The Pizza Killer

[AceRay]

Hey guys, here's the beginning to a story I just wrote because, hey, you're not a writer unless you write stuff and the only way I'm going to improve is if I spew out some verbal diarrhoea like this so you're going to read it, okay? Cool. Don't really know where I'm going to take this, so if anyone has any good ideas as to where it can go, PM me. Seriously, I don't know, I've got a rough idea but it will probably be abandoned so who cares?

 

 

The Pizza Killer

 

In the mean streets of Boston, hitman Patrick Lee "The Pizza Killer" West, named for leaving a slice of pizza at the scene of his murders, investigates an evil corporation at the hands of two corrupt cops. Patrick soon uncovers a conspiracy that will leave you breathless as he learns about himself in more ways than he would like to know. Is he nothing more than a pawn in something more sinister? Will the clichés ever stop?

 

Table of Contents

 

Chapter One	Equilibrium of Terror
Chapter Two	Identity Theft
Chapter Three	Fallen Angel or Just Another Patsy?
Chapter Four	Pheasant Burns
Chapter Five	Walking into an S&M club looking like a complete virgin
Chapter Six	Too Much Hell
Chapter Seven	I Don't Just Walk the Line, I Run It
Chapter Eight	Ed Gein on Steroids (Coming Soon)
Chapter Nine	Coming Soon!

 

 

Chapter One: Equilibrium of Terror

I didn’t have any pizza for this guy, no mark of my success but it didn’t matter to me anymore. It was just a pathetic way of boosting my ego through the media’s destructive parade. The gun was cold in my rough hands as I raised it at the scumbag, who was groaning and squirming on the floor like a rat, trying to grab hold of the railing. Police sirens rang out from the streets below. His mouth moved but made no sound as I cocked the gun and prepared to fire, ending the tirade of violence that had started just a few days before, back when my life still had a purpose, back when the world made sense. In some ways, nothing had changed and yet, everything had changed. Was I always doomed to roam this deserted life just killing for money? Had I done anything different? Was I really redeemed?

 

In an instant, a gunshot fired through the air. The madness was all over.

 

It all started when I got a case, a case would soon grow to regret. I was held up in my apartment, just chilling and playing some Shadow of the Colossus on my PS3, the Final Fantasy posters staring down at me with contempt and the instruction booklets lying on the grubby carpet like land mines. My single room apartment was not what you could call fancy or even inhabitable, rubbish littered the floor and rats would often come out at night to leave little brown stains on the carpet. The warm sunshine of Boston was slowly fading away outside as the dark night would wrap her cold hands around the city and turn it into the violent storm of darkness and danger. There was a knocking on the wall, heavy and booming, and I knew it could only be the one and only Harry Falconetti, the mobster with “a heart of gold,” as he would put it. He would occasionally give me hits for Regalado family, just mob sh*t like whacking some guy for not paying their dues or stuffing some guy for blabbering to the cops. It was never anything serious and I quite liked the company.

 

“Hey Patrick, let me in,” he was using the alias I had given him, Patrick Lee West, the same one I currently used. I also had a different one for going outside, one for the drycleaners and one for the grocery store. Being a hitman for hire means you have multiple identities and can easily morph into any of them, anywhere, anytime. I hadn’t called myself my actual name in years. You never know whether the fuzz have cameras or voice recorders up, sometimes watching you. I swiftly leaped up, rushed for the door handle, turning it to see the guy himself, walking out of the bleak, dark hallway, a shadow cast over his face.

 

“Hello Mark,” I said, noticing his fake name, him smiling back. He strolled in like a man walking through the park without a care in the world, wearing the brown leather jacket that would creak like a rusty door in a haunted mansion every time he moved. He had an old tired face, worn out from nights of beating thugs in back alleys and dealing drugs. A fedora was perched on his head, hiding his bald spot and a purple shirt loosely flapped in the wing under his jacket.

 

“I’ve got a new assignment for you, uh, figured I’d drop it off personally,” Harry dryly said as he tossed a sheet of paper to me with a mugshot attached, dropping down to the only coach in the single room apartment.

 

When he first handed me the case, I didn't think much of it. Name was Roy Harlow, age was thirty four, same as mine in fact. Glancing at his mugshot, I saw he had some nice specs, a white shirt, looked a bit over weight but had good complexion and nice tanned skin. He worked at Jensen Advanced Engineering Corporation, drove a silver Toyota Corolla, lived in an average apartment; completely average stuff. Little did I know this was going to be the strangest case I would ever finish.

 

“T’is guy is un-f*cking-believable,” he curled like Christopher Walken, exemplifying every word. The more I think of it, he pretty much was just doing a bad Walken impression every time I met him. “He don’t know his place, I think he could be laid off for a little while, if you get what I’m sayin’. Should be good for your line of work, shouldn’t it West?”

 

“Yeah, consider it done,” I memorized the home address and handed him back the sheet, his grubby paws grabbing it loosely and shoving it down his pocket.

 

“Great, hey, want to play something?” he pointed at my high definition TV, the only nice thing in my sh*tty apartment. “I hate the f*cking PS3, gaming ain’t what it used to be, it’s run by the corporations now,” he proceeded to gesture wildly at. “F*ck you EA Games, you killed Mass Effect, you money-grabbing bastards,” after calming down a little, he chuckled at how worked up he could get. “Why not something a bit more classic, eh?”

 

“What were you thinking of?”

 

“I don’t know, maybe some Goldeneye or something,” I laughed, plugged in my N64 and we played for a while, beating him the entire time. Little did we know, the shooting would become very real for Harry and me, and I wouldn't be the one winning the battle that time.

 

When we were done, Harry thanked me for the match, cracked a joke about how much the new Silent Hill game is going to suck and let himself out of the apartment, leaving me to deal with the violent task he set out. The sky was now shrouded in darkness, long shadows being cast from the street lights. It was my hour.

 

I moved quickly to the bathroom, assembling a line of shady, inconspicuous clothes, ready to blend into the background at a moment’s notice, a simple dark blue jacket, black baseball cap, black jeans, nothing fancy. Yeah, that was it. I took a good look at myself in my crummy bathroom mirror. Looked completely inconspicuous; just some forgettable guy on the street. I had built up enough stubble which I could shave off, long enough hair to give myself a buzz cut afterwards, just so I don’t look the same in case anyone thinks I'm suspicious. I even got some tanning cream, just to give myself a slightly darker skin tone. My revolver was locked and loaded, firmly in my jacket pocket. Black gloves covered my fingertips, hiding any trace of leaving an impression. Finally, for the icing on the cake, I stuffed a slice of pizza into a plastic bag and placed it in my pocket, so I could solidify my status as what’s simply known as…The Pizza Killer.

Edited October 29, 2012 by AceRay

[AceRay]

The continuation of the story that nobody cares about continues! Feedback welcome and encouraged. Yes, this is pretty boring and generic, now shut up. Hopefully something interesting comes out this.

 

 

Chapter Two: Identity Theft

 

Dark figures filtered in the night, a creepy image distorting in the violent shades of the darkness. The streets were eerily quiet; you could hear a pin drop. Mist hovered on the horizon, slowly seeping through the city like fin soup .Resting in the safety of a bright street light, I knew where I was going; Harlow’s apartment was on the second floor in the large building in front of me. The forecast had said that rain would be pouring soon but then again, the forecast is always wrong. It was a brisk night I hurried up the staircase, ready for the upcoming kill. His door was large and wooden, painted white like the silent throws on a quarterback’s mile.

 

“Mr Harlow, I have a package for you,” I banged on the door harder, trying to get a response. Maybe he wasn’t in. I pounded on the wall again, trying to be discreet at the same time. Still nothing. Finally, I smashed down the door with my steel shoes, knocking it off the hinges in one violent crack.

 

When I got in, there was a dangerous air in his apartment. His hallway to the sitting room was completely clear, leading to a cataclysm of despair. My footsteps made quiet taps on the carpet as I moved towards the sitting room. Inside, I was horrified at the sight. Harlow was dead, lying on the ground, staring at the roof with cold, dead eyes, two bullet holes spewing blood from his chest. The room was otherwise completely normal, not a spec was out of place. the body just stood out like poo on a Persian rug.

 

“Son of a b*tch!” I cried out as I saw his dead corpse. I slammed my hand against a wall Normally, I would have gotten out of there like a jackrabbit but then voice bolted through my ears like lightning, freezing me in place. Someone had gotten to him first.

 

“Don’t move,” that was the first I heard her silky voice. I spun round like a utopian turpletop, looking at the femme fatal eye to eye. Like a black widow, she stood there silently, watching me with emotionless eyes, pointing a silver pistol right at my confused face with black leather gloves on her fingers. She wore a black leather trench coat with short black hair, and a small smile crept upon her face, “It’s nothing personal.”

 

“Why are you doin’ this? Who are you? Did you kill ‘em? What is this?” the questions spewed out abruptly of my mouth in an insane instant like a waterfall of verbal diarrhoea.

 

“It’s none of your business, now, don’t move,” then, in a moment, she moved to Harlow, pulling a slice of pepperoni pizza out of her coat pocket and dropping it next to his confused face, “you’d better get out of here, pizza boy, the police are going to have a few questions for you,” suddenly, police sirens bellowed outside, some police shouted from the door, I spun around to see a full police force run into the room, machine guns at the ready. When I turned back, I saw the mysterious girl had disappeared; the window had been flung open, the curtain flapping in the cold wind. The only choice I had was to follow her.

 

In a moment, I held my life into small regard and dived out the window. Thinking back to it, maybe I was intending to crack my head open and let my evil mind spew out over the streets, ending the pain. But the easy way out never came. Instead, I landed on a nearby rooftop, my footsteps pounding loudly. Some officers had also jumped down, giving chase.

 

I kept running for what felt like an hour but was probably just a minute or two. My legs were hurting like hell, my breathing heavy and I was panting like pig. Suddenly, I reached a dead end, just a long fall down to the streets below. Just one move and I could have slipped. Panting, I threw my hands up at the guns pointing at me. Some cop pounded the back of my head with his gun and I was out cold. A part of me thinks I should have stayed that way. The worst was yet to come.

[Abel.]

It's a good start. I think this could be an interesting story in time. Your writing is pretty good, my issue is your punctuation, which seems slightly off in places.

 

If I were you, I'd also think about typing your work in a word-processor in order to iron out mistakes.

 

 

[AceRay]

 

It's a good start. I think this could be an interesting story in time. Your writing is pretty good, my issue is your punctuation, which seems slightly off in places.

 

If I were you, I'd also think about typing your work in a word-processor in order to iron out mistakes.

Is it that I'm using Australian/New Zealand punctuation? I do have a little trouble around the quotation marks myself to be honest. Anyway, thanks for the feedback, I appreciate it greatly.

 

 

Chapter Three: Fallen Angel or Just Another Patsy?

 

When I came back to, I was in the back of some kind of car, tied up like a pig. My clothes were torn and muddy, hanging off me like rags. My mouth was gagged and I muffled something, only to be sworn at harshly. I had heard of police brutality but this was ridiculous. In the front seat, there were two cops, neither in uniform though. The one guy driving was wearing a fancy cream-coloured trench coat but I couldn’t see his face. I got a better look at the guy next to him, who had a black t-shirt with a gold chain, black cargo pants and an angry look on his face. He was bald as an eagle, had massive tattoos on his neck and arms. Didn’t look like the kind of guy to mess with.

 

The car came to halt suddenly and the cops got out, slamming their doors behind them. My door got thrown open and I’m violently pulled from the car, onto to what feels like grass. We were at the outskirts of Boston, next to a cliff of some sort. It was now freezing outside; I must have been out for hours. I tried to wriggle free from their hold but to no avail. Mist was settling on the horizon and the sky was full of bright stars with owls hooting in the distant, making the scene surprisingly calm despite the chaos and the situation.

 

“Stop squirming, pizza boy!” the guy in the coat shouted at me as he pulled me close to his face with his meaty hands, ripping the tape off my mouth. He was middle aged, had blonde hair, brown polarizing eyes, thick bushy eyebrows, dark bags around his eyes and a villainous goatee peppered his pointy chin. I spat at his face, which hit him in the eye and dripped down his face so he smacked me hard across the face with his palm and punching me in the stomach, leaving me squirming on the ground again. The bald guy was just staring at the situation, neither hindering it nor having any say in the matter.

 

“Who… the hell… are you?” I managed to cough out as I closed my eyes, trying to think of better times.

 

“Shut up, we’re asking the questions!” he spat at me again and raised his boot in a preparation for another attack before freezing and calming himself by wiping the spit off his face with his glove. “Look, buddy, I’m going to be nice to you, not because I want to but because we want to make a little deal. We’re part of a government organization. I am Agent Gabriel and this rather pleasant fellow right here is Agent Pinkerton.”

 

“Does your ape have a personality at all or do you do all the talking for ‘em?”

 

“Now’s not the time to be playing the wise guy, Patrick, you won’t believe how much convincing we had to go through to get you in our hands,” he got cold again, stroked his goatee a few times, spat on the ground. “Now, did you kill Roy Harlow?”

 

“None of your business, scum bag!”

 

“I suggest you learn some manners and smarten up, boy,” with that, Pinkerton ran up and struck me with his steel capped boots, sending me flying back, hitting the car. The hits kept coming, hard and painful. I was left bruised and bloody, rolling in the dirt like an animal. After about thirty seconds of beating, Gabriel raised his hand and the brute retreated back to the cliff’s edge. “Now, I ask again, did you murder Roy Harlow?”

 

“Nah, it was some dame, she swooped in and shot him, framed me for it,” Was it believable? Would they buy it? Not a chance in hell. At least, I sure as hell wouldn’t.

 

“I see. Is Patrick West your real name?” I shook my head, muffling my face in the cold grass sheepishly. I felt a bad headache coming along. “Who ordered you for this job?”

 

“A mobster, named Harold Anthony Falconettt,” Gabriel gave me a blank stare. “I call him Harry, he’s from the Regalado family,” he still didn’t know what I was talking about. “Kind of looks like Christopher Walken.”

 

“Ah, yeah, I’ve heard of the guy. Is it true that Roy Harlow worked at Jensen Advanced Engineering Corp?”

 

“I think so.”

 

“Just as we feared,” suddenly, Pinkerton grabbed me by the neck from behind with his cold violent hands. I had realized that he had managed to teleport behind me during Gabriel’s questioning. He had a pill in his meaty hands, shoved it down my throat violently. “Now listen carefully, we’re the only reason you aren’t getting your ass fertilized in some prison cell. Do what we say and you’re free. The pill you just swallowed was in fact a GPS tracker so now we can follow you wherever you are,” as he spoke those words, Pinkerton took something else which felt like glass, about the size of a peanut and shunted it into my throat as well. “That was a combination of pancuronium bromide and potassium chloride that will kill anyone in intense pain if it so much as enters someone’s blood stream,” the man then pulled what looked like a trigger out of his coat pocket. “If we see you try to escape Boston or you aren't working at what we want you to do, then we will break the capsule via remote that’s carrying the poison and you will die a slow and painful death, images of your family happily feeding you bacon and eggs on a Sunday morning when you were an innocent child will slowly fade from memory as everything will slowly fade from darkness and you, whoever you are, will cease to exist in this world, to be forgotten from memory, got it? Nothing will remain of you or your belongings. Your apartment will be destroyed, your name erased from the record and any memory of your existence will be declared false. This is your future. Unless, of course, you do exactly as I say.”

 

“You can’t do that to me! That’s monstrous!” I screamed out before Pinkerton abruptly grabbed my leg and held me over the cliff with his bare hands. The screams kept coming as I looked and saw the jagged rocks over one hundred metres below. Wind blew through my hair violently. I really thought I was going to die right there, that I was going to end up cut open on the rocks, my guts eaten by vultures in the hot day, dying a slow death.

 

“Do you think you’re special Patrick? Do you think you’re irreplaceable? We could have gotten any old asshole off the streets but we’re choosing you. I suggest you smarten up.”

 

“I know I ain’t working for you assholes.”

 

Gabriel was getting furious at this point and began to shriek at the top of his lungs, “How many people have you gunned down in cold blood!? How many times have you accepted blood money to ice some fool!? You’re the monster here, not us! This is what you deserve, Patrick! Your name should be erased from the history books, you little piece of sh*t! Why should we treat you with anything else but contempt?” for once, I was speechless. As much as I hated him, he had a point. I was nothing more but a common criminal who kills for money. Why should anyone care about me? I stopped screaming and agreed to whatever he wanted me to do, pleading he wouldn’t drop me. Pinkerton threw me back onto the land, hitting my head on their black BMW. He then drew a knife and moved towards me.

 

“Stay still,” Pinkerton grumbled as he tried to cut the ropes that bound my hands and feet. His voice had a little Irish ting at the end of each word. When I was free, I considered just whacking him in the face and running, I wasn’t part of their crazy plot and I had no reason to even care about whatever was going on. My life went from fine to f*cked up in a moment. However, I had learnt that maybe the slimy weasel and his bruiser wouldn’t take it so nicely and I just said something sarcastic to the brute.

 

“Oh, so he does have a voice after all, probably took a lot of effort to say that though,” I chucked as I got up and stretched my arms and legs, earning a stern look from Gabriel. I was bruised pretty badly, a couple of sour spots, a swelling headache but overall I’d had worse. I opened the door to get into the car but Pinkerton grabbed my shoulder and walked me towards the boot

 

“Sorry Patrick or whatever your name is, I don’t really care either way, I can’t let you see where this place is or where we’re going,” Gabriel called out as he followed us to the trunk. “Now, believe it or not, I know it wasn’t you who axed Harlow,” he said, signalling for me to get into the boot. “We think Jensen Advanced Engineering Corp is up to something and Harlow was silenced for something the company wants hidden. Maybe that dame you mentioned was an assassin. Why? We don’t know, they’ve been off limits for a while now.”

 

“So what do you want me to do about Jensen Advanced Engineering Corp?” I asked Gabriel.

 

“Find out everything you can about Jensen Advanced… look we’ll just call them J.A.E.C. from now on, ‘kay? Find out why Harlow was killed, who’s organising this business. There’s something fishy going on there, I tell you right now,” the big guy pushed me into the boot like he was folding a piece of paper, me lying back like an animal in the trunk like a fool.

 

“Do ye’ ‘ave any questions?” Pinkerton’s words were cold and calculated. He was almost disinterested, looking into the distance like there was something more interesting happening over the horizon.

 

“Why do you need me to do this? Doesn’t the FBI have agents of its own?”

 

“We’re not FBI. And, well, let’s just say that this operation isn’t exactly official or even approved. As I said, J.A.E.C. has been off limits for a while now,” Gabriel lent down, face to face, allowing me to see every mole on his face while Pinkerton got into the car.

 

“What about the Pizza Killer?”

 

“We’ll sort something out; create a fall guy that the media whose face the media can post all over the newspapers and internet. The name Patrick West will be completely clean. You can still make contact with those Mafia boys. Anything else?”

 

“Nope,” I said finally. All I wanted to do was sleep. I didn’t care about J.A.E.C. or Gabriel or any of this. I was a lazy, gaming killer, nothing more.

 

Gabriel at this point got up, coughed in the wind and turned to leave, before spinning back towards me. “Oh, yeah, don’t eat anything too acidic or spicy, it could upset the capsule and release the poison. Just thought I should tell you,” he then shut the lid with a resounding bang, looking off in the distance to make sure no one was looking.

 

“Gee, thanks for remembering, asshole,” I said under my breath, until I was startled by Gabriel’s annoyed voice booming through my ears.

 

“I heard that, Patrick.”

[AceRay]

New chapter up for all to read!

 

 

Chapter Four: Pheasant Burns

 

The water was cold and icy, dripping down my throat, soothing me. It wasn’t much but it was something. What I would give for a nice cold beer. I was at a bar after all, it sure would be more appropriate, considering the location. Maybe I should have gotten some sleep, maybe I should have skipped town. If I had known what was coming, I would have shot myself.

 

Gabriel and Pinkerton had left me off a few minutes before, dropped me off and handed me a couple hundred bucks before vanishing into the darkness, the sunrise following shortly after. I had stumbled over to The Dog’s Breath and rested, planning my next move on J. A. E. C.. I sensed a storm was coming.

 

There was flickering in the background as Dudley Smyth, the barman, pointed the remote at the wall mounted TV and pressed the small “on” button. The morning news program flashed on, a woman’s silky voice booming though the silence.

 

“There has been a shocking new development in The Pizza Killer murders. Thirty four year old engineer Roy Harlow was shot dead yesterday evening in his downtown apartment, a slice of pizza lying next to his head, a trademark of the killings. A suspect was arrested last night in relation to the murder, whom police have identified as Douglas Corbin, a thirty year old truck driver from Tennessee,” an image of a slender, blonde hippie jumped onto the screen, wearing a trucker’s cap and thick glasses. Gabriel had kept his side of the bargain, creating some patsy who looked nothing like me that the public could eat up and condemn. I was home free. Of course, I knew that he could reverse this at any time, reveal me as the killer if he wanted to torture me before he released the viral dose that would send me to my deadly grave.

 

“Harlow’s workplace, Jensen Advanced Engineering Corp, is stunned at the crime,” the news continued, preaching to an endless crowd of idiotic sheep throughout the city. “Vice CEO of the company, Dean Beckett, has given his condolences to Harlow’s family,” a guy in a black suit and blood red tie, age fifty, appeared on screen. “We are shocked by this brutal act of murder at Jensen Corp, nothing like this has ever happened before and I want this guy brought to justice,” he was stern, cold even, detached from the camera and the reading. The darkness in his eyes, his gruff, coarse voice and determined business manner gave the appearance of a heartless man. “CEO Sofia Walker was not available for contact today. On other news, strikes over mining rights continue…” I had a feeling that Walker was behind this dark conspiracy, if there was one at all. Gabriel could have just been running rings around me, playing me for a card. They might not even be cops, just two crazy fools who get their kicks off tricking people into crazy schemes. Maybe, but then knew about my killings, about Harry. They were in too deep to be just idiots.

 

Dudley turned to me, poured more water, the cold liquid running out of his jug symbolizing my ever depleting luck and chance of escape as Gabriel’s steel walls pound me to a pulp. Dudley’s old, worn out face had seen many years.

 

“I need to check my emails; do you think I could use that computer you keep out back?” I asked him, intending to investigate J.A.E.C..

 

“Oh, really, is that so? When are you going to pay for those damages when you got into that fight with those skinheads?” then, his eyes got wide, looked at the table stool with horror in his eyes. “Sometimes at night, I can still smell the bodies... anyway… now you want to use all my stuff? Jesus, this is a bar, not an internet café.”

 

“Look, I told you I’d get round to it,” I said as I pulled out the couple of hundred bucks that Gabriel gave me, handed it to him over the counter. “That should cover it for the mean time. I’ll get the rest to you later.”

 

After sneering at me, he led me the room out back, a small, old computer sitting inconspicuously in the dank corner. The screen flickered on, revealing an old Windows 98 desktop. I realized that the internet was even slower and chunkier than it looked. I opened up Google and searched up the company at the centre of this mad conspiracy.

 

The website was standard big company stuff, with a grey background, white headers and company info at my fingertips. The company’s motto, “working to be build a better future.” chimed in at the top of the screen. How caring, how ambitious. They bragged about their developments in the engineering field and how they were caring for the community but it wasn’t fooling me. Their criminal ties weren’t hidden easily. Sofia Walker’s mysterious face lurked at the top of the ‘about’ page. She was an older woman of around sixty years old, wearing a dark dress and a grey coat. Walker had her arms crossed, staring at the camera with content in her eyes, almost mocking me in her eyes. I wondered how much crime she’d done, who she’d killed to amass her wealth. Blackmail, illegal contraband, racketing, theft; I bet she rang rings of the stuff. Below her, Beckett was gawking at the camera with a sort of dumb smile, looking a few years younger than his television appearance. He looked optimistic at best and a downright fool at worst. It was a stark contrast to the TV appearance. Below him were a few other people, such as engineers, designers and the like. Harlow’s face was still stuck there, looking blankly into your eyes. After writing down the important names in my trusty notepad, I looked for a location. Their main building was on Court Street.

 

When I got back out, Harry was there, resting at the bar, laughing with Dudley about a joke. I emerged, wide eyed and tired, rubbing my eyes.

 

“Patrick! Let me buy you a bear!”

 

“Nothing for me, staying off the stuff for a while,” I told him as I took a seat next to him, Dudley going back round to check whether I downloaded anything unsavoury onto his computer.

 

“You do good work,” he said as he pointed at the newspaper article detailing last night’s strike. “Some guy takes the fall and you execute the assignment cleanly,” at that, I wondered whether I should reveal the fact that Harlow wasn’t my victim, that a black hawk swooped in and ended his pathetic life. Then it hit me. How was it a coincidence that someone else also wanted Harlow dead as a doorknob on the same night as Harry? Was I supposed to be a fall guy, to take the blame for the death? Did J.A.E.C plan this with the mobsters? I stared at my glass for what seemed like an eternity, contemplating the mysterious circumstances that surrounded the case.

 

“Harry, I’ve just remembered I’m a bit busy, I’d better get going.”

 

“That’s fine; I’m going to talk business with Smyth out back. I’ll talk to you when somethin’ pops up.”

 

I left the bar as he went out back, pondering my next move. I knew the Regalado family were involved with J.A.E.C. but I didn’t know why. Going back to Harlow’s apartment would have been an unwise decision; cops would be swarming like flies around that area. Alternatively, I could have followed Harry around; see what involvement he had in the situation. I finally decided on visiting the Jensen building to get an inside scope. Suddenly, a black car rolled up next to me, the door opening next to my feet. I peer inside to see none other than the killer from the night before, who whispered just two words to me from inside the darkness.

 

“Get in.”

[AceRay]

 

Chapter Five: Walking into an S&M club looking like a complete virgin

 

The car continued to rev, signalling me to get in but there was no way I’d just jump into an assassin’s car. I turn to run when she called out again, holding out a blurry picture. It was a bad CCTV picture of me carrying the body of Luigi “The Butcher” Laudicino, leading capo in the Magarelli family a few years ago. It was a big hit and the one that landed me the role.

 

“Don’t get in and I’ll make it public,” she said coldly. There was nothing I could do except sheepishly enter the old black Lincoln and hope I didn’t get killed by the end of the day. She was looking darkly at the road with her narrow, blue eyes, the black coat draping over the seat with her short black hair neatly on top of her head and dark black lipstick around her deadly lips.

 

“What are you going to do? Take me to your boss, that Walker chick or something?” I said as we drove away, the morning sun shining in the distance as the V8 gave a small roar, sending shivers down my spine.

 

“I don’t work for Jensen Corp. I’m trying to take them down, believe it or not.”

 

“Oh really, then why did you kill Harlow?”

 

“He had to be silenced, he knew too much. He was going to go public with the corporation’s crimes but it’s too soon. It was too soon,” she said as she stared at the road without fail.

 

“Harlow was an innocent man. You killed him in cold blood!”

 

“Oh really?” she asked, looking at me in the review mirror with her sea blue eyes, looking almost deep into my soul. “You were going to kill him too, just as eagerly, so don’t get on your high horse just because everything turned out okay for you,” I sighed, lent back in my seat. She definitely had a point. I didn’t care about Harlow; all I cared about was the pay check. Maybe that was the error of my ways, the recklessness of my actions.

 

“The jobs that Harry gives me are different. The people at the end of my gun had it coming, they were gangsters, drug dealers and the like, I had no way of knowing Harlow was a good guy, Harry has never had an innocent guy whacked before,” I had never thought about who I had killed before and how it affected anyone other than myself. Who made me judge of who should live and who should die, especially since I wasn’t doing this for justice and instead for a quick check? Was it my subconscious desire for blood that led me to those dark places, to make me leave my old life and pursue this dark one? The justification for my violence was pitiful and I could see it. Still, it quietened the woman for a while, until she spoke up again a minute later.

 

“Anyway, I need your help.”

 

“Oh, so you frame me for murder and then you want me to help you, now that is rich. I don’t even know your name.”

 

“It’s Kayne. And I know I framed you last night and I’m sorry. I don’t know how you managed to find yourself innocent but it doesn’t matter now. You’ll have to forgive me because I’m your only chance of breaking into their headquarters”

 

“I don’t need your help. Now stop the car,” I hissed, my eyes wondering through the passing scenery, watching Boston city begin to wake up from its eternal slumber.

 

“Look, things have changed. Going in there would be like walking into an S&M looking like virgin a complete virgin. Security is tight.” Maybe she had a point. My plan was laughable to the point of comedy.

 

“So what do you want me to do about it?”

 

“In the briefcase next to you, there’s a suitcase I prepared a while ago. Inside, you can disguise yourself as Carter Craig, Harlow’s workmate. There’s security cards, ID, some glasses, everything,” I then opened up the case, pulling out a grey pocket T shirt. I removed my shirt and put on the other one, it fitting around me loosely. Next, I pulled out his glasses and placed them gently over my eyes before glancing at Craig’s ID and security card. He looked vaugly like me, if you squinted a litte. He had a buzz cut, a wide nose and dark, tired eyes but his eyes were the wrong colour, face was too thin and eyebrows a little bit too bushy. It wasn’t a perfect match or even that good but it would do, like spray painting a Dreamcast black and pretending it’s a PS2. Not the real thing but you could fool someone. “Don’t worry about Carter interrupting you today, he’s been subdued,” the car pulled into the main city, a city bus speeding past us, causing Kayne to pull the middle finger in a startling display of brashness before turning back to the road. “Nonlethal, of course. I’m not a sadist, West.”

 

“You know, you could have just let Harlow go. Save yourself the hassle.”

 

“I can’t. I’m in too deep. This is personal. I want to personally burn Jensen to the core, see their company logo in flames,” she had her eyes locked on the road without blinking her eyes once. I caught a bit of her anger in the reflection, her

 

She dropped me off outside the J.A.E.C. headquarters, the building towering up above me. I had around 45 minutes to get to Harlow’s computer and get any files off it, any info I could get to Gabriel that would meant he would let go of his iron grip round my free will. I strolled up the steps to the building, walking into the entry. There were about a dozen high tech, armed security guards around the bright white room. Kayne was right. If it wasn’t for her, I’d have strolled in there looking like a hobo and been shot down almost instantly for suspicion alone. Pictures of new, pristine buildings were plastered all over the white walls and the overhead lights were just as bright and haunting. There wasn’t a single thing that wasn’t white or very bright grey, the furniture was plain and industrial, favouring function and comfort over style. The spotlessly clean room was beyond belief. I tried walking up to the elevator but was blocked by a large guard

 

“Security pass, please,” I reached into my shirt pocket, pulled. It looked like the guard had picked brawn over brains and didn’t notice the difference between the face on the card and the man standing in front of him. He scanned the card on the door scanner behind him gave

 

“Okay Mr Craig, please proceed,” I moved into the elevator, looked at the dozens of buttons that graced the grey elevator. Craig’s security card indicated he was situated on the 15th floor so I clicked the corresponding the button and stood silently in the centre, never making eye contact with the CCTV camera in the corner, ever watching my every move. Annoying elevator music played.

 

The offices were deserted; I was the first worker there. The building was a typical office building; papers lying everywhere, countless cubicles spread out all over the building. The more people that would arrive, the quicker I would become spotted as an imposter and not the real Craig.

 

I looked around for his. They all looked the same. Suddenly, I came across one marked C. Craig, sitting innocently there in the corner. I briefly took a look at Harlow’s workplace next door but was bare to core, nothing remained of his legacy there, not even a scratch of his innocence. I then hopped onto Craig’s computer, sped in his password and searched for anything interesting. Immediately, I went into his email and found a new one popping up in the corner. It was sent the day before by none other than our friend, Roy Harlow.

 

Carter

 

What I am going to tell you is a deep secret I have kept for such a long time. I feel threatened, like everything I do is being monitored by. But you’re the only person I can trust and I’ve reached my end with Beckett’s secrets and lies.

 

Jensen Advanced Engineering Corporation, the company we’re working for, is currently engaged in very illegal activities. I have gathered evidence that suggests that Vice CEO, Dean Allen Beckett, is funding black market drug trading, carts up meds immigrated from the East by the busload to sell to home Why? I don’t know but if there was thing, it would probably be greed, the same thing that drives all those in positions of power. He pays gangsters, bad men, anyone he can to carry out his violent fantasies. He uses blackmail, extortion, assassinations and anything he can to keep his crimes in the dark. I know this is impossible to believe but I have evidence in the files I have attached in this email. Pictures of drugs being bought, sold, people whacked, that kind of thing. You can also see how Jensen’s stocks are going up and down according to Beckett’s deals. It’s horrendous.

 

This information I have given you will make you a target. I’m sorry to have thrust this upon you but you’re the only one I can trust. I fear that I’m going to be killed, shot by a ruthless assassin sent by the mob or something, whoever’s working with him. We have to go public with this, reveal their ugly exterior to the public. Please, do what’s right.

 

Be aware and stay safe.

 

Your friend, Roy

 

I opened the files connecting to the email. They were full of blurry pictures of figures selling drugs, buying drugs and the like. Charts and files detailing the increase of money, the amount that Beckett spent on his drug empire. I wasn’t even sure that J.A.E.C. was evil before but Beckett certainly wasn’t using his powers for good either. After I copied the email and all of Craig’s files onto a USB, I pondered whether to delete Harlow’s email or not. Craig would have been left ignorant of the situation if I had deleted its existence. But I decided not to in the end. I knew that if Harry was really getting paid by Beckett to whack those who dared reveal the truth, he would hire me to silence Craig, just like he had done with Harlow. But how far back did it go? Was everyone that Harry hired me to kill just like Harlow, a poor schmuck who knew too much? I always thought it was weird how the targets had gotten far easier in the last year but I never knew there would be something so sinister behind it. Maybe it was lucky that Kayne got to Harlow first; I’d still be a pawn in this game of chess if I did whack him.

 

When I had gotten off, more people had arrived, sat at the cubicles and stared at the ever present monitor on their desk but if they ever did avert their gaze, they’d discover the man before them was not their lovable idiot they all knew. In a dash, I bolted to the ever-looming elevator and smashed the button quickly. But I gasped when I saw who was standing there when it finally did arrive. He wore a dark suit with a red and black striped tie and was about a head shorter than me but felt a mile tall with his incredible presence due to his gleaming bald head.

 

Before me was none other than Dean Beckett, glaring at me through dark, menacing eyes.

 

[Mokrie Dela]

Sorry it's taken me so long to read this

 

Seems pretty good so far (I'm writing as I read) and I like the descriptive tone

Reminds me of max Payne and seeing the reference there I'm wondering if its parodying the game. If not, the reference to max Payne would probably be better gone

 

A few things I've noticed. The cover names 'Patrick' is using - a nice touch especially usin different names for different tasks. Though I don't understand why he's winking at his mates name - it seems a little contradictory to the professional style the character seems to hve vut again maybe it's deliberately parodying

 

I wont list every little thing I see though but I find the gaming bits interesting - I personally find them a bit out of place (but then how often do you see gaming used in fiction?) and they're not done badly. I think they stand out a little - the ps3/n64 iut seemed random and tbh looked like you'd glued two stories together

 

But again, perhaps I'm missing the feel to this - if it's meant to be a bit of a parody (the feel I'm getting) then perhaps it works

 

I gotta get back to work now though, I'll check out the rest when I can

 

Ps sorry for any typos or whathaveyou; the iPhone keeps changing what I type!

[AceRay]

Thanks for the response Morkie. Yeah, this is kind of my homage to Max Payne but I try to keep it subtle, well, most of the time. There is humour but I'm trying to add my spin on the story to be honest.

 

 

Chapter Six: Too Much Hell

 

We stared at each other for just a second, our eyes lingering and squinting. It was like there was a wall of mist between us and we could only see silhouettes of each other. A nervous tremor filtered down my spine as I walked into the elevator and the steel doors shut behind me, leaving me in a floating box trapped with Beckett.

 

As the elevator zoomed down the floors, I wanted to say something, under the guise of Craig. Get some dirt off him. But then I realized my place. There was no way some working class guy on the low rung could ever rub shoulders with a high riding executive with his hands firmly dipped in the bucket of corruption, just like every other asshole in this city. His breathing was damp and heavy, his chest rising and falling with every breath but other. I don’t even think he realized I was there after I entered the elevator, other than finding it strange that there was an employee in the building so early. Beckett was at the top of the food chain and wouldn’t know the low paid staff even if he wrote everyone a Christmas card. Maybe I should I have killed him right there and then with my bear hands, suffocating the life out of his pathetic eyes and saved myself the ensuring struggle. But I didn’t I have the evidence to whack him. Yet.

 

The elevator landed on the ground floor with a small ting. I suddenly realized how often the Vice CEO probably caught the elevator every day. What if he was with someone that would spill out some juicy information I could use against the company? Beckett walks out of the building without a second guess but I muttered something about forgetting my bag or some bullsh*t to the security guard. I hopped back into the elevator and slammed a button. On top of me was none other than a hatchet onto the roof of the elevator. My sturdy arms lifted it open and I climbed up to roof, the elevator moving suddenly to a higher floor. The elevator shaft was long and cold, a long shaft representing my failed ambitions so I turned around, shut the elevator shaft just enough so there was a slim vision into there. I pulled out a recorder from my pocket, pressed record and waited for his return.

 

I waited there, for two hours, my arm stretched out holding the recorder, waiting for the man to return. The elevator was always moving up and down, the gravity changing and compressing my body with the changes with the heights. Various workers entered the elevator, as I slowly drifted off to slumber. Suddenly, I was awakened again by a trio entering the elevator on the bottom floor, all looking shifty.

 

It was Beckett again, finally, but with company. Following him walking through the door was Harry and “Doc” Fanucci, a leading capo in the Regalado family. He primarily owned a club nearby, Rabbit 34 as it was called, a seedy crawling mess for thieves and psychopaths planning destruction and chaos throughout the city. Doc was a slim, medium sized, guy with a pale complexion, striking cheekbones and thin eyebrows above his piercing green eyes and greasy black hair on his head. He was a light hearted joking kind of guy. He liked humour and he liked people who’d humour him. But he had a dark side: an absolute raging monster would unleash within him . One time, about a few months ago at Rabbit 34, there were two wannabe thieves armed with 1911s, with balls the size of bulldozers but less than two brain cells between the ears. The capo, Harry and I were there, hiding behind a chair. We were all unarmed, except for Doc, who brandished his trademark Keitou Tachi, a Japanese sword similar to a katana but longer and more deeply curved, sharp enough to slice and dice with the best of ‘em. He would always tell me stories about how Japanese samurai would strike fear into their enemies with this sword and how it had been in his family. Doc jumped over the wall and struck one of the duos hard with an overhead slice, embedding the sword deeply in his chest. The other guy was stunned, terrified at the capo charging at him, the blade decapitating him with one fatal slice as Doc’s ever persistent yell flew through the club. Never had I heard a man scream as hard as Doc did, it was similar to the sound I made when I first saw Sonic the Hedgehog turn into a werewolf.

 

“I heard your hitman got caught for killing Harlow, saw him on TV. He’s not too bright, is he?” Beckett asked as the elevator jolted up to an incredibly high level. His voice was unemotional and cold, illustrating a distant, methodical manipulator.

 

“Nah, he got away clean, framed it on some random guy,” Doc said, pulling out a cigarette from his suit jacket and lighting it in his mouth, the smoke slowly filling the elevator.

 

“He’s pretty good like that,” Harry chipped in, his hands firmly placed in his pockets, looking around the elevator suspiciously.

 

“Huh, same as last time I guess. That dog is certainly loyal to his master,” for a moment, I was stunned. I suspected Harry might have been up to something but Beckett’s grim words brought the truth crashing down like a death train.

 

“I ain’t his master. He’s a friend. I’ve just been… hiding the truth from him completely.”

 

“Whatever makes you sleep at night,” for the first time, an emotion glimpsed upon Beckett’s face. It was small, smug smile, the same a weasel would give in a dark, damp sewer.

 

“I told you, asshole, he’s a friend!

 

“Shut up Harry, you’re out of line. Say that again and I’ll send you to the wood yard,” Harry’s face dropped when Doc’s words echoed through the elevator. “Dean here is a good friend, he’s making us rich, ain’t that right?”

 

“How many do you need today?” Beckett said off hand, watching the floor like an eagle.

 

“Same as normal,” another smile crept upon Beckett’s face as he said those words. They talk

 

Finally, the elevator came to a halt at the forty-eighth floor, the roof of the building within visible sight at the top of the building. Beckett looked at the other two then exited the elevator calmly, Doc and Harry following behind. As soon as the elevator was free, I jumped down, coughing at the smoke that had appeared. Despite the fact they weren’t in the room, I could still feel their presence, watching me and laughing like hyenas in the night.

 

When the elevator landed on I calmly got out of the elevator and got the hell out of there like a jackrabbit on Fridays. I felt sick froth up in my mouth as I ran away from the revelations that I discovered. Sunlight may have been shining down on those streets that day but a storm of destruction was forming very rapidly.

[AceRay]

 

Chapter Seven: I Don’t Just Walk the Line, I Run It

 

The shallow wreck of man got home and rubbed my eyes at the revelation. It was unbelievable, unthinkable what I had uncovered. My whole life had been a lie. In anger, I tore a Final Fantasy poster off the wall, Tidus’ smug face glaring at me from the floor, mocking my pathetic struggles. I was about to pick it up when I heard a knocking from the door. When I opened the door Gabriel was on the other side of the door, Pinkerton in his shadow like a dark beast of darkness. I ushered them in, the bright sun was shining through the blue curtains, reflecting light into my eyes from the TV. You could see dust particles floating round in the air like stars in the sky. Gabriel and I crashed onto the couch as Pinkerton raided my fridge.

 

“I see you spent the day over at Jensen Corp. I assume that you have something for us.”

 

“As a matter of fact, I do,” a look of surprise jumped upon Gabriel’s face as I pulled out the recorder and played the conversation between Beckett and the gangsters from before. “This is hard evidence of corruption behind Jensen’s walls,”

 

“Wow, I’m impressed. No, seriously, I was expecting you to get killed, tortured. You have far exceeded our expectations.”

 

“That’s not all,” I said as I pulled out my USB and tossed it lightly to him. “On that are dozens of files detailing Jensen making deals with drug dealers and mafia families, financial records out of whack.

 

“How did you do that?”

 

“It was weird. The assassin from before, who killed Harlow, she picked me up and gave me a disguise. It was almost surreal. I wouldn’t have been able to have done it without her,” we were silent for almost a minute, only the sound of Pinkerton chugging down my last carton of milk ringing through the room.

 

“Harry betrayed me,” my voice finally rang out through the room. “We were friends. I trusted him. And now, to discover the betrayal, to find out it was all a lie…” I felt a headache coming on and put my hand to my head. I had been awake for over thirty hours now and seriously needed sleep.

 

“It can’t be that bad,” Pinkerton muttered as he threw the milk onto the floor casually.

 

“I don’t understand. I don’t understand any of it. Does this mean all of Harry’s targets were innocent and just knew too much? I feel sick,” I put my hand at my mouth and yawned, hard.

 

“I understand you have questions but you look really tired,” Gabriel said, fiddling with the flash drive in his hand. “Get some sleep and continue investigating tomorrow.”

 

Pinkerton shut the fridge door at this and objected, suddenly becoming alert and at attention, surprising for someone who so easily blended into the background. “Gary, I don’t think we should push this guy too hard, he’s done his job, he’s done dirt on J.E.A.C., let’s leave him alone now.”

 

“No. I can’t stop now, this is personal. I have to bring Beckett down, he’s been using me for… well, I don’t know how long. Maybe he’s been controlling me ever since I arrived in Boston five years ago. But I have to uncover the truth!” I shouted out, rising to my feet in anger before slumping back down into a slumber, curling up into a ball, whispering to the others to leave. Gabriel and Pinkerton left quietly, shutting the door behind them as I slowly fell into deep sleep, haunted the same nightmare I’ve been for the last twenty seven years.

 

The dream always starts the same way. I’m at home, age seven, playing the garden with a Tonka truck and spade, wearing overalls. I had being living with my mom in seclusion, never seeing many visitors. I heard my birth was a disgrace or some sh*t like that, that my mother had to run from her family she would tell me. She was cold, distant, and disdainful of my existence. Every time she looked at me, I could sense her disappointment

 

Suddenly, I hear a crash from the house, a chair fall to ground. I run in, only to see my mom dangling from rope attached to a beam.

 

Then I scream. She hung there for over a month. As I said, we never got many visitors. Her eyes would always follow me as her body slowly decomposed, leaving a filthy corpse dangling in the centre of the lounge, flies and maggots crawling out of her body. It was only when a courier came in and saw the body that it got taken down I got sent. It’s at that point where things get screwy.

 

Suddenly, the room bursts into flames, I’m set on fire, burning in bright flames. I don’t know why but my mother then disintegrates and morphs into a thousand beetles which all scatter along the floor, into the floor boards and all over me. In pain, I dash into the kitchen, her wails still shouting while the beetles and flames encase me. In the room, there is nothing but a giant face, my mother’s face, staring right at me. Slowly, it morphs into my own face as the cockroaches devour me in my eternal horror.

 

I scream again, the fire burning me. Finally, I collapse onto the couch, flames turning me into ash. And then I wake up screaming. Every night. Every time.

 

[AceRay]

 

Chapter Eight: Ed Gein on Steroids

 

Rabbit 34 was bustling with nightlife, the dance floor alive and jumping. Neon lights buzzing and glowing as the boom of the beat rocked through the room, speakers pounding and lights flahing. I looked on from the VIP section’s tinted black windows, Doc sitting at the table, looking suspicious while he polished Keitou Tachi on the table, a grey tinge shining in his hair and his blue tie loosely hung around the collar of his long, black shirt, the sleeves rolled up hard revealing hairy but groomed arms. He looked on, carefully caressing the blade. It was a strong sword, ready to cut through human limbs like butter, silver with a firm, brown grip. The room was otherwise empty except for Harry, leaning against the wall with a cigarette hanging out his mouth. My eyes skirted between him and the dance floor, constantly watching his moves and studying his face for any form of guilt or remorse. I had arrived at the club over an hour ago and Harry hadn’t said a word. Suddenly, Doc’s silky words called me over to him.

 

“Patrick, sit down over here,” I moved calmly to him and seated myself in the comfy chairs, seeping into the smooth textures. “Have you ever heard of [Famous Japanese Samurai]?” I shook my head, Doc slowly turning back to his blade as he talked like an old man. “He was the [stuff about said Samurai copied from Wikipedia] He had a blade much like this one. He ruled with an iron fist, driving fear into the hearts of his enemies,” suddenly, the man known as “The Surgeon” walked in. He was short, blonde with small spectacles and a green jacket. At that point in my life, I didn’t know why people called him that. A few days later, I would wish I never found out.

 

“Boss, Ramirez is downstairs,” Doc laughed chuckled, picked up the blade and followed The Surgeon down the stairs, stopping at the door and motioning us to follow. I picked up my brown jacket from the coat hanger and walked closely behind Harry as we all strolled into the basement. The entrance to Rabbit 34 was full of hard security guards, drunks passed out on the floor and rubbish scattered around the floor. The Surgeon led us to a shady door at the back of the room and opened it, ushering us in quietly.

 

We then got to the basement, the padded walls blocking out any sound from the club. Ramirez was sitting under a single light in the centre. He wasn’t a bad looking guy, had a chiselled face, piercing eyes and a good build. He was looked around, slightly confused at the situation but determined. We walked down to him, Doc steeping into the emitted light next to the man

 

“So… where’s my money?”

 

“I paid it back,” Ramirez said calmly, averting eye contact.

“You didn’t pay back interest,” Doc then brought his sword into Ramirez’s vision, the younger man tensing up at the presence of weaponry.

 

“How much?”

 

“Five hundred.”

 

“You know I don’t have that kind of money.”

 

“I don’t care. You do business with me, you understand the rules. All of them.”

 

“I told you Doc, I don’t have your money,” he then curled his lips, sneering his face slightly before speaking, forgetting about Doc’s blade for a second. “Now, piss off, old man,” like a bolt of lightning, Doc slammed down his sword onto his fingers with expert precision.

 

Ramirez screamed like a dog, lifted the bloody right hand to face as it mutated in terror, the fingers lying on the desk like two small sausages. As Ramirez held out his hand, I saw that another of his fingers was dangling off the hand by a thread of skin, blood pouring out onto the table. Harry, The Surgeon and I looked on, cold expressions on our faces as the violence exploded in front of us. I could sense that there more goons looking on from the darkness around us, watching the chaos that ensued.

 

Doc then lay down a skull cracking punch to his temple, causing the kid to rocket back. Dropping the sword, he grabbed him by his collar and lay down blow after devastating blow onto the man, knocking him sideways and creating a nasty dash on his check before another on his jaw. As Ramirez threw his arms back in defence, the torn finger ripped off, flying straight towards The Surgeon, who managed to dodge in time.

 

“Where’s my money?” he said through gritted teeth, smacking him hard in the nose, causing a bone crunching noise to accompany it.

 

“I told you, I don’t have it,” Doc gave him another thwack in his mouth, knocking out a few teeth and another painful scream from the guy.

 

“Where’s my money?” He spat again.

 

“I’m sorry” Ramirez apologized, trying to hold back tears while the blood rolled down his face.

 

“Where’s my money?”

 

“I don’t have it,” another hard hit lay down onto his eye, bruising it. They didn’t decrease in brutality.

 

“WHERE’S MY MONEY?” Doc bellowed at the top of his lungs while he threw Ramirez face first into the table, smashing it to pieces. He brought his foot down, kicking and beating the splintered man as he rolled around the ground, screaming in pain. Finally, Doc picked up his sword from the ground, the blade shining in the light and got ready for the decapitating blow when he was stopped by a yell.

 

“Stop!” Harry yelled out. “He can’t pay us if he’s dead, David,” Doc’s eyes angrily stared at Harry and for a few seconds, I considered that he might decapitate him instead. The room was silent except for the beaten man’s tired pants and groans but then Doc’s arms started to lower and the blade rested at his side. He turned back to Ramirez, still on the ground, shaking with fear, face beaten beyond belief.

 

“Alright, you clown, I’ll let you live for today,” Doc muttered, a small shiver of hope quivered upon Ramirez’s lip until it was thwarted by the next line. “But tomorrow, I’ll come looking for you. If you don’t have what I want, I’ll take another finger. And the same for the day after that and the day after that. When you run out of fingers, I’ll move onto toes. And then limbs. So if you’re smart, I’d say you’d better get that six hundred for me soon.”

 

“I thought it was five hundred,” Ramirez wailed from the ground, Doc chuckling lightly.

 

“Yes, but you got blood on my favourite shirt, bastard,” Harry then moved forward and tried to pull the guy to his feet, only to fail when Doc finished off the meeting with a swift kick to the head, knocking the kid out.

 

“Harry, Patrick, take out the trash. Surgeon, you’re with me,” he panted, almost out of breath. “Marko, did you get all that?” A tall, thin man then walked out of the darkness opposite us, holding a video camera in his left hand, nodding his head in agreement. I walked forwards, picked up the guy’s legs while Doc left the room. At the top of the staircase, he looked back at me, his piercing eyes looking deep into my soul.

 

[TenEightyOne]

I really like this overall, just a couple of points I'd like to make;

 

- Watch out for over-describing (grabbed by his cold violent hands)... the 'violent' seems superfluous in that scene

- Typos (“Patrick! Let me buy you a bear!”)... made me smile but actually pulled me out of the immersion...

 

Good stuff though!

[Acehilm]

I need to read more of the Pizza Killer. AceRay, it needs to make a return!

[AceRay]

I need to read more of the Pizza Killer. AceRay, it needs to make a return!

Look out for Pizza Killer Reloaded: Hold the Pepperoni, coming to a forum near you.

 

Honestly, reading this back, its just so boring. Here's why:

 

1) The fact that the MC is called the Pizza Killer and is a hitman for the mob is completely moot to the overall plot of whatever the bad guys are planning, so the title is completely misleading. It might as well be called Pizza Dentist or Pizza Law Attorney.

 

2) PK is a completely reactionary character. He doesn't do anything and just drifts from plot point to plot point.

 

3) Nothing happened. Just people talking and boring reveals stolen from Max Payne. The climax to him sneaking into the tower is he sits in an elevator for a couple of hours and then walks out. There needs to be gun fights and sex and explosions and sh*t, this isn't Serial Experiments Lain, this is GTAF WD, so if I were to redo this it would start with a bang and several more bangs. It would start like Elfen Lied did:

 

 

4) PK is a whiny little b*tch who moans about everything. Its like if Holden Caulfield was a hitman. It really would be.

 

Like everything you wrote when you were sixteen, you should throw this in the trash and move on (except for you Coat, you're pretty good). I've got some things lined for Bar, but it looks like that's dying already, so I might pick up PK again.