Re: DEATHGAME 9000 [S!3] Round One: Gamexus X99
02-28-2012, 09:43 PM
Originally posted on MSPA by -Benedict.
"Money and watch. Now." Heh. Heh heh. What a pretty penny this would bring in. Pretty penny. The goob had it coming, didn't he? He'd take that fancy watch of his.
"Interesting. How and why did you come back here so quickly?"
"Din' you hear me?" Who had the knife here? Not that guy.
"Actually, no. That is to say, I heard your questi-"
"Gimme all your money, an' that fancy... uh..." Wait. Wait, what? No. Where was the watch? He had a watch, right? That's why... sweet Mary, what was he yammering about? No money? Hospitals? No, he... he was supposed to give him... "What? Who?"
It was... the thug didn't know what it was. Some kind of scarecrow thing? What... where was its face? What? It was shaped like a person, but not a person with a fat wallet and a gilded pocketwatch.
"What are you?"
"The man you stabbed... oh." The thing pointed at the ground, where there weren't nothin' there. But there... shoulda been, right? By now, he shoulda had the money and the watch, and the guy shoulda been... no. What?
Wait. Wait, an idea. Really good idea. He'd just... kill 'im. Better than bein' confused. It didn't matter, that maybe this guy were the cops, or some wacko mafioso in a wetsuit. Things stopped being a problem once they had six inches of cold steel in their gut.
Usually, anyway.
This time, the axiom didn't really hold true.
SNKT! The blade went right in, the being's skin providing little resistance. Was there anyone nearby? Did anyone see? He looked around, confirming that the deed had gone unnoticed. Best not to stick around, then. No money, no reason to stay. Just... had to get out of there.
Turning to flee, the mugger felt a sharp pain in his shoulder. Arm was stuck, somehow, in... oh, God. Oh god, oh god, what? It had him, it was holding on to his arm, it wasn't letting go! How?! No! Aaaaaa!
The knife! It was still- it was right there, how the hell could it be- he was stabbed!
Noooo, no no no, he was getting out of here. He tried to pull away, but the thing pulled him back. Its grip was unbreakable, it did NOT let go. It pulled the mugger closer, and leaned into his face. Face-to... that wasn't a face. Good god, that wasn't a face. It was some crude drawing of a human face, blinking blue with an impossible glow.
It didn't move its mouth when it said: "Please take me to whoever's in charge."
'Take me to your leader.' That was it, sweet mercy, that was it. It was a space alien, is what it was. Some kinda creep out of Flash Gordon, or somethin'. It had a ray gun, didn't it? He didn't want to be dis-inky-graded or whatever. That was in the paper the other day, weren't it? Those NACA goobs in Washington were stirring up trouble with the extra-terrestrials.
"We don't... I don't got a leader! I- I'm just trying to made ends... nobody-"
"Who holds authority in this city?"
Well, he'd want to hear the mayor, but it'd be a laugh to say that twit had authority. "I... I mean, the Don doesn't... why do-"
"The don? Where does the don live?"
"I don't know, I'm not... I'm not involved with that! I'm not one of those goombas!"
"But you know where I can find them, right?"
He kept talking with that not-mouth, those blue wire things making him look like some kind of halloween skeleton. He couldn't keep... god, it was too much. He lunged for the knife and pulled it out, and with one swift motion drove it into the creature's face.
It gave the mugger a disappointed look, dislocated his shoulder, and calmly removed the knife from its eye.
"AAAAAAAAA! AAAAAA! OH GOD, OW!"
"You know where I can find this don, right?"
"AAAAAAA!"
"Stop bawling, please. I can perform a reduction on the joint, if you'll help me."
"God DAMN! AAAAA! I don't know, I really don't kn... I mean, you could ask about him at- nobody's allowed in without- AAAAAA!"
"You know where this place is?"
"Down Copenhagen street, the bar... the bar, aaaaaagh!"
"A bar on Copenhagen street. Where is Copenhagen street?" It seized the mugger's shoulder and rotated it back into place with a sickening crack. The pain quickly stopped, and he squinted off into the distance.
The patchwork city bore little resemblance to the original Gomorrah, but it knew how to orient itself. Before it had been judged, Copenhagen street was about three blocks past the scene of the mugging, and then four blocks down Bradford street on the right. The mugger looked for familiar landmarks, but found none.
So Gomorrah realigned itself. It picked a run-down pub in a drab part of town, decided that would be the Rotten Denmark Bar and Grill, and moved a few roads around. You wouldn't notice unless you were looking right at it, and even then only if you wanted to see it.
What the mugger saw, conveniently enough, was Bradford street.
"You want to go, uh... about three blocks down, you see where Bradford is? Four blocks down there, on your right, that's the Rotten Denmark. Mostly gavones and empty suits in there, but they know... y'know, the people. They can get you in touch with the family, I think."
"Money and watch. Now." Heh. Heh heh. What a pretty penny this would bring in. Pretty penny. The goob had it coming, didn't he? He'd take that fancy watch of his.
"Interesting. How and why did you come back here so quickly?"
"Din' you hear me?" Who had the knife here? Not that guy.
"Actually, no. That is to say, I heard your questi-"
"Gimme all your money, an' that fancy... uh..." Wait. Wait, what? No. Where was the watch? He had a watch, right? That's why... sweet Mary, what was he yammering about? No money? Hospitals? No, he... he was supposed to give him... "What? Who?"
It was... the thug didn't know what it was. Some kind of scarecrow thing? What... where was its face? What? It was shaped like a person, but not a person with a fat wallet and a gilded pocketwatch.
"What are you?"
"The man you stabbed... oh." The thing pointed at the ground, where there weren't nothin' there. But there... shoulda been, right? By now, he shoulda had the money and the watch, and the guy shoulda been... no. What?
Wait. Wait, an idea. Really good idea. He'd just... kill 'im. Better than bein' confused. It didn't matter, that maybe this guy were the cops, or some wacko mafioso in a wetsuit. Things stopped being a problem once they had six inches of cold steel in their gut.
Usually, anyway.
This time, the axiom didn't really hold true.
SNKT! The blade went right in, the being's skin providing little resistance. Was there anyone nearby? Did anyone see? He looked around, confirming that the deed had gone unnoticed. Best not to stick around, then. No money, no reason to stay. Just... had to get out of there.
Turning to flee, the mugger felt a sharp pain in his shoulder. Arm was stuck, somehow, in... oh, God. Oh god, oh god, what? It had him, it was holding on to his arm, it wasn't letting go! How?! No! Aaaaaa!
The knife! It was still- it was right there, how the hell could it be- he was stabbed!
Noooo, no no no, he was getting out of here. He tried to pull away, but the thing pulled him back. Its grip was unbreakable, it did NOT let go. It pulled the mugger closer, and leaned into his face. Face-to... that wasn't a face. Good god, that wasn't a face. It was some crude drawing of a human face, blinking blue with an impossible glow.
It didn't move its mouth when it said: "Please take me to whoever's in charge."
'Take me to your leader.' That was it, sweet mercy, that was it. It was a space alien, is what it was. Some kinda creep out of Flash Gordon, or somethin'. It had a ray gun, didn't it? He didn't want to be dis-inky-graded or whatever. That was in the paper the other day, weren't it? Those NACA goobs in Washington were stirring up trouble with the extra-terrestrials.
"We don't... I don't got a leader! I- I'm just trying to made ends... nobody-"
"Who holds authority in this city?"
Well, he'd want to hear the mayor, but it'd be a laugh to say that twit had authority. "I... I mean, the Don doesn't... why do-"
"The don? Where does the don live?"
"I don't know, I'm not... I'm not involved with that! I'm not one of those goombas!"
"But you know where I can find them, right?"
He kept talking with that not-mouth, those blue wire things making him look like some kind of halloween skeleton. He couldn't keep... god, it was too much. He lunged for the knife and pulled it out, and with one swift motion drove it into the creature's face.
It gave the mugger a disappointed look, dislocated his shoulder, and calmly removed the knife from its eye.
"AAAAAAAAA! AAAAAA! OH GOD, OW!"
"You know where I can find this don, right?"
"AAAAAAA!"
"Stop bawling, please. I can perform a reduction on the joint, if you'll help me."
"God DAMN! AAAAA! I don't know, I really don't kn... I mean, you could ask about him at- nobody's allowed in without- AAAAAA!"
"You know where this place is?"
"Down Copenhagen street, the bar... the bar, aaaaaagh!"
"A bar on Copenhagen street. Where is Copenhagen street?" It seized the mugger's shoulder and rotated it back into place with a sickening crack. The pain quickly stopped, and he squinted off into the distance.
The patchwork city bore little resemblance to the original Gomorrah, but it knew how to orient itself. Before it had been judged, Copenhagen street was about three blocks past the scene of the mugging, and then four blocks down Bradford street on the right. The mugger looked for familiar landmarks, but found none.
So Gomorrah realigned itself. It picked a run-down pub in a drab part of town, decided that would be the Rotten Denmark Bar and Grill, and moved a few roads around. You wouldn't notice unless you were looking right at it, and even then only if you wanted to see it.
What the mugger saw, conveniently enough, was Bradford street.
"You want to go, uh... about three blocks down, you see where Bradford is? Four blocks down there, on your right, that's the Rotten Denmark. Mostly gavones and empty suits in there, but they know... y'know, the people. They can get you in touch with the family, I think."