Wretched Face

[Wanted Assailant]

Notes:

 

1.

I noticed all the criticism here that I would to take. But, for pete's sake, don't say anything about "Read other pieces and boost up my views and improve."

I have entered the WD crew here with this.

 

Over the top, but telling me to to read other stories isn't helping me on my specific problems.

Not only that, but have noticed the sent-ins of fanfiction, scripts, graphic porno, psycho, snuff, sexual, and all that other morbid and dark stuff that people have brung in. I try not to fall into the category but I already implented it in here. It's a start, then I'll shift away.

 

2.

I have decided to write a piece that doesn't follow a plot, and instead follows the background of a "character." If you know what I mean.

 

It might seem vague for now as it is the prologue of course. It might also seem a bit exagerrated at that part where you know it seems exagerrated.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Wretched Face

 

Chapter 00: Confused

 

 

The age-old and crusty door of the scathed motel had suddenly flung open; a bellow of air had raspingly fled through the confined and reserved. Bare figures giggled and cuddled under the nice and warm blanket; their sweat-covered bodies were exhausted from the long session of enjoyable penetration. A man and a woman furtive their eyes; unexpected and mildly astonished of who could be there, interrupting their sweet good times. Light shimmered across the dark and murky space enclosed by walls and floorboards. Their dark and guilt-filled pupils responded with muscle reflex reaction; the bright rays and shadows were replicated of the simple door and a mysteriously positioned figure. Silent; Finally, a clang was produced from a hard and well-manufactured object, known for the outer-covering and the sturdy soles placed at the bottom. The figure was seen physically, seen through the couple’s hard and stunned eyes. The shadow unconcealed an incorporated metal tube of shells; the shadow continued and erected it’s arm that held the weapon.

 

This caused the male under the soaked blanket to grow an unknown of steamed rage onto his tired face, and the woman to scream in extreme fear. The shadow cocked the object of danger; the man furiously leaped away from the spring-constructed piece of furniture, and lunged his body at the figure. The female grabbed the damp coverings in order to conceal her unclothed structure, her brows furrowed to a sadden but fearful state. The man grabbed the shadow’s hand, and attempted to intercept the predicted action. He tried to be a hero. The figure didn’t give in, nor did he used any effort at all. The male being’s green veins pulsed through his hands, and he viciously gritted gutturals through his destructed and plaque teeth. The shadow arched back from his grip after a mere, fast-paced and repetitive grapple for life.

 

The shadow backhanded the man with the firearm, a hard slam to the face ejected him to a sludge-stained wall. Now that the male was now dosed, the shadow brought up the weapon and focused precision for the man, who slumped against the wall. The woman produced a piercing cry throughout the empty and dead motel. This had woken the man, whose eyes fluttered wildly around, trying to gain sight as his eyelids were primarily closed. He pries them open, and sought the muzzle of the weapon towards his stature. His eyes dilated, dribbles of water had finally blemished his scruffy face. He tried to shield himself out of reaction, his arms waving in front of his face as he looked away.

 

A boom echoed and rung in a cruel, morbid tone. It only agreed beside the woman’s tortured soul, who shrieked in astounding graze. Five more shots screeched into his chest; the woman’s tears that streamed down her face had rumbled and were shaken off her cheeks with each whistle of the bullet. The blood from the man, expelled from his body in a powder of thick ash. The gun powder was extremely old, the revolver itself was ancient and filled with crust. The woman could only separate her fingers between her eyes, intervening her own emotions to either watch this horror of art, or look away in disgust. She had only sight the outline of the hideous figure. Her mind was puzzled with hurried and streamed thoughts, fear, sadness, the loss from reality; depersonalization. She is blocked into a corner due to her own hysteria, warped away inside a tiny, asunder world. The shadow turned his attention away from the burning firearm, and released it to the floorboard due to it’s uselessness. The chamber was finished. The boards beneath him croaked as he made his status near the woman, who was continuously whimpering to herself.

 

Close enough, he took out a nice, sharp, well trimmed instrument. It glistened the stainless code, embeded on the edge of the surface.

 

“Please! Don’t kill me!” She pleaded.

 

The figure gently massaged the sharp-edged blade, causing emotional pain to the female who was at the verge of shock-induced death. The shadow firmly gripped the handle, and groped the long flourishing hair of the young woman, who yelped as the shadow pushed her closer. She closed her eyes, but the piercing of an instrument staggered her eyes to yield open. The kitchen knife plunged into her gut, and ordered her to gag in the process of the stabbing. Blood trickled from her precious lips, and her stomach was in shreds. She gave a last gasp as another blow shanked her vital organs; the nasty body fluid had hastily dripped onto the stained and disgusting floorboard.

 

The figure would later castrate their sexual and reproductive particles. The shadow would then slightly force their dead and shriveled up eyes to bugle further outwards. Slicing the bones in their fingers until the last substance of marrow is intact; the fingers would then dangle. The shadow disemboweled the organs in their structure and had let it to rot. Their tongues were stripped away and were steadily bitten by the roaches that infested half of the corpse’s left remains. The bridge of their noses began to scalp away, and was beginning to reveal the raw bone.

 

Finally the jaws were fixed and various fragments were disabled, and had let a lazy and loose stance. They smiled, their mouths hanged and lapped around. The rotten guts would now be used to lynch the dead corpses from the un-sturdy ceilings.

 

-------

 

“So what’s the autopsy?” asked the acquainted and fellow investigator, who took a nice gulp of his steaming hot cup of coffee.

 

“Says that they were murdered somehow. Horrible scene it was when they found them hung from the ceiling,” replied the cop, handing a well stack of papers to Detective Etherson.

 

The officer skimmed and flipped the pages through with a determined expression on his face.

 

“Murder?" scoffed the detective. “Even if this was some crazy crap, there’s no way I’m thinking it was all murdered.”

 

“So you think it was actually suicide?” questioned the officer with a raised eyebrow.

 

“Nah. Something like that I guess,” He answered unknowingly, and took another sip out of his favored mug.

 

-------

 

A face is seen. Seen at the butt of the revolver. A face that will forever blemish into the minds of anyone it wishes to destroy and shatter. The soul of this face lives forever in darkness, ready to pray upon more victims in order to satisfy his own thirst and hunger. He leaves the real beings to excruciating pain, insanity and death; for an exchange of morality.

 

Wretched.

[Lochie_old]

That is amazing work! You should of came to WD sooner.

[Struff Bunstridge]

One or two things:

 

"scathed motel" is an odd adjective. Technically it works, but it's a bit clumsy sounding. I'm guessing you mean it's run-down.

 

"air had raspingly fled through the confined and reserved." I think you missed a word at the end here.

 

"the bright rays and shadows were replicated of the simple door" - I'd probably ditch the words "were" and "of", and replace "replicated" with "reflected", or even "picked out the image of".

 

"grow an unknown of steamed rage onto his tired face" - missed out the word "expression"?

 

There's a few other points like this; you could do with a proof-read and a spellcheck. Otherwise, as ~PhusioN~ said: where've you been? This is good stuff. I know what you mean about the large amount of horror and macabre on WD - that particular genre's getting a bit saturated at the moment.

[Eminence]

As Struff has commented, there seem to be a number of out-of-place adjectives and/or phrases, as well as the need for proof-reading in order to fully make sense of what the description says. My opinion of this, and the style it was written, is that you, yourself, don't fully understand and comprehend the words you are writing. It gives off, to me, the sense that you've used a thesaurus to make the piece sound needlessly verbose, trying to make it sound a little more intelligent and intriguing without truly understanding the context of the words you're using. My reason for this is that there are so many slightly out-of-place words - you can see why you've used them, but with a little more understanding, you realise that they aren't truly appropriate to the situation at hand.

 

There's some slight punctuation errors with regards to dialogue. You've got it right in that you're ending sentences of dialogue with a comma where attribution follows, but you must remember that the attribution must then begin with a lower case letter;

 

 

“Please! Don’t kill me!” She pleaded.

 

“Nah. Something like that I guess,” He answered unknowingly, and took another sip out of his favored mug.

 

//

 

“Please! Don’t kill me!” she pleaded.

 

“Nah. Something like that I guess,” he answered unknowingly, and took another sip out of his favored mug.

 

One of the major problems I found in the piece is that there's this constant, niggling little tense switching going on. It's told in the past tense, and yet there are a number of occasions where it actually slips into present:

 

 

A man and a woman furtive their eyes; unexpected and mildly astonished of who could be there, interrupting their sweet good times.

 

(this is also an example of the 'thesaurus' usage - 'furtive' doesn't make sense in this context, as it isn't a verb - it's an adjective)

 

 

He pries them open, and sought the muzzle of the weapon towards his stature.

 

Some only simple mistakes, but they take away from the aura of the piece. Another slightly linked aspect of this is:

 

 

Now that the male was now dosed

 

In a third-person past tense narrative, I would stray from using the word 'now' too often, as well as not using it twice in such short succession.

 

One of my main gripes with the piece is that it's too focused on staying alienated from the characters. Now, this is an excellent device to use as means of character development, but it just grows rather tiresome when you continue to refer to the characters with the nouns 'the man', 'the female' and 'the shadow', for example. You try to remain extremely ambiguous throughout in the description of the killer, his weapon, etc. - there needs to come a point where he's not just described as a shadow, and presented in more vivid detail. It just doesn't really work as it is.

 

Overall, it's not a bad piece, but it's just too forced, for lack of a better term. There's too much verbosity without substance or context - it seems like you've tried too hard to use 'big words' without understanding their true usage, while trying to also develop an ambiguous style that doesn't really work in the end. It's got potential, though - it reminded me a lot of my Death Panic, which is also set around a killing in a motel.

[Wanted Assailant]

Thanks for the feedback. Thank you Phusion, Bunstridge and E.

I've let loose on this one. I have been known for switching from past and present tense, actually.

 

The way the story is read with wierd adjectives and out-of-place-ness I understood looking back now. I think I fixed everything up, hopefully? This a short one, I don't even know why it's even considered a chapter.

 

I'm planning on making divisions.

The whole novel is based around Wretched Face, but there's gonna be a division to separate stories involving him. Those stories will have chapters. I'll explain later. The first official chapter will be up in a few days or so, I'll try not to worry myself with deadlines.

 

 

 

Wretched Face

 

 

Chapter ???: Revealed

 

 

Two middle-aged, unsettled and high-spirited men guffaw wildly in the comfy seats of their car that was always shared between them. They completed the devious prank, deceiving the younger folks to inhabit the run-down asylum. Promising them oodles of cash if they would venture inside the run-down and rotting establishment.

 

“Them young-ins fell for it! ”, chortled Buster Cherry, who slapped the right side of his leg.

His fellow buddy, Craven Moorehead, agreed with him as he thought of the cruel plan along as well. The group of teenagers entered the abandon place, thinking that the briefcase of money will all flutter into their hands soon enough.

 

The children ventured more and more into the torn place, their eyes widen in horror as they gain more depth inside. They witness to have heard the whispers of the dead patients and nurses. Some of them claimed to see crazed people in long and blood-stained gowns. The cold chilly air whipped pass their constantly sweating necks, enforcing more fear. One by one, the teenagers began to departure from this world, leaving their bodies on the tiled floors.

 

“Come on Les! We gotta leave this place! The money isn’t worth it!” yelled the womanly friend of Les Plack. Les just stood there, unmoved by her words as he stared deep down to the floor. He couldn’t believe it, his best and favored companions had now left this world without even saying a goodbye. He knew this place was haunted, as they died in unexplained circumstances.

He simply looked back to one of his few remaining friends, Jennifer.

 

“No,” He replied blandly. “I’m not gonna leave this place until I find out!” he screamed into the dirty ceiling above, a confused face appeared on Jennifer.

 

“What are you talking about? There’s no time for this, Les, let’s just go!” she huffed, her once clean clothes transformed into a disgusting and torn piece of worthless cloth due to the long stay. Her face blemished with scars and other injuries she have taken the minute she came in here for ridiculous fun. Her beady eyes motioned wildly, as her lungs tightened even more, she gave a gasp for air. Something caught her throat, and continued to force pressure on her neck. Her face flushed, she struggles gain back the oxygen she loved so much before. Les reacts, and attempts to stop Jennifer of her horrid cough. He examines Jennifer frantically, not knowing what had caused her to turn her body to shutdown. Jennifer’s eyes fled backwards towards the back of her head, and her mouth stretched in awe. Bloodshot inflamed her eyes. He cries silently, weeping away, dampening the lifeless corpse.

 

A ruckus interrupts his regards to Jennifer; this brung him to take note the existence of his other friends that survived. He searches for them across the hallways, passing the cell blocks around him in a quick flash. He catches his breath, his hands leaned over his knees. He saw no hope, everyone was dead to no avail. He collapses onto the floor. A large buzz scraped against his head, and soon he was in the same state of his friends.

 

Back to Buster Cheery and Craven Moorehead, they were seen as nice carcasses now. The homeless people would viciously tear up the car doors, eating their bodies away while foam tickle around their mouths. They didn’t die of murder or suicide. There was no ghost or undead patients. They died of insanity. All of this was hallucination, and this sentenced their minds to another realm, thinking it was all real. The man and woman found in the motel died due to their own mind killing them. How powerful it was. There was never a figure that murdered the man with a revolver, or a shadow who lacerated the body of the woman. They murdered themselves, to put it simply. Wretched Face placed a curse on them. If someone else had witnessed the death in the motel, they would only see two lowly humans, fighting against themselves which would later result in their death. Wretched Face had fooled many, and claimed them into his little hourglass of souls.

 

 

 

 

[Wanted Assailant]

Note: Triple post.

A Division is a little segment of the ENTIRE story of Wretched Face. Basically, Wretched Face are stories within a story. Like the Aesop fables. I think. This first chapter of the first division is more of an introduction.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Wretched Face

 

 

Division I: Guilt

 

Chapter 1: Bones Malpaso

 

 

The sweet and unique taste of the delicious French pastry succumbs onto his tastebud. He chews delightfully as the delicious piece of bread shuffles around in his wet mouth, coated with watery liquid that emerges knowing he had the desire. The specks of the eaten croissant tickles around his motioning mouth as crumbs flicker down onto the table and floor. The crescent-shaped bread in his hands began to disappear with every sweet and flaky bite. The hot stench of the freshly bake pastry journeys through his nostrils, furthering his craving for large bites as he chows down for more.

 

This place could only cook up the finest meals ever. Luckily, this place is also known for holding values of entertainment for it’s visitors. Most of them would only come here to be entertained, rather than to sit down and have a nice drink. The café hired an off-duty, local circus worker to amuse the people for the day. In a crummy outfit, the circus worker enters the café with an exaggerated smile on his face. Some of the civilians looked dumbfounded, confused, while others expected this clown to come anyway. Meanwhile, Bones Malpaso, after finishing his delicious platter of 3 croissants, his orders to the waitresses is to bring in a nice plate of carrot soup. He rubs his hands together as the nice waitress places a hot steaming bowl on his table.

 

He takes the spoon and starts to dabble it into the puddle of cooked moisture and chopped carrots. Not long after did he finish the bowl, he slurps and lets out a sigh of relief as he puts the bowl down away from his mouth. Again, he proceeds to order another. After several antics, the circus worker decides to start a half-time trick that would astound the viewers. First he stood upright, yelping a short cry as he makes a frozen salute. Caught by the yelp, Wolfe is distracted and decides to look back to the amusing man.

 

The circus freak then puts his head down, viewing at the floor and bends down. Suddenly, saliva exits through his lips nice and slowly. The long blob of the slime substance trails down towards the floor perfectly; the onlookers in awe. In a flash, the man stands upright again, bringing up his spit again and swallows. The bump in his throat shivers as a sign, bringing his cold spit along down his esophagus. He smiles greatly, his lips outstretch, showing a great detail of his yellow teeth. The beings in the café are in astound expression; claps began to slightly erupt in the restaurant. Some looked glee, while Malpaso was disgusted. His hand that held the silver spoon near his mouth was hurriedly brought back to the bowl.

 

“I think I lost my appetite,” Malpaso replies in disgust. He pushes his bowl away from him and it slides across his table. He leaves his seat and lays a tip to one of the waitresses before exiting the meal establishment. Malpaso passes the circus trickster; pushing the door open, a loud bell constructed from the top of the door makes a familiar sound when anybody enters or to exit. Soon the busy and loud rumblings of the world outside of the café intercepts any of the quietness he experienced in there.

 

The noisy sounds of cars swooping by, the horns blaring of annoyed drivers due to the mild traffic. Clusters of people walking around on the side pavements, aimlessly it could be seen that they have no certain to a destination. Fairly dark, 6:00 PM in the progressing days of Fall. Malpaso came here regularly, and usually after work. He places his naked hands into the warmth of his pockets; walking along south in the direction the café was in. He stays upon the sidewalk, strolling away down the street, passing by the numerous people. The destination where you wait for city transportation was where his mind was at. All of these things were mostly done on a daily basis.

 

He stops next to an alley, and lights a cigarette in his mouth. Malpaso was pretty much a heavy smoker, and it relieved the stress he obtains. You can see the works of the toxic slowly demolishing his voice that forms into a grizzly tone, and his squinting eyes that appears with a red shade. Malpaso has his mind ready on the bus shelter many foots away, and checks his delicate wristwatch; 6:15 PM, something stops him off his train of thought.

 

“Malpaso,” the dark whisper coming from the deep alleyway make it’s way into his ears. The cold ghost quickly sends a shiver down Malpaso’s spine. His eyes widen and his mouth is glued shut; a hard gulp travels down his throat. A sharp but a gentle stab pulses near his chest as the soft voice carries his notice. His head turns east, towards the alley in which that whisper came from. Quietness and dull; his ears explained blatantly. He heard nothing but the words of a ghost. Not an emit sound was made. Soon, A figure emerges from the depth if darkness. Malpaso discards the cigatette.

 

A raw and slow creak loudly covers over the strange silence. An aging man in a wheel chair rolled his way in the sight of Malpaso. A cigarette dangles from his chapped and wrinkled lips. His skin had fallen to a horrid state, in which it had succumbed to becoming a disgusting piece of flesh, as the pieces of skin flail from his body. A torn scarf is hung over his neck and tape is wrapped around his hands. His long and horrid fingernails scratch against the wheels of the chair. Bags multiply under his dark eyes. He gives a nice cheerful grin.

 

“Hey,” he repeatedly said with a short grin, exposing too many yellow teeth and inflamed gums. His teeth involuntarily bulge outwards. A ghastly hot of air exits his mouth, inside rests a dry and shriveled tongue. One of his eyes becomes lazy; and his shoes are destroyed from the inner and out. The man wears a red and black checkered shirt. His legs deem useless, what covers it are a pair of acid-wash, dark jeans. The man gives an evil smirk, his face stretches in wrinkles. It was as if time stopped, and that only these two were in correct animation. Malpaso grimaces, confused. He raises one of his hands about to the length of his shoulder.

 

“Um,” that was the only speakable translation Malpaso could of gotten from his bewildering mind. The man in the wheelchair gives a dark and chilling laughter, roaring through the emptiness on the planet. Malpaso is shook by this, his raised hand cringes at the sound of his laughter, and coils up before being brought down. He gives a nervous smile, as his eye twitches uncontrollably.

 

The man does not speak, and instead gives out another disgusting chuckle to churn the aching in Malpaso’s guts. He vanishes, leaving his laugh to strike away in Malpaso’s remembrance.

 

9:16 and dark.

 

Bones Malpaso finds himself groggy, and cold. Seconds after waking up, he notices he lays onto the hard, side pavement. He grunts as he scratches away at his temple, confused and still trying to recover what had just happened. In reality, everything happened in a blur, in so that is what Malpaso is feeling. He sits back up, and swerves his head frantically around, thinking the mysterious tramp is still around his presence. Soon he comes to sense, and drags himself from the ground, dusting off any unneeded dirt on his clothes. Almost forgetting before walking off, he grabs his brown fedora hat from the floor and places it on top of his head. He shimmies the handlebar mustache on his slim and skinny face, feeling normal as ever.

 

Strangeness occurs as Bones walks only a few steps, his expression is determined and showcases wonders. The blur in his mind comes back, but he’s only to be surprised as he sees his apartment only a few feet away. Of course he took the bus to get here, but even if this daily act was repeated numerous times, he had no memory of joining in on the city bus. He’s even surprised that nothing on his person has been stolen, like his wallet. He shrugs his shoulders, and tries to forget. He enters the brick building, does the norm, and goes to his apartment room on the fourth floor. His keys jingle as it twists inside the slot, attempting to unlock the door. He successfully enters, closes the door behind him and yawns after a forgetful day. He takes off his brown leather blazer and drops it on the shoulders of his chair. He disassembles the dark tie on top of his white dress shirt, and sits on the side of his bed. Everything thing to him seems average, except he couldn’t foresee the future well enough. He lays his head on the comfy pillow, drags in the covers, and falls asleep not long after.

 

He still remembers that face. Oh, that wretched face. The gloomy eyes, and notably the decaying and rotting gray skin that was on that man’s face. It terrifies him so. Luckily, Bones Malpaso can only believe it was a dream.

Edited July 20, 2008 by Wanted Assailant

[Carbine23]

The first line made me think of No Country For Old Men

Good work! Few mistakes here and there but i think it's an improvement over the afghast. Especially since the chapters are shorter, and better planned out.

[Warplay3r]

...I'm intrugied. That is a fine piece of writing. And I like the chapter with the teenagers and their insane thoughts. Keep it up. Really.

[Wanted Assailant]

 

Wretched Face

 

 

Division I: Guilt

 

Chapter 2: Groggy

 

Author's Note: Thought I'd release an installment before I go. Will be back from vacation.

 

 

 

 

 

Bones had woken up with a dreary daze, massaging his head warmly, again attempting to regain any sense and logic of what happened yesterday. He rubbed the side of his skinny face, and yawned audibly before stretching his arms to a well length, feeling and hearing the painless cranks and cracks throughout his body. The glistening sun on the awfully early day flickered through the blinds near him as he slouched in his bed.

 

He got himself out of the softening mattress that was assorted in blankets and sheets. He stumbled his way across the messy plain below, clothes trashed all over the floor, and into the sparkling and clean bathroom he would travel into in almost everyday of his life. He looked at himself in the mirror with a foggy sight. He brushed his teeth and cleansed himself in the warmth of his shower. Life would be as usual, his workday not any different.

 

He applied clothes; He slapped on a brown pigmented suit and latched along a blue tie to his collar. A nice fedora hat of the same, brown color was tugged onto his skull, after he had swiped it away from his bed. He felt awfully groggy, blatantly seen on his face as he tries to completely open his eyes that glued partially shut. He walked unsteadily to grab his car keys that were placed on his kitchen table. His mind still dazed, he left his apartment room and eventually the whole brick building. He felt the energy in his body quickly build up as his legs without much thought, run over the stone steps outside. His nerves were freelance and carefree as they had instinctively ran over those set of stairs.

 

He gave a questioning look, surprised at this unexpected boost his legs gave. He made it towards car perfectly parked near the curb, and jingled his car keys inside the slot. With a bit of tuning, it clicked and Bones immediately flung the door open to get in. He saddled inside, and revved up the engine, hearing the grumbles of the machine travel through his ears. His hands planted on the steering wheel, he twirled his car onto the road, and met up at an intersection before the signaling red light stationed after the yellow light . Bones rested his back against the seat, sighing as he brings his wrist up to his face take a look at the current time on his watch. Notified it was twenty-eight minutes before twelve-o’clock, he only wished he had woken a bit early to pass the traffic. Pedestrians, caught the words, ‘ WALK’ lit up on the crossing light, and shuffled themselves onto the asphalt to reach the other side.

 

A short moment commences before a green coded color is shown on the raised source light, the other civilians stopped in their place at the edge of curb. The distinctive light enforced the walks to stay put from crossing on the path, and letting the people behind the wheels to drive on. Bones quickly grasped the wheel, and drove before another familiar color would be shown on the traffic lights. He turned east, and drove along the straight street. With no excessive speed permitted by the laws on the street, Bones strolls down at the sight of the yellow light before a pit stop at the red. He unwounded the windows on his expensive SUV, and rested his left elbow out of it. The fairly warm air blew inside the car and brushed his hair. He decided to tune up on the radio, and cranked up on the volume fairly to hear the soft voices play throughout the morning talk show.

 

Only a few cars awaited with him for the light to turn green. Bones’s normality with waking up almost everyday to set off for work had ended on that morning. As he started to drift off in the conversation heard through the radio, a group of disguised men with firearms at their disposal quickly exited a dark nearby alley. Bones had not noticed them in the car window; they treaded along with the hefty weapons, and soon one of them attempted to pull open the car door. A rough voice caught the attention of Bones as he swiftly turned his head around to see a man masked with a shotgun held in his hands.

 

“Lets us in and shut the f*ck up!” the man’s barbaric words muffled through the ski mask he sported. Bones reacted hastily, and with fear for his life he quickly unlocked the doors to the SUV with the press of a button. The five man barged inside, and slammed the doors without a second’s thought. The man that was supposedly leading these men ran around the other side, and sat in the passenger’s seat after he had waved his gun at Bones.

 

“Step on the goddamn pedal!” The man demanded, his eyes immediately darted on him, and aimed Bones at gunpoint. He cocked back the combat shotgun, and in an instant it placed fear into Bones Malpaso. Bones slammed his foot against the accelerator without no knowledge if he was going to break the law, but luckily for him, the traffic light had switched to green. Bones’s expression was stiff, but the beads of sweat fell from his face told what he was feeling and experiencing. The three men in the back, and the supposed leader had all wore dark suits, and ski-masks that shielded their face. Bones kept steady on his pace. As ordered he hadn’t let a inch off the gas pedal, and kept driving with full force.

 

“You’re gonna bring us on 7th street, you got that?” The man asked rhetorically. Both knew there would be harsh consequences if no agreement Bones complied with a slow nod. The masked man tuned down the radio with one of his hands, and simply stared back at Bones. The talking had dispersed, and the only sound possibly heard - was the absence of it. The car drove down a lane, accompanied by building apartments, houses; alleys and more.

 

“Alright, alright. Stop over here,” he nudged Bones to stroll in front of a decaying building. It was splashed in graffiti, and the skin began to peel off of it’s constructive build. It was in a state of disrepair. The windows were shattered and flat pieces of wood boarded the lack of a closing or opening. An aging, crusting stoop lead towards the entrance. The door was fairly dismantled, barely hanging off it’s hinges. The men quickly got out, and ordered to get out as well. Bones cautiously left his car and raised his hands in the air. Guns were pointed at him; Bones only wished this hostile situation would end. Maybe, in another man’s terms. He would return to the acts of slumber after experiencing strange events that occurs to them. He felt an uneasy pain, but he was reckoned to be unconscious. A pistol-whip across the face left him on the floor and gagged.