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This thread is for finished stories related to Madness Day 2011. The theme is anything Madness, so if you are a fan with ideas but can't animate, this is your chance to put your original Madness stories out there.
Please keep your critiques, questions and discussions in the discussion thread.
1st Place: $100
2nd Place: $40
3rd Place: $30
Be original and be creative! Who knows, your story could become a Madness movie some day.
If it's all right, I'm just gonna type the story here.
Hank stood on the roof, gazing at the skyline. The wind blew the long headband that went over his mask. He looked to the ground, a few floors below him, and watched two grunts exchange banter and cigarettes. He decided it was time to start the madness, and leaped.
His legs crushed one of the grunts, and he held a silenced 9mm up to the head of the other, sticking the barrel into his victim's mouth. He shoved the grunt through the door, busting it off it's hinges. A few soldiers, armed with rifles, all looked towards Hank. Hank squeezed the trigger, sending the bullet through the grunt's head and into one of the soldiers. The others opened fire, but Hank had come prepared. He reached into his coat and slung a knife sidearm into the chest of a soldier. He rushed forward and, gripping the knife with one hand, he kicked the soldier into the wall, leaving the drenched knife in his hand.
Hank spun around, facing the other soldiers, and in his spin, sliced open the throat of another soldier. Hank grabbed the soldier's rifle as it, and it's owner, fell towards the ground. Hank pulled the trigger of his newly acquired rifle, sending a burst of high caliber ammunition into the bodies of the remaining soldiers. He tossed the rifle to the ground and headed towards the door of the next room. His foot bumped into one of the bodies, and it twitched. Hank raised his leg and brought it down, crushing the head of the soldier. He shook his leg, attempting to get some of the skull and blood off.
He entered the next room, where a soldier sat in a chair, bobbing his head up and down to an MP3 player, which had drowned out the gunfire of the previous room. Hank wrapped his hands around the unsuspecting target, and squeezed until he heard a satisfying crunch. Hank kicked the back of the chair, sending the corpse flying across the table. He saw the door to the next room open, and a squad of L33T agents stepped through. Hank reached into his coat for more knives, and when he pulled his hand out, Hank had a knife held in between each finger. He flicked his wrist, sending the knives flying towards the agents. Three of the seven fell, and another one stumbled backwards, a knife caught in his rib cage. Hank ran forward as they fired at him with their rifles. Hank grabbed the wrist of one of the agents and bent it backwards, poking the agent's rifle into his chest. The agent's own gun began tearing holes in his body. Hank heard the door he had just come from open, and he turned around, but all he saw was a red metal sign with an exclamation point on it slam into his face before he lost consciousness.
Hank stood at the edge of the cliff, as an ominous red cloud spread over the distance. He knew all would soon be over, something he strangely embraced. The shadow man was on the run still, throwing a seemingly endless army of witless idiots to try to stop him. Hank had always pondered how he managed to recruit so many to aimlessly die without reason. He Reloaded his Uzi and thought that perhaps they all came from some sort of Matrix, looking for Revolution.
Hank didn't quite understand why he chased the shadow, fought him, or even why he hated him. Perhaps it was the very meaning of his existence, what he was brought here to do. Perhaps it was forces beyond his very comprehension; a god, an animator of sorts, paving his very decisions and actions for him. Perhaps it was simply a meager attempt at a plot.
Or perhaps, it was simply madness.
His partner was dead, something that didn't really bother Hank in the slightest minus simply the thought that it was two less hands to help him fight. He glanced at the corpse casually before continuing onward and moved on. Or, he would have, if he didn't notice something peculiar.
A steaming pile of feces lay directly atop the chest of his deceased partner, glistening, steamy fumes blowing in the foul red wind of the hellish landscape. It had been no more than mere moments Hank had turned his back on the corpse; yet there it was. A hellish brown turd, a final tombstone to the man in the baseball hat.
And then he saw it. For no more than a brief moment did he lay eyes on it, but it was more than enough. What flashed before him, in the corner of his eye, was a face all to painfully familiar. The clown.
It materialized in front of him, dancing, twitching maniacally; masturbating it's erect penis. It's wild undead eyes never breaking contact with his. The wind kicked into a cyclone in the sky; so powerful it lifted corpses and debris alike into the whirlpool in the sky. Thunderbolts struck wildly, randomly, ominously, around the two; like the cliche, piss poor writing you will all read in this thread. "I have pooped on your friend; you cannot defeat me." Said the clown.
A wild fight between the two began. It all happened so fast it was but a blur of guns firing, clanking stop signs and other shit. No matter how many shots Hank fired into the wretched clown, it continued to attack, taunting him, masturbating. He wrestled the clown to the ground, mounting it's chest with his boot as he fired his entire mac 10 point blank into it's skull. He stared down at the clown beneath his feet in horror. As the clip ran dry, the maniac bozo simply continued masturbating.
A crippling hatred and anger flowed through Hank; knotting in his bowels, cramping his stomach. He remembered the words of the clown: "I have pooped on your friend; you cannot defeat me." He knew what had to be done.
Hank dropped his pants, lifting his arms in the air and roaring at the heavens as his bowels released a torrent of feces onto the clown's chest. It's eyes went wild in horror as it vainly tried to writhe free, but came to no avail. As the poop dribbled down it's chest it began to eat away at the clown's flesh, melting him into a steaming pile of goo and feces. Hank was victorious.
Only the clown's penis remained. Hank ripped it off the ground, rose it into the air and bellowed a deafening warcry that could be heard for miles. "Let this be a lesson to you shadow man!" He roared as he shoved the penis into his asshole. "I will not rest until your penis has been ripped from your body, claimed by my hands and shoved into my asshole."
For only then, would there be an end to the madness.
I'm just going to post it here. Begin below this line of text I'm typing.
Black Ops: Desert Raid
Hank J. Wimbleton was sent raid a hidden base somewhere in Nevada. Hank infiltrates the base and finds members of the 1337 crew waiting to ambush him. He sees them but they are still waiting for him to walk by. He then pulls out a Sako TRG sniper rifle and snipes 4 of the 10 men before they see him. They immediately chase after him Hank then jumps down off the building top he was on and lands behind them and pulls out a UKM-2000 machine gun and shoots them all repeatedly. Then Jesus lands in front of Hank and turns all the fallen crew members into zombies they chase after Hank while shooting him with the Uzi's provided by Jesus. Hank sees a vent and immediately jumps through it and right before he slid down he tossed a grenade up killing the crew members once more. Jesus now even more aggravated from the last time Hank killed the crew members he left the members and he himself went after Hank. Hank was still sliding down the vent when Jesus tossed a smoke bomb down. After the smoke cleared Jesus was on Hank's back with a knife around Hank's neck. Hank flipped Jesus off him and turned around and shot multiple times hitting Jesus twice in the head. Jesus's dead corpse slid down the rest of the way landing in front of Hank. Hank heard footsteps and turned around to see a 22 foot long Tricky holding a double sided Battle Axe. Tricky swung and Hank front flipped on to Tricky's head. Tricky felt Hank on his head and swung up and Hank then jumped off and Tricky hit himself with the axe instantly killing himself. Hank then ran through several rooms until he reached the room he was looking for. It was a testing room. There were many dead bodies and empty guns laying around. Hank was confused and looked around for answers. He saw a small door. He opened the door and in the room he saw The Auditor. The auditor had taken Jesus's 316 sword and started teleporting around the room and swinging at Hank. Hank grabbed his machete off his back and then the two swung and there swords collided. The 316 sword snapped in half. The Auditor then teleported to the top of the room. Hank threw knives and shot at him but The Auditor kept teleporting. Finally at the end Hank hit the auditor with a Leatherman in the arm. The Auditor then teleported to somewhere not in Nevada. Hank then figured out from the papers laying around that The Auditor told Hank he was an official who said Hank had to come here. Apparently The Auditor and Jesus had plans to kill Hank by themselves and with Tricky. Hank then went back to his home somewhere not in Nevada waiting for Jesus, Tricky, and The Auditor to strike again.
Carnival Part 1
My head's pounding like a drummer on speed when I finally wake up. Slowly my vision comes back, blurred red by something. It takes me a minute to realize what it is: blood. I wipe some off my goggles (How did I get these?) and take a look at it. This blood, despite its abundance, is not mine, thank God. Whoever it is, though, must be in bad shape. My left hand feels heavy; I lift it up to find a Beretta Inox 92 in it. My brains starts to release information at a rapid pace about said weapon: the Beretta 92 is made in Italy, designated as the M9 pistol for the US armed forces, chambered in 9x19mm Luger, 15 rounds to a magazine plus one in the chamber, manual safety. How did I know all of that?
With the impulse of information comes the realization of the pain my body's in; it takes me a few minutes to comprehension the amount of soreness my body's going through. Whatever I just did, it must have been hell to put me in enough pain like this. With this in mine I gingerly get up, trying to avoid causing more pain. I'm wearing a black scarf, turtleneck and pants, all splattered with blood. I try to get some of it out but it's already dried, so I must have gotten it stained awhile ago.
I check the Beretta's load. I got one in the chamber and 6 left in reserve. I also find another spare magazine, filled with another 15 bullets, in my pocket. I hope I don't have to use it. I take the time to swap out the half empty (or is it half full?) magazine for the full one, keeping the one in the chamber. Checking the safety, I find that it's off which is not a surprise seeing how the original magazine was nearly depleted. However, there are no shells nearby, so if I was in a firefight, it wasn't here.
The lights above begin to flicker off and on, revealing the surroundings: it seems I'm in some sort of facility, but all of the walls are concrete. Besides the columns in the room there's nothing else which concerns me greatly. It's almost like this place was made for gunplay, so I keep my handgun at the ready for some more, just in case something decides to attack me for what could be the second time.
I creep across the room to the doorway, gun aimed at the opening. Kicking open the door, I'm surprised to find a slaughterhouse on the other side. Corpses litter the floor of the room that was similar to the previous one. Blood is stained all over the walls. The color matches the stuff on my goggles; this must be the source of it. I check the corpses to find shells scattered about; some match my own gun. Each body is riddled with bullets, some placed with remarkable accuracy: one to the sternum, another in the femoral artery, etc. Did I really do all of this? And why do I know so much about human anatomy?
Other guns lay about the room next to their former owners. I pick up one, a Glock 17, when another rush of information surges through my brain: 17 rounds, 9x19mm Luger, unique trigger safety/hammer, Austrian manufacture. Wait, a 9x19 mm Luger round? That's the same as my other gun. I take out the spare bullets from the Glock and add them to my half empty magazine, refilling it up to full capacity. I also take the spare bullets, just in case I need to refill the magazines later again. Why do I know so much about this weaponry? Do I have military background?
Something groans behind me, causing my heart to jump. I whip around, looking for the source of the sound. Nothing living made that noise. There's no one else here, except me and the cadavers. Where did that noise come from? I ready my gun, just in case. The bodies don't move when I kick them. I must be imagining the sound then. Unless, of course......
A figure darts into the darkness behind me. Spinning around, I only catch the owner's shadow. I place my finger on the trigger and take aim. I creep slowly toward said darkness, ready to shoot at whatever may lie there. My heart races as the moment for violence draws closer. The safety's off, so all I got to do is pull the trigger.......
Nothing's there. Wait, what? There's nothing behind this pillar? That can't be right. I know I saw something move back here. That can't be. You got to be kidding me. There's nothing here-
"AGHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!" a voice screams behind me.
"What the fuck?!" I think but for some reason don't yell, turning quickly and wondering what the hell it is, but more importantly, trying to save my own ass. I fire 3 rounds point blank into its head before it falls down; its brains splattered over the wall. It's one of the corpses from before. How the hell did this happen? And more importantly, why didn't this guy stay dead? Is this some sort of a prank? Or is this an honest to God zombie? What the fuck is going on?
The other corpses start to groan too and slowly stagger to their feet. However, my trigger finger is faster and I give each one a nice present smack dab in the middle of their skull. For precaution I shoot them again while the cadavers lay on the floor. Yet, despite this excitement, I'm calm. The adrenaline rush one would normally expect from such actions is nonexistent in my body. What kind of person am I that this rush doesn't happen? How long have I been doing these deeds?
I finally notice another door on the other side of the large room, so again I cautiously approach the door, waiting for zombies or whatever the hell might come out. To my surprise, the next room (which looks suspiciously like the other two) contains nobody else. However, a disturbing message is written on the wall. It looks like it was written in the blood of some of those zombies I killed earlier. I read it out loud to myself to make sure I still remember what the sound of a human voice is. "Hank: Pay me for what you've done-JC". Hank. Is that my name? It sure sounds better than "psychopathic mass murderer". Hank. I could get used to that. I think I'll be Hank from now on.
Carnival Part 2
Well, Hank, you've found yourself in a real dozy. You've obviously got some vast military training, not to mention paramedic skills. You've been fighting to quite some time now, but you still can't remember a thing. You've got a guy named JC after you, and your clothes are all stained with blood. Have I told you Hank that you're stuck in a facility with no way out so far? Yeah Hank, this sure sounds like a grand old time. How are you going to get out of this one? What do you got?
Nothing. That's what I got. Nothing. Absolutely bloody nothing. Hell, it's nothing with a capital N. Well, let's at least see what waits on the end of another door. More zombie-like creatures, but this time, holding guns similar to the ones I found earlier. A few gunshots later and I'm in another room with more of these bastards. More corpses drop to the floor. The fight begins to feel endless. How long will this go on? Don't I know anything else besides this?
Something reflects in one room. It's a mirror. I take a deep breath and see what horrors await when I look at the reflection. A man smiles back at me with a grin spanning from ear to ear. Brown hair and a white robe fill out the rest of the picture. It's somewhat creepy. The man begins to point and laugh. Why is he laughing? Is he laughing at me? Enough of this Hank, I'm leaving. This place gives me the buggers.
Finally I reach what looks like an armory. Various modern weaponry from across the global fill the walls. I start taking rifles off the rack to the left of me and check them to see if they're in working condition. After taking a few minutes to do so, I conclude that all of these bad boys are in perfect condition, almost as if they had just come off the line. Now I have to make a hard decision of which one to choose.....
Well Hank, do you think a grenade launcher would do? No, in cramped quarters like this, the explosion could kill me due to the proximity, not to mention the highly likely lethal backlash. If close quarters then, how about a shotgun Hank? There's a nice sawn off double-barreled 12 gauge to your upper right. No, that won't do; that's got a much slower reload time than the others, plus the fact there's only 2 rounds. That means a lot of reloading, something that I won't have time for. Okay hotshot, well then how about a nice German Heckler & Koch G3, chambered in the ever popular 7.62x51mm NATO? Well, with that powerful of a round, I wouldn't say no, but the only problem is the weapon's too long. How am I supposed to clear corners with something the size of a didgeridoo? Well then what about-SHUT UP! SHUT THE FUCK UP!
The adrenaline that has building up then entire time finally erupts. My hands, despite earlier in the midst of combat were rock steady as I saw blood and gore and guts fly all over the place, begin to tremble and then shake uncontrollably. I collapse onto the floor, my eyes fling wide open and then slowly close, my consciousness slowly fading away, not knowing what will happen if I do wake up........
My head's pounding like a drummer on speed when I finally wake up. Slowly my vision comes back, blurred red by something. It takes me a minute to realize what it is: blood. I wipe some off my goggles (How did I get these?) and take a look at it. This blood, despite its abundance, is not mine, thank God. Whoever it is, though, must be in bad shape. My left hand feels heavy; I lift it up to find a Beretta Inox 92 in it. My brains starts to release information at a rapid pace about said weapon: Beretta 92 is made in Italy, designated as the M9 pistol for the US armed forces, chambered in 9x19mm Luger, 15 rounds to a magazine plus one in the chamber, manual safety. How did I know all of that? Wait, I've always known that.
I've done this before, maybe even a million times before. It never ends. Time becomes nonexistent. The amount of times I've gone through the cycle is indescribable; I don't know what I'm fighting for anymore besides survival. My hands have been permanently bloodied. Any sane person would not be able to survive here. Yet here am I. Just a man trapped in a labyrinth against his will (rather, what he thinks is his will). Every step brings me closer to the beginning. The snake eats himself. A circle never ends. All we do is go around and around like a carrousel......
I see him in my dreams. JC, dancing, smiling with his maniac smile as he resurrects the zombies I work so tirelessly to kill. He watches me run threw his rat maze, baiting each end with hope, the hope of leaving this forsaken hellhole. I see that door, the door to the outside that I've wanted so badly. It's always almost in my grasp; it's just a few more steps out of this nightmare........
This isn't a nightmare. This is madness.
"totus intus mens"
i tried to capture the spirit and atmosphere of the cartoons, enjoy
Hank was a very angry murder killer madness man. He saw a big grey featureless square building in the big grey featureless desert and went into it. There were other madness men in there (a little rectangle room, no furniture) with guns and he punched them to death; they tried to shoot him but all the bullets missed or they were really slow to react and did not fire any bullets before they died. Hank stole one of their guns (it was a only a small gun with not many bullets) then walked into the next room connected directly by a doorway immediately in front of him like in a real building. Note: all of this happened in sideways camera angle in case anybody wants to animate this or just imagine it better in their minds. In the next room there were some more madness killer angry men. Hank shot them all and killed them, at one point he also used an axe and cut one of the madness men's heads off! It was very violent and blood got on the walls and floor a bit. Then he walked into the next room in much the same was as the other two and killed the madness men that were in it. Two of the madness men were playing cards but the audience assumes that they probably do not have emotions or a family so it was not sad when they got shot and stabbed to death, it was entertaining instead. Hank then went into several more similar rooms and killed a lot of madness men in the same ways. He got to the end of the building and took an elevator up to the next floor so he could start walking across in the opposite direction and kill all the madness men there. The killing was going on as usual for a while but then all of a sudden a scary killer angry clown with a metal mask appeared! The audience mostly knows that this is not their first encounter but it is not very important to the story so if they do not that then it is okay. They shot and hit eachother a lot and the clown also had magic crazy powers and it was very exciting. The audience also wonders how they can still be alive after many fights of a similar kind but the question is difficult and complex, and we must wait a very long time for many other madness stories must be told to get to the bottom of it. After the big fight was over the story was slightly advanced and everything faded out to black. Everybody was left very impressed and eager for more. The end!
Hope you like it...
Somewhere in Nevada, a teenager living in a world of Sanity stood proud among his people. This young man named Hank knew that his life was perfect, without a doubt. Hank found himself lucky, for his father loved him greatly. Hank had a father who worked as a businessman, yet he never had a mother that he knew of. When Hank was little, his father would take each letter in Hank's name and gave each letter a description that fit Hank's character. 'H' - Honorable. 'A' - Able. 'N' - Noble. 'K'... he never came up with a word for the letter 'K'. He told Hank that it was for him to decide, and Hank knew he couldn't figure out how to describe himself using the letter 'K', so he'd always simply ignore that letter.
The world was completely normal and there was never anything to worry about. The only thing that no one knew about was a local marshmallow factory located in Nevada. Hank would always laugh to himself as he wondered that why, of all things not to know anything about in life, a marshmallow factory located in the middle of Nevada would be one. Rumors that were born were short lived, and even the popular rumors were considered false within days. The only rumor he ever heard was that the factory wasn't a marshmallow factory at all, but a factory that contained something "messed up" inside, as his friends would say. Hank struggled against his powerful curiosity.
As he flooded his mind with thoughts of what could possibly be so strange about the factory, he also wondered why no one had ever even attempted to enter the factory. Maybe people didn't want things to change. Hell, the world Hank lived in didn't even need police. Maybe life was better off not knowing who or what hid behind this giant shell with the words "Marshmallow Factory" sloppily painted onto it. There was only one way to find out.
Hank lost his battle with curiosity and, a few days later, decided to enter the marshmallow factory. His father was usually at work overnight so Hank wouldn't have to bother dealing with his father's over protectiveness. It was a dense and snowy night and no one was around to see anything. Hank was blanketed under a thick, charming white fog that also helped him realize his good situation. He knew his friends would slow him down so he butted them out of the equation. All he needed to do now was muster up enough courage to enter the factory. He knew he had no time for that, for even his excitement wouldn't let him pull back, so before he knew it, he stood in front of the rusting steel gates of the factory.
An aged brick wall surrounded the factory, yet the gates were locked and made up of separated grey metal bars. Hank hoped that this would allow him to catch a glimpse of the factory courtyard, yet there was too much fog to see anything in depth. His first impulse was to rattle the rotting lock on the gate with his bare hands, but he knew for a fact that that would attract attention and that his bare hands were no better then any other part of his body, so he resorted to using a rock. Sure, it would make some noise, but at least it would be a quick loud noise rather than a long, distracting noise. In one quick go, he broke the lock and rewarded himself with the thought that he was the first person to step through the gates of the factory. Hank pushed the gates and as one of them opened with a squeaky, irritating noise, the other fell backwards off its hinges altogether. "Very dramatic" he thought to himself with a smile.
Hank explored the courtyard for a few minutes, but at this point, he was too anxious and eager to find out what lay within the factory. The courtyard, or at least what he explored, was all just a big plain of dead trees, mud, murky puddles, and deteriorating concrete tiles. Hank eventually oriented himself when he found the courtyard gates. He then followed a concrete path that started from the courtyard gates and led to the factory gates. Hank followed the path and found himself staring up at the massive marshmallow factory. He then looked ahead at the gates. They looked relatively thick and hard to get past. He desperately tried to push the gates over as he hoped they would break off their hinges as the courtyard gates did. He laughed to himself when he realized that what he just did was very stupid. He laughed even harder when one of the gates leaned back and toppled over itself in a mass of smoke and debris.
"Who cares if it attracts attention? I've managed to get this far. Nothing's gonna stop me". Hank was determined. He cautiously climbed over the rubble that was once a gate and part of the factory and ended up in a massive room. The factory was just one big room. "Hello!" yelled Hank as he heard his echo's lonely reply. As soon as he said this, he walked to the other side of the factory. There was nothing but the loud sound of what seemed to be computer hardware coming from the other side of the wall.
Hank followed the source of the noise until he ended up staring at a door camouflaged to look like the factory wall. He swung it open quickly and hoped for the best. He couldn't believe his eyes. In front of Hank was mass of black flames that, even when the green light of monitors shone upon it, remained black as death. A massive network of monitors and computers illuminated the room green and entirely covered the right and left side of the room. The creature took no notice of Hank. Hank peered at this unbelievable sight in awe and felt his jaw drop like lead. In front of the mass of black flames, at the head of the room, was a wall completely stuffed with rows and columns of ordinary humans just like Hank, bound and pierced by an entanglement of wires and pipes. His mind raced as he thought of what to do now. He rapidly glanced at the monitors and they all read "CLONING IN EFFECT". Hank couldn't compile all this information at once and, in a panicked, frenzied, mad state, roared as loudly as he could and stampeded towards the creature.
He knew he was screwed but at this point, who would give a shit? Was this all a bad dream? He definitely attracted the attention of the black creature, yet he didn't care at all. In a state of sheer madness and confusion, Hank attacked the humanoid ball of black flames with all his fury. It felt like icy water in the form of flames. What was happening? Who gave this monstrosity the right to play the role of God? Was everyone truly the exact same person? What gave this Monstrosity the right to creAte, Destroy, coNtroll, Eliminate, Slay, Survive?! Hanks mind couldn't take it and he was rendered unconscious after his vision blurred out.
Hank woke up the next day in his room and felt something he had never felt ever before... He felt bloodthirsty and angry for no apparent reason. His mind was filled with noise, static. He had to get rid of it. Was what just happened a nightmare? It couldn't have been. He still had to get rid of the noise. It was getting louder. He decided to head to the park to try to get rid of the noise. It was still getting louder. Would anyone believe anything? He couldn't believe it. He couldn't even hear himself think.
Somewhere in Nevada, a little boy living in a world of Madness stood insane among his people. Everyone was the same now. Everyone was just a clone. But not Hank, not anymore. Hank knew he was different. He had to be different. He knew that at the park, he would finally find the word that would fit the letter 'K' in his name. And so, the seed of madness was planted deep in the mind of Hank, spreader of madness and chaos.
Sorry if there were any plot holes or grammatical errors :P. Hope you guys enjoyed it!
Wow, already spotted a mistake. Sorry! Just replace "little boy" with "young man" at the last paragraph :P
Madness in the Mind.
I would be the first to tell you that my mind drifts off to places that it shouldn't, if I could. I was just sitting on a bench by my high school, leaning my against the brick wall and the question pops in my head.
Have I done anything in life, that I would be remembered for?
Then I go into the little room in my little head. I was the epitome of school bullying when I was in middle school. I can see my ten year old self, in a monstrous black room. I then see my bullies rise from the floor, as if they are floating through objects. The main one runs over to me to say something, but instead of hearing it. I see "fag" in bright pink bubble coming out of his mouth before shortly disappearing.
The four others join in, more vile bubble words come out of these children's mouth. How can they be so hateful? What did I ever do to deserve this? Is this why I'm such a sober low life virgin? If I could change anything, I would kill those kids. No asshole like that deserves to live.
Then my younger replica reaches over to the leader. He grabs his neck and in one vigorous strike, he- I kill him. The other four look in shock as I feel complacent. I want more. I swiftly grab another one of my pests, and fluidly rip his body in half from the waist down. I want more.
The surviving three make a bee line for a conveniently place exit. They cannot run away from me. They're incompent in my world. I throw both halves of the body at the cowards that once abused me. A explosion of gore, and bloodshed follow after impact. Killing the rest. This can't be real, I want more.
My younger icon ages, he's fifteen now. More people levitate through the ground. My best friend, and the first girl I was going to ask out on a date. I talk to the girl for a good four weeks, getting to know her. I've been sending her notes to her locker, no one knew it was me. My best friend, who liked the girl I like, said he was sending the notes.
They've been going out for three years know. He just asked her to marry him a few days ago. I race towards my best friend, punching out his heart. I then shove his heart into her chest. I still want more.
I wait for more people to come up to be slaughtered by my imaginary self. Then three people pop up, the ones I would never hurt. My family. I don't want to hurt them, but I want more. I need more.
After I slit my family's throat with the kitchen knife. More people pop up. It's every one that lives in my apartment. No, they don't deserve this. Neither did my family. No, stop. Stop. STOP!
I kill five of them, before the police come. One of them shoots me in my leg. I hobble to the exit sign, and push my way out. I run down a narrow black hallway, everything is exactly the same, except the back round is changing. Light poles spring up from the ground like flowers. Streets are rolled on the ground like a giant carpet. Building fall from the sky and plant themselves without any cracks. Finally the black roof fades away to relieve a bright blue sky.
This was real.
I don't know what came over me. I didn't mean to kill all those people, it's just this feeling I had. Years of pent up rage released on anyone I thought deserved it. It felt like a drug, it felt righteous, it felt deserved.
But now here I sit on the school's bench, Leg profusely bleeding. I'm writing this down because as soon as you read this, I will have bled out in an alley way. I always thought I would die alone.
(Hope this wasn't too bad.)
"Would you kindly..."
I have been here for what seems to be years.
Lying in wait, wait for the assassin in drabs.
The bastard has been the keeper of Death's clock,
And the hands are moving in an ill-omened tap.
My eyes are dear, and my ears are blind.
But, that dreaded tap haunts me day in and out
And his veiled person will not wane from my memory
What did we do to deserve this?
Why did the savior not cast mercy upon our souls?
For his oversight, we remain as nothing but a shadow,
As our bodies burn.
At birth, we inherited the omen
That would mark us for our demise
And as I lay here, drowning in my own blood and filth
I come to wonder
If our tormentor, Hank, has the same curse
ok lets me give a try too.
its my first post on forums, maybe the luck will smile to me this time.
In the the word of Madness, where Insanity gallops, only the mad ones are truly sane....
Valeria was sitting in the "Higher will", one of those dirty little bars full of scum and cheap alcohol. She was tall, not particularly curvy, with dark hair and a really sharp eyes. She was holding a glass of vodka in her right arm, or at least in what have been left of her right arm. Surely today was a really hellish day, not everyday you get a single guy who enter your workplace and single-handedly obliterates nearly everyone, yourself included. Usually it happens once every 2-3 months, not 3 times in a week.
Valeria was lost in her thoughts, "damn it" thought she " i came here to forget about the day and all i do is remembering i all over again...
Shit alcohol and drugs didn't help relaxing at all, the only moment I'm able to relax is when i fight to death, then there is just action, not even a moment to think. The only problem is that being a lowly phisicist with a basic military training allows you only to shoot a couple of times before being filled with lead. But today was even worse....
A big green clawlike hand has settled on her shoulder.
It was Mark,one of her coworkers, a good mathematician, even prety handsome, the only problem was that currently he was a rotten zombie.
"hi Mark, how did it go at the training camp?"
"Like shit. Some of zombies whose brain was blew away are total morons. The training was at the level of: "Remember kids, when you have pulled the pin the mr.Grenade is no longer your friend.""
"haha i said you sad you should take an assurance that covers all cases of death. Like mine"
"nah being a zombie is funny, you shouldn't take life to seriously, you won't get out alive. "
"how does it feel to be a walking dead?"
"Pretty much as always, when i kill the only thing i feel is recoil. Still the guy today was more epic then usual: he took the dimensional transmogrifier out in less then 20 seconds, and this after being squashed by a falling whale."
"Dimensional transmogrifier ? Is it that fucking elephant sized mutant with spiked bull sized fist, full armor of level 8 and that huge fucking atomic HAMMER?!?"
"Yep. We call it dimensional transmogrifier cause the only thing he is good at is transforming three-dimensional people in two-dimensional blood stains."
"Ha it was pretty fun to watch. The armor of that mutant was impervious to bullet and knifes."
"But that guy motto was probably "If you cant solve a problem with brute force - than you aren't using enough of it." Hell he hammered his head with a pan until the helmet broke"
"And what will you say about Arctic soldiers? Their freezing guns, fur coats, and swordlike chainsaw weren't even able to slow him ! The only thing they were good for is providing him a new weaponry. Shit. I even was part of the project to creating those freezing weapons, they were supposed to shoot projectiles that upon hitting the target engulfs in ice a wide area. The fucking problem is hitting the target. And the fur coats able to absorb damage from blunt weapons didn't protected at all."
"Ye ye i still remember the taste of that chainsaw he shoved in my guts. I hope you will never get to discover it" said mark while stroking the bloody scar on his side.
"At least our boss put on a good fight..... i hope the arm he sawed from the intruder hurts like mine ."
"I really wouldn't like to be near the boss when he puts on his pumpkin helmet and begin to creates those orange space distortions around himself.."
"Don't tell me about it, you didn't get your arm shoved in one of those while being impaled on a stop sign. "
"What can we do, there are two groups of people: the protagonist, and meat"
"I prefer dividing people in two other groups: the part severed above the waist and the part severed below."
"C'mon don't be so vengeful you could forgive your enemies."
"Don't worry i always forgive my enemies, but not before they are full of lead. And THAT motherfucker from yesterday is still alive and kicking, why the hell the high powers bring him back to live every time? "
"Haha good point. Still you too were resurrected so don't get mad. Maybe you should join the 1337? Get a good rest. Tomorrow is going be stressful."
"What do you mean? Do you know something that i dont?"
"Really? You are totally clueless? Haha tomorrow i a big day girl tomorrow is the Madness Day ......
The Real Madness was only beginning........
Alright, here we go:
Two bullets flew through the air from the darkened doorway, leaving the silenced pistol with brief explosions illuminating a familiar bandaged figure, wearing red tinted goggles and combat gear. They flew to their targets and spread chunks of what was until recently the brain of the operator across his console. The corpse hit the console and as gravity took a final hold, it dragged down the screen, leaving a bloody smear.
Hank looked at the door controls and shut the door behind him. He pulled the corpse out of the way and wiped his forearm across the screen, removing most of the human debris from the display. He unclipped a security badge from the now stained shirt of the man and glanced at what it said. Pocketing the tag, he started to press buttons methodically. The display clicked and changed to his liking, as he progressed through the codes, making his move towards ends unknown.
Behind a desk in a darkened office, a silhouetted figure with an unmistakeable hair style sat up, removing his boots from the desk, anger in his maddened eyes. He slammed his fist on the writing pad, which flipped over to reveal a console, which he started hitting feverishly.
"YOU CANNOT KILL CLOWN! ERROR!" Flashed up on the screen in front of Hank in a shower of static and his typing stopped. He peered at the red flashes mixed in with the blackness of beyond. As Hank was about to resume his task, he saw the Clown sitting there, bashing at the console in front of him. Their eyes met and both understood the stakes being risked.
"It ends." Hank said. His brief statement was greeted with a canned laughter track over the speakers and the overwhelming sense that someone else was really laughing. As the imported hilarity faded, there was one male laugh, still giggling uncontrollably. The Clown stared at the screen, cold and emotionless.
"KNOCK KNOKC!" The words appeared on the screen and the clown knocked twice on the desk.
"Who's there?" Hank typed in, carefully.
"DISCO!" Came the response, the clown's face in the screen.
The camera pulled back, exposing the desk again and a large red button. "DISCO-" a bunched fist came crashing down on the red button and Hank's screens went blank. "NNECTED!" The laughter started once again and the clown threw a bottle of spirits from the bottom drawer of the desk at the security camera, blacking out the signal.
A deep rumbling engulfed the room that Hank was sitting in and the chair started to move across the room. He tried to stand and as the lights went out, to be replaced with the flashing red of the emergency system, he managed to gather his balance and the quake subsided, with the room surprisingly still in tact. Hank tapped at the keyboard, noting that nothing in the room seemed to respond to his commands.
Moving back to the door, he pressed the release key. But was greeted with a red flash and the indication that the door remained locked. He pulled out the swipe key and pulled it through the machine, before opening the doorway and going back about his business.
The corridor was dusty and somehow unfamiliar. From the distance, he heard gunfire, perhaps two floors above him. His brain being hardwired for combat, he made the decision to press on and discover what was going on. The rhythmic crack and snap of shots was most likely supplied by automatic rifles, he concluded. As he rounded a set of stairs and looked up, he found a corpse slumped in the stairwell, an AK-47 slung across his shoulder. No uniform or markings on the skin, but certainly not the usual agent type that the clown had sent to try and kill him of late. If not by anything else, the sandals gave this corpse away.
Hank grabbed the gun and two clips, before ascending another flight, towards the fire fight that was raging above. A shaft of sunlight lanced down the stairwell, as a door opened, causing Hank to pause, using the stairs above him as cover. A shout came through the corridor above him and he did not understand the language spoken. The door blew to again and Hank made his way up the stairs.
Outside, there was a pitched battle going on in the sandy compound. Gunfire was sporadic and messy, bullets pinging off the buildings and the wind was whipping the sand around into everyone's eyes. Neither side of the belligerents wore uniforms, making it difficult to tell one side from the other. As Hank watched, he decided that this must play into his hands, as they could all be called enemies. A group of men flinched and ducked as an explosion sounded nearby and he bolted from the door, staying low and moving along the edge of the building, trying not to draw attention to himself.
Stopping behind a pile of crates, he took stock of the situation. His silenced weapon would not draw attention to his presence, but the ammunition was precious and most of the combatants were armed with more plentiful AK-47s. Where Hank crouched, he saw one of the men, sitting on the other side of his crate, lighting up a smoke. His weapon was somewhat larger and had more potential. Crouching down and pulling a wire from his belt, Hank prepared himself.
In one smooth movement, Hank appeared over the top of the crate, slipping the wire around the man's neck, hauling him over the box, back to safety. He pulled tight and the man tried in vain to resist his impending death, to no avail. As the corpse went limp, Hank loosened the wire and removed the ragged scarf from the man's neck. Wrapping it around his face, to keep the dust from his mouth and nose, he moved around and picked up the weapon that necessitated the kill - a rocket propelled grenade launcher and a cache of ammunition.
The compound gates exploded in a shower of sparks and shrapnel, as a pickup truck drove through, following the explosion. A large calibre assault rifle mounted on the back started spewing out hot death and the combatants opened fire at one another with renewed anger and passion. Hank calmly stood, placing the RPG launcher on his shoulder and levelled it at the vehicle, loosing an explosive through the compound, into the windscreen of the vehicle. Screaming, the driver of the vehicle realised that the grenade was lodged in his chest and the gunman dropped the muzzle of the gun. He turned to run, but too late, as the device in his colleague detonated and caused the vehicle, its crew and the weapon mounted on it to explode, to the whoops and cheers of the local forces. Hank reloaded the launcher and grabbed two more shells from the crate by the side of him, as Kalashnikov rifle fire was released into the air jubilantly around him.
Noting that the flag raised over the building was a tricolour - red, black and green, with a white star and crescent moon in the centre, Hank climbed a ladder for a better look at the surroundings. As he reached the top of the ladder, a sharp guttural question was asked in a tongue that Hank had no idea of, nor any intention of learning. He jerked his thumb over his shoulder and stood there looking defiantly at the man, who walked towards him slowly. Suddenly, as he pulled a knife and moved in for the kill, Hank's reactions kicked in and he dropped under the lunge of the bearded man, lifting him up and over the barrier, dropping him into the compound below, with a thud. Putting the thoughts of his new "friends" becoming something else for a few moments, Hank surveyed the local area, watching vehicles laden with similar guns engaging one another in battles across the city. The heat of the sun was intense and only the dust swirling around necessitated Hank keeping the scarf wrapped around his head.
By pure chance, one of the compounds that he scanned across looked deserted, but he saw something move out of the corner of his eye. The now deceased sniper had left a pair of binoculars hanging on the railings and Hank used them to check out his gut feeling. A trap door had opened up and a man was climbing out of it. As Hank watched, the man made his way to a shuttered door, which he opened. A few seconds later, a civilian car drove out of there, parking near the exit of the compound. The man got out of the driver's seat and jogged back to the trapdoor. A few more people climbed from the hole, one male in the middle looking slightly frail, as he was helped into the car. The first man opened the gates, allowing the car to drive off amongst the combat of the city, seeming untouched, as it mingled and then sped away into the gathering sandstorm.
The gates shut, the man turned back to the open trapdoor and started to descend back form where he had come. Hank saw his chance and pressed the trigger on the launcher, sending a plume of smoke and a grenade towards the trapdoor. The explosion ripped through the door and the surrounding concrete, leaving an ugly scar in the compound. Hank had a few blocks to make up, so took the roof top route to get out of his current predicament, where a few agitated shouts were directed in his direction and the celebratory gunfire seemed to have died down. Sensing that the mob may be a useful tool, he scrambled along a few back alleys and led a rag-tag group of pursuers over the wall into the compound.
Dropping down into the hole, grasping what was left of the ladder, he lowered himself into a large tunnel system. There was a phone on the wall, which had fallen off the hook and the wreck of what had once been an electric golf buggy was wedged into a doorway. Whoever had just left here had been in quite a hurry. Hank made his way quickly along the corridor, losing his pursuers along a merry maze of tunnels, which stretched for miles.
Underground, where the RPG launcher was no longer of any use, Hank drew his combat knife and the silenced pistol, allowing him as much freedom of movement as possible in such a cramped space. He found a door and was not exactly surprised to see the usual cast of suited goons in the room. Slicing the throat of the nearest one and neatly sewing three bullets into the chest of the second, he moved in and looked at their computer screens to see if there was any evidence to tell him where he was, or who he was fighting aside from whoever was trying to kill him. It was a long shot, but he might actually have friends out there.
With no luck from this console, he moved on, gradually gaining his bearings from local maps on the computer screens. The only dimension he could work out was that the tunnel compound was huge, possibly the size of the whole city. Passing through an innocuous looking room, with more guards, having dispatched them, he saw a picture hanging on the wall that made him stop in his tracks. A uniformed man stood there, stern looking, wearing desert fatigues, though high ranking - a colonel - and lavishly decorated, shaking hands with a familiar man. Hank peered closely at the picture and a shot of pain ran through his head, as the eyes and the smile reminded him of a more familiar figure. A maddening hair style of two red horns, the grin contorted beyond mere insanity and the eyes burning with red desire to see one thing - chaos.
Realising that he may have let one of these figures get through his grasp, Hank sheathed his knife and picked up an Uzi from the floor, by a dead guard. The fight was on.
Kicking his way through the door, one guard went sprawling into his colleague and the two were dispatched with a salvo through the pair of them, as a single shot from the silenced pistol pierced the forehead of the guard sitting down at the desk. Hank was in no mood to mess about. He knew he was heading in the right direction, as the propaganda images of this leader seemed to appear more often. A massive bank of computers below, he walked across a gantry and knocked a shotgun wielding sentry over the edge with a back handed swipe, the shotgun going off on impact and causing a few warning sirens to blare at the damage inflicted upon processes beyond Hank's care and attention. He searched diligently for any sign of this man and where he may be - he would lead Hank to the clown.
Some hours passed and eventually, Hank found another trapdoor, which he opened slowly and scouted the room, before entering. This appeared to be a lavish house - almost a palace. The sounds of gunfire that the city had been ever present in the city were very distant now and Hank concluded that he had moved some distance from the conflict. He moved about the place efficiently, opening doors, searching obvious places where information and evidence may be kept, but he remained vigilant, with the silenced pistol at his side, the knife still strapped to his leg and a Kalashnikov in his hands. The ammunition was as plentiful and readily disposable as the guards had been beneath the ground.
One of the rooms was dominated by a huge portrait of the colonel, his image designed to look grand and to dwarf all who entered. The desk was a large old English oak affair, out of keeping with the rest of the room's décor, but it had a certain imposing elegance about it. Hank checked the drawers and found nothing of note, except a gun. The letter drawer in front of where the writer sits was locked, so Hank forced it with his knife. Again it was empty, but something was not right. Checking the depth of the drawer with his knife blade, he noted the discrepancy and stood, pulling the drawer from its runners. Giving up after a short while, he separated the false bottom of the drawer from its moorings and looked upon the contents. A large map came to his hand and he unfolded it across the table. Sticky labels dotted across the world's map spelled out four locations: Cairo, Egypt; Agadez, Niger; Algiers, Algeria and London, England. A false passport of Egyptian design ruled out one port of call on the list, since the passport bore the photograph of the man in the portrait, now called Djibril Al-Hossan Fahreez. That still left three locations and no clue as to where he had gone.
Hank dropped to one knee, as he felt the laughter build up in his head. He fought back and gripped the desk, as he hauled himself upright, as the pitch of the laughter dropped lower and faded away. His mark was gone, but Hank had to find him. The clown would be found, in one of those three cities. Grasping the gun, he pulled out the magazine and double checked the ammunition, before stalking out of the room, determination renewed.
"Madness Part I: Seropositive"
Seropositive: se·ro·pos·i·tive adj.
1. Infected. Showing immunological evidence of infection of a specific virus, bacterium, or other agent. *
The colossal explosion rocked the apex of the supernatural facility. The concussive force sent Hank and Sanford freefalling toward the earth, in a black stupor. The dense smoke and dark fire and hellish brimstone sifted in the incoming wind as Hank's body crashed into the ground at terminal velocity; Sanford 's body followed and landed a few feet away. Their skulls were smashed and blood gushed and ran freely.
A mystical blue static ran in the clouds. Two brilliant blue streaks crashed down from the heavens, striking Hank's and Sanford 's forehead. Hank's arm began writhing and returned to normal as his spine realigned. Sanford twitched as grey matter reentered his cranium. The two stood up, dusted themselves, and drew close for a brief celebratory fist-bump as the murky fallout reached the ground.
As the black specks landed on the two heroes, they disintegrated in bright blue sparks. Sanford picked a smoking cigarette and began sucking and puffing on it until smoke filled his lungs. He smiled towards Hank and blew smoke circles. The black, shadowy fallout continued to rain down.
Several dozen agents littered the ground. Their bodies either broken, mangled, decapitated and truncated, filled with lead, or otherwise unrecognizable. Hank and Sanford ambled away from the facility, not entirely comprehensive of the situation. The brunt of the fallout finally landed, and blanketed the ground and coated the agents' bodies. Their bodies twisted and contorted violently and began to float mysteriously. Their flesh took a pallid green color and their teeth grew sharp and long, frothing with blood.
Hank and Sanford looked at each other with surprise, and then conviction. They raced forward toward the mutating agents. The zombie agents snapped with consciousness and viciously attacked the two heroes. Hank slid under one of the infected agents, tripping it in the process, and reaching for the agents' weapons. He managed to grab two 9mm Claridge Hi-Tec pistols. He somersaulted to his feet and began firing, each gyrating projectile finding its target: the cranium.
Sanford pulled out his hook and jumped on a zombie's shoulder, jamming the hook into its mouth. He leaped off, towards Hank, and tugging the cord, leaving a giant gash in the zombie's head. Sanford caught one of the Hi-Tec pistols sailing in the air, and fired the three remaining bullets into the last present for before landing next to Hank. However, the agents' bodies continued to transform as the rest of the evil fallout rained down. On the horizon, nearly one hundred infected zombies shuffled toward the two heroes.
Hank dropped the Hi-Tec in favor for an H&K MP5KN lying near one of the lifeless mutants. Sanford threw his gun towards the incoming force, but the gun fell a considerable distance short. He searched for a nearby weapon, finding an M4 carbine with an M26 MASS-12 gauge attachment. The army drew near.
In an array of hot lead, the bullets mowed down the incoming zombie group. One by one they fell, with remnants of skull, brain, and eyeballs falling beside them. The green wave was undeterred. Hank's MP5 clicked empty and he ran to the bottom floor of the facility, which was a more than adequate stronghold against the zombies. Sanford kept firing bursts into crowd, who began to surround the hero. A zombie crept up behind him and grabbed him; Sanford quickly spun, hitting it in the face with the butt of the carbine, and followed it with a splattering buckshot. Looking around, he realized he was alone, and a note hung on the door of the bottom floor.
Went inside, where there are guns and no green guys.
What are you still doing reading this note?
Sanford ran inside and closed the door.
The room was an extremely typical, drab grey room, with thick, prison-like walls. A large Mk 48 Mod 0 machine gun flew across the room, and Sanford caught it, stumbling. Hank was behind a counter, amassing guns and magazines. He carried a Desert Eagle Mark XIX- .50 with Action Express, a Kimel AP-9 auto pistol, an M67 hand grenade, an M84 stun grenade, and the pièce de résistance: an M134 minigun. A pounding echoed through the wall, and the heroes put down the machine guns. Hank aimed the Kimel at the door, while Sanford picked up an FN2000-Tactical leaning against the counter. The pounding grew more intense. The walls rumbled violently and the room shook and the ceiling began to crumble. Finally the wall exploded and several zombie bodies flowed in.
Hank and Sanford fired their weapons into the pile of zombies and blood and flesh and organs exploded from the mass. However, the zombies were not animated, yet they were moving. The mass began writhing and squirming and formed a figure. The zombies assembled into a colossal monstrosity, with a dark internal flame that resembled shadow.
The two heroes quickly reloaded their weapons and resumed firing at the monster; blood spurted from the wounds, but the figure walked forward toward them, unaffected. Hank threw his AP-9 at the beast, who proceeded to attack. It swung its monstrous arm and Hank leaped over it. Sanford continued the spray of automatic fire at the monster's head. The monster bellowed in agony and began thrashing about wildly. It caught hold of the FN2000 and hammer-threw it into the wall, throwing Sanford along with it. The monster turned around and charged towards Hank. It threw a mighty punch towards the hero and Hank put his arms up in defense, catching the strike. Hank struggled in this wrestling match and the monster grabbed him with its other arm, choking Hank, who shook spasmodically and attempted to free himself. A heavy burst of bullets from the Mk 48 struck the monster from behind, forcing it to release Hank and charge madly towards Sanford. The monster rammed headfirst and Sanford narrowly rolled away, causing the beast to crash into the wall, falling back dizzily. Hank climbed onto the monster's back and pointed his Desert Eagle to the monster's apparent brain, and pulled the trigger. The gun blast resounded throughout the room.
The monster screamed demonically and fell forward, collapsing into a dozen green carcasses. A black blood collected under the bodies, shimmering in its all too familiar shadow. Sanford picked himself up and dusted his shoulder. An exotic house beat could be heard from a distance, and Sanford began dancing, showing off his moves (such as the Running Man, and the Sprinkler). The pool of shadow-blood streamed from the pile of zombies towards Sanford, running up his leg and into his ear. Sanford flailed and fell to the floor, clutching his head tightly. Hank readied his Desert Eagle and walked slowly towards Sanford.
Despite the name, I'm actually good--Deft, and good!
Giving out reviews to anyone who wants them (exception: poems. I'll find you).
Bereavement: be·reave·ment n.
1. The condition of being deprived of a beloved person or a treasured thing, especially through death. *
Hank finally reached Sanford's position and placed a hand on his shoulder, patting him. Sanford flung backward and began trembling. Hank readied his weapon again. His friend began sliding across the room and then levitated in the air. His hands began to ignite, and burned in a black flame. Soon, his entire body was engulfed in an evil fire. He dropped to the ground, landing on his feet. He vanished, leaving only a puff of dark smoke.
Hank looked confusedly around the room, searching for this demon. He backed slowly towards the counter and aimed his gun all about the room. He discard his Desert Eagle for an M16A4 rifle with an M203 grenade launcher attachment. Fresh squads of agents appeared through the sizeable hole in the wall. Hank slung the M16 and grabbed the M134, and proceeded upstairs.
The next room was similar to the former; it was a dull grey room with a table in the middle, and an elevator door on the wall near the stairs. The bell on the elevator chimed, signaling incoming agents, and Hank kicked the table over, throwing the M134 behind it, and scrambled to the other side of it. Several agents ran up the stairs, only to be mowed down by a flurry of auto-fire. Some agents managed to get some shots in, but their Beretta 92F side arms could not penetrate the metal table, and the shots embedded into it, or ricocheted off it. The elevator bell dinged twice, and the doors opened, revealing two large, yellow agents, who carried P90, and sprayed a storm of devastating rapid fire. Hank jumped high into the air, and pulled the trigger to the M203, launching a 40mm high explosive to the feet of the two large agents, resulting in a bloodbath.
Hank dragged the M134 to the elevator, looked at the buttons, and pressed the big red button designated "Secret Room - There is nothing here." The elevator sank downward. Hank reloaded his weapon.
A thump sounded on the elevator roof, and Hank readied his rifle. A circular saw whirred to life and began cutting into the roof, landing sparks on the hero. Hank shot through the roof, killing the agent holding the saw. Several more thumps resounded through the elevator, and Hank began firing blindly into the roof, striking several agents who struggled to grab the saw. Hank's M16 ran out of ammunition and he was forced to reload, allowing an agent to pick up the saw and finish a rough hole for the agents to file through. An agent fell down into the elevator, and even more thumps were heard above. Hank fired the last M203 round into the roof, obliterating the agents on the roof and sending the elevator into a freefall. The elevator crashed to the ground causing Hank to stumble and smack into the ground; the agent beside him snapped and the saw jolted in the elevator and cut into his face.
Hank was dazed and weak, and tried to open the door. He slid the heavy elevator doors open an inch, and jammed the stock of his rifle in, forcing them open. He picked up the M134 and flung it awkwardly through the entrance. He climbed out of the disastrous elevator.
The room was empty and dark, save for the blinking red light on the ceiling and the chair right below it. Tired, Hank dragged the burdensome M134 near the chair and dropped his rifle to the floor, and rested on the chair. The red light stopped blinking, before the room filled with a pale white light. There was in fact, nothing else in this room.
Sanford reappeared before him.
Hank jumped to his feet, only to be struck by an awesome uppercut, sending him reeling to the floor. Hank swiftly recovered and slid towards Sanford, kick-sweeping at his legs. Sanford floated to the ceiling to avoid the attack, before divebombing back in a vicious attack. Hank caught Sanford by the arms and threw him towards the wall. Hank dove towards the chair, scooping up his rifle and delivering an all-out hail of gunfire. Sanford avoided each bullet, dissipating and rematerializing throughout the room. Sanford reappeared before Hank and punched him in the groin, grabbing his rifle and striking him with it. Hank stared at Sanford, who aimed the rifle at him.
In an instant:
Hank jumped high over Sanford, who shot several rounds at him. Each bullet grazed Hank's clothes as he twirled in the air. As he landed, a spiraling round caught him in the chest, and exited out his back. He fell motionless to the ground near the chair.
Time resumed as normal.
Sanford walked towards Hank, holding the rifle high. He aimed the muzzle directly towards Hank's head and jabbed him. Sanford grabbed Hank by his collar and noticed the M67 hand grenade. Sanford dropped the rifle and secured the grenade, smiling. Sanford pulled the pin with his teeth. A metallic noise was barely audible, as if a pin was dropped. Hank closed his eyes and covered his ears as the stun grenade's brilliant light and piercing sound consumed the room. Hank was disoriented but ran backwards, tripping into the defunct elevator. Sanford screeched and clutched his face. The resulting blast was brutal; it massacred Sanford head and torso. The only remnant was a smoldering lower body, spine and intestines exposed; the rest was unrecognizable.
A few seconds later, Hank emerged from the elevator holding a Beretta 92F he acquired from a dead agent inside. Hank's shirt was burned from the stun grenade igniting, covering his gunwound. He was still dizzy and feeble, but the sight of his dead friend sobered him. The shadow-blood flowed freely and wickedly. He slumped to his knees, head bowed, mourning the loss of his friend. The empty silence was interrupted by a harsh melody--whimsical house music.
Despite the name, I'm actually good--Deft, and good!
Giving out reviews to anyone who wants them (exception: poems. I'll find you).
Reprisal: re·pri·sal n.
1. Retaliation in war: a violent military action.
2. A strong or violent retaliation for an action that somebody has taken. *
The dark blood collected in a familiar pool, and began pulsing. The blood began to rise and burn, smoking. It soon took an anthropoid shape. A shot rang out. Hank fired multiple rounds into the figure, and it liquefied, returning to its fluid state. A demonic cry sounded from the pool, and it began to fade. The house music grew louder and stronger. The pool sought to reform itself, rapidly this time. Hank knew how to defeat this devil. He slowly stepped towards the minigun.
The figure was fully formed now, but weak. A whirring filled the room, and the form turned to face the spinning rotor of the gun. The M134 was ready to fire, and the form turned to flee, but tripped over, its foot splashing and liquefying. Hank aimed down, at The Auditor.
...But reality was compromised.
The house music was very loud now, as if emanating from the room. The room itself dematerialized into another dimension, or something more inconceivable. The colors were very bright and sharp; the music was pulsing and very pungent. Enter the clown.
He was an ugly thing. His fiery red hair, his steel mask, and his visible deformed face were far more than acerbic. He smiled impishly and appeared right before Hank. He vanished instantly and appeared before the Auditor, grabbing him by the wrist. He forced the Auditor to squeeze the flower on his shirt and a wondrous liquid squirted out, wetting the Auditor. The Auditor gazed around, frenetically. Tricky's followed that trick, by jamming his thumbs in the Auditor's eyes and he evaporated in a white smoke. He flashed before Hank.
The clown showed his two hands; in one he held a fish--in the other: a bowling pin. Hank grabbed the fish without realizing it, before Tricky smashed the bowling pin into his face. Hank's skull was badly fractured and his head concussed. He instinctively swung the trout, slapping Tricky with a weak thwap. The room reappeared transitorily, and the music stopped, before fading into static. Tricky straightened the mask on his face and they returned quirky dimension, and the dance music resumed. The clown was perturbed. Several clown minions were now with him, smiling wickedly and wielding assorted items: inflated giraffes, a telescope, a saxophone, a bazooka. Tricky held a signpost with an exclamation point on it.
Hank witnessed the clown rush towards him, striking him in the face with the sign, and impaling him right through his gunshot wound. The house music became distorted and harsh, and soon several high pitched laughs filled the dimension; demonic cackle filled Hank's head. Sheer fucking madness. He was done.
He grabbed the signpost and removed it forcefully from his chest, and wrestled it from Tricky. He swung it hard, like a baseball bat, right into his ugly clown face. The dimension dissipated, and they were all back in the room. The minions attacked Hank, and he fended them off, jabbing them and smacking them with the signpost. He made his way to the center of the room, and picked up the M134 minigun. The whirring filled the room as the rapid hail of bullets razed the room, killing the minions, mowing them down in an awesome burst of blood and death. Hank felt revitalized and walked towards the clown. He fired a hellish bullet storm into Tricky's face and body, reducing him to a pile of blood and putrescence.
Madness: mad·ness n.
1. The state of being mad.
2. Anger: great of furious anger.
3. Great enthusiasm or excitement.*
4. Sheer fucking mayhem: Fucking up all in sight, for the purpose of a high body count, and the enjoyment of the killer. A disregard for reality, logic, stability, and above all: sanity.
*Encarta ® World English Dictionary © & (P) 1998-2005 Microsoft Corporation. All rights reserved.
Author's note: That's it; I finally finished. I tried to remain faithful to the series: no dialogue, lots of mindless action, quirky humor, violence, all that jazz. I am aware that the M134 minigun needs an external power source and that music can't be pungent lol. Thanks for reading!
Despite the name, I'm actually good--Deft, and good!
Giving out reviews to anyone who wants them (exception: poems. I'll find you).
At 9/22/11 07:52 PM, DeftAndEvil wrote: "Madness Part I: Seropositive"
...Sanford caught one of the Hi-Tec pistols sailing in the air, and fired the three remaining bullets into the last present for before landing next to Hank. :
In the off-chance someone reads this before reading my entry: I know we aren't allowed to edit our submissions after submitting, but I caught a mistake in the 6th paragraph that severely interrupts the flow. It was a simple typo of just one letter! Instead of "last present for" it should be "last present foe." Thee is next to the r. Sorry :O
Giving out reviews to anyone who wants them (exception: poems. I'll find you).
*A poem from Hank's point of view, at the beginning of Madness 7*
This will end, I'll start with that
There'll be no one left to bring me back
The Clown - the fiend
He will bleed
I will kill him infinitely
Break the mask and snap his sign
I'll see to it he dies this time
I won't let him hit replay
Clowns will be erased today
I will tear this whole world apart
And put a bullet in its heart
Then in my head,
Just to be sure,
That this Madness won't endure
I'm The Hero, you're the prey
I want out, and you're in my way.