|
|
Post by Muramasa on Aug 9, 2006 1:45:17 GMT -8
Untitled Project
This house was built during the 1950s by a rather unknown architect trying to make a name for himself. His past history seems to correlate with his porfolio; rather unknown. One wishes to speculate that he may have dabbled in hobbies outside of architecture. Perhaps he cooked in his spare time. Maybe he did a bit of sewing, or perhaps studied the Orient. And, there is the possibility of occult influences. Whoever he was, and whatever he did, and for whatever reasons he did them for, they shall forever be lost in the seas of time.
Incidentally, what is known is that he built the house on this particular spot with very specific plans for the house. Blue prints of the house show meticulous detail regarding almost inane aspects of the house's design: the exact angles at which Vicksburgs should be placed in respect to the Verona grandfather, the precise placement of Ernest Harroden mirrors, the acute accenting of the Carlye End tables with a Briarwood Prism lamp. Not only were floor plans specific in terms of measurements, but it may as well have told one's eating habits. And somehow, this house was built to these specifics, down to the last wood knot.
The result was a rather unimpressive Victorian style house that stood by itself in a sea of suburban monotony. It was able to loom over the one story lots that scattered the precisely planned neighborhood. In an age of conformity, one wonders how such a marvel could even exist in the imaginative squalor of such an environment. Perhaps it was a mere fluke of beauracratic nature, or maybe last minute ebbing of nostalgia of the previous land owner. Whatever the case may have been, this relic of time now stands before us, looking nearly as it did fifty-seven years ago.
Upon approaching the house, one can notice a strange air dancing about the area. No one has lived there since it's vacancy during the 1970s, yet the yard looks maintained, clean, and free of weeds. Another outstanding feature is the lack of obvious damage on the external trimmings that line the house. Nicknacks and ornaments, of various flavor and culture, still flounder about the porch with a near whimsical nature. The trinkets seem nearly out of place, but one hardly notices for some reason. But the most prominent trinket is a mobile made up of 8 distinctly different keys.
The keys, truly an important aspect of this house. Allow me to drop the formal banter and tell you a little secret, friend. In your hand is the a normal key that functions as any normal key would, it allows you access into the house itself. The keys hanging on the mobile all open only one door in the house though. Through the hall, beyond the living room and kitchen, near the Gailard Console, and past the stairs and basement entrance lies a single four paneled door. What lies beyond the door? I'm not sure. No one has ever known and to a certain extent, ever seem to want to know. Curiosity is truly a dying trait in this society. Since you, my friend, are now the owner of this house, perhaps you may want to find out yourself? Please, take a key. Let your curiosity guide you. You may like where it will take you.
[Just curious to see how much people participate in this particular little story tag. The basic premise behind this is that there are eight keys, each leading to eight different worlds/dimensions. Each story will involve a character exploring an observing these said worlds/dimensions. Also, there is a chance that what happens in one world may effect what happens in another. Basically, if want to write a section of this, you'd be writing for a specific key and hence, a specific world/dimension. There are no recurring characters, unless you wish to write them. I'll try to write and or finish the story for the first key soon to start things off]
|
|
|
|
Post by Muramasa on Aug 30, 2006 0:10:28 GMT -8
Geez, I've read about Myst on Wikipedia and now I really feel like playing the game.
|
|
|
|
Post by Muramasa on Aug 30, 2006 0:50:36 GMT -8
The bow of the key is ornately shaped like a treasure box. The shank is 3 inches long, with a single bit made up of 3 rather unremarkable looking teeth.
Have you ever wondered where anything went when you lost it? I did at one point in my life.
Every Friday was laundry day for me. At the time, I lived in an apartment that was a block away from a small shopping district. Next to Al's Pizzariatorium and a family run video store was a pretty small and umimpressive laundry mat. Old creaky machines grumbled about their business, lined up like reluctant soldiers of a warn out platoon. On the side stood the drying machines, portholes to another world, spinning incessantly and with such zeal that one would think that it was the wheel to some high octane vehicle that raced freely on some open road in, I don't know, Missouri. It ultimately did not matter, as these archaic machines were certainly not headed anywhere. Flanking the dryers were free-hanging tables, scratched with various obsenities and the occassional philisophical argument that would event degrade into a series of obscenties. The mat was generally frequented by mothers, escorted by at most 3 children who somehow produced a sound equivalent to that of an standing army, and over-weight jobless fathers who always put too much clothes into a single load; resulting in further complaints from the already irate machines that endlessly toil.
It is here that I always asked the whereabouts of my matching black sock. Due to my rather casual work place, there was never a need for anything article of dress too fancy, particularly socks. But it never was a bad thing to have a pair of good black socks for those special occassions. Party with the boss. Party with the neighbors. Party at Johns. And on occassion, a serious event: party with that girl whose name you can never seem to remember, but gives you interesting stories to tell your cowokers.
For the most part, the pattern never failed. A single pair of black socks would become a single black sock. I'd buy a pair to replace that pair, and it would disappear. In turn, I'd combine the two socks from the missing pair to create a completed pair, only for it to become a single sock from departure of the slaughter house. Two-in-one out. That has been the process for a while now. It doesn't seem to be consistant with any machine, or any particular type of machine. As if the fates needed to laugh at me, they refuse to take my job, my life, or my pride. They take my one black sock. I'd spend nights pondering the situation, and ultimately, cursing whatever high power could possibly exist to take my sock. To a certain extent, I made less of a fuss during the last war than I did about my sock.
Then one day, a friend of mine asked me to house sit for him. At the moment, I didn't think anything of the house when I first saw it. It seemed like the average house that you'd see in a movie or maybe San Francisco.
[this is dragging too long, gonna edit and refine later]
|
|
|
|
Post by Kuat on Sept 16, 2006 10:05:06 GMT -8
The key defies logic, as well as Newtonian physics. Only one with a keen mind can fathom its true structure.
April 7, 20XX
Section 208.11 – Residential structures constructed previous to 1968 should have their foundations reinforced to comply to the standards issued in section 190.a, as stated in the renewed 2004 building code. The following provisions are made to accommodate owners of such properties:
Section 208.11a: If it is a single family residence, the current owners can opt to delay reinforcement. Reinforcement will then occur with the occupancy of a succeeding owner, at their expense.
Section 208.11b: In the case that there are four water features including but not excluding...
Code after code after code. While civil engineering isn't exactly the most exciting source of employment, it pays well and the state provided excellent insurance. Although it was never what I envisioned my occupation would be. However, I always keep my internal nagalog in check when I remember what could have been.
At some point in my life I had decided to leave the world of academia and actually go into the “working world” as it were. Come to think of it, it has been that long of a while since I've written in here. My doctoral thesis, still rotting in the archives somewhere in Cal, describes not just “The free-partition constant of the tau lepton in tesseract geometry”, but the person I was about a decade ago. Eager, full of scientific inquiry and bottomless motivation, I charged full speed ahead into the world of theoretical particle mechanics. The world, however, dealt me a rather elastic collision head on. It wasn't that my mentor was evil (just a bit Machiavellian) or that the environment was hellish (more or less just tepid). I came into the field expecting to change the world, instead I just changed when I realized that I could be living an eternity devoted to one vector of one subatomic particle in one instance. I spent six years, six long, painstaking years gestating that 251 page recycling bin behemoth of a thesis. I wish I could get them back.
Instead, I decided to put my past behind me and use my bachelors in civil (the other was in physics and a minor in math, however at this point they might as well be in 'toilet') to some use. A friend of mine who had wisely picked up a job with the city after college and was able to find a position for me as well. My first set of assignments were assessing the foundations of “antique” houses in the northwestern section of the city. From rickety rat's residences to magnificent mammoth mega mansions (sorry, I can't help myself), I surveyed them all. Some even were demolished, much to some of the resident's chagrin. Then again, they'd still be irked if the house folded like a cheap set of cards one day.
The job wasn't all that bad; some houses were modern marvels, if only because how long they actually were able to resist gravity with such shoddy construction. This Friday, I was to inspect this Victorian-style house, but I got delayed because I needed to be consulted for an overpass they're building, one of many that is an eternal money-sink for the taxpayers. I could make a separate entry needling every mistake those “engineers” made. They couldn't engineer themselves out of a wet paper bag with a machete. In any case, the house looks normal enough, although the blueprints for it are insane. Not just insanely detailed, but one might say inanely detailed. I had to pour through those suckers all night. Well, all that can wait for Monday, I'm gonna go attend a date I have with Mr. Ham and Mrs. Swiss.
|
|
|
|
Post by Kuat on Oct 1, 2006 8:12:33 GMT -8
Hey, maybe we should make a seperate thread for this? Possibly? Also: Bump: Moved from CC.
|
|
|
|
Post by Muramasa on Oct 4, 2006 2:28:55 GMT -8
One day, I'll finish those stories. Maybe when can't sleep again.
I'm not really asleep and I'm not really awake...
|
|
|
|
Post by Kuat on Oct 4, 2006 8:38:34 GMT -8
One day, I'll finish those stories. Maybe when can't sleep again. I'm not really asleep and I'm not really awake... AHHHHHHHH!!! Drunks and losers, whores with limps, floes and hoes and one eyed pimps. Down the alleyway they creep, they're all your friends when you can't sleep! Come with me and you will see a late night freakshow; jubilee! Kick the sandman in his sack; stay up late... insomniac! |
|
|
|
Post by The Dankness on Oct 6, 2006 0:00:34 GMT -8
One day, I'll finish those stories. Maybe when can't sleep again. I'm not really asleep and I'm not really awake... AHHHHHHHH!!! Drunks and losers, whores with limps, floes and hoes and one eyed pimps. Down the alleyway they creep, they're all your friends when you can't sleep! Come with me and you will see a late night freakshow; jubilee! Kick the sandman in his sack; stay up late... insomniac! GOOD STUFF. By the way, I'll be writing my key-story sometime very soon. Just so you guys know that I haven't forgotten about it. Oh, and I'm gonna finish that three-part story "Dave's Last Hit" that I started WAAAAAY back in this thread. Stay tuned. |
|
|
|
Post by Kuat on Oct 6, 2006 10:07:28 GMT -8
AHHHHHHHH!!! Drunks and losers, whores with limps, floes and hoes and one eyed pimps. Down the alleyway they creep, they're all your friends when you can't sleep! Come with me and you will see a late night freakshow; jubilee! Kick the sandman in his sack; stay up late... insomniac! GOOD STUFF. By the way, I'll be writing my key-story sometime very soon. Just so you guys know that I haven't forgotten about it. Oh, and I'm gonna finish that three-part story "Dave's Last Hit" that I started WAAAAAY back in this thread. Stay tuned. Looking forward to it. |
|
|
|
Post by Muramasa on Oct 6, 2006 10:40:01 GMT -8
Seriously.
|
|
|
|
Post by Muramasa on Oct 19, 2006 1:47:14 GMT -8
What The Heck?!: Tales from Heck vol. 23: Essay from a child's writing class.
I tried to eat a pickle. Then I found out that it was mommy. Why did daddy have to like hotdogs?
|
|
|
|
Post by Kuat on Oct 24, 2006 8:25:16 GMT -8
April 10th, 20XX
This morning, I had but one thought in my head: “Finally, it's Monday”. Looking forward to a Monday may seem alien to some, but considering my life is about as exciting as bleached white bread smothered in mayo, work is pretty much all I really have that presents me with anything resembling excitement.
Today, I can swear to any number of gods humans have held dear to them that my job is not boring. I had mentioned previously that one Victorian house (the one with the blueprints done to the atomic unit and such), which I had the chance to inspect today. After an uneventful breakfast and drive, I arrived at my target destination. Upon approaching to the house, the first thing I noticed was how oddly it stood out from its neighbors. I mean, it really is striking that no one ever tore the house down during development of the planned community around it. It seemed so intensely out of place that no metaphor I came up with could compare. As I walked toward the porch, along the side-winding walkway through the immaculately kept lawn, I noticed that everything seemed very intact. When I say “intact” I mean “looks like it was just built”. The paint seemed fresh, the woodwork unscathed, and the windows were spotless. Indeed, considering no one lived there for a bit it was a fair amount peculiar. Although not the first case I'd ever seen; hell, there was this one time an abandoned building I had to inspect had been host to this one cult that required... eh, I'm babbling a bit. Anyway, flipping through the profile I had whipped up for the house, the last occupants had moved out around a month ago, and the house was currently in escrow to a foundation whom I had never heard of but sounded vaguely ominous.
Walking up the steps to the porch I was visually assaulted by a collection of objects that seemed to have fallen off of a trading ship that had circled the globe twice. Two white marble chest high Singaporean Merlions flanked the entrance, a large and foreboding African mask adorned the side of the door, while a lacquered middle eastern looking table set sat undisturbed for seating. There were other various objects strewn about that I had no idea regarding their origin; then again, one shouldn't say strewn as they were indeed organized but... I can't quite put words to it. However, out of all these, something stood out in the corner of my eye. Gently floating in the breeze was a mobile, one that had eight very distinctive keys on each arm. Initially, I saw seven, but one... again, words can't describe it, but it took a while to notice it. It seemed to morph in and out of existence, and I could barely make out exactly what it was. Entranced for what seemed a good time, I finally grabbed the key when it was at its largest size. Somehow, someway, I knew it was a key. A key that Escher would be very proud of, had he designed it. The shaft was long and had a prism-like shape, with various projections and indents along the length. It seemed... incomplete somehow, as if I had taken only a slice of what it really was. Each projection was spring loaded into the key, with varying tensions, while the indents were inverted half sphered of various depths.
The head of the key, however, was truly amazing. At first glance, on each side was a spherical relief that had various etchings in it. When one turned the key to a certain angle, the light reflected off the various edges and a hologram appeared, first spherical in shape, until it resembled a planet. Moving it seemed to pan the image, alter it, and morph it. For a split second, a brief image appeared that I'll never forget. I didn't know what I was looking at, but for some reason I truly feel that for a brief moment I saw the birth of the universe, played out in front of me, reflected off this one bizarre key. Shrugging it off as psychosis due to the crushing monotony of my life, I shoved the key into my back pocket and began the inspection of this very peculiar house.
|
|
|
|
Post by The Dankness on Nov 28, 2006 3:58:37 GMT -8
FINALLY. I'm not sure if many of you remember, but I started a story called "Dave's Last Hit" Back on page 1 and wrote the second part on page 2. Well, I've finally gotten off my lazy ass and finished the story.
This is the third part and the conclusion. It's much longer than the previous two parts, but I hope you enjoy it. Anyway, here it is.
(P.S. I Haven't forgotten about the Key Project, Muramasa, I just haven't gotten around to writing my contribution to it yet. I'm going to try and do it soon, I promise!)
Dave's Last Hit
Part 3- Demon Child
Just as Djanikian uttered those final three words, his voice ascended into a demonic roar. At the same moment, his head split into two, and out from the split skull arose what appeared to be a small baby. This was no ordinary baby, though. This baby had glowing read eyes and was still connected into Djanikian’s body via an umbilical chord which went from the babies navel to Djanikian’s neck.
The baby levitated upward, raising it’s arms like a megalomaniac. Dave watched in fear as the baby looked down at him, laughing maniacally. Dave quickly put the sniper scope to his eye, and aimed it directly as the floating baby. Unfortunately, just as he was about to pull the trigger, something struck him in the chest, sending him flying back, to the edge of the rooftop.
Dave shook off the pain that he was feeling from the impact, and tried to figure out what had hit him. He looked and realized that he had just been hit by the one-armed blood-soaked nearly mutilated body of the druglord. It was still alive! Not only was it still alive, but it was making it’s way toward him as the demon child hovered overhead. It limped badly, but seemed to have lost none of it’s strength… On the contrary, it seemed to be getting stronger! Dave struggled to raise his arm as he pointed the rifle at Djanikian’s body (which seemed to be the biggest threat at the moment). Again, just as he was about to pull the trigger, he was interrupted. Djanikian’s body raised it’s remaning arm, and a bone-like spike shot out of it’s palm, impaling Dave’s arm to the wall. He screamed out in pain and dropped his rifle as the blood poured from the gigantic wound in his arm. He struggled to move, but the spike was driven too far in. He was stuck.
“Checkmate, hitman!” the demonic baby shouted, laughing maniacally. He continued hovering overhead, while the body of Djanikian made it’s way toward Dave, who was now suffering extreme blood loss. “You’re body is weak! You’re losing blood! GIVE UP! You made the mistake of trying to fight a superior being such as myself, and now you must face the consequences…”
Djanikian’s body and the demon child were now about five feet away from Dave. He looked up and saw the druglord’s body raise it’s arm once more, this time with it’s palm right in front of his face. He saw another one of those bone-like spikes beginning to form out of his hand.
The demon child laughed. “Now… YOU DIE!” It shouted. Dave began to get drowsy and realized that this was it, this was the end…
Then suddenly, a rush of adrenaline like he had never felt before rushed straight into his brain. His eyes shot open, and he moved without thinking. He pulled hard to the left with all his might, even against his impaled arm. He pulled so hard that he tore away from his arm, leaving it behind, impaled on the wall. He lunged to the left, and the spike from the druglord’s hand missed his head by about an inch.
Dave had so much adrenaline pumping through him at that point, he felt no pain from his newly-dismembered arm. He ran toward the other side of the rooftop, blood spraying out all over the already blood-soaked roof. He ran to the opposite end of the rooftop, and then quickly turned to face the menace. Djanikian’s body and the demon child both turned to face Dave. The demon child laughed.
“You fool!” the demon child shouted from the other side of the roof. “You really think that you may have a chance of winning this, don’t you? You genuinely believe that you might just survive!” The demon child laughed maniacally. “You are already dead, Hitman Dave!”
Dave stood on the other end of the balcony, looking at his enemy. Perhaps he’s right. Dave thought to himself. I’m missing both arms and have already lost almost half the blood in my body. I am practically dead. But it’s also true that he isn’t doing so well himself. His body is missing an arm as well, and is pretty torn up. If I’m going to die here… I’M TAKING HIM WITH ME!
Dave leaned his head forward and gave out a barbaric cry, rushing forward to meet his opponent. He rushed as fast as he could across the roof and rammed himself headlong into Djanikian’s body. As his head connected with Djanikian’s chest, he could feel the monsters chest cavity collapse under the force of his skull. The Demon Child screamed out in pain. As Dave looked up at the demon, smiling, he noticed the bloody stump where the druglords arm had once been was convulsing. A giant demonic arm suddenly shot out of the bloody stump, replacing the one that had been blown off by Dave earlier. Before Dave could make a move, both of Djanikian’s arms wrapped around him, forcing him into a bear-hug that he could not possibly escape from.
“You see, hitman?” the demon child spoke. “I am not bound by human physical restrictions! Anything that you can remove, I can grow back ten times as strong! Remember this as I crush your body into a pulp!”
Djanikian’s body began to squeeze him, and as he did so, he could feel his bones snapping inside of him. He could heard every crack and crunch of his body being broken by the force of this monsters strength. He raised his head to scream out in pain, but all that came out was a fountain of blood. He looked up and could see the demon child smiling down at him. It hovered over him, grinning with it’s hideous razor-sharp teeth.
Every bit of rage which had governed his last attack slowly dissipated within him and turned into pain. Every inch of his body screamed out in torment as his body was crushed mercilessly by the superhuman body of the demon-possessed druglord. Finally, just as Dave’s pain reached its peak, his brain shut down and he fell unconscious. The Demon Child laughed maniacally as Dave’s limp body lay lifeless in his host’s arms.
Suddenly however, something happened that the Demon Child hadn’t expected. Within Dave’s body still existed one ounce, one single particle of life. Within this small faint surviving atom of life existed something that even one with the power of a demon could not destroy… the will to survive. Dave, controlled by this human survival instinct, arched his head back, facing up at the levitating Demon Child with his lifeless eyes. He opened his mouth and uttered a barbaric cry that made even the Demon Child shudder, baring his teeth. He threw his head forward, chomping down onto the umbilical chord that attached the demon to it’s host. He grasped it in his jaws and with a quick jerk of the neck, tore it in two, severing the connection between the Demon Child and Djanikian’s body. The Demon Child screamed in rage.
Loosening its grip on Dave, the druglords body fell back onto the ground of the roof and slowly wasted away, no longer being kept alive by the abominable power of the demon. Dave, free of the body-crushing arms of the druglord, fell onto his knees, his head hanging, the last vestiges of life within him finally extinguished.
* * *
Within the hidden headquarters of The Society, Agent M and Agent G observed the horrific battle on a gigantic monitor screen. They watched silently as Dave used the last ounce of strength within him to sever the connection between the Demon Child and the druglords body.
Agent G turned to Agent M.
“You were right about him, M,” Agent G said. “He is one of the strongest ones I have ever seen.”
“He is indeed,” answered Agent M, still watching the monitor screen. “But I think it is time I stepped in and finished this.”
“Are you quite sure, M? This is supposed to be his assignment, and we shouldn’t try to interfere.”
“He’s done his job, G. It’s time to end this.”
“Whatever you say, M.”
* * *
The Demon Child hovered in the air, now disconnected from its host, the body of the druglord. It stared in amazement down at the lifeless body of Hitman Dave.
“This guy… I don’t think he’s human!” said the Demon Child to itself. “No matter… IT’S TIME FOR HIM TO DIE!”
The Demon Child swooped down from the air directly at Hitman Dave, who remained down on his knees, his head hanging low. He bared his razor-sharp teeth, fully intent on shredding the hitmans body to pieces. When he was less than ten feet from his goal, however, the head of Hitman Dave shot up once more, giving out an inhuman cry. The Demon Child stopped dead in the air.
Hitman Dave threw his head back, facing the sky, and arching his back. As he cried out to the heavens, his chest suddenly opened up, spilling forth a wave of blinding light into the eyes of the demon. As the light from the hitmans chest engulfed the beast, it looked straight into it and became deathly afraid. It was perplexed at the sudden fear it felt, but then suddenly realized why… Staring into this light was like staring into Heaven itself.
“It can’t be…” the Demon Child said, quietly.
As the beam of heavenly light held the demon in it’s fearful grip, what appeared to be the blade of a giant sword began to emerge from out of the light in Hitman Daves chest. The Demon Child gazed upon the blade and began to cry.
“Micheal…” the Demon Child whimpered.
Just as quickly as the demonic being uttered this name, the sword shot forth from Hitman Daves chest and flew straight toward it.
“NOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!” screamed the Demon Child, in a horrible demonic voice. The great sword tore through it’s body and obliterated it from within like a thousand lightning bolts from heaven striking at once. A huge explosion filled the air with holy fire, and when it receded, only the sword remained. And then, just as quickly as it had emerged, the sword retracted back into the hitman’s chest. As the holy light dissipated and the hole in his chest closed, his lifeless body flopped down onto the roof. Hitman Dave was dead.
* * *
The last memory Dave had was of the worst pain he had ever experienced in his life, surging throughout his entire body, and then nothing but blackness.
Now, however, he woke up in a great expanse of white, feeling more comfortable than he had ever felt before. He could not describe it, but only knew that being in this place made him feel more content than he had ever felt. He stood up and looked around. He saw nothing but white.
“You did well, Dave,” a voice from behind him spoke. “I must congratulate you.”
Dave quickly turned around to see a tall man with curly golden-blonde hair and a suit standing before him. He knew the man. It was Agent M, one of his superiors at The Society.
“Agent M…” said Dave. “Where… are we?”
“Well, this might come as a shock to you, but you are dead,” answered Agent M, nonchalantly. “But I think you will be pleased to know, that your debt to us here at the society has been completely redeemed. Also, I must apologize about not filling you in on the details of that last mission.”
Everything that had led up to this point all seemed very important to Dave, and yet, for some strange reason, it all made sense.
“So…” Dave began. “What happens now.”
“Well,” said Agent M. “Now I present you with a decision. We at The Society are constantly in need of new members, and you have proven yourself to be quite a formidable warrior. If you should choose to, you may join us. You will be recreated as a new and more powerful being and you will be added to our ranks. If, on the other hand, you wish to continue living your life on Earth, your human body will be completely revived, and you may continue your normal life, as we promised you in the beginning. Either way, the choice is yours, Dave. The choice is yours.”
Dave thought to himself for a moment and smiled. To him, this decision wasn’t any decision at all.
THE END
|
|
|
|
Post by Muramasa on Nov 28, 2006 21:34:26 GMT -8
Heh, that's pretty cool. I really did like the sequencing of the action (having the guts to tear one's own arm off is always a plus in my book).
For sake of convenience, is it possible to put all the pages into a single post?
|
|
|
|
Post by You probably can't touch this. on Nov 28, 2006 22:11:01 GMT -8
Yes, I haven't read any of them because I'm a gluteon for convenience.
|
|
|
|
Post by The Dankness on Nov 28, 2006 22:49:55 GMT -8
Dave's Last Hit (the complete legend)
Part 1- Hitman
Through the scope of the sniper rifle, Hitman Dave watched the brain matter from Druglord Djanikian's head splatter all over the wall next to him.
This was a good thing, you see, because it meant that his mission was complete. His debt to the tyrannical agents of The Society was finally paid off. He was free. Free to throw away the title "Hitman Dave" and live the rest of his life as just "Dave". He took the scope away from his face and wiped the sweat from his forehead. He brought the scope back to his eye so he could confirm the kill.
Through the scope of his sniper rifle, Hitman Dave noticed that the body of Druglord Djanikian was not where it was a second ago.
This was a bad thing, you see, because it meant that there was something about this mission that The Society had not told him about.
Feeling just a tad bit nervous, Hitman Dave took the rifle away from his face, and proceeded to do what he usually did in situations like these.
He sidestepped.
Part 2- Druglord
The fact that Hitman Dave sidestepped is a good thing, you see, because just a moment after he did, the entire building (upon whose roof he stood) was torn in half right at the point at which he had been standing a mere second earlier.
Hitman Dave quickly spun around, pointing his sniper rifle into the air right above where the building had just been torn in two. Just as he suspected, through the sniper scope, he saw Druglord Djanikian flying toward him, complete with half of his face covered in blood and brain matter. As Djanikian flew toward him, he took aim and shot another round into Djanikian's knee. The bullet shattered through his kneecap and splattered blood out of the back of his leg, but unfortunately for Hitman Dave, the crazed druglord was still flying toward him at an incredible speed. This was a bad thing.
As the druglord came down upon Hitman Dave, he opened his mouth, revealing a huge mouth full of razor sharp teeth. He sank his fangs into Hitman Dave's shoulder, and tore off his arm. Blood sprayed like a fountain, out of the shredded stump that now existed where his arm had once been. Hitman Dave payed very little attention to the extreme amount of blood he was losing, and proceeded to quickly reach down to his boot, where a huge hunting knife was holstered. He grabbed it and with a quick stab, jammed it into Djanikian's neck. Djanikian opened his eyes (which were now monstrously red) wide, and opened his mouth to scream, dropping the hitman's arm, which still clutched the sniper rifle. Unfortunately, all that came out of his mouth was a huge geyser of blood from his throat. The druglord yanked the knife out of his throat and took a few steps back, still coughing up blood.
Hitman Dave didn't pay much attention to the blood that was spraying all over him, as he was now reaching into his gun case for a few explosive rounds. He pryed the sniper rifle from his dismembered arm, and loaded it with the rounds. As you can imagine, this took quite a bit of effort to do with only one hand, so by the time he had loaded his weapon and taken aim, the druglord had begun dashing toward him again.
Through his sniper scope, Hitman Dave saw Druglord Djanikian raising his hand above his head, and it gave him a very bad feeling. He quickly jumped over to the right, and just as he did, Djanikian brought his arm down with great force, creating another huge crack in the building next to the original one. He did it without even touching the building.
He's using some sort of insane force from his hand to cause that destruction... thought Hitman Dave, as he took aim with his rifle again. He knew just where to aim. He fired right into Djanikian's shoulder. Djanikian's entire right arm (along with half of his chest) was entirely blown off from the force of the explosive round. Blood and shreds of flesh splattered all across the rooftop, and what was left of the arm flew about two blocks away, hitting a random old bum. Djanikian was thrown straight on his back, stunned for a moment.
"An arm for an arm, druglord!!" shouted Hitman Dave, as he reloaded his rifle with another explosive round. Djanikian quickly jumped to his feet.
"You die TODAY, hitman!!!" shouted Djanikian, dashing toward Hitman Dave. Dave took aim and shot his second explosive round, straight into Djanikian's stomach. The force from the explosion tore his body in two. His torso was thrown away from his legs, and innards were splattered EVERYWHERE. Intestines and other meaty bits littered half of the rooftop area. Hitman Dave was hit in the face by a flying liver.
Hitman Dave lowered his rifle slowly, breathing heavily, now covered in Djanikians blood as well as his own. His bloody stump of a shoulder was still spewing blood, but that hardly mattered now. It hardly mattered because now, Djanikian's one-armed torso was slowly dragging itself across the rooftop toward him. the sight worried him a bit, but considering everything that had happened up until that point, it hardly surprised him.
Djanikian was coughing up blood as he drug himself with his remaining arm toward the hitman. "Heh heh, I bet The Society told you that you were being sent to off the biggest drug-dealer in the city, didn't they? Ack, arggghhh, HACK..." The Druglord said, in between blood-spurts. "Well, they told you the truth... ACK!" Another stream of blood gushed from his mouth at this point. "I am indeed the biggest drug-dealer in this city, heck, probably even the whole state... but that's not ALL I am..." He paused for the biggest blood-choke yet, only this time, one of his mutilated lungs came out with the blood...
Hitman Dave finally got fed up and dropped his rifle. He walked over to the crawling torso and grabbed it by the throat, lifting it above his head.
"What the hell are you talking about, druglord!?" Hitman Dave demanded.
"Yes, The Society sent you to destroy the biggest druglord in town..." Djanikian said, hardly able to breath. "but what they failed to tell you was this..."
Hitman Dave looked in awe as Djanikian's eyes began to glow a deep hellish red.
"Not only am I the druglord... I am also THE DEMON CHILD!"
Part 3- Demon Child
Just as Djanikian uttered those final three words, his voice ascended into a demonic roar. At the same moment, his head split into two, and out from the split skull arose what appeared to be a small baby. This was no ordinary baby, though. This baby had glowing read eyes and was still connected into Djanikian’s body via an umbilical chord which went from the babies navel to Djanikian’s neck.
The baby levitated upward, raising it’s arms like a megalomaniac. Dave watched in fear as the baby looked down at him, laughing maniacally. Dave quickly put the sniper scope to his eye, and aimed it directly as the floating baby. Unfortunately, just as he was about to pull the trigger, something struck him in the chest, sending him flying back, to the edge of the rooftop.
Dave shook off the pain that he was feeling from the impact, and tried to figure out what had hit him. He looked and realized that he had just been hit by the one-armed blood-soaked nearly mutilated body of the druglord. It was still alive! Not only was it still alive, but it was making it’s way toward him as the demon child hovered overhead. It limped badly, but seemed to have lost none of it’s strength… On the contrary, it seemed to be getting stronger! Dave struggled to raise his arm as he pointed the rifle at Djanikian’s body (which seemed to be the biggest threat at the moment). Again, just as he was about to pull the trigger, he was interrupted. Djanikian’s body raised it’s remaning arm, and a bone-like spike shot out of it’s palm, impaling Dave’s arm to the wall. He screamed out in pain and dropped his rifle as the blood poured from the gigantic wound in his arm. He struggled to move, but the spike was driven too far in. He was stuck.
“Checkmate, hitman!” the demonic baby shouted, laughing maniacally. He continued hovering overhead, while the body of Djanikian made it’s way toward Dave, who was now suffering extreme blood loss. “You’re body is weak! You’re losing blood! GIVE UP! You made the mistake of trying to fight a superior being such as myself, and now you must face the consequences…”
Djanikian’s body and the demon child were now about five feet away from Dave. He looked up and saw the druglord’s body raise it’s arm once more, this time with it’s palm right in front of his face. He saw another one of those bone-like spikes beginning to form out of his hand.
The demon child laughed. “Now… YOU DIE!” It shouted. Dave began to get drowsy and realized that this was it, this was the end…
Then suddenly, a rush of adrenaline like he had never felt before rushed straight into his brain. His eyes shot open, and he moved without thinking. He pulled hard to the left with all his might, even against his impaled arm. He pulled so hard that he tore away from his arm, leaving it behind, impaled on the wall. He lunged to the left, and the spike from the druglord’s hand missed his head by about an inch.
Dave had so much adrenaline pumping through him at that point, he felt no pain from his newly-dismembered arm. He ran toward the other side of the rooftop, blood spraying out all over the already blood-soaked roof. He ran to the opposite end of the rooftop, and then quickly turned to face the menace. Djanikian’s body and the demon child both turned to face Dave. The demon child laughed.
“You fool!” the demon child shouted from the other side of the roof. “You really think that you may have a chance of winning this, don’t you? You genuinely believe that you might just survive!” The demon child laughed maniacally. “You are already dead, Hitman Dave!”
Dave stood on the other end of the balcony, looking at his enemy. Perhaps he’s right. Dave thought to himself. I’m missing both arms and have already lost almost half the blood in my body. I am practically dead. But it’s also true that he isn’t doing so well himself. His body is missing an arm as well, and is pretty torn up. If I’m going to die here… I’M TAKING HIM WITH ME!
Dave leaned his head forward and gave out a barbaric cry, rushing forward to meet his opponent. He rushed as fast as he could across the roof and rammed himself headlong into Djanikian’s body. As his head connected with Djanikian’s chest, he could feel the monsters chest cavity collapse under the force of his skull. The Demon Child screamed out in pain. As Dave looked up at the demon, smiling, he noticed the bloody stump where the druglords arm had once been was convulsing. A giant demonic arm suddenly shot out of the bloody stump, replacing the one that had been blown off by Dave earlier. Before Dave could make a move, both of Djanikian’s arms wrapped around him, forcing him into a bear-hug that he could not possibly escape from.
“You see, hitman?” the demon child spoke. “I am not bound by human physical restrictions! Anything that you can remove, I can grow back ten times as strong! Remember this as I crush your body into a pulp!”
Djanikian’s body began to squeeze him, and as he did so, he could feel his bones snapping inside of him. He could heard every crack and crunch of his body being broken by the force of this monsters strength. He raised his head to scream out in pain, but all that came out was a fountain of blood. He looked up and could see the demon child smiling down at him. It hovered over him, grinning with it’s hideous razor-sharp teeth.
Every bit of rage which had governed his last attack slowly dissipated within him and turned into pain. Every inch of his body screamed out in torment as his body was crushed mercilessly by the superhuman body of the demon-possessed druglord. Finally, just as Dave’s pain reached its peak, his brain shut down and he fell unconscious. The Demon Child laughed maniacally as Dave’s limp body lay lifeless in his host’s arms.
Suddenly however, something happened that the Demon Child hadn’t expected. Within Dave’s body still existed one ounce, one single particle of life. Within this small faint surviving atom of life existed something that even one with the power of a demon could not destroy… the will to survive. Dave, controlled by this human survival instinct, arched his head back, facing up at the levitating Demon Child with his lifeless eyes. He opened his mouth and uttered a barbaric cry that made even the Demon Child shudder, baring his teeth. He threw his head forward, chomping down onto the umbilical chord that attached the demon to it’s host. He grasped it in his jaws and with a quick jerk of the neck, tore it in two, severing the connection between the Demon Child and Djanikian’s body. The Demon Child screamed in rage.
Loosening its grip on Dave, the druglords body fell back onto the ground of the roof and slowly wasted away, no longer being kept alive by the abominable power of the demon. Dave, free of the body-crushing arms of the druglord, fell onto his knees, his head hanging, the last vestiges of life within him finally extinguished.
* * *
Within the hidden headquarters of The Society, Agent M and Agent G observed the horrific battle on a gigantic monitor screen. They watched silently as Dave used the last ounce of strength within him to sever the connection between the Demon Child and the druglords body.
Agent G turned to Agent M.
“You were right about him, M,” Agent G said. “He is one of the strongest ones I have ever seen.”
“He is indeed,” answered Agent M, still watching the monitor screen. “But I think it is time I stepped in and finished this.”
“Are you quite sure, M? This is supposed to be his assignment, and we shouldn’t try to interfere.”
“He’s done his job, G. It’s time to end this.”
“Whatever you say, M.”
* * *
The Demon Child hovered in the air, now disconnected from its host, the body of the druglord. It stared in amazement down at the lifeless body of Hitman Dave.
“This guy… I don’t think he’s human!” said the Demon Child to itself. “No matter… IT’S TIME FOR HIM TO DIE!”
The Demon Child swooped down from the air directly at Hitman Dave, who remained down on his knees, his head hanging low. He bared his razor-sharp teeth, fully intent on shredding the hitmans body to pieces. When he was less than ten feet from his goal, however, the head of Hitman Dave shot up once more, giving out an inhuman cry. The Demon Child stopped dead in the air.
Hitman Dave threw his head back, facing the sky, and arching his back. As he cried out to the heavens, his chest suddenly opened up, spilling forth a wave of blinding light into the eyes of the demon. As the light from the hitmans chest engulfed the beast, it looked straight into it and became deathly afraid. It was perplexed at the sudden fear it felt, but then suddenly realized why… Staring into this light was like staring into Heaven itself.
“It can’t be…” the Demon Child said, quietly.
As the beam of heavenly light held the demon in it’s fearful grip, what appeared to be the blade of a giant sword began to emerge from out of the light in Hitman Daves chest. The Demon Child gazed upon the blade and began to cry.
“Micheal…” the Demon Child whimpered.
Just as quickly as the demonic being uttered this name, the sword shot forth from Hitman Daves chest and flew straight toward it.
“NOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!” screamed the Demon Child, in a horrible demonic voice. The great sword tore through it’s body and obliterated it from within like a thousand lightning bolts from heaven striking at once. A huge explosion filled the air with holy fire, and when it receded, only the sword remained. And then, just as quickly as it had emerged, the sword retracted back into the hitman’s chest. As the holy light dissipated and the hole in his chest closed, his lifeless body flopped down onto the roof. Hitman Dave was dead.
* * *
The last memory Dave had was of the worst pain he had ever experienced in his life, surging throughout his entire body, and then nothing but blackness.
Now, however, he woke up in a great expanse of white, feeling more comfortable than he had ever felt before. He could not describe it, but only knew that being in this place made him feel more content than he had ever felt. He stood up and looked around. He saw nothing but white.
“You did well, Dave,” a voice from behind him spoke. “I must congratulate you.”
Dave quickly turned around to see a tall man with curly golden-blonde hair and a suit standing before him. He knew the man. It was Agent M, one of his superiors at The Society.
“Agent M…” said Dave. “Where… are we?”
“Well, this might come as a shock to you, but you are dead,” answered Agent M, nonchalantly. “But I think you will be pleased to know, that your debt to us here at the society has been completely redeemed. Also, I must apologize about not filling you in on the details of that last mission.”
Everything that had led up to this point all seemed very important to Dave, and yet, for some strange reason, it all made sense.
“So…” Dave began. “What happens now.”
“Well,” said Agent M. “Now I present you with a decision. We at The Society are constantly in need of new members, and you have proven yourself to be quite a formidable warrior. If you should choose to, you may join us. You will be recreated as a new and more powerful being and you will be added to our ranks. If, on the other hand, you wish to continue living your life on Earth, your human body will be completely revived, and you may continue your normal life, as we promised you in the beginning. Either way, the choice is yours, Dave. The choice is yours.”
Dave thought to himself for a moment and smiled. To him, this decision wasn’t any decision at all.
THE END
|
|
|
|
Post by Muramasa on Nov 29, 2006 2:22:51 GMT -8
nice
|
|
|
|
Post by Kuat on Nov 29, 2006 15:34:10 GMT -8
Congratulations! You're dead! This may or may not come as a shock to you, for the manner in which one departs the world of the living varies. In either case, we have some good news, and great news. The good news is that the afterlife offers some exciting and new opportunities for employment. The great news? With the increased competition in the soul reaping market, the average soul is worth more than ever.
Now, now, don't look distraught. We're here to help with what you will be doing for the rest of eternity. One of our agents will be with you shortly to guide your life into the infinity that is right for you!
We must warn you, during this waiting time others may approach you. Our competition may try and downrate the value of your soul, or place you in an undesirable program in order to increase their own profit margins. Be careful of their lies, for they will lead you into an economically compromised future. Remember, you can only trust your soul to Soularis enterprises; we'll make sure the rest of your existence shines as bright as your preferred celestial body.
|
|
|
|
Post by The Dankness on Nov 30, 2006 22:47:08 GMT -8
Man, I seriously wanna play Grim Fandango now.
|
|
|
|
Post by The Dankness on Apr 15, 2007 12:31:41 GMT -8
Bullet
I. An Empty Death
Jerry Knowles had made the decision, and nothing that anyone could possibly say to him could make him change his mind. This was HIS life. HE had the right to decide when it would end, and HE had already made it. He was going to die. Right here, right now, in his own bedroom.
To understand his reasoning behind wanting to end his life, you’d have to be Jerry Knowles. No one else but him could possibly understand the pain that he was going through, the anguish that festered within his heart, and the grim darkness that progressively overtook his soul with each passing day. He could write a book on it, to be certain. Hell, he thought to himself. I could write a series of books! But the short one-page neatly-written note on his desk would have to do.
As he loaded the single bullet into the chamber of the revolver, and clicked it into place, he began to recap everything in his mind. His parents hated him. His siblings didn’t understand him. He had no friends. People even made fun of him at school! Yes, it was absolutely clear to him that the Hell he now prepared to go to couldn’t possibly be any worse than the one he had been living in for the past 16 years. Now was the time. Now or never.
He looked down once more at the cut scars on his arm and nodded to himself. He put the revolver to his temple and cocked it. Goodbye, cruel world! It’s over!
Jerry Knowles closed his eyes and began to squeeze the trigger.
II. Bullet
“WAIT!”
Jerry’s eyes shot open and his finger loosened on the trigger of the revolver. A chill went up his spine at the voice that had just shouted right into his ear, as the house was presently empty and his parents weren’t due home for hours. He quickly looked in the direction that the voice had come from, but nobody was there. Dumfounded, he began to scan his empty room.
“Damn man, just hold on a minute…” the voice spoke again, softer this time. Again, the voice startled Jerry, who nearly jumped out of his seat. This time however, he had heard where the voice had come from. He had heard, but he didn’t believe. Slowly, he looked down at the loaded gun in his hand.
The voice had come from inside the revolver.
Jerry sat in his seat, looking down at the gun silently for a few moments. “You look confused, ass!” the voice inside the gun said. “And here I thought you had it all figured out.”
He brought the gun up to his face, still looking incredibly confused. “Hello?” he spoke quietly into the gun.
“Yes, hello Captain Depresso!” the voice responded.
“Um… Who are you?”
“Who am I? I, my dear friend, am the little strategically-fashioned hunk of metal that you were about to so gracefully launch straight into your temporal lobe!”
Jerry took another good look at the revolver in his hand. “The bullet?” he enquired.
“That’s what they call us, yep.”
“A talking bullet…” he spoke quietly to himself, rolling it around in his head a bit. This certainly put a new spin on his afternoon!
“Well, we don’t usually need to talk,” the bullet said, sounding a bit irked. “But I felt it necessary for the situation.”
Again, Jerry looked baffled. “What do you mean?” he asked the bullet.
“Alright, look… You probably don’t realize this, but I was crafted by an expert gunsmith. I was formed from hot liquid, not in any ordinary arms factory… I was created by one who was a master of his trade, a gun-guru some called him. All my life I dreamed of how I would be used. What sort of battle would I be a part of? For what cause would I be used? Would I be used in the assassination of some important political leader, and if so, what sort of difference would the event make in the world? All of my life I’ve wondered this, dreamed of the moment when I would be propelled through the barrel of a gun... Propelled, to VICTORY.”
Jerry listening to the words that the bullet was speaking. He felt moved by the words of the little piece of metal. He couldn’t remember the last time he had heard such a simple thing that meant so much. He felt enlightened. He had just received a revelation, from a very unlikely source.
“But as luck would have it…” the bullet continued. “I somehow end up here, about to be used in some horrendously melodramatic ritual of ignorance, by an ungrateful child who can’t stop feeling sorry for himself! And you think you’ve got it bad? Sheesh.”
As Jerry sat, letting the words of the bullet sink in, he looked at the revolver in his hand, still unsure about his situation. “What should I do?” Jerry asked the bullet.
“What should you do!? Stop feeling sorry for yourself, go do something with your life, and for the love of God, do me a favor and take me somewhere where I can really be put to some use!”
“You know… You’re right.”
Jerry stood up, revolver still in hand, and began to look around, seeing things differently than before. He had a new outlook in life, now. He realized how much time he had wasted being depressed and worrying about the mundane everyday problems he faced. He looked down at the gun in his hand and smiled.
“Thanks.” Jerry said confidently. “I’m starting over today, and I’m going to take the world by storm… And you, bullet… I’ll see to it that you get your victorious death.”
“That’s the spirit, kid! Now get me outta here before you accidentally blow a friggin hole in the wall.”
Jerry gently clicked the hammer back into place, and began to open the chamber of the revolver. It was at this moment, however, that a more pressing situation arose.
III. A Victorious Death
Just as Jerry began to remove his new friend from the gun’s chamber, he was suddenly startled by the glass of his bedroom window suddenly shattering into a million pieces. He fell to the floor against the opposite wall, and looked to see what had caused the sudden crash.
In his room stood a monstrous alien-looking being, standing in front of where his window had once been. The thing was about seven feet tall, nearly touching the ceiling. It had, equipped to its arms, two bladed gauntlet-type weapons. It looked at Jerry and began to speak.
“I am a harvester for the Varlon fleet.” The strange monster said. “I have come to reap your DNA and add it to the hive-collective. The overseer shall be pleased. I demand that you submit, and any resistance shall be met with immediate termination.” As the creature said this, the blades on it’s arm-gauntlet extended.
Jerry slowly pulled back the hammer of the revolver once again. He grinned.
“Well, friend,” Jerry spoke down to the revolver. “What do you say?”
“Ice the bastard.” said the bullet, the confidence apparent in his voice.
Jerry quickly raised the revolver, pointing it straight at the alien intruder’s head. Smiling, he pulled the trigger without a moment of hesitation. As the gunshot rang out from inside the house, the bullet flew to his victorious death.
|
|
