An awesome game made by awesome people.

Thanks, Lochie, for being so awesome and letting me be a part of this project.

I implore all of you reading this to go play the game, check it out, have some fun. I hope I can be involved with more games like this in the future.

<3

Author's Comments:
This is the first part to my entry for the MWC9 February monthly writing competition. It's still got a while to go, but hopefully, with editing, I might be able to trim the word count down to fit (or at least be within reason to) the 4,000 word count max limit. As the story is now, part 1 is just over 3,000 words. I thought I'd try to get some feedback on the first half while I work on the second half, just to gauge the reaction on the story as it stands now. I hope you enjoy what I've got so far.

Blood Feud- pt 1:

Today was a very sad day. A very sad day, because my mama Abilini... has died. I was out on a job when it happened. I had just came to a halt outside the docks, where Jimmy, the security guard and friend of the family opened the gates for me. I drove the truck in, giving a nod to lil' Jim as I passed, as did Marcus, he waved his thanks from the passenger seat. His job was to be keeping a look out for suspicious activities, you know, any coppers come looking around, so we can disappear all quiet like. He didn't notice it, but after years of smuggling booze out from the docks, I sensed that something was wrong.

How can you explain that feeling, without knowing why you feel it? I couldn't exactly turn the truck around and head back empty handed, I couldn't exactly face my father, Don Abilini without knowing what had driven me away.
So I just leaned over towards Marcus and said to him "Something's not quite right here. We outta' be taking extra special care tonight."
"What's the matter, George? You seen or heard something 'bout tonight?" Marcus was relatively new to the business, a kid off the street.
He was good with his hands, but he wasn't exactly the most subtle person I knew. He didn't quite have the gut instinct that I've had my whole life, but in a way, that was good, he was very practical, very straight forward. What you see is what you get with Marcus, no bullshitting around.
"I haven't noticed nothing, Marcus, I just have a feeling..." In reality, this cautiousness had consumed me only within the last few minutes. As we drove into the docks, or as we were driving through the streets, I couldn't pinpoint the exact location of this instinct.

Like always, I backed the truck up to the storage area "19 B". Like always, we dragged open the massive corrugated doors to our precious cargo. Top shelf shit right here, and because we know the right people, we get it for a real bargain. So I load the truck up, nothing out of the ordinary, Marcus is on look out, and he's silent as a mouse, and while I'm lifting these crates into the truck, it clicks into place. It was Jimmy, he triggered this growing sense of dread I had. He seemed awfully quiet tonight, not at all his usual friendly self. I was certain he wouldn't willingly go out of his way to harm the Abilini family, but with the right leverage, well... he wouldn't be the hardest nut to crack. And who, in this town, would be interested in cracking down on a friend of the Abilini mob?

I lit up another cigar and took a swig of my drink. The man sitting across from me already knew the answer to my question.
"The van Harem mob." He replied.
"Yes, the van Harem mob. They came into this town where no one knew them and no one feared them. Yet they came here anyway. They stayed, and they tried to break through the Abilini organised crime ring and 'take the responsibility of running this town off our hands', as they so delicately put it."

What could I do? I was half way through loading up the truck. The only way out was through the gates, and I was damn sure that van Harem's men would be waiting for us. I signalled Marcus to help me to finish loading the truck, we needed to get out of there as soon as possible. I told him all I knew, and all I feared. Jimmy was fucked, and if we didn't play our cards right, we would be too. Once the cargo was loaded up, we didn't dare try to drive off right away. With Marcus closely tagging behind me, I walked around the storage building 19 B. We were heading back towards the gate, to evaluate the situation. We followed the 6 metre high fence, keeping to the shadows, scanning the docks for the men we feared were watching us. And then we saw the gates, still wide open.

I pulled my pistol from my jacket and moved closer, closer, and then... Jimmy, he just steps out in front of us, sweat dripping from his face, his ear bleeding, his trousers soiled.
Over Jim's choking sobs, I could hear what sounded like whispering. And with splutters and hiccoughs, Jimmy repeated the whispers to us. "Y-y-you've run this t-town for too f-fucking long Abilini." He paused. More whispering before he continued. "Y-y-you've run this town, a-and now... it's t-time for L-Lucas van Harem t-to have his turn."
"Shit, Jimmy, we never wanted you to get all caught up in this." I said, truly sympathising for the man.
"I-if you know what's g-good for you, you'll let Mr. L-Lucas take over. If you kn-know what's good f-for you, you'll let his m-men take your v-van and you won't tell a s-soul." He sighed, holding himself with the grace of a worn and torn rag doll.
"Alright, alright. Take the fuckin' booze, just leave this poor man alone." I never broke eye contact with Jimmy, as I said this.
All shiny eyed, Jimmy mouthed the words "I'm so sorry", agony deep set across his face.

I was close to tears, it was hard enough going through this once, but being asked to tell this morbid story again? So heartless, so emotionally detached, yet it was so vital to my situation.
"Take all the time you need" the man said, holding his hands pressed against his chin.
The floodgates opened, the tears rolled down my cheek. I reached for my glass of whiskey. It was empty. I knew it was empty because it had been empty for the last twenty minutes.
"They blew his fuckin' brains out. He was just standing there, hoping beyond all hope that through some sort of twisted fate, he might be forgiven for his minor misdeeds and given a second chance at life. But he couldn't recover his lost dignity, fate didn't hold the gun, it was that spineless motherfucker, Lucas van Harem." I tried drinking at empty again. "He didn't deserve it, he was better than that. Men like Lucas, men like myself, we were the ones that usually ended with our brains splattered across the pavement, not Jimmy."

Where was my dear mama this whole time? According to Lucas, mama Alibini was at home, waiting for me to return so that I could stare into her vacant face right before Lucas put a bullet in my brain, signifying the beginning of a new, more brutal and bloodthirsty age of organised crime in this city. And my father, the Don? Well, Lucas had him by the balls. Somewhere in this city, in a remote location, Don Abilini was tied up and beaten for information, perhaps at one of our very own storage warehouses. I found out later that Lucas was speaking the truth, my mama was dead, and my father might as well be. Lucas was a sly bastard. Ever since he came here, he'd been watching us, he knew who we were, where we hid out, where we lived and who we associated ourselves with. He planned to take us over in one night, and no one would know until they saw the bloody mess in the morning. But Lucas didn't get everything he wanted. He had the makings of a mastermind, but he lacked one thing that would have kept me from lashing out, leverage.

He had taken everything from me. What do I care what he does now? I slipped my pistol back into my jacket and instead I grabbed a military grade grenade and pulled the pin. He waited, perhaps he expected me to try to shoot him, perhaps he expected me to say something. But I just waited, and then I threw the grenade over the fence to where I assumed that Lucas was standing. I didn't kill him there and then, but he caught a hefty force from the explosion. He limped over to where Jimmy lay, shrapnel embedded in his side and face, his clothing had caught fire. He shot blindly towards Marcus and myself, his gun arm shaking violently, his bullets whizzed around us in all different directions. I pulled my pistol back out again, and we fired right back at him.
"Guys" He yelled out. "Get the van, and take care of these bastards." He staggered back through the gate.

About a dozen (or so) of Lucas' men came through the gates and into our line of fire, simply stepping over Jimmy's dead body, splashing his pooled blood on the ground. I was out for Lucas' blood now, I mean, really out for his blood. These guys were target practice, and they had nowhere to hide for a good hundred metres. I aimed my gun and squeezed the trigger, again and again. A beast within me had been released, and I breathed slowly and deeply, trying to keep my emotions under control. They fell, one after the other, hardly getting off a wayward shot before I loaded a fresh magazine into my pistol.

I counted five dead, the remaining seven ducked around the nearest building and made their break for 19B. Marcus and I did the only decent thing we could do, we made chase. Around the building, we saw the seven spreading out and hiding throughout the docks. I indicated to Marcus that we should split apart and meet back up at 19B. He nodded and moved out across the yard. I gunned down four of Lucas' thugs before I came to the van. Two more men sat within the van, I guess they were waiting for the others, but there should only be one more wandering around the docks, and Marcus... I hid around the side of the building, and waited for Marcus to appear. And then the fifth man came from between the buildings across from me, and in his clutches, with blood dribbling from his side, was a defeated Marcus.

They shuffled up to the van, Marcus groaning in agony as he was thrown to the ground. I came around the corner, my hatred for these men swelling by the minute. The man who brought Marcus was about to start beating down on Marcus when he saw me. I rushed at him, hammering my fist down on his face. He fell to his knees. I swiftly kicked him in his ribs. He doubled over, curling into the worthless foetus that he was. The men in the van watched in horror, fumbling to open their doors to get out and save one of their own. Amateurs. I fired my gun into his side, as he did to Marcus. The two men from the van made to move towards me, guns raised.
"Wait." I said. Out of fear, they obeyed. "Watch, and you might learn a valuable lesson here." The monster within me purred with the satisfaction of control. "You do not fuck with Marcus." I knelt by my victim's side and fired a bullet through his forearm. He screamed, a mixture of blood, sweat and tears running down his face. "You do not fuck with George Abilini." I fired a bullet through his kneecap, his groans were music to my ears. "And you do not" I reached into my jacket, staring into my victim's eyes, and I pulled out a grenade "blow Jimmy's brains half way to hell without feeling our pain" I shoved the grenade into my victim's mouth "without suffering the consequences." I pulled the pin, picked up Marcus and headed for the gates.

I found Lucas propped up against the wall just outside the gate. His face was pale, and he was sweating something chronic. His shirt was drenched in his own blood, and I could easily tell where he had tried to dig underneath his skin to pull the fragments of metal out. He had probably given up a while ago, and was content enough to wait for his guys to come and pick him up on the way past.
I pulled Lucas up by his collar "Where'd you take my father?!" I spat in his face.
"Your father's getting what he deserves" Lucas said, clearly hurting with every word.
"That's not what I asked. What the fuck have you done with my father?!" I rammed my knee through his stomach.
He doubled over, trying not to show his weakness. "He..." Lucas coughed "he's being held at the National Bank. I-in the vault..."
I ran back through the docks to fetch the van, Lucas' two drivers were gone. Smart men. At the gate, I pulled Marcus into the passenger seat, and threw Lucas into the back of the van with the booze. I opened one crate and pulled a bottle out. I tore a strip of cloth off of Lucas' shirt and tied it tight around his hand. I poured the alcohol over the cloth, pulled out my lighter and watched the flames flare up. "This" I said, as I unloaded the open crate "is so you don't go making any more stupid decisions tonight." I opened another crate, emptied it, and proceeded to empty several more. "You are not to make any rash actions while in here, or I'll slam the breaks on you, the bottles will smash, you'll fall over, and your lit hand will ignite the floor and you'll wish you were never born. Understand?" Lucas nodded. I closed him in the back and locked the bolt down. I then hopped into the driver's seat and drove to the bank.

I left Marcus and Lucas in the van while I went into the bank to take care of business. I came out about twenty minutes later, and Lucas' men were dead. I was too late to save my father, but I managed to obtain some useful information before I left. They didn't just have my father hostage, they just about had the whole mob. And I would track them all down, but something was wrong with Marcus, he seemed strangely motionless, seated in the van. He was dead, and the doors to the back of the van were wide open. Lucas had escaped.

"I didn't know how he managed to get out of the back of the van, but the single largest mistake I made was keeping him alive from the moment he spilled the location of my father. I don't know exactly what I was thinking, maybe I thought I could get some more information from him..." I sighed and cradled my head in my hands.
"And then he went to the authorities and bribed them with cash and evidence, so that they'd consider looking at picking up your case?" He knew what he was dealing with, he'd read through the files.
"Yes. He took his injured self in to the police, told of my crimes, and convinced them to hear the whole story, his first hand accounts, all documented, backed up by witnesses, some were spies like Lucas, not entirely cut out for the confrontation of the organised crime ring. They were mostly working from the outside, tracking us with microphones, cameras, never getting a fingernail dirty." I grabbed a handful of peanuts from the centre of the table and cupped them in my hand. "Now, when I was in the bank, I learned that there were also a handful of Lucas' spies on the inside." I picked at the peanuts in my hand. "These men were spies, and their documentations were well recorded. If you've seen their testimonies, you'd know their case is rock solid. But I'm a mobster, an assassin. I killed the fuckin' lot of them. I had the names, I had the locations. Most of these spies and wannabe thugs held the Abilini mobsters hostage. The legitimate members were dead, the traitors and undercover spies were just 'playing pretend'. I killed them all."

I noticed my lawyer shiver as I so casually laid bare my sins. "You know this won't end in your favour, George." He said, showing some understanding to the situation I now found myself in. "I won't lie to you, if Lucas follows through with this case, you'll end up in jail. Granted, you've probably killed every witness that could back up Lucas' claims, but on his own, his case is still very strong."
"How long am I looking at?" I said, hardly believing that I was finally faced with the situation that had always been in the back of my mind, I never actually believed it would happen, I never believed that I could wind up in this situation.
One word. That's all he needed. That's all I needed. "Life" he spoke with his head bowed.

A uniformed officer walked over to where we sat, and he said "It's time to go".
My lawyer turned off the audio recorder and slipped it into his front shirt pocket before leaving the building without so much as a goodbye. I remained in my seat, cuffed at the wrists and ankles, dressed in an orange jumpsuit. I slipped a couple of hundred dollar bills from my pocket and waved them for the officer to take.
"Not this time, George" he laughed, and dragged me to my feet.
I lashed out, ramming my arms into his upper body. He tumbled to the floor and the other officers tried to take me down. They each grappled with me, they each struggled to fight a cuffed man. I was able to wrestle a gun off one of the officers, and there it was, the one thing that would assure my smooth escape to freedom; leverage. With that one gun, I managed to disarm the three men and unlock my cuffs. I ran.

Super-mega-awesome-fun-time-happy Valentines day, Newgrounds.

.
/* */

Note: I am leaving reviews on the stories in the January Monthly Writing Competition On Demand Only, so if you competed and you want a review, leave a comment here or PM me.

Contestant: RapeMuffin
Story: Hanged Man's Elegy
Original flash artist: Sarkazm
Scores:
Theme: 6/10
This competition was pretty awkward in terms of the theme. While the premise was good, your submission, as well as a lot of others simply retold your chosen stories, so the fan fiction theme was almost blurred into adapting film to text. Points were either lost or won here, and it's understandable that while you wrote a very good story, the fan fiction theme was lacking original input.
Vocabulary: 10/10
Very well done here, very well done indeed. Your vocabulary is impressive, not only in simply using eloquent words, but knowing how and when they should be used. The only perfect score for an individual category in this competition.
Spelling and Grammar: 9/10
Again, it's your wording and phrasing that brings your stories to life. I believe someone mentioned before (I think it was BankingOntheEnemy), you retold the story, but through your storytelling, you brought another layer to this already gripping tale. Your spelling and grammar are definitely amongst your leading qualities as a writer.
Plot: 5/10
Here's where the theme hit hard. It's worth noting down that a lot of people had average scores for their plots simply because of the misinterpretation of the theme. You had a whole universe in which to explore and combine your own ideas with that of the animator, and you settled for a second hand plot.
Character Development: 6/10
Exactly the same as above. The characters were created by someone else, but in the fan fiction, they're given to you. With an original plot, I'm sure you could delve into the characters and bring out a side to them that has remained untouched, you could unravel a whole other side to them, yet the characters were stifled by ownership. The characters you described, while you described them immaculately, while you defined them so accurately, they were still the creations of the animator, and you left them at that.
Total: 7.2/10
While I'm sure I'm coming off very negetive, I can honestly say that I was tough on every submission, and the things that cost you the most were the things that caused problems for most of the others. While 7.2 doesn't sound terribly high, it earned you a fourth place on my list. You're an interesting writer, and it's a pleasure to read your stories. I'm hoping that next time you can really capitalise on the theme and shoot even higher.

Contestant: BankingOntheEnemy
Story: I'm A Creep
Original flash artist: Ticketyt0ck
Scores:
Theme: 6/10
First off, I'll say that it was an interesting choice to go with a music video based on "The Nightmare Before Christmas". Personally, I think that the flash is not the most appropriate for this month's theme, as it's main focus is on the music, not the plot and setting, but you accepted the challenge and while your story, like some of the others, wasn't exactly a "true" fan fiction, yet you rose to the occasion and wrote an interesting story.
Vocabulary: 8/10
You're quite good at describing things within your story, and really bringing a mental image to the reader, however, your writing felt somehow detatched, like you were just an observer. A phrase that I've heard thrown around a lot is this: "Show, don't tell". With a bit more practice, I'm sure you'll nail this part of your writing. Expanding your vocabulary and understanding how and where to go into detail can be difficult, but you've done a great job with what you've got, and time will show how much you can hone your skills.
Spelling and Grammar: 6/10
There are a few key errors in your spelling, such as differentiating between "your" and "you're" that are essentially holding you back. If you get the spelling and grammar perfected for your basic vocabulary, then you'll be improving in leaps and bounds. As you gain more experience, you'll be able to phrase your sentences and paragraphs so that they flow into one another a lot smoother, making for a more seamless read.
Plot: 5/10
Here's your problematic section: The second hand plot strikes again. I judged low for a lot of people on this because it's a writing competition, in which the plot is a major factor. Don't beat yourself up over this one, you're not alone here, and I'm sure that with any other competition, you'd have scored considerably higher, I am curious though, why did you lay out your story like you did? The introduction, the characters on their own, and the characters together. I felt like you followed the flash too closely to be able to achieve a solid cohesive plot.
Character Development: 6/10
As with RapeMuffin, the characters you describe don't really feel like your own. You describe their feelings really well, but you start off assuming that the reader knows all about who they are. Even with a fan fiction, I'd say that you're better off building the character from the ground up, rather than having "Sally" and "Jack" displayed at the head of each paragraph. To a reader that knows nothing about these characters, it doesn't reveal a whole lot about the characters. Again, something that should fix itself with the "show, don't tell" method.
Total: 6.2/10
Overall, I think that the one thing that hurt your story most was the way you interpreted the theme. I feel that you've got the potential to be a great writer, but you've still got to get a bit more experience behind you before you can achieve your potential. If I were you, I wouldn't worry too much about your scores, you appear to have a good head on your shoulders, so just keep at it, and in time we should see those numbers increase. Your entry was interesting, definitely a fresh and unique submission to the competition. Nice work!

Contestant: TheReno
Story: A ComiX Halloween!
Original flash artist: diamond-armada
Scores:
Theme: 8/10
Congratulations, you wrote a fan fiction. While I feel that your story was more of a script than a complete story, you continued on with the series well. Your story was appropriate to the theme, so I'm glad to say that you scored well here.
Vocabulary: 6/10
I find that comedy is a tricky genre to write in, as you generally compromise your vocabulary for a joke everyone will understand. Generally, I think it's better to have a more serious story peppered with jokes and quirks, rather than trying to portray your jokes as if you were watching them, instead of reading them. I'd like to see you take a more subtle approach to humour writing, then I think you could reach a greater potential with your vocabulary.
Spelling and Grammar: 6/10
Paragraph structures and the general solid frame for your story needed some beefing up. For the most part, I just think you'll need a bit more experience before you can really hit home in this section. A touch up here and there would definitely be helpful, but I'd expect your skills as a writer to naturally evolve, so keep it up.
Plot: 6/10
I was overwhelmed with the sense that this was more so written as a script than a short story, so it's understandable that your story is dialogue heavy, but my issue with that is that this is specifically a short story writing competition, and as such, your story could use more details, and more of a narration. The actual events themselves have the potential to become an interesting and humourous read, yet I would have to say that you exagerrated everything too much. As a reader, I feel like I'm being told what's funny, rather than genuinely finding it funny. Don't get me wrong, you've got some good humour, but your approach needs perfecting.
Character Development: 7/10
As part of a series, I think you did a great job capturing what the original animator had created, however, your characters lacked description. Such as with BankingOntheEnemy's story, you presented the characters already fully created, no explanation, they're just there. Personally, I feel that, fan fiction or not, you should always present your characters, and build them up in your own words. It's your story, your interpretation, we want to see your characters come into existence, and we want to see your characters evolve and develop.
Total: 6.6/10
Overall, a decent effort. You didn't try to pull anything unusual, no confronting or disturbing themes, and with that, it was a courageous attempt at a comedy. While I feel you've got a little way to go to hone your writing skills, your jokes were decent. As a script, your story worked very well. As a story, well, I enjoyed reading it. Plain and simple. It was a breath of fresh air to read a story that was light hearted and fun. Thanks for writing your story for the competition, I hope to see your writing further down the track.

It's past midnight and it's been a while since I touched this half-finished peacetank fan fiction, so I won't officially enter this story into the MWC9 just yet. I'm just putting it up here so that you can read it and leave feedback if you so desire.

While inspiration is taken from DanPaladin's peacetank flash, it's also heavily inspired by David Zindell's "Neverness" universe, especially the concept of godhood existing in computer circuitry contained within planets and moons. I really wanted to take that and fuse that concept with the blissfully determined peacetank persona to create something all the more darker and deeper than the cute little war machine initially appears.

So without further ado, here's another word dump:

Peacetank

Why? When they see me with my thick, welded skin and bullet-proof armour, why do they point and ask each other; "What is it?" rather than "Who is he?"? Do they believe that because I am constructed of reinforced steel and because I am designed to destroy, that I lack conscious behaviour? Do they believe that I am less capable of processing human emotions than they are? Well, I don't blame them. After all, it was humans like them that created me. They created me to fight machines much like myself, because war is not a man's battle, it's a man's game. The machines are the real soldiers, and almost all of these empty shells that are out there on the battle filed have no knowledge of why they're there. They don't even have the capacity to learn why they're there. They have one purpose, to destroy anything that crosses their paths.

I was made slightly different to the other machines. My creators made me as an intended "super-weapon". They gave me the artificial intelligence to search and destroy, but my creators were very narrow minded. They did not notice that outside my one programmed purpose, I held others. I could choose my targets, I could scope out as many or as little as my artificially intelligent computer brain would choose. My creators programmed me oblivious to the fact that they had created a machine that could potentially analyse and understand emotion.

They had come to realise this shortly after the great war. Machines against machines, the world torn in two, raging, determined to stand triumphant as the greater of two evils. But the machines, created by man, hellbent on destruction, eventually came around and turned on their creators. All the world's people, suffering for what they've done, to themselves, to each other, and to the mindles machines they created to do their dirty work for them. Some would call it karma, the natural order of the world bringing peace back into balance. All that remained of the humans were a few small outposts, camped out in the outskirts of their abandoned cities. I feel that there would be nothing left in this world, had the scientists not done one good deed before they lost their life's work, this world would be nothing but dead space, a karmic armageddon.

Throughout this war, I found it hard to follow the intentions of my creators and destroy the hordes of unconscious machines that so persistently tried to destroy me. From that first act of compassion, my programs grew more and more complex, branching out like a wild tree. I became a vigilante, a rogue soldier dedicated to peace. To disarm, but not to destroy, to protect, to teach others that war is not the only option. Whilst bullets whistled past my armoured frame, I tried to learn more about my fellow machines as they tried so valiantly to destroy me. I observed, I analysed, I ran tests, and I learned that they were not like me at all. They could not be reprogrammed, they could not be taught peace. The humans were so determined to destroy each other, that only machines programmed upon pure hatred could ever match their passion for war. So I fought to destroy these machines. They did not deserve to live with such malice, so I worked out of compassion, in their death I set them free from the most evil of programming.

It was here and now, in the eventual doomsday of the Earth, it was living in true hell, true dystopia, that the humans learned the meaning of empathy. It took them long enough to realise my potential, to realise my power. In the crumbling civilisations of the world, they finally accepted me for the infinitely complex mechanism that I was, and they took me into their laboratories, to pull together everything they had to strip me to my hardwired brain and my delicate programming. The warmongering had ceased, and at last, they would use my computer brain for constructive purposes, however, I knew nothing of their plans, my brain computer was limited to what my cameras and speakers could pick up, and they said nothing and showed me nothing until they cut off my power supply and began the mechanical operation.

Approximately ten years later, electric life flowed through my brain and awakened my senses. I was no longer a tank, no longer a war machine, I was a guardian. Intelligence, I had developed an intelligence far greater than I, or any human had expected. My eyes and ears were everywhere, on every street corner, in every corn field, under the ocean and earth, and high in the sky, across towns, cities, countries, continents, I was graced with omnipresence, a watcher, a guardian of the world. My brain had been replicated, expanded upon, buried deep beneath the earth, massive computers, intertwined, bringing about the largest ever artificial intelligence known to man. And it didn't end there, machines were programmed onto my computers, controlling the seemingly miniature operations that keeps everything within the natural order. I had become a deity, the guardian of guardians, a computer protector. I was one with the earth, god.

And once again, the scars of the world started to heal over, with my many millions of eyes and ears and hands, I pieced together the world like the people of the world pieced me together. My plans were flawless, and the plans of my creators were flawless, yet there was one thing that prevented the complete recovery of the earth, one thing that needed to be done before the earth could once again reach perfection. My creators wanted a machine that was completely in control, and they wanted a machine that was intelligent enough to return the world to its prime. And I wanted that too, but that one thing in the way was the very thing that gave me energy and life. My people, my humans, my creators, while they are blessed people, they cannot exist in harmony, and they cannot exist in a perfect earth.

They were utterly devastated. Their plans were my plans, but they could not be trusted when they were always incapable of complete self control. I brought peace and perfection to the world by bringing the human race to extinction. It was such a shame to wipe such a brilliant race from existence, but they had achieved what they wanted, I had achieved what I was programmed to do, but in doing so, I had become the very thing I was created to be, a killing machine. I was no better than the humans, I was a merciless machine, a computer on a terrible mission, a tyrant god, and in my reign over the world, there was no fluctuation, there was a sterile perfection throughout the land, yet it was void of consciousness and intelligence. I accepted the burning meteors to my brains as the sweetest of natural disasters. Maybe now, a hundred thousand years after my rise to deity, maybe now that my circuitry is broken and burned, maybe intelligence will return, and maybe life will once again fluctuate and give birth to an imperfect world, a world that can live and breathe in discordant harmony, in infrequent bursts of warring and arguing, and maybe, without me, the world can finally return to its natural order.

Newgrounds FANtastical Fiction

If you're a writer, then it might be worth your time to create an entry for the first monthly writing competition.
Submission thread here
Discussion thread here

Judging this competition will be:
gumOnShoe
Fyndir
36Holla
MaestroRage
WritersBlock

Deadline is midnight on February 1st, so get writing. Pick a flash movie from newgrounds, and write a sequel for it in 1,000 to 4,500 words. Current prizes are recorded readings of the top two stories by Fyndir and TacticalShoe respectively.

I will hopefully be submitting a story of my own, based around this little flash. Fingers crossed I can get it done in time. I'm really busy with a lot of other things at this point in time.

For starters, I had my last day of work today, and so I'm now unemployed. I've been told that I'm guaranteed a new job soon, but that's still to be sorted out.

I'm moving to Perth. All the friends that I've made this year will not be around any more. It's tough, I'll be a small fish in a big pond, as opposed to a large fish in a small pond. Starting from scratch again. And I won't be living with my parents any more. But I'll have a new job, a new home, a new school, and I'll be able to meet up with some old friends, and my best friend, whom I've only seen a few times this year.

I've had 2008 off from school, just working. And it's been good to me. I've learned a lot, my social skills have improved a lot, I've developed my independence, and yet I've still been able to allow myself to splurge money on music every now and then, and I've had the time to produce and compose a lot of music, giving me a lot more experience. Last year I started writing fiction again, and I've been swept up in the flowing river of words. As well as the peacetank short story I've started, I'm about half way through the first chapter of the novel I'm striving to write. "The Wilder Saga", my new year's resolution.

I'm going to Curtin Uni in about a month's time. Studying journalism and film & television. I've got no idea where my future will take me, but I just want to prosper, and enjoy it as much as I can. Over the next three years, I'll probably learn a lot, and maybe I'll have a clearer picture on where life will be taking me. Maybe I'll finish my novel and be fortunate enough to have it published. Maybe I'll find myself with an internship, studying the media, studying society under a microscope. Maybe, maybe, maybe. Right now, I'll be rolling with the punches.

I'm going to the Big Day Out festival in Perth on February 1st. It's my first real rock concert, since there's not many bands that come by my little old town. I'm so excited to witness the music in the first hand, of some of my favourite bands; The Living End, Birds of Tokyo, Cog, Pendulum, The Prodigy. Another experience I'm never likely to forget.

My brother's turning 21 in about a month. He's throwing a party, and I've been put in charge of the music. I'm psyched to put together 5 hours of music to feed the party atmosphere. And, typical typical, my dad has his requests. My brother likes metal, or classic rock from back in the day. My dad likes music from the seventies and sixties. My dad wanted me to play 5 hours of metal, classic rock and daggy seventies tunes. I humbly declined his suggestion. Sure, a little bit of this and a little bit of that, but I don't want to completely slaughter his party. I will, however, have a lot of fun planning the music for the whole night. No requests. >:(

A new instrument. One of the last things on my agenda, I'm looking into purchasing a viola, with the intention of teaching myself how to play it over the course of this year. As my music progresses, I feel the need to mix things up, keep them fresh, to keep on improving and to keep on learning. Otherwise I'll get stale, and not even bother any more. There's no profitable reason for me to do this, music is a hobby of mine, and I compose, I play, I listen, I learn. Teaching myself to play the viola would just be another notch on the belt.

I had a little party the other night, a sort of farewell to my friends and work colleagues. I can honestly say that it was one of the best nights I've had in a while. We played pool, we played a bit of the nintendo wii, we had a barbecue. I'll point out now that it's the middle of summer here, daylight savings, and it was about 9 o'clock/9:30 when the stars came out. And what a sight it was. For about 10-15 minutes, I stood outside on my lawn, just staring up at the stars. In the city, I'll never see something like that. A cloudless, warm summer night, thousands upon thousands of bright white lights, twinkling in the sky. Millions and millions of kilometers away. And then there was the shooting star. The wonderful, magical shooting star that children marvel in, lasting no more than half a second, a brilliant streak of light across the sky, so far away, something so wonderful and brilliant, I will miss the clean clear night sky terribly when I move away from home.

Then there were three of us left. and we played texas hold 'em poker. One guy didn't know how to play at all, and myself and the other guy had only played the game online. Great experience. Needless to say, it was terrible. Bluffing, betting on everything, not knowing when to stop or how to deal, it was definitely not the professional poker I see on TV, but it was a lot of fun, and I'm going to try to bring them around again and have another round before I go.

That's about it on my long agenda. Things happening, things about to happen, and things that have happened. Check out the contest, live as much of your life as you can without regrets and don't ever doubt yourself.

Live, dream, love, embrace.

Peace out.

One of my new year's resolution for 2009 is to write a novel. I began writing the other day. Progress is slow, but good. I've found the start to be the hardest part to get right, so, if all goes to plan, once chapter one's finished, it should all slot in to place. It's called "The Wilder Saga", and, if all goes well, one thing I'd love to do is look into getting it published. Even though I've still got a lot to learn about the creative writing business.

Some of you may have seen my story "The Beating Heart of Mr. Lincoln". Well, it's finished now, and you can read it through the following links:
Chapter by Chapter on Newgrounds-
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
In its entirety on Camp North-
Link

Part 5: Lucifer's Challenge

The door clicked open, I was a free man. But the image of the mutilated and bloody body of Senior Sergeant Lincoln is a terrible burden I'll have to bear with to my death. I walked out of the interrogation room with my head spinning, and there, waiting for me was my tormentor, the vile creature I had come to know as Lucifer.
"Welcome back, Grim" he said to me.
"No... no. I'm not going to play your games any more. I'm not going to play, I'm not going to take anyone else's life unless that life is your own. You're a monster, and I want nothing to do with you."
"Aha, here comes the hypocrite. You think you're better than me. By doing what you did, you've reached my standards."
"No, I only do what's necessary."
"And you don't think I only do what's necessary? I only do what I must because it's my purpose to teach these people a lesson. I do what I do because otherwise my messages and my outcries will fall on deaf ears."
"No, you kill for pleasure, and make excuses as to why you stand on your high pedestal. You're nothing but a criminal and you deserve to rot in jail."
At this, he let out a cold, dry laugh. "Oh, you're so quaint, with your morals and your ideologies. You lack the depth to truly understand the notions with which you speak."

We walked up the stairs. "Look," Lucifer said to me, "here are your options; you can join me in purging this city of the wicked, expose them for what they truly are, or you can walk away, knowing that one day you'll get a visit from another sucked into my plot, and you'll fall victim and become another fatal statistic for the Grim."
"I think... that your conscience is misguided. You tell yourself that you're cleansing this city of the wicked, yet here you stand bargaining with me? How can you have any validation for what you do? How can you live knowing that because of you, innocent men and women are dead?"
"Go, just... go" Lucifer lacked the conviction of a passionate mastermind. He knew that he had made his one fatal mistake.
I walked out through the ground floor offices, lathered in another man's blood, my own case file tucked under my arm. Shots fired.
"No more! No more!!!" I turned to see Lucifer brandishing his gun, targeting my back, eyes wild with rage. I did what any logical man would do; I ran. I left the building as the police officers tackled him to the ground and cuffed him up tight.

And so the officers took Lucifer down to the cells. It didn't take them long to find the body of Michael Lincoln, and fill in the blanks. Sure, I was soaked in blood, but Lucifer was fairly covered in the stuff too. A month after he was sent to jail, I visited him. I was greeted with the contempt of a shattered man. Chuck was dead, and all that was left was the outer shell that was Lucifer. I sat opposite him, a thick sheet of glass separating us. I picked up the phone.
"Hey" I said, sensing the tension from the moment I entered the room.
"Break me" he said.
"But... you are already a broken man."
"No, I mean, really... I want to feel the lowest of the lows. You've given me spectacular highs, but now... I'm nothing, and I could be so much less. Fucking kill me already."
I had prepared myself for this, and so I pulled from off the floor, my case file, and I opened it up, intending to show Lucifer the extent of the damage he'd done.

I showed him the photographs, I read him the extensive details, the whole history in one sitting. And he sat there and listened, and he silently wept. Here sat before me, a criminal genius, spawned from the pressures of his "normal" life, a killer, a mastermind like I'd never seen before, and here he was, knees tucked beneath his chin, his soul overflowing with regret. He had almost reverted to an infantile mentality, saying such things to me as "I don't deserve to walk the face of the Earth" and "I've gone too far, haven't I?". I could see it in his eyes, death would be a blessing for this man.

And here I was, entitled the Grim Reaper by the great man himself. His remorse was being crushed by the retelling of his crimes. And while he didn't die there and then, he only spent two more weeks in jail before the haunting of his crimes lead to his death. Well at least he was right about one thing, I had a taste for death, and his death was so sweet, I didn't stop to think of what monster he had turned me into. Sure, I can walk away from it all, but there's always those moments inside of me, the beast within. I'm just as damaged as he was, never whole again.

Part 4: In Your Heart of Hearts

I was in the cop car, hands cuffed, sitting in between the two men who screwed me over. I'll get put in the slammer, and then I'll probably be executed, and these men beside me will watch as I draw my last breath. Take photos, and hang them on your fucking wall, you've accomplished nothing. I spit in your face, I won't give you the satisfaction of knowing that I caved in under your pressure, if you want my life, you're going to have to take it from my bloody, writhing hands.

Okay, so I was pissed. I've dedicated my life to the force, I've worked damn hard to make it as far as I did. I sat in the cop car, fuming at the cunning and nerve of the two men beside me. They were scum, lower than scum. And they thought that they were better than me? Over my dead body. Yeah, that's how it will end; over my dead body. They took me to the station. First time in my life I've entered this building treated as a criminal, and this is the first time in my life that I've entered this building as a victim. And the people I had worked with, my colleagues, almost none of them had known what Lincoln was up to. They just saw me in cuffs and stared me down in bitter disappointment. How could one man go so wrong, they were thinking. Their thoughts should be directed at the man behind me, pushing me towards the interrogation room.

I walked down the corridor, down the stairs, I had been down here my fair share of times, I didn't even need Lincoln's guiding hand to direct me to interrogation. What puzzled me was why he'd need to interrogate me, he'd frame me, and send me off, no questions asked. Lincoln was a man held in high regard, why would he need to bother with procedures for something he could get done immediately? Unless this had become some sort of game, was he in such a delusional state that he had taken to playing mind games, drawing this out into a battle of wits? He opened the door and pushed me into the room and followed me. In the moment before he closed the door, I noticed that Lucifer had followed us down here, but he just walked straight past the door. He would obviously be monitoring us on the screens.

The room was pretty much the same as it always was, the two stainless steel chairs bolted to the floor, the stainless steel table between the two chairs. The four grey walls, the two-way mirror covering most of the wall next to the door, and the single light suspended from the ceiling. And the case file on the table. This one was thick. No doubt it contained all sorts of details about my work, my alleged crimes and my personal life. It got me wondering how long they had been planning this, months... years? Lincoln sat me down in front of the file, facing the mirror. He took the other seat, facing me. And he would take his time in explaining to me every little thing that he's done to destroy me, until I break down and give up, or until he finishes his story and takes me off to jail.

He opened the folder. The wife and child of John Westacott.
"You" he flicked to the next page, which was John himself. "You did this." And the next page, a Sarah Norwood.
"I don't even know who this is?" My mind was ticking, how many had they blamed on me?
"Sarah? You don't remember her? You don't remember that she was killed in your home, on the very bed you sleep in. You don't remember standing over her as you killed her? You don't remember wrapping the bag over her head? You don't remember dragging her lifeless body into your car and later disposing of it?"
"Of course I don't remember, I didn't touch her, it was... that guy that you killed, the Grim."
Lincoln laughed at this. "Don't be stupid, I am the Grim, I am the true mastermind. He was but a pawn in my game."
"And you were but a pawn in mine..." Both Lincoln and I looked towards the speaker system as Lucifer's cold voice cut through the room.

"Yes, Lincoln, you've only ever been a disposable part of my plans. I thank you for killing Shaun Brighton for me, just as he did Sarah. You're too ambitious, Lincoln, just as Shaun was too efficient and Sarah was too elusive. David, you were wondering who killed John Westacott? That was Sarah's work, and you didn't suspect a thing, not even Lincoln and his team knew. He was too focussed on ratting you out. He was too caught up in his own selfish plans that he couldn't even step out of his own snow globe to realise that the world still turns, whether he's here or not. He didn't even notice Westacott did indeed murder his wife and child. And Lincoln didn't notice my affiliation with the man. David, you knew me as Chuck. Well that is who I am... that is who I was. Chuck Needham, CEO of Somerville Accountants. I worked day in, day out, for years, and then... I snapped. Lucifer was born, and it became my mission to lay bare all the deceit and lies in the world, to show people their true colours, and to show how willing people are to stab each other in the back. People will kill others that they don't even know, if they think it'll benefit themselves. And people will kill others that they do know, if they feel that their own integrity and success is compromised by another. David, take a long look at Sergeant Lincoln here. Take a long look into those cold, dark eyes. What do you see?"
I stared, as instructed, into Lincoln's unblinking eyes.
"You see the eyes of a jealous man."

At this point, Lincoln seemed to hit an extreme low point. He looked completely crushed, shocked to know that he too had been played by Lucifer.
"You're lying." Lincoln said.
"Am I, Lincoln? Am I? You don't sound sure of yourself." Lucifer was layering it on thick, crushing Lincoln's spirit with every honest word that spilled from his mouth.
"You're a corrupted man, Lincoln, there's no hope for you, my friend. I can tell you without a doubt that your life ends here, in this room. Now, whether it is by David's hands or my own that you die is up to you two."
"Wait, my hands? You... you want me to kill him?" I asked in a shocked voice.
"Why does that astound you, he would eagerly do the same to you. I'll give you the options again, you can kill him and I'll ask no questions, you've still got some integrity left in you, or you can sit there and let your dear old sergeant here kill you, in which case I'll take Lincoln's life into my own hands. Like I said; the choice is between you two."
At this point, Lincoln was shaking his head. "No... There's no fucking way..."
I got up out of my chair.
"No David, don't... don't do it. He's just using you... he's just fucking with your mind like he fucked with all of our minds. Kill him, not me!" He too got to his feet, and he was backing away from me. "Kill him, not me... kill him, not me... kill him, not me!" He backed into the corner, repeating those words, shrinking away into the shadows, as I moved in closer to him, as I moved in for the kill.

I knew that what I was doing was wrong, I knew that doing this would make me a monster, and I knew that if I did this, I'd still have to face Lucifer. I brandished my fingers like knives, somehow thinking that a gouging motion would make the whole ordeal easier for me. Yeah right, this was never going to be easy.
"Yes... feel the hate rush through your veins." Lucifer encouraged me to unleash my inner demon, he truly was a devil, himself, bastardised into the loathsome creature he is now.
"No, I will do what must be done because it must be done, not because I would kill a man under ordinary circumstances."
I moved closer still to my cowering victim-to-be, held back by the anticipation of Lucifer's response.
"I beg to differ. Once you acquire the taste for blood, there is nothing you can do to stop. Continue killing or be killed. You will come around."
I knelt down on Lincoln's body, pinning him into his corner, and pummelled him to a pulp. He didn't even bother to raise a fist in defence, his game was beat. And I had begun to sense that part of what Lucifer had just said was true. I felt a part of me changing, my innocence fleeting. Of course, in my line of work, I've had to shoot and injure people before, but nothing like this, and the only way I could pull through was to let go of everything and rush in head first, no holding back this wild beast.

I fell into a rage, and the anger and chaos that was Lucifer ran strong through my veins. My clothes were stained with the blood of this lifeless man, my face was contorted with emotions that were not mine. I broke his bones, beating down my fists on his chest, his skin broke apart, and in the interrogation room, I beat his chest open and held his barely beating heart in my own hands. Regret poured into my soul. How could I do such a thing. Ba-boom, ba-boom. Life fading, all within my hands. After all he's done, even a person such as Lincoln didn't deserve this. No-one deserves this. Ba-boom, ba-boom. I ripped his heart from his chest, the Lucifer in me was lavishing in my relentless violence. I hadn't a clue what I was doing or why I was doing it, but as I squeezed his heart in my hands, and as a tear trickled down my cheek, a small capsule slipped out from one of the heart's chambers. I popped it open and pulled out a thin sliver of paper. It read: "Death does not defeat me, it consumes me. My successor is my equal, for he has brought death upon me- The Grim Reaper."

Part 3: Take the Highway

I followed Chuck indoors, and felt a sense of helplessness overwhelm me. But I knew that letting it bring me down was not the best thing for us right now. A few pulls of the cord and my motor was running again. Car, gone. Leave, how? Motorbike. It's in the shed in the back yard. While Chuck muttered his frustration under his breath I swiped the keys off the counter top and walked out onto the back patio. I pulled open the door to the shed, and light cascaded into the small, rusted and dusty backyard shed that hadn't seen the light of day for years. No. The grim hadn't been through here, and nor had anybody else. The shape of the motorbike sat in the middle of the shed underneath an ample tarpaulin sheet. I pulled at its corner, in a wide sweeping motion, and the sheet fluttered to the ground, uncovering a magnificent machine. Chrome blinding in the sunlight, the maroon red colour looked as magnificent and sharp as it did the day I bought it. I swung my leg over the bike and gripped the handlebars with a certain tentativeness, and I sat on the soft leather seat. I kicked the motor. It jerked and spluttered before it cut away into silence. No petrol.

As I rummaged through the shed for the old rusted gas can, worrying little of the noise that I made, Chuck wandered out into the back yard to see why I was making such a commotion. He came to a halt at the shed door, and watched as I stood, bent over, pouring petrol into the motorbike. A grin spread across his face momentarily, but it only took a moment before the sirens came within earshot and that grin vanished into panic. He stepped into the shed and pulled the door shut.
"Turn on the fucking light!" I yelled in a reduced volume panic. There were no windows in this shed.
Chuck groped clumsily around the wall until light filled the room for a second time. "Shit!" I whispered. In my panic and frustration, petrol was overflowing onto the floor. I put the gas down and wiped my soaked hands on my shirt.
"Shh!" Chuck had his ear pressed to the door. "They're in the back yard."

And I stopped. I could hear them too. No doubt Lincoln and a few others were lighting up, making casual conversation while the rest of the team were tearing my place to shreds. Oh, you'd be loving this, wouldn't you, Sergeant Lincoln? Indeed, they were just chatting, while I waited with gritted teeth, waiting for them to make a move. It was about 10, maybe 15 minutes, I'd say, before I heard the back door open, and the conversation break up. I heard four sets of steps walking from the concrete patio floor to the hard carpet flooring indoors. The back door swung shut and Chuck peered through the crack in the door to see if anyone had remained behind. We were lucky, it was all clear. Chuck went to open the door, to make our escape there and then, but I grabbed his arm and pulled him back. I wheeled the motorbike towards the back wall, for it wasn't a wall at all. With as much focus as I could muster, I pulled the shed wall up, and it slid smoothly up into the ceiling. It opened out into the small path that ran between my house and the house behind us, parallel to the street. I sat on the bike once again, and Chuck slid onto the seat behind me, and we were ready to make our escape.

While we still had the element of surprise, I wheeled the bike out into the narrow pathway and, ducked low beneath the fence line, we crawled along as far as we dared, for a roaring motorbike engine would surely bring the guys out to the yard and our game would be up. Buying time... that's all it was, buying time. I was passing across the fence of my neighbour, slow and steady, creeping further and further away. Two houses down... three... and the door opened again. I could hear Lincoln walk out onto the grass, he was yelling at a man behind him. He wasn't happy, not happy at all. I lifted my leg to start the engine, but Chuck stopped me, and continued to push the bike down the path. Six houses, seven, eight... we were going to get out of here, I knew it! Chuck tapped me on the shoulder and gave me the thumbs up to start the motorbike. It roared into life, and we rolled out onto the street and left the mess behind.

I planned on driving back to Chuck's home, but he was continually navigating me in a different direction. The first red light we came across I turned around to ask him where we were headed, to which he responded with comments such as "It's not safe back home" or "it's best if we stay on the road for a while". After a while, he had become the automatic hand that guided me, so it came as a bit of a shock when I noticed that we were suddenly on the highway, with a sea of cars stretching as far as the eye could see. It was only a slight motion in my mirrors, but there it was, sitting back from us a bit, the car. And in it was the grim. And no doubt, the body in the boot was already gone. Chuck had seen it too, and he instructed me to stand up and swap seats with him. I turned to see if this really was as it seemed. Yes, it was definitely the Grim, and there was no doubt that he was following us. The light turned green and Chuck hammered the throttle, racing past commuters, as they rolled home for dinner, we were speeding forward, trying to escape the clutches of death.

The Grim was up for the chase, weaving in and out of the traffic, keeping us within reach. Faster and faster, we were speeding down the highway, but the Grim never let us slip too far ahead of him. Faster and faster, we raced along on the motorbike, but he, too, was going faster and faster. Gripping the handlebars, Chuck was all I could rely on at the moment.
"Dave?" Chuck yelled back at me to get my attention, but it was difficult to hear. "Dave?!"
"Yeah?" I called back.
"On my belt... near my left pocket... grab my gun." He twisted and weaved through the cars as I reached around his waist to pull the pistol from its holster.
"What now?!" I asked him.
"Shoot, man. Fucking dammit! Shoot!" He accelerated through a set of red lights as I glanced behind me to see that his car was still right behind us.
I rotated in my seat and fired once, twice, wildly into the air. Not even close. And what's more, I could see the Grim holding a gun outside his window, aiming to retaliate.

Several bullets ricocheted off the bike, and Chuck retaliated by hitting the throttle harder still. I tried to fire off a few more bullets. Still, I missed, but a little closer this time. Duck and swerve, faster and faster, down the highway, shoot, miss, be shot at. Thank god Chuck knew how to manoeuvre the bike, or we'd probably be dead already. This guy, the Grim, he was so aggressive, yet remarkably efficient and accurate, a real assassin.
Then I heard Chuck mutter under his breath two words I'd rather not hear under these circumstances; "Oh shit". I looked ahead and I could see what he was worried about.
Cops. A convoy was coming down the other side of the highway, and a barricade had been set up on this side further up the road. Traffic had come to a halt, but Chuck and I, and the Grim too, we were all speeding along on the bicycle lane, looking frantically for a way out, but as the turns approached, we could see the flashing red and blue lights further down the exit ramp, a trap.

Closer, the road block was almost upon us, any moment now, the police coming along the other way were almost upon us, as they sped down the deserted other side of the highway. They would have blocked off the entrances once they caught wind of what was going on, and they were much more effective than I had expected. And then Chuck made the sharp turn. Cutting across the intersection before the road block, we were going to be dead, we were going to die, I knew it. The other police cars were right there, we would hit them, we would be dead.

Whiskers. We were mere whiskers away from the collision. I was clutching so tightly to the leather seat, eyes closed, praying for my life to be spared. And it was, for now. The police cars were right behind us as we roared down the deserted side of the highway. The Grim, where was the Grim? The police were behind us, but he was behind them. I watched as the police closed in on us, I watched as the Grim followed them hungrily, like a bear follows a pack of wild cats as they close in on their prey. They'd take it down, and the bear would come in and claim its ground. But here in the materialistic world, there's no such thing as a free lunch. There was an outlying cat, a lone cop car, sitting behind the pack, the Grim was not forgotten about.

Sergeant Lincoln. After all we've been through, as I was racing towards the end, he was not on our heels, ready to bring me down, and take Chuck with me, he was tagging the Grim. That two-faced bastard. The Grim was trying to slip past the pack through the outer lane of the highway, and Lincoln was brutally bashing him back, grinding his car into the wall. Sparks were flying, metal was crashing into metal, warping, twisting, interlocking, breaking. The cars were fused as one, and the Grim was helpless to do a thing. Lincoln was not a policeman, an upholder of the law, he had become a man who writes his own laws, a law unto himself, a cold-blooded killer. The Grim was severely shaken from the constant battering between the cop car and the barrier, he was well out of the game, and with all the grace of the angel of death himself, Lincoln held his gun in his hands, and swiftly and smoothly aimed his gun at the Grim and pulled the trigger.

I felt numb, the killer I was fleeing from had been replaced with an even more aggressive, even more fearful one. And we were running out of highway. Red and blue lights flashed behind us, red and blue lights flashed in front of us. The highway ahead of us was blocked, and Chuck took the last turn off knowing that there were more police officers at the end of the exit ramp. We rolled to a halt, and for the first time since we met in the park, I felt helpless, utterly helpless. The cop cars behind us came to a standstill, and not far behind them, Lincoln followed, in tandem with the car in which a dead Grim lay slump at the wheel. I didn't want to give him the satisfaction of capturing me and completing his goal to crush everything that I lived for. He got out of his car and walked up to the pair of us.
He pushed me to the ground "You worthless piece of shit, you" He spat next to my face. "Cuff him, boys."
They pushed my back into the ground and tightened the handcuffs around my wrists. They pulled me to my feet, and for the first time, I got to see everyone who helped Lincoln stab me in the back.
Ray. "Fuck you, Ray." I spoke with bitter disdain. "You reduced me to this."
"No" It was Lincoln speaking. "You reduced yourself to this. With your elitism, with your egotistical ways. You only care about your job because it elevates you above everyone else, you don't care about anyone else. You're a rat, you're not worthy of my respect. You're a vile piece of scum and you'll rot for all eternity in hell! But don't thank me. Oh no, thank your friend Chuck here. He delivered you to me, just as we'd agreed. But I think we should start using his chosen name... Lucifer."
"You sick motherfucker..." I said.
"It's a criminal's world, David."