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Build Up Your Gang

BUYG: Build Up Your Gang IV

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Sensational job there, I applaud you for your effort in taking on that humongous rating backlog. cookie.gif

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Sorry guys i haven't wrote a story in a while but i will hopefully write one soon. Hopefully this topic doesn't die.

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Review previous scene


user posted image

(Story #16)

Episode Three, "Escalazione", Part Four

His feet pounded the pavement, his breathing heavy and gasping. His thigh stung, blood splattering and diving from the gash in his pants with each of his long, heavy steps. Yet, despite running with every ounce of energy, they were gaining on him. Three of them; at least, three he could see with each desperately brief glance behind him.


He leapt atop the brick garden-bed and ploughed without slowing through the branches of the tree, covering his face and arm with tiny cuts. But as he jumped down to the pavement at the other side, he saw that they hadn't followed him, were going around, probably gaining him an extra half-second on them.


And every second counted with his leg, pissing blood, shortening his gait, slowing him down. Ordinarily, these guys, in leathers, heavy leather boots on their feet, carrying crowbars and bats, wouldn't stand a chance of catching him. But, just a split-second's lost focus, and a knife that should have sailed past him and into the ground, caught his leg as he twisted to avoid it a half-second too late. At least he did see it, or he'd have a blade through his thigh.


F*ckers. All he did was tip their bikes like dominos, a deliberate taunt of disrespect courtesy the Pegorino Family. Now, they wanted his neck. And if his leg didn't hold up, they'd f*cking have it, too. He plunged through a crowd of pedestrians shouting in vain, scattering people over the pavement and the road, as he dived through the traffic desperately. He just needed to reach that alleyway. If he could just...-


Though the driver slammed on his brakes, he slammed into the hood regardless, sliding over it and onto the road on the other side. Now, both legs had cause for complaint, plus one of the bikers was now caught up to him, fist raised. With whatever remained of his strength, he kicked as the biker's fist sailed toward his head, plunging his foot into a leather-encased groin. And, as the other two arrived, their brother collapsing to the ground doubled-over, his arms lifted him from the road and legs propelled him to speed again...-


-...Straight into a car door of the next car whose driver was getting out to find out why the traffic had stopped.


"What the f*ck!" Vinny screamed, exasperated at his dumb luck, before running on, both legs and now his head, aching.


But, now, safety. Darting over a sleeping homeless guy, he turned the corner into the alleyway and collapsed into gasps and breathlessness, just as two of his pursuers turned the corner in anger and straight into baseball bats waiting for them.


One, tall and thin, flew legs-in-the-air as a bat slammed into his face, while the second doubled-over, falling sideways to the ground as a bat cracked with violent intent into his exposed abdomen.


Joel, Slugger and Nicky Tramunti then proceded to beat the sh!t out of the pair unlucky enough to fall into Vinny's trap, the Lost patches on their backs receiving a viscious volley of blows as Joel shouted at them to remember the Pegorinos took no sh!t. Geary, he shouted, had taken what didn't belong to The Lost, but to them, and, Joel added with a kick, they wanted it back.


Vinny's third pursuer arrived on the scene to see the bloodied bats and the crumpled forms of his compadres on the ground, and bolted. Nicky and Slugger immediately dropped the bats and took off in hot but brief pursuit.


It was that his breathing slowed from gasping to just heavy that allowed Vinny to shout for attention as three more bikers lumbered toward him midway down the alley, weapons drawn. Realising he was perhaps too far into the alley for the others to get there in time, he reflexively pulled his blade and refused to back down.


His three new assailants waved their weapons, a bat, crowbar and long-knife, menacingly as he fit his fingers into the spiked knuckle-duster handle of his own knife. It's gleaming chrome finish distracted from its menacing effectiveness as Vinny held the five-inch blade at his side, his left hand in front of him defensively.


Though Joel wasn't far behind him, it was too late; believing Vinny was distracted, the baseball bat was swung hard at his head. Vinny leaned right, the bat swooping past his head, and took a side-step toward the wielder and plunged his blade deep into the bat-wielder's abdomen, cutting upward as he withdrew, then retreated his right hand back to his side.


As the first of his assailants fell to his knees, dropping the bat and clutching at his gut now a river of thick, red blood, the second stepped forward slicing the air with his ten-inch blade. Vinny's left hand reflexively hit the approaching arm down and to the left, while his right punched forward for his attacker's neck. His right hand, however, was caught.


Each man grappled and grabbed the other's armed-hand, and began a deathly dance of strength. It was fortunate it was his legs that were injured and understrength, not his arms, Vinny murmured to himself as the two men slowly spun about wrestling eachother.


The third man, Crowbar, seizing the opportunity to strike while Vinny's weapon was trapped, swung his weapon down toward his quarry, but mis-aimed and would strike Vinny's arms.


Vinny sensed he was done for. His arms would be smashed, his strength lost and ten-inches of cold biker steel were about to slide effortlessly through his skin and deep into his chest. Nothing left but desperation in his quiver, he thought.


He relaxed his left arm's strenth and, as expected, his wrestling buddy took the advantage, plunging his knife toward Vinny's left side, slicing at flesh, but also bringing his own arms into the path of the crowbar.


The alleyway echoed with the blood-curdling howl of pain, Vinny's blade was freed to plunge into the blade-weilding biker's side, withdraw and stab again before Crowbar could react.


Realising what he'd wrought, and seeing himself facing one knife-weilding maniac and three more guys with bats, Crowbar bolted down the alley. Despite seering pain in both legs and his side, Vinny grimaced and bolted after him. Crowbar hesitated, slowing to look back and see the four men not chasing him, but turned to run again when he saw the maniac propelled from some garbage cans toward him.


Hesitation cost him.


Vinny leapt at crowbar plunging his blade into the biker's shoulder. Deep. Crowbar screamed as the two men crashed heavily into the alleyway pavement, a mere fifteen feet short of the street. His scream startled the pedestrians who fled like gazelle from a lion.


Vinny, his blade still buried in the biker's right shoulder, sank his knee into the biker's back, and leaned down to issue a heavy-breathed warning.


"You're gonna tell your f*ckin' biker brothers that the Pegorinos want what Geary has taken from them," he hissed into the squealing biker's ear. "You hear me?" When the biker screamed an affirmation, Vinny climbed off him and pulled his blade.


As Vinny slowly got to his feet, Slugger grabbed him, helping him stand. Joel and Nicky stared wide-eyed at his work.


"F*ckin' f*ck, kid, remind me not to tackle you in a knife fight," Joel quipped.


"Think they got the message?" Vinny asked between grimaces.


The others gaffawed happily.


"They'll be crossing the street if they see you," Joel replied.


"Where'd you learn that sh!t?" Nicky asked, gesturing to look more closely at Vinny's menacing-looking blade.


"Streets o' Purgatory," Vinny casually replied, opening his hand to allow the intricate-looking blade to be pulled from his fingers.


"It's a custom job, more for scaring sh!t into f..-," Vinny started, grimacing with the pain in his side, "It's more lethal-looking than lethal, but specially made to let me hold it like a fighting knife."


A PMP pulled up roughly at the end of the alley as Vinny explained, the passenger door bouncing open to reveal Jay-Jay in the driver's seat.


"Boss," Slugger said, looking down the alley, "we better get moving. There'll be more comin'."


"Yeah. Alright, let's get the f*ck outa here," Joel announced.


"Nicky, we'll drop you at Doc Fanucci's with the kid, here," Joel instructed. Turning to Vinny, he added, "He'll take good care of ya, kid. Don' worry."


As Slugger and Nicky slid a bleeding Vinny into the car, Joel turned around from the driver's seat. "You did f*ckin' good today, kid."


"And you got a psychopath's eye for this sh!t," Nicky added holding Vinny's spiked and viscious-looking knife. "Fear is what keeps sh!t from going down, and if that means going f*ckin' psycho' on some f*ckers, you do it. That's what'll keep you alive and profitable in this family."


Once his passengers were ready, Jay-Jay floored the car into reverse.


As their car pulled away from one end of the alleyway, several bikes pulled-up to the other end of the alley, bikers climbing off to examine the broken bodies of their brothers, swearing bitter revenge against the Pegorino family.


I am genuinely interested in feedback. If you'd prefer not to clog the thread, feel free to PM instead.


This story received a $50 rating from staff with the comment "Great", plus some concern over "uncharacteristic" spelling mistakes.


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Edited by aragond

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Episode List - I will keep this updated as I post new episodes


Act I

The Irish Mob

Reward &

Link to Review

Chapter 1 – An Unsolicited Warning

Chapter 2 – Scrapping on the Subway

Chapter 3 – A Hurried Departure

Chapter 4 – Of Mice and Men

Chapter 5 – Travelling in Style

Chapter 6 – The Meet of the Problem

Chapter 7 – Big Trouble in Little China








Act II

The Irish Mob

Reward &

Link to Review

Chapter 1 – The Fourth Leaf

Chapter 2 – When You Walk Through the Garden

Chapter 3 – If You Walk With Jesus

Chapter 4 – Walk the Straight and Narrow Track

Chapter 5 – Way Down In The Hole

Chapter 6 – The Fire and the Fury

Chapter 7 – When the Thunder Rolls











The Pavano Family

Reward &

Link to Review

Chapter 1 – The Nevada Cooperative

Chapter 2 – Two Tonys

Chapter 3 – 'Round About Midnight






IRT Staff


Irony is starting out in a post saying "I might have misused a car" and then buying a bunch o' guns from the Chinese gun store that your game doesn't own. It might seem a minor point, but the descriptor "Assault Rifle" refers to the AK-47 icon and "Carbine Rifle" is the M4A1 rifle icon. So, you're buying what we ought to take to mean Carbines, which are not owned by the Irish Mob. Ahhh, but as I finish reading, you don't actually use them, but studiously end-up using the AK. Clever writing! A second read was required, but well-done.

Yeah I took care not to use weapons that aren't owned by the gang. But buying Carbine Rifles was pretty much the whole purpose of that story, as should have hopefully become evident from Act II: Chapter 1... so its a forgiveable crime, I beg!



...placed Packie on the sofa. Are you sure? You sure he didn't "drop him", "dump him" or "flop him"? Just thoughts.

You try putting coked-up mob boss on a sofa, and then tell me if you would prefer to place them or drop, dump or flop them!



Good length (others take note; 791 words is fine)

Is that a hint to keep the length down, or telling other members they ought to get their word-count higher?


Also, Aragond, I like the latest story. Will aim to give some meaning feedback at some point soon.


Act II - Chapter 2 - When You Walk Through the Garden

The Irish Mob

The Lucky Winkles


The Steinway Beer Garden reverberated with the shameless atmosphere of an Irish shindig in full swing. The McReary Mob had gathered in entirety and were partying hard. Irishmen drank to the bravado, to the success and to the glory of the heads of their gang. At the centre of the party, the core of the celebration, were Packie and Derrick. Together they downed shots and snorted coke like they planned for no tomorrow: a mindless binge of distinction to honour both their prize, and their fallen. "To Saint Michael f*cking Keane!" cried Packie, a glass of liquor high above his head; the crowd emptied their drinks and cheered in reverence.


A sloshed mobster staggered uncontrolled through the crowd, clutching at tables as he stumbled. He fell with a graceless crash onto the table in front of Aodhan, spilling glasses of ale across the bench Aodhan sat at. "Thick, dumb b*stard!" shouted Aodhan, as he pushed the disorderly drunk off the table so that he landed on the beer drenched grass. Aodhan could not bring himself to drink; the thought of Michael gripping the phone tight while talking to his mother that morning was a chilling reminder of the wickedness that accompanied their elected lifestyle. As he surveyed the festivities, Aodhan made brief eye contact with Packie; Packie raised his glass in a gesture of warm, inebriated recognition.


Dermot's eyes were glazed over. The cocktail of alcohol and hospital painkillers was showing its potent influence on his expression, and his speech. "Was' yu's lookin' so sh*te o'er?" his massive cheeks glowed red as his cheesy grin crossed them, "'av' a drink you crabby f*ck."


"Michael's dead, Dermot," Aodhan said plainly. "How can I drink at a time like this?" Dermot didn't respond, but instead drunkenly attempted to stare at Aodhan, derisively letting the kid know he didn't share his view.


Gerry McReary paced through the gathering; the members of the mob raising their drinks in tribute to him as he passed. He approached Packie with his arms held out, an embrace of equal brotherly affection and aggressive macho. The three brothers drank in unison, toasting the inimitable triumph of the McReary clan.


Dermot's phone rang. He took it from his pocket and gawped mystified at the gadget for several seconds before answering. "Hello," he answered in the most strained voice, trying in vain to sound sober. Seconds into the conversation his face turned white and his tone hinted at dire consequences, "Triads?


"The f*ck they doin' causin' sh*t at the Winkles?


"You's sure 'bout this, he's tellin' the truth, right?


"I don't need to know which ones you's cut off. Is he tellin' the truth?"


Gerry approached, noticing the distress in his muscular barman's voice, and alarmed to hear Dermot use the term 'Triad'.


"Yeah, well if you's think you's got all you can outta him, throw the c*nt in the river.


"An' remember to weigh him down." Dermot hung up.


Gerry spoke before Dermot had chance, "What the hell is going on, Dermot?"


"It's the f*ckin' Triads, Gerry." Dermot had soon sobered up, "They're p*ssed after this c*nts chums shot up their gun club a week ago." Dermot stared at Aodhan with eyes that spoke of accusation, the mild satire in his voice not detracting from a tenor of highest severity.


"Sh*t!" shouted Gerry. "There ain't no painless way to resolve this, I need those stupid f*cks' heads on a plate."


"You should 'av' been lookin', Packie," Derrick stumbled loudly and unwittingly into the conversation. "That Slav b*stard. Bam! Right through the chopper's window. 'An I thought we did some tough sh*t in Ireland."


"Shut it, Derrick," said Packie. Derrick and Packie had arrived as Aodhan, almost squaring off to Gerry as they rowed, candidly disputed the response. "Look, kid," Packie interrupted, having worked out what the dispute was over, "it's the only choice we got here!" Aodhan's face was creased with anguish and he shuddered with disbelief. "The big guy was at Lancet, right?"


"Not anymore," Aodhan replied. "He got moved to Westdyke."


"Westdyke?" questioned Gerry with a panic in his voice. "That's f*cking Alderney."


"Sh*t!" declared Packie. "We're f*cked."


"What's so bad about Alderney?" enquired Aodhan.


Gerry's expression was a dilemma of concern and danger, "He's been moved across jurisdictions. He's talking to the f*ckin' Feds."


The gravity of the grim state of affairs became clear to Aodhan. From Liam the F.I.B would be able to connect the shootout at the gun dealer's to the McRearys, and the guns to the robbery at the Bank of Liberty. If infuriated Triads weren't enough of a problem, a Federal Witness was far more they bargained for. "I'll do it," Aodhan declared.


The McReary brothers looked in amazement at Aodhan: the wiry Irish kid volunteering to assassinate his own friend. "He's gonna need help," said Derrick, acutely aware of Seán's expertise, "who can we send?" The entire mob was gathered at the Steinway, but between them there wasn't a single clear-headed character.


"I got Gianni doin' somin' for me at the Winkles," replied Dermot. "He's already in on this too."


Packie gave a curious look to Dermot, "The Fox? Sh*t." The three McReary brothers shared glances between one another, exchanging delicate nods and faint gestures. "Let The Fox know Aodhan's on his way."


As Aodhan left the Steinway, Packie passed him a handgun carried by one of the mob's thugs. Aodhan got into Michael's Oracle and started the engine. As the car sat, gently purring in neutral, Aodhan wept. Facing the dilemma of murdering his friend, he'd never taken a life before.

Edited by Maverick24

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As you can see, I tried doing that in my Sig' but quickly blew the limits. I've been wondering how you've been avoiding the limits, but, of course, you're not putting this IN the sig'!!


Consider your idea stolen! biggrin.gifwink.gif

IRT Staff


Irony is starting out in a post saying "I might have misused a car" and then buying a bunch o' guns from the Chinese gun store that your game doesn't own. It might seem a minor point, but the descriptor "Assault Rifle" refers to the AK-47 icon and "Carbine Rifle" is the M4A1 rifle icon. So, you're buying what we ought to take to mean Carbines, which are not owned by the Irish Mob. Ahhh, but as I finish reading, you don't actually use them, but studiously end-up using the AK. Clever writing! A second read was required, but well-done.

Yeah I took care not to use weapons that aren't owned by the gang. But buying Carbine Rifles was pretty much the whole purpose of that story, as should have hopefully become evident from Act II: Chapter 1... so its a forgiveable crime, I beg!

Well, I can't speak for Staff ( tounge2.gif )

But, the really KEEN part is that while you refer to having them, you refer to using them, but you DON'T ACTUALLY write about using them. Well bl00dy done! I commend your sneaky evasion of the rule! lol.gif



...placed Packie on the sofa. Are you sure? You sure he didn't "drop him", "dump him" or "flop him"? Just thoughts.

You try putting coked-up mob boss on a sofa, and then tell me if you would prefer to place them or drop, dump or flop them!

lol.gifPoint taken (by Staff that is, not by me... I mean, it wasn't me that wrote that, now was it? turn.gif {People look askance at Aragond.}



Good length (others take note; 791 words is fine)

Is that a hint to keep the length down, or telling other members they ought to get their word-count higher?

I'm pretty sure Staff is referring to people who submitted 350 word stories, which I indicated in my second-to-last post (or third, whatever) would receive a bad rating.


I, for one, certainly could not beat anyone up for having stories too long!! nervous.gif



Also, Aragond, I like the latest story. Will aim to give some meaning feedback at some point soon.

Champion! I look forward to it. And thanks.

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Episode List




As you can see, I tried doing that in my Sig' but quickly blew the limits. I've been wondering how you've been avoiding the limits, but, of course, you're not putting this IN the sig'!!


Consider your idea stolen!

Yeah I tried it in the sig first time, but it soon gets too large. The problem is that the forum counts HMTL tags as part of the character count, so a ~250 character sig becomes >1500 characters very quick when you start adding hyperlinks and formatting boxes.



Act II - Chapter 3 - If You Walk With Jesus

The Irish Mob

The Lucky Winkles


Dukes Boulevard was close to deserted as Aodhan drove through the midnight streets. Overhead, the restless drone of search helicopters was evidence that the police were spreading their net to all the boroughs of Liberty City. The East Island City police station was illuminated by an abundance of flashing red and blue. Officers scrambled into cars as returning patrols pulled up; hooded suspects were hauled out and dragged towards the station doors.


The slip-road onto the Algonquin-Dukes Expressway had a short queue of vehicles, held-up by a large NOOSE Patriot parked at the top of the ramp. Two officers walked between the stationary vehicles: one inspecting the cars' inhabitants, shining a torch in the eyes of those inside, and one holding his pistol drawn at the ground, primed for action. Aodhan avoided the Expressway and steered into a bus park. Turning the car around, he set back onto Dukes Boulevard, and took Harrison Street to the East Borough Bridge.


As he travelled onto the bridge, an Annihilator swept past overhead, so low the heavy suspension wires swayed in the downwash. Aodhan could see almost a dozen more helicopters in the skies over Algonquin, their searchlights cutting swathes of luminosity in the dark, beclouding sky: white pillars of justice standing in a city shaken by crime.


Again, as he crossed Charge Island, Aodhan found the slip-roads to Algonquin were blocked by NOOSE Patriots and officers assiduously hunting through every car that attempted to pass. Again, he avoided the blockades and, instead, carried on to Bohan. He travelled along San Quentin Avenue and arrived at the junction to Grand Boulevard. The Northwood Heights Bridge was clear of the make-shift roadblocks, and Aodhan turned onto the wide, four-lane crossing.


The solitary Oracle coasted along the bridge, desolate on this particular evening. The car's dark bodywork blended invisible against the shadowy tarmac and gloomy skyline; only two vivid headlamps, splashing a weak glow over the road ahead, made the car visible. A powerful glare from above blasted the Oracle into sudden clarity, travelling in the centre of a white disk of radiance; a police helicopter kept its beam trained on Aodhan's vehicle, hovering above for several seconds. The sudden attention scared Aodhan stiff; he gripped the wheel tight and kept the car at a steady forty, not drifting at all in its lane. The helicopter moved on, its attention redirected to the railway bridge to the south, revealing the Route C Algonquin Inner Line train passing by in a pale light of scrutiny. Aodhan cleared the bridge and was in Northwood. From here to the Winkles would be straightforward.


The bar was in darkness and the main entrance locked so Aodhan went around to the cellar door and rattled for attention. The heavy set door lifted open. A face emerged: handsome and chiselled, with olive skin and dark greased hair, full of Mediterranean allure. "What's your name?" asked The Fox.




"Park your car here, open the trunk, and come in." The Fox indicated to for Aodhan to park with the car's back end against the cellar doors.


Aodhan moved the black Oracle into position beside the goods entrance and descended the steep steps into the beer cellar. Inside he stood face-to-face with The Fox. Gianni Fortino's once-blue overalls hinted to the tale of torture that had gone on in the Lucky Winkles since Aodhan had left that afternoon. He was covered in blood and carried a dripping crimson blade in his left hand. It was convenient that his name suited editing to The Fox, but it was his persona that best matched his nickname. A reputation for ferocity and a sharp wit were veiled under the front of a sly manipulator; an artist in methodically outclassing his adversaries, The Fox was a legend within the underground world of mobs and Mafioso.


Past the barrels of beer and into the adjacent room to the one he came in through, Aodhan was witness to the gruesome scenery of the evening's business. The Triad that Dermot had bludgeoned to death hadn't changed much, only greyer. The other however was a depiction of horror. His carcass strung naked like a pig in a butcher's shop, he gently rotated about the rope trussing his wrists to the joist overhead. His chest was an image of brutal knife marks, each an appalling gash deep in the man's sternum. Both feet missed several toes, and his right leg was crusted in blood that had oozed from the debris of his knee; a smeared and messy power drill adjacent on the floor conjured sickening images of how this injury may have transpired. The Fox had a roll of bin bags and several lengths of cord. "We're putting them in these then they go in the river," he said to Aodhan, "put some overalls on and get to work".


The Fox had everything ready. Aodhan found the extra overalls and helped to baggage the corpses. The two men carried both corpses to the car, The Fox ever watchful for onlookers and careful that the skies were clear as they transported the dead, and tied a linen sack of rocks to the waist of each. With the trunk safely concealing the bodies, they returned to the cellar to exchange their stained overalls for their own clothes.


Aodhan caught sight of The Fox as he changed; his striking physique was a master class in calisthenics: flawlessly toned and trim. They bagged the overalls to take with them and washed themselves clean of incriminating grime. The Fox slipped a shoulder holster on, a single cross-over strap on his back kept it discrete under his jacket. He placed a Beretta 70 in the fast-draw holster on his right, and on his left hung almost a dozen clips of .22 calibre ammunition. As Aodhan pulled his jeans and plain shirt back on he had a feeling of inadequacy besides the elegant Perseus suit The Fox attired himself in.


As they left the Winkles the showers started; light rain fell on the hood of the Oracle. The Fox rode passenger as Aodhan drove. Travelled along Union Drive West, several police cruisers passing them on the freeway, their lights ablaze and sirens howling as they raced downtown. Aodhan, following The Fox's instruction, stopped at some secluded quayside garages between Varsity Heights and North Holland, just under the Hickey Bridge.


They unloaded the first body from the trunk of the car and carried it to the waterside, the overpass above keeping both the rain and the eyes of the law off their heads. Placing the bundled corpse at the edge of the quay, The Fox lifted the sack of rocks and swung it out into the river. As the rocks fell they pulled the body over the edge and it dropped into the water with a splash drowned out by the din of overhead helicopters.


"What's an Italian doin' working for the McReary's then?" asked Aodhan.


"By 'what am I doing?' I presume you mean why am I not working for one the Families? Is that correct?" The Fox made handiwork of warping other people's words into objective statements, giving him the prerogative in any exchange, regardless of incitation.


"Yeah, s'pose."


"My dear Mother was an Irish immigrant," explained The Fox. "Only my father was Sicilian, and the Families only got room for full-bloodied Italians. Well, not unless you want to work for a Capo your whole life. I figured I might as well use my birthright to my advantage. I work for whoever pays me." The freelance Mafioso profession was a one man market, and The Fox understated his own feat of carving a niche for himself. "People got problems they want handling, exceptional circumstances like, they call me and pay me a lot of money," he smirked at Aodhan with an assured panache. They clutched the next body and repeated the haul over to the riverside.


"What if these come up?" asked Aodhan, changing the topic back to the job at hand.


"They will do. They always do, eventually," answered The Fox. "Between the currents in this river and the decay of the body you can't keep them submerged maybe more than a week. Three days as a rule. Typically they appear over on the other side of Alderney." He made murder sound as casual as cooking, thought Aodhan. "Hey, one time I had one pop up on Happiness Island. Imagine that if you'd taken the kids to go see the statue!" The Fox laughed with a sociopathic smile, beaming his indifference to homicide with proud pomp. Aodhan wondered how many people had been disposed of here at the hands of this man.


The second body was set on the ground in the same way as the first, resting on the lip of the quay wall, and The Fox tossed the rocks far out. Aodhan watched as the plastic-bound cadaver was submerged in the freezing waters of the West River, fading to unknown depths. The Fox put the bag of overalls in a nearby dumpster and they returned to the car. As Aodhan drove back onto Union Drive West the drizzle had progressed to a downpour; Aodhan assumed the party at the Steinway would be regrettably disrupted.


They turned onto the bridge to Alderney; a vast Patriot blocked the road ahead of them. Two officers, wearing dark, three quarter length, hooded ponchos to save them from the torrential rain, signalled for Aodhan to stop the car. One approached each window as Aodhan brought the car to a halt, damning himself for being so careless.


An officer tapped on Aodhan's window with his nightstick, and the other leaned in towards The Fox, whose window was open already. The Fox grasped the officer by the collar. Drawing the officer's head through the window with his left hand, he whipped his gun out with his right and thrust it into the officer's mouth. He fired a single shot; the small calibre, hollow-point bullet killing instantly at point-blank range. The Fox opened the car door, bashing the police man's limp body aside as he got out, and turned to aim his pistol at the other officer, who stood in shock, unsure whether to draw or run. The Fox momentarily paused, patiently ensuring his aim was perfect, and then fired a second shot, landing the round faultlessly in the centre of the man's forehead. The policeman fell to the ground; blood ran dilute over the soaked tarmac.


"Drive around," The Fox said, seating himself back in the Oracle and indicating to the motionless Patriot, to a stunned Aodhan, who was shocked at the abruptness by which the two men had just been slain. As Aodhan set off again, he tried to clear his head of what had just happened. But with The Fox's business handled, their next job was the one Aodhan dreaded.

Edited by Maverick24

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Ah, finally it's being re-populated eh?


I'll post a story soon, but I shall for the third and final time, re-do my story line. sad.gif .


BTW people should in fact get involved in the other BUYG's around here.

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I'd gladly help out BUYG in whatever way I can - that is, unless if that means rating. I've never rated anyone's stories before, and I'm too afraid that I'd mess 'em up badly. But other then that, I'll do whatever BUYG needs to come back to the top.

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What he said. I could rate, I do in fact have Microsoft word, and would be dedicated to the whole thing.

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IRT aragond


Congratulations on "Escalazione", Part Four. Your twisting tale is becoming a masterpiece. I praise the way you swap loosely between characters, not really creating a 'protagonist', but telling the story of a whole gang. I'm piecing the stories together now; this latest piece seems to be more encompassing of the gang than the previous episode.


A small critique of the narrative though is that the 'enemy' seems ill-defined and a bit confusing. We've had:

  • Irishmen beating Franny up
  • Paddy Kelly's (presumably an Irishman) goon attempting to hit Joel
  • Some vagrants attacking Joel's daughter, probably hired by an unknown
  • Vinny fighting a group of The Lost bikers: revenge on behalf of the Pegorinos
I know there is not a definite need to create a 'bad guy' type position for one particular group, and there are tangible benefits to not doing so, but without it the stories feel less connected and more like random acts of violence that the narrator has arbitratily picked to report on. I get the feeling that the story is still just getting going, and you are setting up story arcs now that could take a long time to develop. If this is the case I’m excited to see where it is going. But you set a challenge of maintaining a quality tempo and fresh ideas throughout a protracted narrative so that it doesn’t become stale.


If I can just return to part three for a moment. Why was Al wearing a full tuxedo-and-cummerbund when he was doing spy-work down at the Steinway? Or should I not be asking?


The events for this story feel quite similar to Part Three's. There is a chase through the streets, crashing into people and cars and someone with an injured leg. A focus on knifes (even though part three had guns, knives still felt important), and an outnumbered fight in an alley. They’re very different stories still, but elements feel reused. Not that it is particularly a bad thing: it’s gritty and realistic. If you tried to do new things every time you’d end up turning to the ridiculous and extreme: the San Andreas disorder!


The description of the violence is well executed. I can picture the way people move as I read your writing: a good sign that it conveys meaning with authority. There is also a nice blend of struggle and flair to the way Vinny fights; important that it shows him as being hard, yet far from invincible.


On a language point, this reads far nicer than the Part Three. There are some really first-class, complex-compound sentences in there that are a vast improvement against the ones I commented on last time:


With whatever remained of his strength, he kicked as the biker's fist sailed toward his head, plunging his foot into a leather-encased groin. And, as the other two arrived, their brother collapsing to the ground doubled-over, his arms lifted him from the road and legs propelled him to speed again...

Both of these sentences are simultaneously tense and explosive, also keeping events logical for readability. But you have also taken the care to use a period. This, I like. Firstly, you have split up the descriptive element to time-separate the events, which always helps. But have also been brave enough (I know it will have been a conscious decision) to start the second sentence with a conjuncture, after all this being perfectly excusable in grammar outside of primary school, ensuring the narrative keeps its rhythm.


I might comment, howver, that your use of him, his, he, etc, can be bit wishy-washy. The sentence above needs careful reading to avoid it seeming as though the Lost member isn't bouncing back off the ground after a kick to the balls. There are other moments when I needed to re-read sentences:


He relaxed his left arm's strenth and, as expected, his wrestling buddy took the advantage, plunging his knife toward Vinny's left side, slicing at flesh, but also bringing his own arms into the path of the crowbar.

You properly manage your objects and subjects, transitive verbs and whatever else makes english work, meaning that it is always possible to understand what is happening. But the liberal use of pronouns makes reading some paragraphs more awkward than they should be for the reader. I like your use of 'Crowbar', although you do drop the capitalisation as Vinny leaps on him, as an adopted proper noun, and might recommend you use this technique more often.


Also: Doc Fanucci ftw. There is something about that name that just drips with coolness.

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Woop, another f*cking awesome story mitch icon14.gif


I havent had time to carry on with mine, ive got a couple of other things im working on at the moment, hopefully ill get some time to start on another story for here biggrin.gif

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Gambetti Crime Familly


Al Dente's


Chapter 1 : I think it's because of America


At six o'clock in the morning Liberty City, a Black Sentinel passes through Airport security, and into Liberty City INT car-park. it drives on near two Latin looking people and stops. The window of the passenger seat scrolls down, as you see the face of Paulo Gigante a high ranking soldier of the Gambetti crime familly. He spoke to the two in his deep voice.


"Hey are you two Rocco and Riccardo?" Asked Paulo. One of them spoke for the both of them.

"Yes that is us, I am Rocco this is my friend Riccardo" As rocco introduced Riccardo

"Ciao , Riccardo" As riccardo shook Paulo's hand through the window.

"Get in my car so we can talk buissness, and we will go somwhere less Public"


The two got in the car as Paulo ordered his Driver to Drive under a tunnel where nobody could see them. They got down to buissness disscussing their issues and what was going to happen in the car, But before he did that, He got out a silenced pistol, told the other two to be quiet, as paulo put the end of the gun against the head rest of the seat in front of him and pulled the trigger. There was no sound nothing, hardley any blood as he took out the driver silently.


"Why what was wrong with him!" shouted Rocco upset at what had happened.

"Keep your voice down" as paulo whispered loudly and fustrated"

"This is why Cosa Nostra over here is not as powerfull as it once was" said Riccardo

"Yes i agree, f*cking rats like this" said Paulo

"I'm talking about you, pointless killing how can you be sure he is rat?! said Riccardo.

"You'll see! dont you worry, common we have got to dump this body, police are probably listening right now"


Paulo climbed to the front of the car, and moved the Driver's body over , and drove silently along the streets, avoiding any cops that he could, whilst he was on the Bridge heading over to Algonquin he saw a Cop car speeding past him on the other side probably looking for him, Luckily the Driver didn't give any imfomation on what the car or paulo looked like. Paulo then drove over the Bridge to Alderny until he arrived the Old run-down mansion and stopped. Paulo looked at Rocco and Riccardo behind him, making signs and hand gestures instead of speaking since the Driver still had the wire on him. Quickly Paulo stripped off the Drivers shirt to find a wire strapped to his body, paulo dismantled the Wire and made sure it no longer worked. Paulo then opened the door and got out, as he heard the seagulls and the Tide of the waves below the cliffs.


Paulo Dragged the Body out of the car and carried the body to the edge of the cliffs along with Rocco and Riccardo. They then counted "1, 2, 3" and swung the body and let go as it fell into the sea below them. They all got back in the car as they Drove back to Paulo's Luxury apartment back in Algongquin.


"What did you mean by what you said Riccardo?"" asked Paulo

"What i said many things"

"You said...Um why Cosa Nostra in this country is like this, But then you never explained"

"Because...I ment that things arn't like it was, Ever since the 1970's"

"Things change Riccardo, Since we've been around earlier than the 1900's i woudn't say we were doing to bad"

"It's not just that, I mean...Ive noticed in America, So Many rats and pointless killing...why?"

"What so you mean in Italy there are no rats are there huh?" said Paulo sarcasticly

"Not as many as here, In italy Cosa nostra has bassicly stayed the same for decades"

"So what are you saying? we are not being respectfull, or not paying enough eh? thats why people are ratting?"

"Could be, Mabey you need more discipline but also more respect at the same time"

"mabey we do, But we have been in America for a long time, Law enforcment has had enough!"

"It doesn't mean they can get rid of you though"

"They will never get rid of Cosa Nostra, We have had our Rise, That was the Golden age, the good days, then there was the Decline of the famillies, and then there was the resurgence, if you Ask me Riccardo it's not us, It's America" said Paulo as he Pulled up into the Drive-way of his neoughbourhood and allowed Rocco who was asleep and Riccardo to get out.

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Episode List


Act II - Chapter 4 - Walk the Straight and Narrow Track

The Irish Mob

The Lucky Winkles


Through the hospital windows, Seán watched as rain battered the streets; the road under the freeway flowed like a river, down the hill and beneath the walkover that separated the two sections of the hospital. On the road outside sat three large black cars. The fat tyres, and the muscular prominence of their vast engine boxes, carved open by a chunky silver grill, declared authority. Swollen, attacking hoods and sunken headlights gave the cars a wickedness that told of their capacity in law enforcement. The Buffalos were a clear sign that the F.I.B took witness protection seriously.


An ambulance pulled up, parading alternating hues over the walls of the building, casting the dingy hospital room in intermittent monochrome tones of red. Staff set about shifting a stretchered patient into the confines of the hospital with maximum haste; part the necessity of the job, part the desire to keep warm and dry.


"Its f*cking wet out there, ain't it Seán?" said Liam.




"You think's we can get some f*cking supper, Seán?"


"Why the hell you's gotta curse so damn much, Liam?" Seán snapped back. "It's tiring an' pissin' me off!"


Liam paused for a moment, cautious not to annoy Seán further. "I like beans with ketchup."


"Whatever we ain't got, that's what you want. God a'mighty, if I was alone I could live so easy. I could go get a job an' work, an' no trouble. No mess at all." Seán was at the end of his patience with his dim-witted companion. Liam remained silent, observing his senior's irritation. "I'm gonna get me a coffee," Seán added. "You want?" Liam shook his head, keeping mute.


Outside the ward room, Seán passed the plain-clothed agent sat drearily on lax guard. "Gonna get a brew from downstairs. Okay?"


"Want me to get you an escort?" replied the officer.


Seán stared in disbelief at the man. "I'm getting a f*cking brew, not walkin' through Derry."


The drinks vendor was located on the floor below, in an isolated waiting room, and a distance from any of the busy wards. Thumbing a few quarters into the slot, Seán managed to get a cup to drop from the machine. A pale and washy cappuccino drizzled into the plastic container, and Seán picked it up, inspecting the contents with mild unease.


"Seán," a voice said from behind him. As Seán turned he was shocked to see Aodhan standing there in the waiting room. How did he know where they were, thought Seán; could he trust Aodhan now? The coffee cup fell from his hand, its sickly contents spilling on the tiled floor.


Seán put trust in his doubts and lashed out at Aodhan. Grasping him firmly by the collar, he tried to control the youngster towards the wall. Aodhan twisted him arm across Seán's grasp and he lost control of the kid. Aodhan landed a snappy punch to his sternum and Seán stumbled backwards.


As he staggered, Seán set his right foot firmly to his rear, and leant back in an impulsive crouched boxing stance. Catching his own impetus, he jabbed with his left hand, throwing his body forwards with the strength of his rear leg. As Aodhan parried the punch on a jumbled block, Seán thrust a wild cross, catching Aodhan's head as he made an ill-timed dodge away from the weight of the first jab.


The youngster slumped against the wall so Seán thrust his shoulder forwards, pinning Aodhan backwards, restricting his arms from guarding, and powered in a heavy uppercut to his ribs. The shot obviously hurt Aodhan, shoving him forcefully into the wall.


As Seán stood upright he started laying down heavy, swiping, alternate left and right hooks into Aodhan's sides. Aodhan rocked with the motion of the strikes, rolling his back on the wall behind him, tucking his scrawny elbows against his narrow chest, forming a desperate guard to protect his wiry frame.


Seeing Aodhan recoil hard from a large left hook, Seán swung for his face. The blow glanced across Aodhan's cheek as he twisted away, rotating his hips and shoulders, slipping the punch. Seán's front leg was jerked forwards as Aodhan kicked his foot from under him. He stumbled forwards as Aodhan propelled himself, pushing off the wall, with his elbow focused towards Seán's head, landing with a solid crack. As Seán collapsed, he clattered through the chain of plastic waiting room chairs, scattering them in disarray.


"Stop!" cried Aodhan. "I'm here to help you."


"F*ck you!" barked Seán. He dragged himself up, stabilising himself on loose chairs. "How the f*ck did you find us if you're not with those f*cking mobster a*seholes?"


"They've sent someone to kill you," explained Aodhan, "you need to get out of here. Trust me."


Seán looked to Aodhan: the young kid who he had done so much for. He regretted his previous distrust, realising that Aodhan was genuinely there to help. "Get out of here," reasoned Seán, "I'll get Liam out. Just avoid the federal agents; there are two on the main door."


"Yeah," replied Aodhan, pausing to catch his breath, "thanks." He left the waiting room. Sean slumped into a seat, breathing deep, strained gulps of air.


As he returned to Liam's ward, the F.I.B agent caught sight of Seán's bloodied face. "What the hell's happened?" the agent questioned.


"Got jumped by a mob guy upstairs," responded Seán. Trying to throw the agent off Aodhan's trail he added, "Big guy, arms like trees."


The F.I.B agent moved to the stairs; his radio in his left hand, he drew a pistol with his right. "We have a suspect on the third floor," he radioed. "Large, white, male, possible ADW. All interior agents move in and ATL." He disappeared up the stairs, leaving Seán alone by Liam's ward. Seán entered the room and rapidly unfolded the wheelchair in the corner, fumbling with its clasps as he tried to lock it in position.


"What you doin', Seán?" asked Liam.


"We gotta go, Liam," Seán responded. "You're getting' in this, okay?"


"I ain't so f*cking sure," fretted Liam.


"Jes' enough with the language. Here." Seán gripped Liam's morphine drip and squeezed the bag gently. Liam winced at first, but quickly turned docile. Putting the intravenous bag on his chest, Seán pulled Liam's legs off the bed and helped him into the chair.


Wheeling him out into the corridor, Seán glanced around swiftly to make certain no agents were around, and pushed Liam towards a service elevator. Moving through the innards of the hospital, Seán made his way for the rear exit, praying to avoid the protection detail. Exiting through a steel door he emerged to the hospital's rear car park. Beside him stood a plain clothed agent, bewildered at the sudden appearance of the witnesses supposedly under their security.


In the time it took for the agent's hand to reach his radio, Seán's moved from the handle of the wheelchair, clenched into a tight ball, and landed on the nose of his target. As the officer recoiled, his head kicking back with a scattering of nasal blood, Seán punched a second time, striking the chin and laying the agent out cold.


He found himself in the dreary outdoors, his borrowed Sultan GT sitting, glinting in the wet, only yards away.

Edited by Maverick24

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Damn, posted this too early. I'm on BST, and the forum clock seems to be operating GMT, I thought this was going to be after 01:00. Apologies.


Episode List


Act II - Chapter 5 - Way Down In The Hole

The Irish Mob

The Lucky Winkles


Rainwater dripped in long, trailing ribbons over the edge of the freeway, draping watery blinds reaching down to the street that dipped underneath. Panhandle Road provided shelter from the storm, but the surface was flooded as the deluge poured into the recess beneath the road.


The Booth Tunnel, thought Seán, then to the Algonquin Bridge. That was the path home. If he could get there, maybe they could get a boat from Broker; Ireland possibly, but anywhere would do. Shaking the long-term prospects from his head, Seán directed his mind to zip-zagging through the central Alderney City streets.


Halting at traffic lights at the intersection of Boyden Avenue and Asahara Road, Seán noticed, at a distance behind them, a commotion as a black car swerved across the line of traffic to stop at the side. Turning on to Asahara Road, they were bearing for the Booth Tunnel. Ahead, however, police lights flashed over the top of a backlog of vehicles. Cars piled around the tunnel entrance, but no one was going in: the tunnel was shut. An alley on the side provided the escape Seán needed from the tailback. Cutting behind the buildings, the passage doubled-back onto the main road, and Seán drove back into Alderney.


As they headed back the other way on Asahara Road, the black car that had been behind them on Boyden Avenue turned onto the road, travelling their way. Seán stared fixated as they passed, his eyes glued on the face in the driving seat, which looked back at him in turn: it was Aodhan.


He'd set them up. Seán couldn't believe it. Having saved Aodhan and Liam by escaping Ireland, he had placed trust in the boy, seeing him as a son. With this betrayal, Seán reflected on the reality of his compassion. He looked at Liam, twisted painfully in the passenger seat, the morphine hit wearing down, and realised what was required.


Flooring the pedal of the Sultan made the wheels screech and the engine scream. The performance car bit the road with a mighty heave, pressing Seán back into his seat, accelerating vigorously; flaming pops of unburnt fuel flashed fiery orange as they ignited clear of the exhaust. The car flew across the junction of Boyden and Asahara; fortune guided them between the vehicles speeding down from the freeway.


Seán focussed on holding the wheel straight and his foot hard down, trying to keep the engine at full throttle through the slight dog-leg across the junction. He eased off and swung the car through the wide fork onto Babbage Drive, the four-wheel drive gripping firm as he cornered. The dual lanes allowed Seán to comfortably manoeuvre through the sparse night traffic as he built speed again, before braking hard ahead of the next turn.


Slowing right down, the car turned a sharp ninety degrees onto Cockerell Avenue. A black shadow eclipsed his rear view mirror, bright lights glaring in his eyes: Aodhan was right on his tail through the corner. Seán couldn't figure how he had closed down on them so fast, but gripped the wheel tight again as the Sultan's wheels lifted: the car fully airborne as they crossed Vitullo Avenue.


As he slammed on the brakes again, and turned left into the next corner, the chasing Oracle drifted sideways past his inside and crossed in front of him, missing the front of the car by inches. Side-by-side they straddled both lanes of Aspdin Driver. Aodhan gained an edge on Seán, holding the momentum of his faster line through the corner, but the Sultan burst to life and was soon a length ahead. Seán cut in front of Aodhan, regaining the right side of the road, before braking heavily again, turning onto the slip-road to the Plumbers Skyway. Barely holding out against Aodhan's superior cornering, Seán was ahead as they crossed the freeway; the slip-road dropped to meet the road and Seán was presented an open run.


The dual carriageway was deserted and, as Seán gunned the throttle, the car bellowed a majestic roar. The three and half litre engine assaulted the tarmac, the four simultaneously torqued tyres: its weapons. As the needle revolved around the speedometer the white lines became blurred, blending almost into a solid streak as the Sultan, compressed firm against the road, tore down the freeway.


Large concrete walls blocked the views over the edge. Housing projects jutted over the barriers, silhouetted against the night sky. The road began to incline, rising high above the waterway separating lower Alderney and the Acter Industrial Park. Flue gas stacks and vast industrial cooling towers were projected into the low clouds, the blazing fires on the chimneys emitting glowing, animated burning orbs in the murky, rainy sky.


Seán eased on the throttle, letting the speed drop to a manageable level as the sweeping bend approached. He turned early, establishing the apex of his corner sooner than he should have. Trying to correct, he tapped the brake lightly. The back end started to slide, the car's weight transferring forwards under braking, and the front end clipped the crash barrier. The Sultan reacted violently, the back end carrying the momentum to spin the car sideways. Seán battled for control but was powerless to do anything as the two right-hand wheels seized the road, fighting against the inertia, lifting the trailing side.


The car flipped, crashing onto its side once and then bouncing viciously off the front end. Seán tucked his chin against his chest and forced the palms of his hands into the dashboard, unable to discern which way the car was orientated. The Sultan landed back on all four wheels, bouncing uneven with a shattered front axle. This time, as the car rolled again, it collided with the concrete posts on the outside of the bend, smashing through with immense force, and was launched from the towering heights of the Plumbers Skyway.


Crushing dread swelled inside Seán as they fell. A sickening emptiness clenched the pit of his stomach. Blood rushed into his legs and into his skull, pooling as the g-forces of the spinning car squeezed him rigid into the bucket seat. Beside him, Liam howled with terror. He held his eyes tight shut, awaiting the end.


The car impacted onto the corrugated tin, smashing a hole through and demolishing the struts of the roof as it fell. Landing sideways on a girder, the passenger door crumpled inwards as the car, almost bent double, discharged the energy of the fall into the structure of the building. An explosion of glass showered Seán and Liam, the thunderous noise unbearable as the car buried a path through concrete and steel. The Sultan tumbled to a halt, sitting warped and distorted in an empty factory.


Seán was slumped forwards in the harness, gasping for short and panicked gulps of air as he absorbed the fact he was still alive. Liam had collapsed slumped into his seat, his restrain snapped, his body beaten ferociously around the inside of the car.


Seán caressed his face with a single hand. Chunks of laminated glass fell from a mess of cuts on the left of his head; blood trickling across his fingers and down his back as he tenderly brushed his face. He glanced at Liam, jammed in the wreckage, his leg pinned beneath the passenger door, bent and twisted with the front pillar to pincer the huge Irishman in a metal tomb.


Liam groaned a long-drawn-out, delirious cry of torture. And as he did so he writhed his body, wrenching his ensnared leg in the crude vice, agitating a grim wound, drawing blood that collected in the foot well. Seán found the sight unbearable, his friend trapped in shocking agony. He reached across the car, painfully hauling himself upright in his seat as he did so, and placed a hand on Liam's face.


With his thumb and forefinger, Seán squeezed Liam's nose. With the palm of his hand, he enveloped Liam's lips, covering his mouth fully. A lingering second passed before Liam inhaled again, distressingly finding himself incapable to do so. With his body paralysed by pain, Liam gazed towards Seán; his wide, forlorn eyes questioning. Embattled against his emotions, Seán tightened his clench, sealing any gaps for air to penetrate through. Liam started to squirm, pathetically struggling to resist, his broken body unable to fight.


When Seán let go he held his hand to hover over Liam's mouth: he felt no breath. He placed his palm on Liam's forehead then rubbed down, closing his spacious and lifeless eyes. As he sat back in the bucket seat, he bit his lip in wretched heartache, tears dribbling down his cheeks.


Minutes passed as Seán grieved within the trashed car until he sighted lights moving by outside. A car was halting by the factory. At first, a lingering climb, turning into a hasty scramble, Seán moved to get out of the Sultan. The door popped half open, sitting stiffly in a crooked arrangement. His foot screamed suffering as he transferred his weight to it. Probably a broken bone, Seán told himself, he must keep moving. It was the kind of wound that might slow him down, but not as much of a worry as the thick, dark blood dripping from his lower back.


Seán limped onwards, exiting the building through a far door, and disappeared into the shadows of the Acter Industrial Park.

Edited by Maverick24

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IRT aragond


Congratulations on "Escalazione", Part Four. Your twisting tale is becoming a masterpiece. I praise the way you swap loosely between characters, not really creating a 'protagonist', but telling the story of a whole gang. I'm piecing the stories together now; this latest piece seems to be more encompassing of the gang than the previous episode.


I haven't neglected this, Mav', sorry, I'm just snowed under at the mo'.

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What would be the rules if I wanted to redo my storyline completely?

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Go ahead bro, but honestly, I think that they are glad your even writing.

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What would be the rules if I wanted to redo my storyline completely?

Go ahead, say I. No rule against doing that.

I mean, I'd say we'd all be sad to lose your old storyline... but that was six months ago. mercie_blink.gifconfused.gif



Go ahead bro, but honestly, I think that they are glad your even writing.

Who's "they"?

I mean, no one's getting paid to Staff here. Not like we're not getting advertising revenues that we should be glad for the traffic. lol.gif

If no one else is happy 2D's writing again, why should any of us bother writing?


Welcome back D. Looking forward to AoD redux!

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Damn, made me seem like an ass there.

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Build Up Your Gang

Apologies for the wait, all my fault.



Pegorino Family | Recycling Plant | Story #13 (Episode 3, Part 1)

Enthralling read, Franny reminds staff of Big Joey Massino but even if that was not intended it says something about your character construction that staff could build a clear picture in staff’s head.


Pegorino Family | Recycling Plant | Story #14 (Episode 3, Part 2)

Violence and snappy dialogue - good chapter.


Pegorino Family | Recycling Plant | Story #15 (Episode 3, Part 3)


Pegorino Family | Recycling Plant | Story #15 (Episode 3, Part 4)

Great, unusually for you there were one or two spelling mistakes but as your in another country I guess its just as likely that we English spell certain words differently from you Australians but that aside I really enjoyed this action packed chapter.




The Lost | Ammunition | Prologue Daddy Issues (of a new storyline altogether)

Staff liked the use of actual Chinese characters though didn’t have the foggiest what they meant but an interesting touch. There were a few errors that a careful proofread would have picked up.



Big Mitch Baker

Angels of Death | AoD Clubhouse | Chapter 11: Dead Fed Redemption

Great work, good length and a pleasure to read the only fault was the use of 50 instead of fifty.



Maverick24- Chapter nine


Some imaginative description in here, staff could tell that you’ve really thought the chapter through before writing. One slight bug staff has is the use you’s instead of youse.



Maverick24- Chapter ten


A very impressive word count of 1810 and an impressive chapter.


Sanjeem - Chapter two


Some of the names were not capitalised and there were some spelling errors, the length was much better than the prequel but some of the sentences still felt a bit awkwardly constructed, as if English was not the first language. But that’s not to say that I didn’t enjoy the chapter, I liked the wise guy grumblings about a bygone age, very Tony Soprano.


Maverick - Chapter eleven


Strong again.


Maverick - Chapter twelve





Rated by Vinny


Addendum by he who is working on behalf ofSkramz



Irish Mob | Lucky Winkles Bar | Chapter 3 If you walk with Jesus

Tenth Story Bonus $100



Pegorinos | Recycling Plant | Episode 3, Part 3

Fifteenth Story Bonus $100


Edited by Build Up Your Gang

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Maverick24- Chapter nine


Some imaginative description in here, staff could tell that you’ve really thought the chapter through before writing. One slight bug staff has is the use you’s instead of youse. 



I personally debated the usage of you's/youse and other alternatives quite a bit. As I see it, I'm saying 'you is', in reference to a singular, as opposed to 'you are' in reference to a plural; in which case you's would be the correct contraction. Also, as the term drops the copula and causes such a shift in the sentence, it's at such a stage of non-standard grammar that trying to do it the 'right' way seems paradoxical.


Grammatical standards differ between the US and other places in the world, too. As I am English I see 'youse' as a plural. Irish might typically use 'yous' for the singular, which would perhaps have applied better in context of the story.


I'd like to see us try and define a standard set of rules for, or a way of better understanding the usage of slang terms in these stories. It's a good learning opportunity for many people starting here to think about how non-standard language still has to obey by certain standards, but also to understand how those standards do differ with cultural boundaries.

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Gambetti Crime Family

Come Clean crew - chapter six

Established 1931


In an anonymous looking apartment in a quiet neighbourhood on Colony Island. Five of the city’s most influential men gathered for the first commission meeting in three years. Arthur Zepella was taking the place of Mary Valvona. Purely as a matter of mob etiquette but it also had the welcome effect of shielding her from RICO, so she never complained.


The men took their places on sofas and dinning room chairs. They talked about their families, politics and rather ironically about how much more dangerous the city had become nowadays.


In Jon Gravelli’s absence Harvey Noto had become the de facto chairman. So when he stood the other men quickly hushed.


“It’s a shame we can’t do this more often but…as things are… well…it is the way it is. So lets get to it. Now this first fing is sum fing, I’ve personally been involved with for awhile. Through Harry Hall I’ve tried to influence the talks with Vito ‘Dog Meat’ Menotti and Dominic Caitano but it is, what it is, a stalemate.”


Harvey sat back down and gestured towards Arthur.


“The Gambetti family’s bloodbath has to stop!”


Arthur angrily injected, slamming his fist on the small table beside his chair and in the process knocked over his but also Mark Lupisella’s drink. Mark shot an icy stare at Arthur. Unnerved Arthur continued in a much calmer manor.


“Pieces of work are not supposed to be so public, first there was John Reeves, our partner in the joint fitters union. Then Marco Noltisanti, an associate with us, neither time was any attempt made to be discreet or to check with us first.”


Giovanni Ancelotti smiled wryly and gently nodded his approval. Fuelling Arthur’s confidence as he once again became animated.


“And now Roy’s family is blowing up women in their cars, on crowded streets!”


Arthur paused to look each of the three dons in the eye.


“The killing of the Russian girl was against the rules and it will bring heat down on all of us.”


He paused once more, looked Roy in the eye then added,


“There must be punishment.”


Roy unfolded his arms and sat up in his chair.


“It was a misidentification, there will be consequences. But lets be absolutely clear its our family‘s business, John Reeves was a rat, we did you a favour. Noltisanti wasn’t even with you anymore, he was with the Russians. The same Russians who gunned down our soldier in the street. That’s why we hit them! The girl was not supposed to be in the car but so what? You don’t think that Bulat uses women, they aint nuttin like us, you can’t use our rules for them.”


“The men who gave the order and did the work should f*ckin’ die, those are the rules!” Arthur exclaimed.


“Your talkin’ bout our family hierarchy here, no one is getting clipped.” Roy snapped back.


Mark Lupisella angrily butted in,


“They will if we f*ckin’ say so!”


Mark’s temper far outreached his intellect, in fact his role as don was nothing more than a smokescreen to protect his uncle Vincent Lupisella.


“The receipt was meant for the Bulat brothers not the girl. There was no order given that violated anything. It was a f*ck up!” Roy argued.


Giovanni Ancelotti sighed. Scratching his head with his left hand and tapping a glass with his right, subtlety drawing the attention of the room before speaking in his gravelly voice.


“A mistake is no less costly because it was unintended. Our rules are not about intentions but actions. The killer must face our justice.”


“Just so we’re all clear, this a capodecina we’re talkin’ bout ere.”


Roy often felt like he wasn’t given the same respect as his more senior counterparts, and Vincenzo ‘Vinny Black’ Leccese was himself a young capo who the elder Mafiosi might equally disapprove of, but rank is rank.


Roy had suggested Vinny Black to Jon Gravelli as the best candidate to take over the Meat Quarter crew after it was wracked by prosecutions over the first half of the decade. He had been the strong hand to steady the sinking ship and without him the crew would probably be so ineffective that it would inevitably have to be dissolved. He had already decided to stand by his hand picked man regardless of what the commission said. The only way Vinny Black would be thrown to the lions is by Don Gravelli decree.


Harvey stood once more.


“All in favour for the shooter to be punished?”


Giovanni, Arthur and Mark all held their right hands aloft.


“And all in favour for the punishment to be death?”


Harvey watched the same three hands raise once more. He looked into Roy’s eyes then said,


“Then so be it.”


Roy clenched up, bile rose through his body and into his mouth. He thought to himself that this decision was as distasteful as the retched liquid that he forced himself to swallow.


Harvey stood and by doing put a full stop at the end of the Pavano- Gambetti dispute and a nail in the coffin of the Gambetti capo Vinny Black.


“Now, the main course, the unrest in Philly has got to stop. I’ve already spoken to Jon and Roy about this and we think we should take out Lupa Gianetti ourselves. We call him to appear before us. Tell him we’ve changed our minds and we want to back him instead. And even if he don’t come, we whack him for that, it’s a legit enough reason by itself.”


None of the men spoke, a few silent moments later, Harvey again spoke.


“So lets vote.”


The decision to kill the leader of the rogue Philadelphia faction was unanimously carried.


The commission meeting went on for four more hours. Roy had to remember everything that was said as well as the way it was said, body language, gestures every little detail had to be reported to Jon in his hospital room.


Phil Leonardo was driving Roy today, after patiently waiting for hours outside the apartment he would again have to wait for hours outside the Schottler Medical Center. When Roy finally came out onto the street the sun was just beginning to rise.


“Long night boss.” Phil said to Roy as he got in the car.


“Tell me about it, and it aint over yet, lets get to Broker, see Jon.”


“Aye aye boss.”

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Trust aragond to know how long ago it was tounge2.gif


Ill get working on it when I have some spare time...

In other words, when I can be bothered to get off this chair biggrin.gif

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Episode List


Act II - Chapter 6 - The Fire and the Fury

The Irish Mob

The Lucky Winkles


"Stop!" shouted Aodhan. "I'm here to help you," salvaging his composure, he turned the bluff back on again.


"F*ck you!" responded Seán, getting to his feet. "How the f*ck did you find us if you're not with those f*cking mobster a*seholes?"


"They've sent someone to kill you," Aodhan continued the deception, "you need to get out of here. Trust me." Remorse swelled up inside Aodhan, he almost wished Seán would see through his lie.


Seán looked to Aodhan with eyes of misery, gradually believing Aodhan's story. They were both exhausted, and each had cuts to their face and stinging bruises. "Get out of here," said Seán, "I'll get Liam out. Just avoid the federal agents; there are two on the main door."


"Yeah," said Aodhan, pausing to swallow his guilt, "thanks." He left the waiting room, and set off back down the hospital corridors.


Pausing in a vacant ward to clean the blood from his face, Aodhan stared at himself in the mirror. Breathing deep, stuttering breaths, he reflected on the sinister treachery that had just occurred.


Aodhan slipped past the waiting agents, still smoking on the entrance steps from when he passed them earlier, and into the rainy outdoors. Holding a gauze bandage against his wounds he appeared entirely within normality leaving the hospital. He got back into the car and brushed the rainwater out of his ginger hair.


The Fox sat with a switchblade clamped between his legs, the blade held upwards. Gently, he pressed a .22 round onto the edge, scoring a fine cross in the lead to enhance the bullet's lethality. "Is it done?" asked The Fox without looking from his task.


"Yeah," replied Aodhan. "They're on the way."


From the shadows of an adjacent car park, Aohan observed the car park ramp as they lingered in anticipation for Seán to emerge. They were not waiting long.


The blue Sultan GT inched up the ramp and discreetly manoeuvred onto the main road, passing by the freeway entrance, and descending under the overpass. The Fox patted Aodhan on the arm, aware even though he seemed engaged with his weapon, and signalled him to the movements of their target. Aodhan started the engine and drove warily onto the road, a careful eye on the parked Buffalos, and began to follow Seán from afar.


"Maintaining a distance," The Fox told Aodhan, "where you can discern their position, and not alert them to your presence; this is key." He snapped the last cross-tipped bullet into a clip and slipped it inside his holster.


Creeping along Panhandle Road, Aodhan abided The Fox's advice, allowing Seán to disappear right onto Bowline. Aodhan counted to five, a suggestion from The Fox's expertise, before taking the corner himself, ensuring a safe distance to sustain their tail; the distinctive rear spoiler was visible ahead as it turned onto Lydon Avenue. As they followed Seán around the corner, zig-zagging through the central Alderney City streets, Lydon widened into Boyden Avenue; in the distance, the road rose high up to the freeway.


"Close down," exclaimed The Fox. "If they take the freeway we will lose them."


Aodhan eased the throttle down, gradually picking up speed to catch Seán. As the yards between them lessened, the traffic lights on the junction turned red. Seán halted ahead of them, his left indicator blinking.


"Stop!" The Fox shouted, calm and commanding.


Braking sharply and swinging across the road, Aodhan cut across the opposite line of traffic. As cars veer to dodge, he pointed at the pavement, riding the car's left wheels onto the curb, and endeavouring to appear parked.


"F*ck!" yelled The Fox, staining his cool with a spark of irritation. "You had better hope ," he continued, his composure immediately redeemed, "that he didn't see you pull that stunt." The Fox observed with cool professionalism, pausing before speaking again, "He's not taking the freeway, probably the tunnel. Wait and count to ten, then keep going."




'Sh*t,' thought Aodhan, he had f*cked up.


Two... Three... Four...


If Seán had got away, would The Fox kill him instead?


"Five... Six...


No more stupid f*cking mistakes!




He'd get it all right.


Eight... Nine...


He'd catch Seán, and then...




He'd kill him.


His final thought lingered in his mind: the frosty and immoral sentiments blurring with emotions of guilt and treachery. Aodhan set off, as per The Fox's instructions, reaching the junction of Boyden and Asahara and turning left. As he drove down Asahara, the road sloping in steps down to the Booth Tunnel, Aodhan gazed in shock at the gaudy Sultan GT driving their way. The cars passed and Aodhan gazed with vacant dishonour at the face in the driving seat, staring back at him with the stunned eyes of the betrayed: it was Seán.


Aodhan geared down determinedly, sticking the moving car into first, and flicked the car towards the curb, transferring weight to the outer wheels, before turning back towards the other lane. As he turned back into the road, spinning the steering wheel around with a single palm, the Oracle revolved through a faultless one-hundred and eight degrees in a bootleg turn, the rear wheels spinning as Aodhan flattened the throttle. As the Oracle accelerated off the mark, the Sultan was already cutting back across the junction of Boyden and Asahara, eluding the vehicles leaving the freeway with abundant luck.


Powerless to catch them through Koresh Square, the road straight and wide, Aodhan kept the throttle depressed as Seán braked into the turn to Babbage Drive. Watching Seán slow through the corner and maintain his track in the right lane, Aodhan aimed across the face of the junction, setting an apex just wide of a tree on the corner of the pavement. Slicing across the opposite lane, Aodhan prayed for an open passage, and set a second apex that narrowly missed the corner of the central reservation.


The stunt put him closer to Seán; mere yards behind their bumper, Aodhan tailed him darting betweens cars in each lane. As Seán slowed heavily and entered the next corner, Aodhan braked lightly with the side of his foot, double-clutching and toe-heeling as he initiated the turn. He held a tight line through the corner, the gap between them and the Sultan measurable in feet.


As Seán decelerated hard as they approached the next corner, Aodhan turned the car offensively to intersect Seán's line; the Oracle had too much oversteer and its back wheels slipped on the wet tarmac. Aodhan fought to steer into the slide and the car drifted on the sodden road, aquaplaning past the Sultan, their paths overlapping as they entered Aspdin Drive, side-by-side straddling both lanes.


"He's trying to get to the freeway," The Fox warned Aodhan, serenely collected despite the arduous cornering.


Again, the Oracle was unable to hold back the power of the Sultan, losing ground as the slip-road approached. Aodhan tried again to take Seán at the corner, holding back to enter late, swinging the car hard into the ninety degree corner. Their bumpers almost brushed as Aodhan attacked the turn, their separation the slim distinction between worthwhile gains and the resultant smash.


The line was too hard, too offensive, too dangerous. The black Oracle careered sideways into the walls bordering the slip-road. Impacting side-on to the concrete barriers, the Oracle scrapped along with a grinding screech. Sparks sprayed behind the car as great scores were scarred down the driver's side, the rear passenger window shattering with the blow. As he regained control, wrestling the car back into the centre of the road, they had lost their speed and their mark. Seán's Sultan was on the freeway and, with all facts considered, gone.


They drove down the freeway, isolated in the suffocating mist. The dim shadows of buildings loomed in the murkiness, and the fires of industrial works glowed obscure and lonely in gloom. Aodhan's optimism faded with the surroundings: The Plumber's Skyway reaching dramatic heights above Acter. The winds raged through the broken window and water sprayed inside the car. Aodhan attempted to second-guess The Fox's opinions, envisaging his probable execution.


The scattering of glass on the road, the black tyre marks terminating at the cracked and warped concrete central barrier. A gap: a cessation in the concrete barriers that marked the edge of the freeway; the hurdle broken by a mistimed jump; an accident with an absent vehicle.


Stopping the car at the scene, Aodhan and The Fox peered over the edge. The mist rendered a void in place of the distant landscape, but below a sprawl of industrial plants sat colourless in the melancholy downpour. A telling hole in a factory roof, almost directly below them, was a likely account of what had occurred.

Edited by Maverick24

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Final part of my storyline here. I would appreciate comments on the story as a whole if anyone has been keeping track: both Acts 1 and 2 or just Act 2.


I intend to start another storyline soon. I just need a bit of time to finish planning something so it may be a short while.


Episode List


Act II - Chapter 7 - When the Thunder Rolls

The Irish Mob

The Lucky Winkles


The enclosing mist and dismal rain exemplified the destitute of the industrial park. The few semblances of industry left were relics of a bygone era. Physically and metaphorically existing below the traffic of the post-modern Liberty City, the decrepit ward is bypassed by Libertonians travelling the Plumber's Skyway on their journeys between the city's centres, aloft from the giant sucking sound of the collapse of industry beneath them. The city now lives as a modern financial centre: its own integrity crumbling in recent times; the cycle of ruin cruelly cutting a neoliberal dream short, indifferent to whom it targets. Lost in south Alderney, with the crossings to Liberty City to the north of the island, the Acter Industrial Park dwells deserted in failure: distant enough to be ignored and abandoned.


The wheels screeched as the Oracle sped between factory buildings, spreading gravel patches with a volatile scattering as it bounced on the uneven surface, kicked about by potholes. As the car turned the next corner the wheels scraped and puddles splashed. The car dodged between obstacles: metal posts, legs of the overhead gantries; and the orange-shirted security guard, panicked by the events in the industrial yard.


Two piercing gunshots rang loud, followed by another seconds later. The Fox was hunting. Aodhan attempted to locate the shot: beyond the next warehouse. He was jolted forwards as the car mounted a grass verge, recoiling on its suspension as it travelled over the obstruction. Passing between the buildings a large yard opened up, half-covered with gas pipes that forced Aodhan to take a longer route. Cutting a wide path around the building, he was unable to gather any speed as he dodged the conduits.


Finding the Sultan had been a moment of horror. Its chassis: a twisted coffin which Liam's bulk occupied in stillness. The gentle trickle of blood was dilute on the factory floor by leaking petrol and by the rainwater from the gaping hole overhead; the deluge forming a waterfall through the gap in the corrugated roof. Aodhan's giant friend was a bloodied mess, his face beaten and his body crushed. His head was rolled back to the seat and his eyes calmly closed in the appearance he had abandoned hope and succumbed to the end. The gruesomeness of the image, however, destroyed any hope that his demise had been peaceful. While Aodhan was in sorrow, The Fox had shared no sympathy, putting two rounds in the man's lifeless chest: a mortal guarantee of a completed job.


The Oracle came to an animated halt at the other end of the yard, skidding on the wet and rutted ground as Aodhan slammed on the brake pedal, stopping by the fallen figure. Clutching his leg with one arm, and waving to Aodhan with the other, The Fox was down. Aodhan approached the wounded hitman with trepidation, having left the Oracle. But The Fox could barely acknowledge him. Dazed and pained, The Fox had obviously been jumped by Seán; it was a surprise he was still alive but his wounds were not critical.


Aodhan pulled The Fox to the Oracle, noticing, as he laid him on the back seats, the absence of his Beretta. He took his own pistol, given to him by Packie earlier, and set off to find Seán. Sirens were audible, likely alerted by the security guard that Aodhan so nearly ran over.


Ahead of him, clearly visible even in the conditions, stood two vast cooling towers surrounded by raised platforms and ramps; the many bright lights defining the structures in the mist. A dark figure, a murky silhouette against the industrial sprawl, shuffled along one of the platforms.


Pursuing Seán, Aodhan moved at a restrained jog. Clutching the pistol with both hands, aiming forwards, it felt awkward in his amateur grip. Adjusting his wrist to try and see straight down the sights, Aodhan was worried that he would not know how to use it when needed. Following the line of buildings, Aodhan kept his attention half directed ahead of him, questioning every shadow, and half surveying the ominous surroundings.


Various industrial lights splashed a haphazard array of radiance on the light grey cooling towers and as a result they stood almost vibrant in the otherwise blackness. Vast girders stretched high from ground level, their angular mechanical construction contrasting with the homogeny of the mist, reaching to the faint gloom of the freeway high above. The Skyway, only visible by the glow of its high street lights, was faintly ethereal until the skies starkly illustrated its colossal profile with a white burst of lightning.


A deafening clap of thunder preceded a rolling and fearsome rumble. A dark outline flitted between the buildings. Aodhan pointed at the phantom and squeezed the trigger, only for a dispiriting click to remind Aodhan of the safety latch. Cocking the safety off, Aodhan sprinted down the alley, gaining ground on his old friend.


His eyes intently scanned the shadows as he paced forwards. Clasping his pistol ahead of him, he trembled with equals measures of anxiety and cold numbness, the driving rain having drenched him thoroughly. Again, a ghostly figure moved briefly ahead, disappearing by the base of a giant cooling tower. Aodhan swiftly followed it around the corner. Realising he was blindly chasing Seán; Aodhan entertained the thought of footsteps behind him followed by a bullet in the back of the head. Reflecting on his lack of tact, he allowed himself to shrink into the shadows, calm his juddering pistol grip and slowed his movements to a more rational pace.


A pistol lay at Aodhan's feet. Small and specialized, he recognised it as The Fox's. Scanning ahead he saw the contours of legs in the shadows of the cooling tower. As he moved closer lightning illuminated the dark corner he crept through; Aodhan caught a fleeting sight of Seán. He lay slumped with the base of the tower limply propping up his head and one arm on his gut. His shirt was a mess of deep brownish-red tones, drenched with both water and blood.


Closer still, Aodhan could see Seán more clearly. He stared at Aodhan with aggrieved hatred: looking with his eyes only, his head fixed forwards with a face twisted in agony. Aodhan relaxed his grip on his gun and let his arm fall to his side. He kneeled near to his injured friend and instinctively reached to help him.


"F*ck you," snarled Seán, coughing blood from his mouth as he cursed.


"I'm sorry," began Aodhan, unsure of what he could say, pausing before he got close to the Irishman.


"F*ckin' dog." Seán's compassionate trait had vanished with betrayal. "F*ckin' dog's all you are. Hound, runnin' for your master."


Unblinking eyes communicated the loathing that Seán now held for Aodhan. Between speaking, his breathing trembled as adrenaline stirred his sensations of bloodlust. The two men stared intently at each other; the animosity enhanced by the tense silence, only spoiled by the universal crashing of rain and a clap of thunder overhead.


Aodhan stood and raised his pistol; both of them remaining fixated in eye-contact. Aiming at Seán's chest, Aodhan pulled the trigger. Seán shook with the impact and his head was cast back against the tower. His mouth dropped open slowly, blood oozing from the corners. Still, his eyes remained open, locked in gaze at Aodhan's face.


Booming thunder punctuated Seán's death. As lightning illuminated the sky, the bright flashes reflected themselves in Seán's empty eyes: lifeless sockets that mirrored the world and the forces of nature.


As the rain continued to beat down on Aodhan, he started to feel so cold and lonely.

Edited by Maverick24

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I'm working on a storyline for the Pavano's right now. Their properties are taken, but nothing has been posted in a fair while.


I was planning on jumping in on the Auto Eroticar business, assuming the previous position from a Mr Kinko Kabuki Koshi KaPOW~!. His last post in BUYG was on Jul 17 2009.


Thought I would run it by here in case of any objections. If no one minds, and if staff do not object, I will post a story to claim within a week.


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Build Up Your Gang

BUYGIV is pleased to announce both the belated official appointment of Aragond and the appointment of Maverick24 to the IV team.

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Angels Of Death

Chapter 1

"Hell Of A f*ckin' Payload"




"Whats wrong dad?" A small child asked as he walked barefoot down a pathway that ran around the edge of a small front garden. The young boy approached a large tattoo'd figure sitting on a wooden bench staring at the floor. The man on the bench was wearing a jacket with an Angels Of Death patch poorly sown onto the back. The man was Bill Farrington Sr, the Sergeant at arms for his chapter. He snapped out of his trance and looked up at the boy.

"Nothing, why?" Bill replied covering the gun in his belt with his hand.

"You've been out here for a while and mom is upset again." The child said jumping up onto the bench.

Farrington faked a smile. "I'll be going away for a few days again, I have to take care of something with my friends." Before the Boy could reply he was interrupted by the roar of 5 Harleys approaching and coming to a stop outside of the house. One of the bikers, all wearing AoD patches took a pair of glasses off and looked at Farrington who was standing up.

"C'mon Farrington, get your ass on your bike!" He yelled covering his eyes from the sun behind Bills house.

Bill sighed. "Gotta go." He said to his son, Bill Farrington Jr, picking him up and hugging him before climbing over the wood gate and onto his bike. Bill Sr looked over towards the house as he started up his bike and saw his wife looking through one of the windows overlooking the yard. She had a discusted look on her face and dissapeared from view. Bill waved to his Son and rode off with the rest of the club, But didnt come back.


Superstar Cafe..




The scream could be heard from the other end of the street, it was Doug Williams, manager of the Superstar Cafe in algonquin.

Doug was on the floor in his own resturaunts basement crawling across the floor leaving a trail of blood on the concrete. He was surrounded by a gang of Bikers, all of them shouting, taunting and throwing random objects at him, all of them were members of the AoD, the group included Bill Farrington Jr.

"You had your f*cking chance you fat bastard!" One of the bikers shouted, coming forward and picking him up by the throat, and throwing him into a pile of metal beer kegs. It was Vincent Jacks, or Vinny, He towered over most people he met, especially Doug who was fairly short and fat. Vinny was covered almost head to toe in tattoos, one of them was a large tribal one that started at the bottom of his chest and continued all the way up to his throat and jaw.

Doug grabbed hold of one of the kegs and tried pulling himself to his feet, he got about halfway before Vinny picked up a nearby keg and threw it into Dougs back, knocking him over again. Doug screamed just as loud as before and hit the ground whimpering. The bikers around the two cheered and continued to throw objects like bottles, broken bricks and broken pieces of wood.

The taunting continued for a while until Farrington stepped past Vinny.

"This is a waste of f*ckin' time." He said, Pulling a large machete from his belt, the volume of the shouting increased and Doug began to cry.

Farringtons victim tried to let out another scream but it was replaced by the blood he was coughing up, soon after that Bill stepped over Doug and put it through his shoulder. Doug couldnt scream, but instead he tried to climb back up after Farrington removed the blade. The Angels around him started laughing as Farrington walked forward for another go.

"Wait.." Doug managed, pulling him self to his knees and leaning on a nearby keg.

"Kikuchi and some of his boys visited a few days ago..They f*cking cleaned me out!" Doug managed, falling back onto the floor soon after.

The room went silent for a moment and Farringtons expression quickly changed to rage and he began leaving the room.

"f*ckin' yellow bastards!" He shouted, wiping the blood on the machete off on Vinnys sleeve."C'mon boys, looks like we've got one hell of a f*ckin' payload coming up." The rest of the Angels followed Bill and Vinny out of the resturaunt, leaving Doug in the basement to bleed out.


Meeeah. Took a bit of a different approach to it this time around, I also started off with something a bit different, a bit like a while back someone stared with a news story. I think, and hope its and improvement on my old stories biggrin.gif

Edited by .2D

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Are we ever going to add the Ancelottis?

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You do like your ancelottis dont you osric mercie_blink.gif

I think Rucke or someone said a while back that they will be added if more people get started on this because theres alot of vancancies. Maybe thats changed though I dont know biggrin.gif

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