City of IF

[Solomon Birch]

Ok, another new Story Game (I just can't keep them under control....). Something a little different this time. This introduction chapter may seem a little short, but all will be explained below. Read on.

This is NOT humour. Its an experimental way of telling the story, so this is where it goes. So if you find it funny, you are sick and should be paraded around in your underwear for all to see! :P ;)
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One Last Bullet…
Chapter 1

The steel tube pressed hard against my head felt hot as hell, the memory of the .45 Calibre shells that it had just spat violently at me still warming the barrel. One last bullet, chambered, ready to glide slowly into the deepest recesses of my brain. Just my luck.

“Looks like you’re almost spent. Mind where you point that thing now.” I exclaimed, sounding much more enthusiastic and hopeful than I had any right to.

“We got something else in common then; last rounds for the both of us. What’ll it be?” retorted the man who I hated, hated more than anything I had ever ‘hated’ before. One who I had been hunting down for the past decade, killing my way to the top of the food chain, just so I could have this opportunity. This opportunity for vengeance.

His cold, dark eyes bored into mine, just as hard as the Colt pressed into my forehead. But in them I could see the man who had ruined my life and forced me on this revenge-fuelled bloodbath. 11 years searching and killing, and it all came down to this moment; two cheap pistols, two unsteady trigger fingers, two large calibre bullets poised to end all life in its path. My large-bore handgun also rammed hard into the centre of his forehead, scoring a red mark across his wrinkled skin. Like something out of a Tarantino movie. Except this 'aint glamorus or eccentic or being played along to by an upbeat jazz tune. That, and a whole lot of fucking sand. The heat from the sun was starting to get to me, its unrelenting brightness forcing my dust clogged eyes into slits. A little blood leaked from a wound across my shoulder, making it numb and sending a tiny trickle of warm, sticky blood running down the front of my dark shirt. I could see that I had clipped him too, a dark red stain slowly spreading across the white fabric covering his abdomen, coming from a small hole just above his hip. He didn’t seem to notice as his expensive looking suit was ruined. Maybe your own blood washes out easier that other peoples. I fucking doubt it.

Feeling the perspiration forming on my upper-lip, I choked down my fear
“I finally catch up with you, after 11 fucking years, and all you have is a sand filled Colt and a dodgy aim. Frankly, I’m disappointed. But we are finally here. You must have known this day would come. Anything to say for yourself?” The anger in my voice was scathing and crude, but he seemed unfazed, his dirt-encrusted face starting implacably back at mine.

“Were both fucked boy! Ha! Up shit creek without a fucking canoe, let alone a god-damned paddle! Actually, screw the creek; we’re in a fucking desert. Were just plain fucked. Neither of us is getting out of here. My time has come; I’ve been running too long and, frankly, I’m tired of it. Tired of the cockroach filled motels, tired of the guilt that gnaws at my soul and mind; every time I lay down to sleep it replays in my mind and I wake in a stinking sweat. I guess you can’t imagine me guilty, but trust this old timer; its there. God, is it fucking there…” He let his tanned, hairless head drop for a second, his eyes falling to the ground. I could have ended it then; I could get off the shot, could have sent his grey matter spraying across the bleached white sand. But something stopped my forefinger, leaving it resting heavily on the slightly bent trigger. I couldn’t do it; not yet.

“And you! You ‘aint got anything to go back to. All that’s kept you going this past decade is ME! Without me, you got nothing boy! NOTHING! And we both know that I ‘aint getting out of here alive. So ask yourself, if you can get it into that fire-fuelled mind; why am I here? What the fuckhas this old bastard done that is so bad? So bad that I ruined my life trying to find him and end his miserable fucking existence.” My finger tightened around the trigger, my hatred seething, barely below the surface. But I would not give him the satisfaction of seeing my pain. Keeping it bottled up, I stared straight back at his piss-yellow eyes, unconsciously willing him to just shut the fuck up and prepare to die.

“We’re pathetic, you know that? I feel shame when I look at myself, and I feel pity when I look into those deep, pretty eyes you seem so proud of. What you did to find me; you proud o’ that? I fucking doubt it. Those men were just in the way. You dint’ care ‘bout what you did in your desperate search. Take a good look at yourself boy. You’se just as fucked as me. We’re more alike than either of us is comfortable with. ‘Aint that a bitch?” He snorted, spitting a phlegmy gobbet into the hot sand. A twisted grin spread across his leering face.

No matter how much that piece of shit redneck had hurt me, despite all the torture, shame, anguish that he put me through, his words rang painfully true. I was not proud of what I had done. Killed dozens just so I could find this one man, one fucking man! It was shameful. I felt my anger ebb away. He may have been that cocksucking piece of shit that shattered my life before my tear-chocked eyes, but he was just one old, broken man. Broken and pathetic.

But despite the remorse that was burning at the back of my mind, I also knew that this man had to die. By my hand. With my bullet screaming through that leathery skin, into his skull. But first I needed to know why. I needed answers. From him, and from myself. I had to take a good long look at why that bastard did what he did, and why I did what I did. Before I could end his god-forsaken existence, I need some form of closure. Without it I would end up just as worthless and pathetic as him. I would be, to put it simply, ‘fucked’.

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Ok, hope that was to people's liking. Now, here's the experimental bit. These two are in this situation for a reason. One did something god-damned awful to the other. The decision I give to you is what? This will form the basis. You, the valued ( ;) ) reader, will determine what leather-guy did to our protagonist, and, as the story unfolds, I want you to develop the story up until this point. Neither is prepared to pull their trigger just yet. They are gonna talk for a little while. I hope people take to this idea, and I look forward to the imaginative and twisted (yes, you Shady :) ) ideas that you come up with.

P.S. I will probably remove the bleeping of the cus-words at home; they're only there at the moment so I can post at school without it stopping me. Edit: I think I've got all of 'em. :biggrin:

[Smee]

Definately a good start Soily - and a 'ma-hoosive' decision point so early on.

I hope it pays off. My initital concerns are that we already know the ending, so it may ruin part of the story. But if there is one thing I'm constantly telling my dad when watching certain films/cartoons - it's not what happens, it's how it happens that's interesting.

I'm sure that'll be the case here.

So what did the old guy do?

Slept with his wife? Raped his wife? Killed her? Killed his family? All the above?

Maybe all the above and framed the protagonist? After spending a few decades in gaol, because of some scum who set him up, our protagonist's revenge will be burning damn hot.

Maybe something a bit more unique? All that's a bit 'Face Off'

The thing is - our protagonist seems like an ordinary bloke. There's not many things that would make a normal guy so intent on revenge. :?

Unless he's some sort of assassin and the old guy stole his hit, made him lose the contract or something? But both of them are lousy shots?

Maybe the twisty one can come up with something.

Happy Writing :D

[Solomon Birch]

Quote: it's how it happens that's interesting

YAY! You've cottoned onto the whole point of this SG! Well done Smee, nice suggestions. Thanks. :D

[Shady Stoat]

Good start earthy-one!

I do have the beginnings of an idea that's a little twistier than the run-of-the-mill "you killed my..."

How about:

The two of them were fighting on the same side in some sort of war. Either financial, territorial or war in the classic sense of the word. To save his own skin, the old man leaves the other to fall into enemy hands.

For three years, he is a hostage/prisoner of war/torture victim/other. He is locked away, unaware of the events in the wide world. When he comes out, he finds that everything he once held dear is lost to him.

His business is in ruins, or it's been taken over by some rival company.

His wife has declared him dead and remarried. She now has a new life and children with her second partner and there is no place for him in any of it.

His only child committed suicide/was involved in an accident, that he feels he could have prevented, if he had been free of his captors at the time.

What's left but revenge?

It's the skeleton of an idea, but it allows for a lot of ambiguity, and what's more, the author will have to figure out all the twists, instead of me doing it for him ;)

[Smee]

Good plan Twisty one - the Soily one was trying to get us to do most of the story for him. ;)

Damn good idea too. :)

[Solomon Birch]

I knew I could count on you Shady. Great ideas there your Stoatliness. I'm glad people are getting the idea; I don't want people to write it for me (that would be nice.... but a little boring, don't you think? ;) ) but I want the readers to determine what they to happen. It will be your story, told through the eyes of our gubby protag.

Keep the great comments coming people! :biggrin:

[Chinaren]

Well as the SmeeStoat has said above, it needs to be pretty major. Basically killing family, ruining the guy. Stealing his wife maybe? Who says the guy has to be right or even sane?

I can't think of anything to add to the above, but looking forward to the next, or should that be the previous(?), chapter. :D

[LordoftheNight]

I'm thinking along the lines of Shady. The other guy seems older older than the main character, so I was thinking some form of mentor?

Maybe a wizended war hero who took our protaganist under his wing, and taught him the ways of the trade in battle, and then turned out to be working for the enemy instead - as a spy or something. Prehaps he set our hero up, expecting him to die in battle, one which took all his comrades away, and left him as the only survivor. When he found out he came looking for revenge?

[DukeReg]

I was going to ask if all that pointless swear word modification was some CityofIF policy I didn't know about, but you answered me preemptively. ;)

I like Stoat's idea (she must have a team of writers working full time or something!), and Lord of the Night's variation, but I'm wondering if we aren't getting ahead of ourselves...

I'm not to trying to usurp your position as author Solomon Birch, but if the first post is the final climax of the story, and the first decision is a clear summary of the POV character's motivation, the story's pretty much over by the end of chapter 2. Shouldn't we decide on something more minor each decision point that will eventually culminate and form the character's motivation, so its a process of gradual enlightenment for the players?

Just a respectful suggestion, I think the overall idea is good.

[Solomon Birch]

Well, I was hoping that this would cement the background of the story, which would first allow the chapters to be longer ( ;) ) and would allow people to then develop the story of how he spent his time trying to find the guy. So at the moment I want a backstory, because if we don't have that then we can't come up with the path he takes to find the guy.

Hope that makes it a little clearer for ya! Thanks for the responses everyone! Keep 'em coming! :biggrin:

[DukeReg]

I see the idea now, I was a bit confused. :)

Something Chinaren wrote struck me:
"Who says the guy has to be right or even sane?"

This is a good point. I was thinking that rather than have justifiable, reasonable motives, the characters could have ruined each others lives through paranoia, misunderstanding and perhaps a small amount of psychosis.

I think it would be appropriate that the old guy be his step father, and the POV character's mother and/or siblings died as something that can be blamed by a disturbed mind on the step-father, particularly if he was only young when it happened. I know well the resentment that step-parents can cause, even growing up in a supportive, stable family; imagine a rough lower-class family with problems pouring out of their ears.

[Smee]

Good thoughts Duke.

[Solomon Birch]

Yes, lot's of nice things for a poll now. I'll wait a little longer then maybe put it up tomorrow or thursday.

And, just a query: Shall we have some suggestions for names? Perhaps just one name, for now anyway. Or do people prefer them nameless for the moment? Or for he whole story... :D

[LordoftheNight]

I think leaving them namelesss is pretty good. Afterall, if we learn what they call each other, then it may tell us a lot about their relationship, instead of being a still unknown one.

[Araex]

Hmm... everyone is saying we've had the final climax already - but we haven't, not by a long shot. We still don't know what will happen.

What's really strange (and I don't know how it happened) is that all the way through I had it as canon in my mind that Leather-Man killed the protagonist's brother.

So... ideas... so far all the suggestions seem rather over-used: killed family, slept with wife, betraying mentors, "I am your (step-) father" stuff. However, that is the problem with originality, there isn't a lot of it around anymore.

Out of the suggestions that have gone before, I quite like the spy-cum-mentor track though.

Nothing to say myself on the subject though...

[Solomon Birch]

Ok, I've had lot's and lot's of great ideas, and I would like to get the poll up now, but I'm trying to come up with a good way of doing that, with all the options I think it would look horribly messy. Anyone get any ideas on how I could make it smoother or just more readable? If not I'll just try and get all the ideas people have submitted posted. :biggrin:

[Shady Stoat]

If I were you, I'd outline the full options in one post. eg:

1) Smee's idea: blahdi blahdi blahdi blah
2) Stoat's idea: bibble bobble bubble dribble
3) DukeReg's idea: hubble bubble boil and trouble
etc.

Then simply put up a poll with

1) Smee's idea (see above)
2) Stoat's idea (see above)
3) DukeReg's idea (see above)

Any good to you?

[Solomon Birch]

That's a good idea Stoat, thanks. Makes it much easier. :biggrin:

[Solomon Birch]

Ok, here we go:

Smee's idea: So what did the old guy do?

Slept with his wife? Raped his wife? Killed her? Killed his family? All the above?

Maybe all the above and framed the protagonist? After spending a few decades in gaol, because of some scum who set him up, our protagonist's revenge will be burning damn hot.

Maybe something a bit more unique? All that's a bit 'Face Off'

The thing is - our protagonist seems like an ordinary bloke. There's not many things that would make a normal guy so intent on revenge. Confused

Unless he's some sort of assassin and the old guy stole his hit, made him lose the contract or something? But both of them are lousy shots?

Shady Stoat's Idea: The two of them were fighting on the same side in some sort of war. Either financial, territorial or war in the classic sense of the word. To save his own skin, the old man leaves the other to fall into enemy hands.

For three years, he is a hostage/prisoner of war/torture victim/other. He is locked away, unaware of the events in the wide world. When he comes out, he finds that everything he once held dear is lost to him.

His business is in ruins, or it's been taken over by some rival company.

His wife has declared him dead and remarried. She now has a new life and children with her second partner and there is no place for him in any of it.

His only child committed suicide/was involved in an accident, that he feels he could have prevented, if he had been free of his captors at the time.

What's left but revenge?

Chinaren's idea: Well as the SmeeStoat has said above, it needs to be pretty major. Basically killing family, ruining the guy. Stealing his wife maybe? Who says the guy has to be right or even sane?

Lordofthenight's idea: I'm thinking along the lines of Shady. The other guy seems older older than the main character, so I was thinking some form of mentor?

Maybe a wizended war hero who took our protaganist under his wing, and taught him the ways of the trade in battle, and then turned out to be working for the enemy instead - as a spy or something. Prehaps he set our hero up, expecting him to die in battle, one which took all his comrades away, and left him as the only survivor. When he found out he came looking for revenge?

DukeReg's idea: Something Chinaren wrote struck me:
"Who says the guy has to be right or even sane?"

This is a good point. I was thinking that rather than have justifiable, reasonable motives, the characters could have ruined each others lives through paranoia, misunderstanding and perhaps a small amount of psychosis.

I think it would be appropriate that the old guy be his step father, and the POV character's mother and/or siblings died as something that can be blamed by a disturbed mind on the step-father, particularly if he was only young when it happened. I know well the resentment that step-parents can cause, even growing up in a supportive, stable family; imagine a rough lower-class family with problems pouring out of their ears.

Araex's idea: Hmm... everyone is saying we've had the final climax already - but we haven't, not by a long shot. We still don't know what will happen.

What's really strange (and I don't know how it happened) is that all the way through I had it as canon in my mind that Leather-Man killed the protagonist's brother.

So... ideas... so far all the suggestions seem rather over-used: killed family, slept with wife, betraying mentors, "I am your (step-) father" stuff. However, that is the problem with originality, there isn't a lot of it around anymore.

Out of the suggestions that have gone before, I quite like the spy-cum-mentor track though.

There we go! Hope that makes it a little easier. Thanks again for the idea Shady. :D

[Smee]

Stoaty wrote:
1) Smee's idea: blahdi blahdi blahdi blah


I think this is a more accurate account of my idea - I don't actually come to any conclusion :lol:

[LordoftheNight]

I don't really think anyone did - just threw random suggestions out there.

[Solomon Birch]

LOL! :biggrin:

I think that it's mainly a rough outline people gave, so I have more work to do... *mumble grumble* ;) :D

[Jack_D.Mented]

He should definitely be a little nutso. This constant thrist for revenge has made him more than a little... unstable. I F5 Chinaren on that one.

I like Stoat's idea and all, but I think that just for an add-on, you should make it even more personal. The man's not gonna be so emotional for no real reason after all. Leather- man gave him the works.

Like say, while he was cooling his heels in some third world hellhole, Leather man moved in on his wife and married her. Even adopted his kids. And to make it worse, the bastard was actually a good dad! Jealousy seethes because, being a soldier and all, he never really got to be a real father to them himself. They don't even recognize him.

Maybe even the wife and L.M. were messing around before the protaganist went M.I.A. She may have even had a part in it, something you could reveal right now.

Just kinda an extra kick in the nuts I'd love to see there. All for the Stoat idea, but I was wondering, what the hell was Leather-man doing the whole time the hero was locked up? He sure wasn't just sittin around twiddling his thumbs and whistling Dixie, that's for damn sure. Why not retire? He's got some years and it'll be a good life, seeing as his only rival is more than likely dead.

Make a good little personal footnote to all the other stuff he's probably done to the poor bastard. Also puts him in a situation ideal for killing the family when the hero gets too close.

I know idea time is over and all, but I just wanted that to just be put out there as an option for some sort of little side story.

But go for the Stoat thing, just remember, any one man that obsessed with offing another man for that many years can't be right in the head.

[Solomon Birch]

Great stuff Jack, welcome to the story! :biggrin:

[Solomon Birch]

Ok, Shady Stoat's idea won, so I shall try and get working on the chapter soon.

[Solomon Birch]

Right, here's the second chapter. Sorry for the wait, but I wanted to get it right, and I'm pleased with how it turned out. Let's just hoe you lot are too! :D

Enjoy! :biggrin:

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One Last Bullet
Chapter Two

“Ha! Can you even remember doing what you did? I bet it was just a blur; those men worth as much as a two-dollar whore to you. Less.” He spat a bloody chunk of his own cheek into the sand, I tried to ignore him, but his words brought back memories which I had tried so damn hard to keep buried under the slag in my mind. Memories of my family… and my past life…

~

The wind was blowing. It was chill, and I wrapped my arm around Sam’s waist, pulling her closer. Macho showing off really, but I was cold and it helped warm me up. Selfish acts crop up everywhere, you know.

She smiled and gripped my hand. That pink woollen hat looked so good on her; with her auburn hair coming out from under it and flapping about messily in the wind. She kept trying to tuck it neatly behind her small ears, but it was no use. The playful wind kept pulling it back out again.

“Leave it be hon, you aren’t going to beat it. And it looks nice like that anyhow.” I tried, tackily, but she just smiled again and looked ahead down the path winding it’s way through the swaying trees, whose golden leaves were slowly leaving their lofty perches and joining their decaying comrades on the ground. Looking back now, it was probably the last time I was truly happy. She was so beautiful. That wind, her hair, those leaves. It don’t seem like much, but it what made life enjoyable, made me forget what I did to bring in money, to keep her and Rachel clothed and fed. It was worth it, I felt at the time. I’m not so sure now.

~

“This, THIS is pathetic! You let them escape? What the fuck were you thinking? Were you even thinking at all?” His screams washed over me. I knew I’d fucked up, but I didn’t care. I was leaving soon, so it didn’t matter. Asshole could go screw himself.

“You think it’s cheap to get these guys across the border? DO YOU?!” The leather faced bastard hit the roof, his enraged screams echoing around the dusty trailer as if it were a bull in a bat cave. His spittle sprayed over my lapels, but I ignored it. It was a cheap suit anyways.

“I am going to shove a shotgun so far up your ass your gonna be choking on it! Get the fuck outta my sight. I’ll deal with you tomorrow. I’ve gotta recover those fucking immigrants now, before the cops pick any up. Berty, escort this piece a shit off site.” He flicked open a rusting Zippo and lit a bent smoke. The heavy set fellow at the door put a meaty hand on my shoulder and directed me out the door. As we were nearing the gate, he gripped my arm tight and turned me to face him.

“You shoulda apologised mack. He don’t take to kindly to fuckups. I’d watch your back from now on.” He gave me an… encouraging, push toward the chain link gate, so I walked along the dusty track and to my car a few hundred yards outside the construction site. He didn’t look so threatening, then. Couldn’t even afford a new lighter, the scum bag; I thought then.

~

The drone of the aeroplane rattled my teeth and shook my head ‘til it hurt.

“Ladies and gentlemen; we have hit an un-expected area of turbulence. Could you please ensure that your seatbelts are fastened securely and your tray table is folded away. Thank you, and enjoy the rest of the flight” The plastic voice crackled over the intercom, stuffing common sense into my aching head. I hate flying.

I felt Rachel squeeze my hand tighter as the plane went through another violent jolt.

“Don’t worry peach, it wont be like this long. Just hold daddy’s hand and close your eyes” I whispered into her ear. She nodded swiftly and crammed her pretty green eyes shut, her small face scrunching up as she tried so hard to block out the terrifying wrenching. She was so brave. I felt her delicate hand clenching ever tighter, though we almost lost each other on a few of the worse shudders.

Creak.

“Daddy!”

And then, silence. Her knuckles white from gripping so hard, she snuck her hand from my grasp and opened her eyes.

“See? What did I tell you? That wasn’t too bad now, was it?” I smiled, hoping to get one of hers in return. I did. She smiled so nice too.

She nodded, picked up her book and began to read. Such a good reader, Rachel. I never read much when I was a kid. Wish I had now. Know what I mean? You see your kid doing something sensible, and you kinda wish you’d done the same. Guess it can’t be helped now.

“Ladies and gentlemen, thank you for your patience. We should arrive in Buenos Aires in about 30 minutes. Thank you for flying with….” Damn plastic voices.

~

The door slammed loudly, almost hitting my nose, but not quite. Still room for a June bug to creep between, but it was pretty darned close.

I sighed, collapsing on the creaking bed. The slow drone of the fan occasionally sent a cool breeze my way, but it didn’t do anything to keep the bugs off. Sweat fell from my body, making the faded pillow damp and stinking. I hate South America.

Sam had just taken Rachel and left. Brought a suitcase too. She hadn’t done that before. Sitting up, I pulled a bottle of whisky from the cabinet next to the bed and took a swig, groaning as the crude fire burned down my already parched throat. Not the most sensible thing to do, but you know how it is. Everyone does.

She’d wanted to know why we had to leave the house and come stay at a cheap hotel outside town, again, and I couldn’t answer her straight. Fed her some bullshit about a deal having to be brokered out in the country, but I don’t think she bought it, barging out and all. I took another gulp.

I couldn’t exactly tell her that we had to go ‘cos there was fellas looking for me, and they was pissed off. That would have just scared her, and she would have left for good. Or insisted we stay. I didn’t get Sam anymore. Though, it was really my fault. I shouldn’t a lied. It didn’t do no good. She loved me. At least, I think she did.

I lay there, mosquitoes buzzing round my head, fan chugging slowly from left to right, sticky air weighing heavily on my slowly rising and falling chest. She’d come back, I thought. She wouldn’t have left me. I took another mouthful of that burning shit and dropped the bottle on the stained carpet and fell asleep. You know how it is.

~

She never came back. I didn’t see Rachel’s smile, or Sam’s auburn hair ever again.

I looked for them. I spent a month searching every hotel in Buenos Aires. But I didn’t dare go back to my house. They knew I lived there, so I couldn’t go back. I still don’t know if they had gone home. I don’t think they did. I just think they left. I never did find them.

But the bastards found me. In a dive bar in the suburbs. Wallowing in my despair, you might say. Tequila can help you forget, let me tell you that. I probably forgot most of my high school education in that month alone.

I was on my fourth or fifth shot, I don’t remember. I head the door go, and I turned to have a quick look to see who had walked in. I’d been doing that a lot, in that month. Turning and looking. Just in case Sam was there, woolly hat on, Rachel’s little hand gripped in hers.

But it was a short, mean looking white guy, with slicked back hair and a moody look plastered across his mug. Behind him was someone I remembered well. ‘Mack’. No one else called me ‘mack’, ever. Except once…

I turned back to the bar, a sick feeling plummeting to the pit of my stomach. I almost gagged, the realisation suddenly hitting me full on in the chest like a roaring train. I stood up quickly, keeping my face away from the door and headed to the bathroom.

I pushed open the dirty brown door and hurried inside, and immediately started looking for a way out. Cursing under my breath that I’d let myself be found, I grabbed at the small window set into the back wall of the reeking room. It wouldn’t budge. I hit at it in anger, but I knew that even if I did get it open, or broke the glass, it was way too small for me to get out of. Why don’t they like proper windows in South America? That’s a question that has plagued me to this day. I think they just like the heat, secretly, you know? Bastards.

I went in one of the cubicles, and tried to lock the door behind me, but it was stuck. After a few frantic moments, I heard the main door open. I left the lock alone and clambered onto the toilet bowl as quietly as I could. I braced myself on either side against the deep green walls of the cubicle, and tried to stand stock still.

I head footsteps moving slowly inwards, from the door. Either this guy was being cautious, or he went for a piss real casual like.

I held my breath, which, for the first few moments, was a relief. Not only was I quieter, but I didn’t have to smell the reek that permeated every orifice. But I couldn’t hold it long, and I cursed myself again for being so stupid. I was forced to let the breath go, and this was clearly audible. I gritted my teeth. The footsteps stopped.

Then, suddenly, the door slammed inwards and meaty guy’s rotund mug was grinning at me.

“Gave us quite the run around, mack.” His smile disappeared and he barrelled into my chest, throwing me off the toilet and into the cistern and wall. I heard something break. I can’t remember if it was the pipes or my ribs. I don’t really remember much of what happened then. I saw a fist rise in my hazy vision, but then it all went red, and then I couldn’t see at all. Couldn’t think. Like drinking a whole bottle of dirt-cheap Tequila, but much more painful.

~

When I came to, I was in an oblong room, 8m by 5. I remember the measurements perfectly. It was a small room.

There was a door at the far end of the room, with a grill set at head height. It looked metallic. The door.

I pushed myself up off the floor, leaning on the tiny cot along the wall. My head hurt like a motherfucker had just taken a bat to it. Looking back, someone probably had. I got unsteadily to my feet and shuffled over to the door. I guess I hoped it was open. Don’t know why. My head was beat up, ok?

There wasn’t no handle. I banged on the door a few times, tried rattling the grill. I think I even yelled. But nothing happened, and I was too darned beat up to keep trying. I went and slumped on the cot and fell into a deep sleep.

~

I was in that 8 by 5 room for 6 years, I think. Don’t remember the exact amount of time, but I think it was 6 years or similar. There weren’t anything to do. Nothing. A food tray was pushed under the door once a day, some slop ladled into a tin bowl. That was the worst, the food. It was so bad I hurled a lot the first few weeks I was there.

There was a toilet, a cot, a T.V. set with no reception, but it did have a VHS and a stack of videos, and 40m² of brown carpet. Every time they pushed that tray under the door, I grabbed the sides and started screaming at the guards, demanding to know where I was and why I was locked up. I knew I’d fucked up for leather face, but why was I locked up? They never answered, of course. Just beat my fingers with their nightsticks ‘til I let go. Broke a few on a number of occasions too.

But eventually, I gave up on yelling at the guards. I ate the swill they gave me, day in day out. I tried refusing a few times, but they just came in and beat me, then stuck a tube down my bruised throat and poured the shit in. I didn’t enjoy that too much, so I gave up starving myself. Guess I was a bit of a coward, but I didn’t care about much then. I thought of Sam and Rachel constantly, but soon even their images faded.

My only company was Jackie Chan, Bruce Lee, Chuck Norris. It was pretty surreal, after a few months. I think I was going a bit nuts by the second year or so. I just watched the tapes at first, give myself something to do. I used to love those old Bruce Lee films. I think I musta seen Enter the Dragon about 20 times before I get locked up. After that it was probably closer to a thousand or so.

After a while, I was growing pretty bored with all those movies. They get pretty stale after a few watches, especially Chuck Norris. I also noticed around that time that my limbs were getting pretty weak from never using them. So that was when it started. I put on Enter the Dragon again, and I kinda copied what was going on. Thought it was worth getting some exercise, and made them watch able again, until I at least got the moves right. That took a while, and some of the moves looked pretty painful.

I thought that it wasn’t painful enough. I’m telling you, I was going bonkers. So I started trying them on the wall, and the bed. First time I tried I think I dislocated my ankle and my fist hurt like a bitch; I’d torn all the skin off the knuckles and I think I broke a couple a fingers. I didn’t try it again for a while after that, but I was nuts. It wasn’t as painful as time went by, but even when it was, I didn’t care. Sometimes I liked to play with the ragged flesh around my knuckles. Gave me something to do. You know how it is.

I got pretty good too. Against walls that is, but I think my technique was pretty much the same as it was on the videos. I didn’t do the whole screaming thing like Lee though. Didn’t think it would sound right. Might of gotten me beat up too.

Eventually I came to realise that learning Kung Fu from videos against a bed wasn’t going to get me out of there. 6 years was way too fucking long. I had to get away.

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So, how is our protag going to escape? It may seem like quite a hard thing to think of, having been in their 6 years and not having acheived it, but I can think of a few ways already. If there aren't enough ideas then I'll put mine up as well as the few that I hope we get. :biggrin:

[LordoftheNight]

How is he going to escape? Hmm, that's a tricky question. While after realising that trying to learn martial arts from watching films is quite obviously flawed, he'd better be prepared to try something new.

Maybe build up his strength threw push-ups, sit-ups and other various exercises. Running on the spot, bench-pressing the bed, and all of that until he becomes strong and fit, and then fake an illness.

Just stop eating food, and eventually someone will have to come in to check on you - obviously they don't want you dead, so they'll see how you are.

At that point you can make a break for it, knocking out a guard, stealing his keys, weapons and ect, and just try to get out.

[Solomon Birch]

Right, just to point out, he may not have the technique perfect, but he's seriously fit now. Doing strenuous matial arts against a wall for 3/4 of a day, for 5 or so years is pretty strenuous. He did all the excersise stuff too, as he couldn't do some of the moves accurately until he was fitter. He's a fit bastard now.

[LordoftheNight]

Don't forget though - the martial arts he's been learning - while Bruce Lee uses valid techniques, it is still a film, and therefore the flashiest moves are used. He's never tried actually doing them. For the most part - self-defences don't require much strength into themselves, the aim being that anyone could do them.

[DukeReg]

I'd say that being super fit, immune to pain, and psycho enough to never consider giving up for a second would be sufficient to overcome anyone who wasnt prepared for it. Someone else needs to open the door, after that he can tear whoever gets in his way a new one, on his way out. Once he has a weapon to hit/shoot people with, he's set.

[Shady Stoat]

The only thing I can think of to add to the plan is that he can possibly fashion himself a makeshift weapon out of one of the food-trays or a piece of his cot or something. If he's fairly stealthy about it, he can have a nightstick of his own for when they come to beat him up for not eating or for being ill, or whatever.

Good story, Soily. Innovative use of my idea, so far :D

[Solomon Birch]

Good stuff so far, thanks for the comments guys! :D

[Chinaren]

No window I take it?

Tunnel your way out!

Work on the door lock somehow, or the hinges.

I'm out for now. I will think on it a while.

[Solomon Birch]

Come on people, no more ideas? There's a few people who voted for the last poll but havn't been in yet, so I'll wait a little while so they can have a look and post, otherwise I'll be sending PM's out! ;)

[Jack_D.Mented]

Maybe he could disassamble the VHS tapes and make a cord with the actual film. He fakes sick and then uses it to choke the nurse guy, taking the bastard hostage. He then works his way out like that, eventually accumlating a gun and other weapons.

Or he could just kill the nurse and disguise himself with the little breathing mask if they're left alone for a second.

[LordoftheNight]

But then they'll know he's disabled the camera as he does so, and they'll be prepared.

[Jack_D.Mented]

What if he's released by someone with a grudge against the Leatherface guy?

Infighting within the organization results in his escape?

[Solomon Birch]

Ah, thank you Jack, a nice different suggestion. As this is experimental, this decision point could also help to decide alot. Does he escape himself, or does someone free him? Does he start killing people yet? I probably should have thought about explaining the D-point better earlier, but if anyone has any other ideas, that maybe don't involve him escaping himself, or just different, then that'd be great. Superb suggestions so far, and I'm really looking forward to starting the next chapter soon! :D

[LordoftheNight]

Well, after being kept in a cell for that long, I'd have thought he'd already have been released were it to happen.

[Solomon Birch]

Were what to happen?