the wall of the apartment building next to the L Train platform and waited for his cue.

***


‘My f*cking head! Ack!’ he groaned lightly, the distant glaze of a fire was noticeable from afar. What happened? Was he punched? One of the gang members was by the fire, he paced up and down and tugged at his tight covered mask. He was the only bastard in view. A few moments later Junk was up and ready to find the SPANK he’d misplaced. That was all he needed. He tried to stand up but realised he’d been gagged at the feet to a pipe protruding from inside one of the garages. He was, for all intents and purposes, truly stuck. The Hood up ahead heard him gasp and groan and was upon him in moments. Expecting a beating, Junk clenched his eyes shut and waited for the first blast to come.

A hand clasped onto his mouth. ‘Shut up. Be quiet.’ No thick accent here, this guy sounded distringuished.

‘Hrmph?’

‘Shut the f*ck up!’ He whispered with stress.

He yanked off his tight mask and a well groomed face appeared beneath. He stared at Junk with cold yet focused eyes.

‘I’m Undercover here, trying to figure out why these guys have started sprouting here.’

‘Hrmph rmph rus?’

‘They’re Hoodz. A small time gang, and they’ve got the biggest shipment of coke I’ve ever seen over there.’ He pointed towards the barrel that cackled with fire. Behind that in the distance was the familiar bag, almost taunting Junk. Mine all mine.

‘They’ve gone off for a moment, but when they get back they want me to have put a bullet in your head,’ he was sweating and twitchy. He stunk of rookie. ‘I’m not going to do that, okay?’

Junk nodded.

‘I’m going to let you go, but take this,’ he yanked a scratched and withered Glock .17 out of his jeans waisteline and put it down in infront of the junkie. ‘and fire off a few rounds before you run off so they think I’ve struggled. Can you do that?’ he was terrified behind those eyes, poor guy wasn’t supposed to be in these places, these were places where Junk thrived. At home in the pool of sh*t. Chaos and deception.

Junk nodded.

The guy undid the rope forcefully and Junk took the Glock. He nodded, got up, and walked back over to the fire. Junk moved forward, the Glock’s barrel collided with the back of the Undercover’s head and a second later, before he could fully reace, a bullet tore through his brain matter and bone. He hit the floor with a thud and blood immediately seeped out onto the dirty dock floor. The flames reflected in the crimson pool as they licked at the night sky with beauty. No time to mess around now. He had to grab the SPANK and move before they all came back to investigate the gunshot. He slipped the bag around his shoulders and looked at the body of the very dead cop. The flaming barrel was surrounded by open containers, all full of flammable labelled barrels. They’d be lighting them off one by one for heat. Junk wouldn’t be surprised if one of them was sniffing whatever was in them.

‘f*ck you, I know what I heard ya moolie!’ their voices were distant but it only took moments to see the untied rag and the dead cop. Junk had to think quickly, his hands shook and his head hurt worse than it did over withdrawal. It hurt to think, it hurt to f*cking move. His mind shot in two directions; run or fight.

Run, no fight, no run, no run! No fight, run, right, fun, f*ck. f*ck, f*ck, f*ck. Too late!

‘No f*ckin’ way!’ one of them was on the container above. Another stepped into the Undercover’s body. Panic shot through Junk, he aimed the gun rapidly from Hood to Hood.

‘Gerry! Gerry the crackhead shot Jimmy!’

Junk’s hands shook violently. The gun swayed up and down as he trembled.

‘Back up! I said move back!’

He tried to sound as menacing as possible, but he felt like the cricket in the glass cage with the mother tarantula. He was out of his league and outnumbered.

‘Gerry!’ The Hoodz disregarded his aiming.

Another Hood came into the view, the silhouetted one. The one with the white blank eyes. He hadn’t changed since the last time. Junk slapped his cheeks lightly, he couldn’t make sense of things anymore. Gerry spoke with a distorted tone in his voice.

‘You sick f*ck! Look what you just did!’

Look what you just did! You always do this, you always f*ck up Patrick! Every foster parent, ever assessor, every therapist, every dealer, and every single person who’d ever stepped into his mere existence. You shouldn’t be here you f*cking freak! Ugh, you disgust me.

‘-disgust me! Doesn’t he fellas?’ The Hoodz all chimed in like the cowards do to the bully. I’m losing it, I’m losing it fast, he thought to himself as he aimed the Glock at each member. Several more popped up onto containers and in-between them. Gerry moved forward and the others moved back, letting the alpha take pride. Junk aimed his gun at the silhouette, his edges blurred, his eyes wide.

‘Move back!’ Junk screamed, a bullet shot out of the Glock and whizzed past Gerry’s head.

‘Argh!’ Gerry crouched down and covered his head. The darkness flew off him like a thousand ravens had fluttered away, and all that remained was a typical Hood. Junk slapped himself again, he moved back behind the barrel of fire. A crunch came below at his feet and he looked down, a broken mirror was on the floor in cracked dirty pieces. He looked at himself, dirty and gaunt. His greasy hair scruffy and covered in dirt and blood. He looked like a zombie, he felt like one. Behind him in the mirror, the flitter of stone wings fluttered. Ping! He turned around and fired the Glock. A richochet, a chugging sound.

‘Run!’ yelled Gerry. The Hoodz all split and ran like rats trying to escape a flood. All of them panicking and screaming at each other. Everything suddenly slowed down. Junk’s eyes shot to where the bullet had flitted. A barrel leaked a thick stinking brown liquid that spewed out rapidly, and then it caught fire.

***


Minutes passed in what felt like hours to Danny. He didn’t like how exposed he felt out here. His mind kept rerunning over the same events that had taken place. He didn’t find solace or comfort in knowing he was still alive. He felt annoyance. What if that cop went back to the bar and found he was gone? What if Junk had snorted all that cursed SPANK and was dead? What would he do then? Shoot himself in the head? Move on in life? He didn’t think he’d salvage much tonight, barely enough to move onwards anyway.

He stared at the moon and sighed. Eyes on the moon yeah Grim? Well that wasn’t doing him any good.

The ground rumbled lightly, and then the huge flaming explosion that rocketed up from the Docks made him shoot up. The only thing that ran through his mind was one word, a name: JUNK. Grim, as riddle-filled and secretive as he was, was once again right. That showed Danny how smart he was against an omnipotent being, and it was the last time he’d question the Gargoyle. He slung the M4 Carbine over into his hand, slid back the hammer and sprinted down the hill towards the huge gathering mass of smoke and fire.

Mokrie Dela
  • Mokrie Dela

    МОКРЫЕДЕЛA

  • The Yardies
  • Joined: 01 May 2009
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#22

Posted 16 May 2012 - 03:26 PM

QUOTE (Ziggy455 @ Sunday, May 13 2012, 19:09)
...he hit the floor, immediately colliding into the concrete...

It's rare i do this but:

I find this superflorous; he hit the floor and collided with the concrete. perhaps it'd be better compressed into one statement.

"He collided with the concrete floor." Or something.

There's a couple more errors which i won't point out - you'll spot them yourself i think - but on the whole it's a decent chapter. I enjoyed it.
I like how you've seemed to do a different style of fan fiction - where i have taken the characters and made something with them, you're merely using the city. i imagine it'd be harded to grab our attention that way round, but it's nice, after spending so long writing about Niko etc, to read something a lot looser, if you know what i mean.




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