Well here is my first attempt at game fiction, and writing for that
matter. I have not completed the piece yet as I tend to type this up at
work, though with any luck I will post the instalments every couple of
days until it wraps up.
Feel free to give me feedback both positive and negative. Also if it is
not to anyone's liking let me know and I will not post the rest.
7 days 10 hours and 13 minutes ago we were celebrating graduation at Meny.
Now here I am, my left hand it's fingers growing numb grasping onto the slick grimy warped metal walkway. The rain, well it's more of a black sludge at this level of downtown, working it's way uncomfortably down the stylish yet bloody sleeves of my Smith-Seleinium trenchcoat.
4 days and 6 hours ago me and the rest of the newly formed Style rats were buying clothing. Working on our image.
It's not doing a bad job of it, my left hand that is. After all it is having to cope with my 6'2" frame hanging off it, plus the weight of my sodden clothing, the fact that blood is also leaking out of a ragged gash in my left leg is not making things any easier. I guess the 40 foot fall into the writhing mass of sewerpigs tearing apart the raw bloody carcass of Breeze, who up until 2 minutes ago was a cherished friend and only other surviving member of Style Rats, is the extra incentive to make sure I don't lose my grip.
3 Days 8 hours ago we were waiting in Slayers Crib, and Tes' khh the shaktar was trading hand to hand combat tips with Grunt our friendly 313 Stormer as a way to pass the boredom.
As for my right hand it's grasped around the cold reassuring metal of my FEN 603 handgun. Which is at this moment pointing at the reason my that left hand is doing all the hard work itself.
The masked head of the infamous "Flesh Carver" serial Killer with a credited 56 kills to his name and counting fills my view, who for his part is standing on the groaning creaking walkway with a shotgun pointed down at my head.
This scene is beautifully illuminated by the Third Eye roving news report team, their cameras beaming live to millions of citizens sitting inside of their dingy mouldy apartments watching and one can only hope cheering for me, Case "Sure shot" Lawson.3 days and 3 hours ago the we received our first BPN, it was a blue. Routine patrol and cleanse of Downtown level 87B that was to last 7 days..
His eyes are cold and dead, I look for any touch of humanity in them, something that I can appeal to, something to buy me some time.
Nothing
We stare at each other rain tricking down our faces. Flesh Carvers mask of human flesh gives the rain a bloody colour filled with malice. Me, I think I just look desperate. Our weapons hold rock steady, aimed at one another . I feel my grip slowly weakening as the blood evacuates my leg, crimson drops falling into the pigs below as a kind of appetiser.
"Where next" the voice is soft, devoid of any tone or emotion. The Third Eye sound guy leans closer trying to pick up the conversation.
"I suppose a drink is out of the question" my mouth blurts out, fear makes me say stupid things.
Those pits of inhumanity blink.2 days and 5 hours ago while wrapping up a minor firefight cleaning out a building of squatters we ran into the a group of SLA Ops who were on a BPN hunting down a Serial Killer. Breeze asked their leader another Ebon like herself for his number, she got it.
Well I can't feel my hand any longer, I'll have to do something soon. Otherwise I'll be dropping in for dinner 40 feet below.
Flesh carver looks into my eyes, then his masks moves into what I can only imagine is a smile.
"Little little boy hanging by a thread, skin so smooth and soft make a nice pillow for my bed."
My hand begins to slip
"Eyes of fear looking for escape, mind of sweet meat thinking in a haze"
I scan around me quickly, looking searching to find somewhere to fall
"Pigs below hungering for a taste, like all the viewers outside blood is what they crave"
I see the reporter start to slowly walk towards the walkway
"Big bad man above wanting to eat your face, weakness reflected in your eyes"
The cold wet barrel of the shotgun moves and presses against my head
"Ask yourself a question pretty little boy, I can help you, but the cost is this"
My left hand slips, my right of it's own volition grabs the walkway
"I will hunt you down and make you my masterwork and carve you so very slow"
With horror I realise my FEN is no longer pointed at Carver. He cocks the shotgun
"So quick or slow how do you want to go?"
The legs of my pants grow warm, as my bladder releases.1 day and 30 minutes ago Things began to go bad, we lose Tes'khh to a carrien ambush, while investigating an abandoned power station.
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