Niko's Revenge

[rmmstnr]

Niko's Revenge - Part I

 

The ride to the house was quiet. Too quiet. Aiming to settle his nerves a bit, Niko fiddled with the radio in his "newly acquired" grey vehicle. "Certified pre-owned" he corrected himself. He couldn't even tell what the car had been when he worked his way in carefully to hotwire it; "perfect he thought, a car that looks just like every other." It was perfectly non-descript, and blended in perfectly with the drab twilight of Liberty City. It was just plain perfect. A burst of wailing gave Niko a start; he had stumbled upon Double Cleff FM which was currently braying I Pagliacci: Vesti La Giubba, as done by Pavarotti, and wait a minute, Michael Bolton?! He chuckled to himself a bit and left the station on to lighten the mood. Yes, he would need every fiber of his nerves for this.

 

As his shapeless grey vehicle slowly made it's way down the street, large forboding houses lined his left side, daring him to stop, daring him to venture just a little further, like so many before him had. Of course, Niko had no idea the fates that were tied to this street, but would soon enough. He wished he could have done this earlier, but to do this in broad daylight would have been downright stupid. But still, it was beginning to get dark, and this area was giving him the willies. Niko had never liked Shoreside Vale, he had started off in the bustling heart of Liberty City and had grown accustomed to it's busy nature. This place just seemed dead by comparison; dead and full of secrets.

 

There were no glass buildings, no large open intersections and wide streets, no people to notice if he just so happened to disappear and never return. He longed to be amid the tall buildings and skyscrapers that while only several minutes away (with the way he drove), seemed so depserately far off. "Too late to turn back now, you've GOT to get this over with." The sound of these words out loud gave him yet another start, he was not used to feeling so uneasy. His car floated to a stop, and he patted his two Berettas, modified for use with a suppressor. "92FS Brigadier, the standard handgun of the military" he thought, which made him smile. He felt for his MP5N's, his also suppressed, also military issue rapid-fire counterparts to his Berettas. Now feeling almost empowered, he finally willed himself to get out of the vehicle and start up the walk to begin his business. The sun had finally disappeared, and it had begun to snow.

 

 

Yes I know I havn't gotten to the action just yet, but I figured I'd give everybody a chance to say "STOP! This boring stuff sucks mexican stinky-balls, NO MORE!" before I jammed some more of this crud down your throats. If everybody wants me to cut it off here, I'll just leave it alone, and the thread can be deleted.

[Blind Joe Death]

Good to see you moved your story from my topic to here. It's definitely good enough to be posted in here, you're a very talented writer. Oh and just to let everyone know, it gets a lot more interesting as it goes on so don't bag this story yet, I thoroughly enjoyed it. Although I don't think you finished your story in my topic so I'm looking forward to what happens after what you initially posted, that is if you want to post more of course.

[rmmstnr]

Thanks for the support! The story is indeed unfinished on your thread, in fact only around 1/2 way. I'm just taking some time off to recover from the holidays, although I'll see if I'm mentally fit to take on Part IV of the story today.

 

Niko's Revenge - Part II

 

The house, like the others surrounding it, loomed tall in the darkness, looking almost as tall as the buildings downtown, but somehow more there. It was fenced in by a tall wrought iron fence that looked like it could have stopped a Patriot at full speed. And of course to top it off, each and every iron post sported an evil looking barbed spike. "Real nice Ray, can't imagine anything more inviting" Niko thought, creasing his brow. Not at the spiked fence, but at the gate, which looked to be unlocked. Knowing better, Niko gave it a push and almost jumped when it swung open, silently and easily. Now he began to feel really nervous. If there was any person less likely to leave anything unlocked, it was Ray. Niko patted his guns again for comfort, and resumed his way to the front door. He raised his fist to knock, dismissed it quickly shaking his head ("You're not here to chat" he reminded himself) and tried the doorknob.

 

Once again, the door fell open silently and easily, like it was oiled daily. The pressure was now too much for Niko to take; he flung out his Berettas, wildly aiming for something, anything in the dark house. "Where is he GODDAMMIT?!" Niko thought desperately, his head darting from left to right, trying with all his might to see, to hear. A bead of sweat began to run down his forehead, in spite of the chills that so overpowered his spine. He would later think to him self "If a fly had so much as taken a crap at that moment, those guns would have been blazing, me screaming the whole while." Ray was not somebody to be taken lightly, and Niko was here to "dispatch of him." As if assassinating somebody was enough, Machowski here had fallen off his rocker years ago, and became lost in a spiral of ever deepening paranoia since. It was from him Niko had learned to grow eyes and ears everywhere, it was from him he had learned to look out for bugs, booby traps, explosives, poisons, you name it. And from him he had learned to set them.

 

Thump. The average naked ear wouldn't have detected it, but Niko was hopped up on adrenaline and nearly broke his neck whirling around. A couch. A bookshelf. Item after item flicked into his gunsights. A counter. A lightswitch. Yesss. NO. Keeping his distance from the lightswitch, he recounted what happened to the last soul who tried one of Ray Machowski's handy dandy "high-voltage light switches." They ended up looking like a cat left in an oven overnight. The screams. The smell. He decided he would remain in darkness. Niko noticed a faint light coming from the next room, which looked like a kitchen. "Light, yes" he thought. Guns ready, he stealthily crept to the room. Ray was good, but he was getting old, and Niko thought he just might be able to get the jump on him if he was down for a midnight snack. A mental sigh went through Niko; it was the damn fridge, partly open that cast that sickly yellow glow. It was one of those hulking bubble-shaped fridges from the 50's- Ray said the new ones ran on radium crystals; gave you cancer.

 

To Ray, everything ran on radium crystals, phones (he had no phones), Televisions (ditto), and especially microwaves. To keep the electricity (excuse me, the "electro-magnetic radiation") running in the house from giving him cancer, Ray told him he had the wires lined with lead, and aluminum foil covering all the outlets and switches. The real switches. Ray was real colorful when it came to technology. Creeping up to the fridge, he nudged it open further with his gun, and had to bite on his wrist to keep from screaming; a hand, a human hand, poked out of aluminum foil, apparently wrapped around its arm. Next to it, a jar of eyes, all blankly staring back at him, lifelessly, randomly. And at the bottom of the fridge, inside a large jar filled with clear but brownish liquid, was a head, a human head, forever frozen in a silent scream. Niko began to unknowingly back away, muttering a babble of his native tongue, hearing, feeling his heartbeat pounding at his temples. He began to feel very light headed, and just as he thought he would faint, he backed into a counter. His hand reached out and knocked off a coffee mug. It shattered on the linoleum, creating what felt like the loudest sound Niko had ever heard.

 

P.S. - To avoid cluttering the place up, and make things easier on people's eyes, I'll let people discuss or comment between parts (if there's any interest). I'd love some feedback, but please keep the criticism constructive. As I've mentioned elsewhere, this is my second stab at writing since I wrote based on what I thought would happen in GTA VCS before there were any details. That story ended up killing the thread instantly, nothing afterwards, not even critical remarks.

 

Wow. This is just sad. I guess I got my answer .

Edited January 3, 2008 by rmmstnr

[rmmstnr]

Hope I'm not doing something stupid keeping this up. As would be common sense looking at the dates, Niko's Revenge is dead, due to complications of Writer's Block From Hell and forgetfullness.

 

However, a new project is under way which seems to hold more promise. The Fall Of Liberty chronicles the struggles of an as-of-now-unnamed character, as well as those of an LCPD detective following his trail. Both however end up in the middle of something far bigger than either of each other. The main character's name will be subbed for Niko until a real name is set in stone. If this project goes belly-up too, I'll do what I can to have this thread deleted, there's no reason it should be taking up space for nothing.

 

Here's a teaser clip:

 

From The Fall Of Liberty

 

He tried not to move. He tried not to breathe. He tried to stop his heart from hammering in his chest, desperately willing every bit of his body to just be still. He was coming. There would only be one chance to do this right, any mistake would likely end up in Niko's own death. Footsteps. Soft, muffled. Niko readied himself in the darkness, pressed against the cold, hard, uncaring wall, beside the steel dumpster. Echoes of horns sounded off in the distance, the blade-thin sliver of moon was nearly completely obscured by clouds as black as smoke, making the alley almost ethereal in quality. The only light came from a dim arc-sodium streetlamp far out of the alley and across the street, throwing soft flickering shadows that danced across the way like prancing devils. Niko slowly extracted his knife from it's holster, grimacing at the dull feel feel of his carefully prepared implement through tight rubber gloves. How he hated to wear gloves, did Michelangelo or who-ever paint the Sistine Chapel wearing goddam oven mitts? Did a safecracker ever work wearing catcher's gloves? Damn right they didn't.

 

The shuffling stopped. Niko tensed up, suddenly sickly aware of the scent which emanated from his excited body, the smell of adrenaline rushing through an animal. He could smell the mark as well, heavy aftershave and cologne, a whiff of perspiration. He was twenty feet away, judging from the sound of his breathing and his scent gently wafting Niko's way thanks to a near indetectable breeze. Thought's flashed through Niko's head, trying to figure out why the mark had stopped. Niko was completely obscured from view, and even otherwise it was too dark to be seen in the shadow of the dumpster. The mark coughed, hocked, and spat, then continued towards his fate. "Like a pig to the slaughter," Niko thought, reminding him of the term dehumanizing, what amateurs did to help get their job done. "Hacks," he thought. If only he had the luxury of staring deeply into the mark's eyes, seeing not rage, but stupid bewilderment as the stare went blank and soulless... But this was a job, and jobs are done correctly.

 

The mark passed, and Niko slowly stood up on tip-toe, silently making his way. In a fluid set of motions that seemed to take a lifetime or more, Niko thrust his knee into the small of the mark's back, covering his mouth and pulling upward. Liking the added grip of the rubber on skin, Niko pulled upward harder still on the mark's face with his right hand, falling forward with his knee still planted in the mark's spine. His left hand, lightning quick, swiftly pulled the blade across the neck, applying as much force as possible. The blade sank deep, the hilt dragged across skin, the steel across bone. A burbling gush of claret came forth, the remnants of a scream hissing and spitting through the crimson tide. Another glub of spent breath and blood as the two landed upon the ground, Niko's position perfectly unaltered. Upon the instant of impact, Niko gave one last monumental tug, yielding a muffled crack like tinder snapped within cloth. The left hand continued its arcing motion, flinging the gore from his tool. It had taken all of two seconds.

 

Carefully standing up, limbs akimbo, Niko examined himself for blood. Just as planned, he was clean. The throbbing of excitement in his head subsiding, he wiped his knife on the mark, and pulled out the corpse's pockets. He pocketed the wallet, leaving the keys and change on the damp pavement. Still holding the cutter in one hand he pulled his left glove off of his hand and around the knife. He followed suit with the other glove, turning his accessory into a clean rubber-wrapped package that fit easily into his pocket. He had no need for money; the wallet and its contents would soon be burned like the gloves. Slowly making his way away form the scene, he mused to himself how the cops would be looking for a petty thief rather than a pro. It would be daybreak before anybody would find the mayor-elect's rotting corpse in the alley. Relishing a cool shower after this bout of commission, Niko slowly disappeared into the mist of a muggy Liberty City night.