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| Xeogaming Forums - Story Realm - The Demon |
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Stitch Roy Koopa Holy crap, it is the RoboCoonie!          Since: 08-20-04 From: California Since last post: 946 days Last activity: 946 days |
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| You know, hanging upside down from a bridge isn't as scary as I thought it would be. The falling part might be a little exilerating, but one doesn't really have the ability to suffer through the impact part what with the whole instant death part. I'm not talking.
Vito, the joyful thug clutching onto my ankles from atop the Golden Gate bridge, yells down at me to talk or he'll drop me. I know that if I do talk, he'll drop me, so I'm just crossing my arms against the force of gravity and shaking my head. Nothing is going to pass these lips. He becomes irritated after a few seconds, and pulls me back over the bridge railing. He's promptly shot. He should have dropped me. No one ever thinks to check me for a gun. He's a lumbering--and bleeding--fat man, and it makes it incredibly difficult to load him back into the Towncar idling on the roadway level of the bridge. After taking my position behind the wheel, driving gloves on, I roll down the bridge towards San Francisco heading towards South San Francisco. How did I get in this mess? It's work. As a freelancer hired gun, word gets around of my flawless masterpieces. Anything can be made to look like an accident. Including this situation. We arrive at a large mansion just east of the airport, the home of Tony Scaglione--mafia underboss for the Bay area, to a small guest house offsetting the main house. I pull into the garage, and proceed to unload the fat man and slowly drag him over to the bench he's set up for cleaning his weapons. After much mental calculation, and firing off one of his guns at the precise angle, I place him on the floor in a position warranted of someone whom has just shot themselves while cleaning. A few solvents and Coca Cola from the house, and the car is spotless. Not a trace of blood. My bullet, left his body at the bridge and fell into the ocean. His bullet, lodged in the ceiling panels, will be the new culprit to his death. Placing a few solvents in the his hands, dusting his palms with gun powder, and placing the gun nearby, I stand back to take a look at another masterpiece in the making. News reports the next day claim that Vito, the successor to the Bay area Mafia, was found dead of a self-inflicted wound earlier that morning at his home on the Scaglione estate. Police have confirmed that he accidently shot himself while cleaning one of his guns. The Scaglione residence is under investigation, and no other leads to the apparent accidental suicide are surfacing. A smile spreads across my face while I lounge on a bench at Fisherman's Wharf. A call awakens my dormant cell phone whilst I walk through Girardelli Square. It's Tony. He knows that Vito was "whacked". He wants me to find those responsible and dispose of them. He promises me a cool million to handle the job. I laugh at him, and ask for three. He seems annoyed, but caves and accepts. The next morning, a gaggle of reporters huddle around the Scaglione mansion. A gaping hole vents small patches of smoke through the front of the mansion. Scaglione perished last night in a horrendous freak accident involving the gas fireplace and a cigar. The Bay area Mafia is in an uproar and thoroughly distraught. My cell phone never stops ringing all morning. Bosses and underbosses, wanting me, to find those responsible. "You're the best" they say. I had met with Tony earlier the day before, to pick up my 1.5 million before the assignment and arrange payment for the remaining 1.5 million. When he left the room to retrieve the briefcases, I replaced the regulator valve on his fireplace with a faulty one designed to slowly flood the room with the lethal and highly explosive odorless gas. Before leaving, I offered Tony a case of the most exquisite, highly expensive, difficult-to-acquire cigars from Cuba. Being a huge cigar smoker, and a ritual one at that, he accepted them as a token of my appreciation for the work. "Why you do this work, Demon?" It was my cover. I wore an impeccably pressed black Armani suit, 100% silk black shirt with a white Christian Dior tie, and naturally looking contacts that made my eyes appear entirely white. I had to wear sunglasses, since Tony nor anyone else could ever bring themselves to look into my eyes devoid of color. I was called Il Demon, Italian for The Demon, and it stuck. World renowned, and only 23 years old. My legal cover? I was a videogame reviewer for Electronic Gaming Monthly. I removed my sunglasses, he averted his vision. That was my answer. Outside of the cell phone, I made it a point never to speak to anyone. The eyes alone served as my voice. No one ever tried to cross the Demon. The few that tried mysteriously died in accidents. I served as a vigilante of sorts. My motivation was not the money, but the disposal of evil everywhere. At least, until only one evil remained: Me. But not the petty stuff, I only went after the big people. The Yakuza, the Triads, the Mafia, and others. I studied my employers and targets very carefully. I knew their schedules and tendencies. If needed, anyone could be disposed. It was just Tony's time. I needed to stir the pot in San Francisco before my trip to Japan. Besides, he killed himself. He should have checked those valves...they do tend to wear out after years of use. Two mafia deaths in two days. Anyone suddenly leaving town would be watched and traced like a hawk. My trip, business related, was already reserved and planned several months in advance. I stood, at the summit of Coit Tower, watching the sprawling cityscape below me as a black Towncar pulled up to the steps leading up to the great monument. The rear window rolled down, and a man motioned for my dark figure to come near. I shook my head and pointed towards a black Prius sitting across from them in the small parking lot. We drove, them following, down the winding roads towards a small hotel in Downtown, a few blocks up from Fisherman's wharf. On the plane, I watched the local news report. A black Towncar containing a few member of the Mexican mafia was found at the bottom of a cliff area that morning after CHP had spotted a small plume of smoke coming from the bottom. Investigations have confirmed that the driver fell asleep behind the wheel while driving, thus resulting in the accident that killed all occupants in the vehicle. Japan was gonna be fun. To be continued... |
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Elara Divine Mamkute Dark Elf Goddess Chaos Imp Penguins Fan Ms. Invisable  Since: 08-15-04 From: Ferelden Since last post: 113 days Last activity: 113 days |
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| I must say that I really do like the plot of this story, Zabuza... and the contacts are indeed a nice touch. So, does that mean that they think his eyes really are like that, since you emphasized that they are natural looking? | |||
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Stitch Roy Koopa Holy crap, it is the RoboCoonie! Since: 08-20-04 From: California Since last post: 946 days Last activity: 946 days |
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| OOS: The contacts blend into the whites of his eyes creating the effect of naturally missing the iris. Try to imagine how freaky that would look. I'm trying a different style where I switch from first to third person.
Upon arriving at Narita Airport, he was greeted by a small group of bowing assistants from the NAMCO company. He exchanged several business cards with the assistants, and was immediately ushered into a waiting car. The drive through Tokyo was breathtaking, but he had seen it all before. The many flights to Japan over the years had desensitized him thoroughly to all the glamour, technology, and culture. He slept through the ride. A cacophony of sleek, polished, frosted glass seemingly extending up to tickle the sky encased in shining silver steel hugging the executive offices of NAMCO in downtown Tokyo greeted him as he stood on the bustling sidewalk. His eyes adjusted to the bleek lights surrounding the building. The Japanese assistants clattered around him as he stood slightly towering over them. Each assistant carried a piece of his luggage. They ushered him into the whitewashed lobby where he was greeted by more assistants, each spouting business cards and greetings. A call weedled itself through the noise from his cell phone hidden in his backpack. He seized the assistant carrying the bag, and pulled out the cell phone. It was Koji--Yakuza underboss for the Ozaka syndicate--and he needed the Demon's help. The Triads had ambushed a convoy containing the syndicate's goods, and killed all of their made men. They needed my help to dispose of those responsible, and transport the goods back to the Yakuza. I don't transport. I politely excused myself from the assistants, grabbed my messenger bag, and "borrowed" the Towncar sitting outside. I met Koji and his henchmen, dressed impeccably as the Demon, in a cherry blossom lined park near the NAMCO campus. He was uneasy, pacing back and forth, and speaking quietly towards me. He kept mentioning something about a devil. The Devil. It drew a blank in my mind, but I filed it away for further reference. My cell phone rang. I didn't answer. The Demon doesn't talk. Koji, a flustered thin frame of a man stared intently at me through a scarred right eye--he had lost partial vision to that eye long ago in a neighborhood fight between his friends and a rival high school--and unlike Tony, he never flinched when I removed the sunglasses. He was a difficult target. He was difficult, but not impossible, to kill. But, his assignments brought more to the table than just money. I decided to keep him around for a while. He stopped in front of me, staring into my white eyes, "I don't know whether you're human or otherwise, but I know you can do this...for the honor of the Yakuza." I reached up and pushed him away. His thugs immediately drew their weapons, but were dispatched before they could even aim at me. Koji raised his head watching the smoking barrels of my silencer equipped 9mm guns. He bowed before me. "I am sorry, Demon. I meant no disrespect. You will fight for your honor alone." I walked over to the thugs, and rearranged them to face each other. Each thug possessed their own 9mm guns, so this one would be easy. I placed a fast dissolving tablet of ecstacy within their mouths, their life slowly drifting away from them. They shot each other in a fit of ecstacy induced fantasy rage. A few feet behind them, my bullets had lodged themselves in the trunk of a cherry blossom tree. After extricating my bullets, placing them in a zip lock bag, and walking back towards Koji, I replaced my sunglasses and walked back towards the idling Towncar. A thought crossed my mind as I walked away from the park, thinking back to the days when I was a video game tester for OnSight Publishing Studios, back when I had friends that laughed at my ideas to become a contract assassin. There was one that stood out; one man that fit everything I wanted to be. I don't like driving in Japan. Hate it. Completely. But, work demands that I drive around. Couldn't possibly have a driver; there would be too many people that I would have to kill afterwards. I trusted no one. (Last edited by Zabuza on 10-04-05 08:50 PM) |
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Elara Divine Mamkute Dark Elf Goddess Chaos Imp Penguins Fan Ms. Invisable Since: 08-15-04 From: Ferelden Since last post: 113 days Last activity: 113 days |
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| It is weird to see the shift in POV, since it's beaten into you in creative writing to not do that. Otherwise I am indeed intrigued by the method of covering your tracks there... that was excellent!
Cacophony... just had to catch you on that. |
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Stitch Roy Koopa Holy crap, it is the RoboCoonie! Since: 08-20-04 From: California Since last post: 946 days Last activity: 946 days |
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| OOS: I don't care about standards in writing when it comes to my writing. I'll use whatever makes the story flow, in my mind, at least. Screw the English majors.
My mind drifted away while cruising on the quiet highways of Japan on my way back to the NAMCO campus. OnSight had created a game centered around the myths of The Demon the media had been circulating worldwide. I was chosen to review their first beta copy for the American audience. I redialed my last call on the way back to the glitering tower. Rob, our managing editor, answered, "How was your flight?" "Excellent as usual, Rob." "Good, good. Listen, when you're done in Tokyo, OnSight has a game they'd like you to review as well," he paused obviously taking a drag on his cigarette before returning. Sounds of traffic in the background suggested that he was still at work, despite the huge time differences between Japan and San Francisco. "Sure, Rob. Whatever." "Hey," his voice became stern, "you're our best reviewer. Your sarcastic comments make or break the financial future of any game that manages to hit the shelves. These companies depend on you to sort out their crap before they release games." I rolled into the campus greeted by a very anxious driver wondering where his car had gone. I realized I was still wearing the Demon outfit, so I locked the doors and remained in the vehicle while I changed. "Rob, do you want something?" "From Tokyo?" "No, Rob, from the planet Mars...of course, Tokyo!" I popped out my white contacts and dropped them in their protective case on top of my folded garments inside my messenger bag. After unlocking the door, I exited the vehicle on the passenger side and walked into the NAMCO lobby. The gaggle of assistants were still standing there, holding my luggage. I have this tendency to envision my world from the third person perspective. It helps me to cope with the abundant idiocy of the world. And, it makes me appear to be crazy. "That's my biting sarcastic tongue! Don't lose that, babe. Hey, bring me back some sushi from that one tower hotel that appeared in Lost in Translation, and I'll be kosher." Rob had this knack for both annoying someone and making himself seem like an idiot. But, we still loved him. To an extent. He signed the checks. "Right." The gaggle inched their way towards me, and ushered me towards a giant glass-surrounded atrium conference room. Centered in the room, a PS4 wireless controller and a giant 70-inch plasma screen. Rotating on the screen, the NAMCO marquee and the sounds of Katamari Damacy filled the room. On either side of the conference room, small beta fish swam around in between the glass panes. The table, a large steel slab extending across the entire room, felt incredibly cold to the touch. Inlaid on its surface where small touch-sensitive monitors displaying the same rotating NAMCO logo. I took my seat at the controller, and the gaggle still carrying my luggage, took their places standing near the back of the room. A tall man, dressed in a blue business suit with a hideously striped yellow and orange tie, walked in and sat next to me. I smiled at him, being the guest at these facilities, and he returned the gesture. "Shall we begin?" The CEO of NAMCO always made a point to sit in on my review periods. He felt my presence would scare me into giving a good review. The Demon fears no one. I had played every single iteration of the Katamari Damacy dynasty that NAMCO ever released. I had become their number one fan. And, with Electronic Gaming Monthly, I became the one person that could make or break a game's sales. NAMCO had faith in me. I wish I had the same faith in myself. After a measly two hours of gameplay, I gathered my belongings from the assistants and walked out to the lobby. The CEO followed closely behind me, expressing many apologies for such a small Katamari experience. I turned to him, asked for a car to the airport, and ended my visit to Japan. Koji would just have to wait. I needed time to figure out if I could possibly link a few things together. Rob was not pleased to see me when he came to the airport to pick me up. NAMCO's CEO had called ahead while I was on the plane, and expressed his sincere disrespect for my review. I was rude, and very American. I sat, in the car watching the morning fog roll across the Golden Gate bridge from afar, and took in everything Rob complained about. At the office, Rob continued pestering me while I dragged my belongings through the carpetted lobby. In the elevator, I finally just broke down and shut him out. NAMCO is getting a good review, just not a too positive one. I mean, two hours of gameplay? That night, I drove back down to Fisherman's Wharf to meet up with Koji's contact before I departed for Los Angeles. Koji's contact, a stout muscular man with a fu-manchu style mustache wrapped around his lips, stood alone under a lone lightpole near the beginning of the glitzy tourist haven. Responding to the name of Hotaro--reminding me of Hamtaro--he delivered an impeccably cold stare as I approached him shrouded in the surrounding darkness of the beachfront. He handed me a silver briefcase and wished me luck on my trip to Los Angeles. Before my departure, he informed me of someone that had recently come to the Yakuza looking for employment in much the same capacity I exhibited. They called him The Devil, due to his fiery red eyes. Hotaro implied that I might have a rival. I stared Hotaro down, speaking to him clearly and darkly, "The Demon has no rivals. No one hears The Demon." Police found the body of the Japanese mafia syndicate behind a dumpster brutally beaten and repeatedly stabbed. His wallet had been sucked dry, and all signs pointed to either a mugging or a brutal gang rivalry. No one ever hears the Demon. The next morning, I arrived at LAX to the sound of several greetings from flustered interns for OnSight Publishing, each offering their assistance with my two bags. I politely declined, and boarded their company minivan heading the few miles from the airport to their Santa Monica-based company. They spent most of the car ride discussing the recent events that might circle around the Demon, and asked my opinion of the whole politics behind these murders. I feigned being asleep. The Demon proved to be just what I thought it would be. A Hitman knock-off based around the secret life of the ultimate assassin, whose entire purpose in life was to gain the respect of the Yakuza, only to dispose of them in the end. That wasn't my purpose. I chose to rid the world of evil until only I existed as the sole evil entity. But, nice storyline anyway. OnSight's testing floors hadn't changed. I was rushed by a grouping of testers upon entering the floor. My reputation and sharp tongue were legendary. They all knew I had worked at OnSight as well, and the company had sealed the XBOX 360 I worked on in a plexiglas box in the main lobby. What a waste. I was lead to an XBOX 1080, the latest in XBOX technology, and asked to place the telepathic headset controller on my head. Thirty-six hours of gameplay later, I wanted a copy. (Last edited by Zabuza on 10-05-05 08:41 PM) |
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Elara Divine Mamkute Dark Elf Goddess Chaos Imp Penguins Fan Ms. Invisable Since: 08-15-04 From: Ferelden Since last post: 113 days Last activity: 113 days |
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| Wow, how far in the future is this set anyway?
... Two hours of gameplay? There is something horribly wrong with even the though of that! |
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Stitch Roy Koopa Holy crap, it is the RoboCoonie! Since: 08-20-04 From: California Since last post: 946 days Last activity: 946 days |
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| Rob met me at the San Francisco International Airport later that day, eager to get an earfull of the day's activities. I was a little less than pleased, and pressure from the mob families were slowly mounting. I desperately needed a vacation. Unfortunately, the Demon doesn't take vacations. Rob was assured his review articles would be on his desk by tomorrow morning, and I excused myself to my apartment in the Castro district of San Francisco.
Market Street is a daunting drive for anyone visiting San Francisco for the first time, but after living here... To be continued when I get home from school... |
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Elara Divine Mamkute Dark Elf Goddess Chaos Imp Penguins Fan Ms. Invisable Since: 08-15-04 From: Ferelden Since last post: 113 days Last activity: 113 days |
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| Continue damn you!!!
Damn you have so many fricking projects now... you've passed me up. |
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Stitch Roy Koopa Holy crap, it is the RoboCoonie! Since: 08-20-04 From: California Since last post: 946 days Last activity: 946 days |
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| ...for so many years, it became habit to maneuver the streets easily rather than stressfully.
Upon arrival to my apartment, I received a phone call. Koji had arrived in San Francisco early in the morning to meet with Yakuza underbosses, and was looking to meet up with The Devil if The Demon was planning on being so disrespectful. After a brief change of costume, I walked down the steep hills to the Twin Peaks area parks to meet with Koji. He stood watching cherry blossoms fall from a tree, two new henchmen at his side, the afternoon sun reflecting off his silvered sunglasses and shining off the fine silken threads of his business suit. bah...I've don't like the way this was started. I'm rewriting after this. If you have the power to close this, please do so. I'll open a new one when I work on the story a bit more. |
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Bitmap #1 Enhancement Shaman US Ravenholdt  Since: 09-05-04 From: His Laughin' Place Since last post: 4569 days Last activity: 4563 days |
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| Ive become addicted to this story as well, post again damnit | |||
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Elara Divine Mamkute Dark Elf Goddess Chaos Imp Penguins Fan Ms. Invisable Since: 08-15-04 From: Ferelden Since last post: 113 days Last activity: 113 days |
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| Since it was requested, I will close the thread until Zabuza PMs me to open it again. You'll get your fix Saijin, don't worry. |
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