[El Zilcho]

'Nero' sat patiently in the corner booth of the Backroom, watching as the patrons convected in the smouldering warmth of the Backroom. Each moment was a chance for him to silently soak in the social aquarium, cosy and comfortable in his anonymity. Nero was adorned in a black tailored suit, coupled with a white shirt and a Bleu de France coloured tie, his hair swept aside in a fashion that harked back to pilots of the 1940s. Slightly tanned, he appeared European to the untrained eye, but luckily for his line of work his facial features were forgettable and easy to disguise. In his upper pocket rested a pair of $500 sunglasses; inside his jacket, a black Custom M1911.

In his right hand he rotated a lowball glass of Scotch on the rocks, intently listening as the sound of ice clinking melded with the murmur of good humour and drunken banter. It was only a matter of time until the rendezvous; the gentlemen he'd be meeting would be carrying with him something of monumental importance. Something that could very well change the course of history, an item of such profound influence and importance that it could shatter nations if discovered. All changing hands in a lowly bar, under the moonlight and snow of the industrial recesses of the City. Nero would be playing a very intricate game...

[glenn tha killer]

Andre slowly got faint and partcialy drunk. It was about half an hour since he spat at the barman, he had two bottles of wiskey and as he slowly started to drift off into a relm of deep sleep he felt a hand on his back. He was picked up by the colar and carried outside. He was then beaten burtaly. Everything was a blur.

He woke up in the hospital and discharged himself. He didnt have a clue what happened, he had a black eye and trobbing pain in his hip. He went back to his small apartment and began to cry. It was that day again. It was the anaversery of that fatefull drive by. He lost everyone apart from mamma and his little brother B. He and his brothers were buying Kush under the bridge nere his uncles block. The Ballas were selling. They never gave a sh*t about gangs. Grove's Ballas la la la. It was irrelivent.

It wasnt so irrelivent when a green Vodo passed by with 4 guns poping shots at him. He tried to get to his bike but as he hopped on a bullet periced his leg. He slowly froze up and fell over. Everything went black. When he woke his three brothers lay in a heap on the ground. Bits of them were everywhere. Andre was the only surviver unless a Balla got away.

This was the hardest time of the year for him. He would often get stressed and angry and lash out on others. He knew he did wrong to the barman, even if he and he had to as a prick, and decided to show his face again and maybe applogise. Andre also needed to drink away his sworrow

[Mokrie Dela]

He was a bad man. He woke up with a pounding in his eye sockets, and the tightness across the back of his neck. His throat was dry and tasted metallic. He swallowed but found it too painful.
Luckily the barman - wasn't he just a woman? - had seen it all too many times before. Marlon blinked as he was handed a glass of water.
"Want a cab home?" The barman asked, though it was distorted and muffled to Marlon. He moved his head, which felt like it was floating on a raging sea. The room wasn't staying still either. Had he got in a fight? He felt dizzy but... no, no bruises, no cuts. No, no fight. Then what?

You got pissed you pathetic excuse for a human being! A voice came from within. He remembered why too. What had he done... oh, that.
Marlon was the worst man in the world. Forgiveness, exoneration, absolution, redemption, these were all words that he was not worthy of. Even Hitler didnt do what you've done He told himself as he grabbed the glass. It was so cold, and the water lining his throat was blissful, like a light shower after a drought. Sixty Million Jews, several countries, and that was one thing Hitler didn't do. That was fact wasn't it? Well, it had to be, eveyone knew about the bunker, and the suicide right?

Marlon tried to stand.
"You need a cab." The barman said. "Let me order one."

The glass of water did it's job, but with the relief from dehydration came an unwanted side effect. He'd drunk so much that the water had just re-diluted the alcohol still sitting in his stomach, and made him drunk again.
By the time the cab had arrived, Marlon was drunk again, all without touching another drink.

Marlon Richman was worse than Adolf Hitler. Of all the people in the bar - Marlon cast a last look as he left - the man sitting in the corner, the transexual barman, the bloodstains on the pool table, of all the crap The Bar had seen, he was the worst. No mobster or criminal could come close...

Marlon Richman left the bar then, knowing that he'd return very soon. Perhaps he'd drink and not wake up, that scratched, liquor-stained bar would become his tomb, perhaps he'd leave an epitaph of vomit, his final malevolant mark on the world...

[AceRay]

Sweat ran down his face as he increased the speed ever so slightly. Lee was terrified and guilt stricken, unable to believe what had happened. He tried to cast his thoughts back to when he drove away from the arcade but it was all a haze of shattered memories. Dragon screaming, his teeth fallout out and his eye blackened. The delight in one of the mugger’s eyes. Lee desperately trying to find the right key , averting eye contact. That was all Lee could retrace as he sped away.

Lee slowly brought his car to a stop. He enclosed his face in his hands. What were they going to do with him after they caught him not helping an innocent kid? Then he looked up and pleaded to God “What are you doing this to me? What are burdening me with this guilt?” Finally, he sighed, knowing he’d probably never know. Noticing the bar across the street, all Lee wanted to do at that moment was get hammered. Drink so much his liver gave out and he wouldn’t remember a thing in the morning.

After getting out of his Audi and locking it, Lee was ready to forget about Maria and Dragon, just have guilt free fun. Maybe he’d wind up in bed with another and see how Maria took it. But when he was about to go, he saw a man standing outside the bar, looking like sh*t sandwich. His eyes were glazed over and he was muttering to himself. Lee stood in disbelief as he threw himself under a passing 18 wheeler. The body crumped and tumbled, got bruised and bloody. When the dead man came to a stop,, his eyes were staring right at Lee, whom felt like he had been slapped in the face from someone who was going out of their way to make Lee feel like crap.

Lee sped off yet again from a terrible crime. Maybe he thought he was responsible. Maybe he took it as a sign. But Lee definitely wanted to speak with Maria, even if it killed him.

However, he was low on gas, which let Lee find a window to cower and waste some more time. The Audi pulled in nicely, allowing Lee to refuel it to tip-top condition. Lee then cleaned the windshield, aired the tires and gave the rims a polish. It settled him, made him feel calm again. It wouldn’t last.

As Lee paid up at the checkout, someone he didn’t want to see pulled up in a navy blue Shelby Mustang GT. The man got out, wearing a fancy suit and smelling of perfume, like he was ready for a date. Their eyes met instantly the moment he laid his shiny shoes on the tiled floor. It was none other than Howard Scudder, the man sleeping with Lee’s wife.

(ps: The man is Patrick, in case you didn't get it)

[blitz]

Brilliant pieces, all of you.

Just a question, I was wondering if it was possible to own more than one character.

[ItsOnlyAce]

Summer in Sicily is like summer here. In flat areas of the east, it is dry and blazing; along the coast in the west and in the ruined old fishing villages nestled in the hills, the colors turn from soft copper in the morning to hue less white at midday, then to something like glowing-coal red at dusk. The air is and invisible fire that sears your flesh; when you step into the sunlight from shadows, there is weight and force in the heat waves that slam into you. Yet the Old Country's beauty lies hidden in vineyards and old courtyards, in rugged, crumpled mountains, in countless cobblestone alleys and old stone farmhouses, in churches centuries old, whose day-to-day life is still as vibrant as the primitive and traditional country. But there was still a slight breeze that blew through the area, carrying the last trace of of dampness from the previous day's rain and a tang of salt from the harbor. The small bit of wind took the smoke away as Carson blew it out of his nose. It skittered along the brick and wood tenements, rustled through the alleys, and tousled the hair of the men standing outside with him.

Carson had been up all night. The bags under his eyes were heavy and he felt he was the most generous person in the bar that night. But he was still waiting for his partner to call him for a big score. He needed money, and fast. Hopefully he would get a call soon.

[Dr-Mayhem111]

"My life in Russia was horrid. I did things I regret doing, but I guess many of the degenerates in this bar can relate. Now things are going to change as I complete my goal." Mickey thought in his mind. He was standing around the corner of the bar where the incident happened with some guy stepping into the street where an 18 wheeler hit him. Mickey has seen a few things in his lifetime but a man walking in front of an incoming 18 wheeler was just insane for him, but he did not let that worry him. He had plans and he had to stay focused. His plans were going well but he was really concerned of the one known as Wussy Reed. Mickey had to kill Wussy because he could not take any chances, so he made plans for his death in his mind as he was walking around the bar to the back alley. As he reached the back alley he saw the view of the Industrial area in which he though was a good sight but he continued walking.

Mickey reached the service door behind the bar, Mickey brought some lock picks but the door was unlocked. Just as he was about to open the door to enter the bar, his cell phone rang and it was Kenny Petrovic calling about some information he got on Wussy. Mickey did not ask for any information on him but he listened anyway.

Phone conversation

Mickey: Да, привет? (Yes hello?)
Kenny: михаил я получил несколько очень важных. (Mikhail, I have received some important information on that Wussy guy.)
Mickey: Хорошо, скажите мне. (Okay, tell me.)
Kenny: Вы помните обратно на родину, что операция, что американцы планировали убить нашу общую? (Do you remember back at the motherland, that operation that the americans planned to kill our general?)
Mickey: Операции Красной Звезды? (Operation Red Star)
Kenny: Это верно, как выясняется, Wussy Рид на самом деле бывший солдат по имени Военно-Морского Флота, настоящее имя которого Крамер. Мои источники говорят мне, что старый друг его был замечен говорить с ним о чем-то, не так давно, мы знали, что он предупредил его, чтобы мы заботились о нем всего несколько минут ago.Which означает, что вы должны заботиться о Wuss. . Я имею в виду Крамер пока не стало слишком поздно. (This is correct, as it turns out, Wussy Reed was actually an ex Navy soldier, whose real name is Kramer. My sources tell me that an old friend of his was seen talking to him about something, not so long ago, we knew that he had warned him, so we cared of him just a few minutes ago. Which means that you should take care of Wuss . . I mean Kramer before it is too late.)
Mickey: Понял, если он ждет меня, то я должен планировать путь, чтобы убить его без взлома. Я свяжусь с Вами как только пришло время начать планировать. До свидания мой друг. (Understood, if he is expecting me, then I must plan a way to kill him without being compromised. I will contact you once it is time to commence the plan. Good bye my friend.)

End of phone conversation

Mickey leaves the area with a change of plans in his mind. The night becomes colder with a striking rainfall and a cold breeze that feels like you are being stabbed by thousands of knives as Mickey continues with the planning in hopes that to get this plan over with for he has been planning for three years. No one else knows about the plan besides Kenny Petrovic and his brother Daniel Petrovic.

[Mokrie Dela]

QUOTE (blitz @ Friday, Apr 27 2012, 00:35)

Brilliant pieces, all of you. Just a question, I was wondering if it was possible to own more than one character.

I don't see any reason why not, if you can manage it. Many books have multiple protagonists, so if you think you can tie the stories together or in with others' or make them both good, go for it.

[Mr.Funny12]

Tommy "Tank" McKenna

Tommy was happy, cheerful and casually walking the streets. His wife Megan had borned his first child only three days before the current time. Her birthday was coming up, Tommy was looking for a present. As he strolled through the main street, his mind remained relaxed. His life was perfect. He thought to himself on how lucky he was to been in and out of the military, have a wife and child and a house, everything he dreamed of and still be only 26 years old.

Everything was just wonderful in his life, money wasn't an issue, health was fine, he had great friends and family. His mind was clear, he began to get thirsty. Feeling like he could take a break, he spotted a neon sign of a bar a street over. A man with a fancy car sped off down the road. Looking closely from where he was standing, he could see a man laying in the road, in a pool of his own blood. People screamed and ran, some to his assistance and some in horror. A nearby police cruiser screeched on it's breaks just in front of his vision. He whatched closely as firetrucks and ambulances arrived. The front of the bar was closed off with caution tape. The body, not moving was loaded into the ambulance and driven away. Police cruisers and firetrucks departed. Tommy remembering the time looked at his whatch. 8:00 PM it flashed. He proceeded as planned and went inside.

Inside he could hear people at the bar talking about the incident out front. he mosied on over to a vacant seat at the bar and popped a squat. He had very good hearing and heard something he hadn't heard in a while. He moved closer the alley door. It was a man, speaking in Russian. He couldn't make out all the words, his russian was rusty. He knew they were talking about murder, that much he could make out but he couldn't put it all together. The conversation stopped, Tommy quickly jumped back from the door and casually walked back tot he bar.

He sat, waiting for the man to come inside. The man doesn't and Tommy begins to forget about it. He has a few drinks and decides he likes this establishment. He thinks to himself on how he'd like to return to this place and make it a casual spot. He walks around a little bit, and notices an aviator jumpsuit. He inspects it closely and wonders who it belongs to. He returns to the bar and notices an upset man, head in his arms on the bar.

"Something wrong?" Tommy askes.

"I'm going to get fired" the man returns.

"That doesn't sound good, what happened." Tommy continues.

It's a long story" the man says.

"I have time, the names Tommy, friends call me "Tank" Tommy friendly remarks.

The man continues to tell Tommy what has gone on that night. Tommy notices the man is very shy, seems like a quiet fellow. After a while of conversing they reminess about old times. Tommy was in the CIA for four years before he came home to begin his life with his girlfriend who is now his wife.

This post has been edited by Mr.Funny12 on Sunday, Apr 29 2012, 17:02

[AceRay]

Howard and Lee’s eyes met, causing both of them to freeze immediately. The mere sight of one another brought up doubt. For Howard, it meant a possible beating from a jealous husband. For Lee, it could mean gloating and being laughed at. Howard took small steps towards Lee, who was looking more and more pale every minute.

“Now Lee, I know you’re angry… about all of this but I just want to let you know, it’s got nothing to do with you.” Howard was always good talking out of his ass. When he got around a meter’s range, Lee could really smell the cologne stink up his nostrils. He could see the individual hairs on his comb over and the small bumps on his baby face.

“I think…” Lee stopped, feeling queasy, forcing himself to continue “…I think you shouldn’t see Maria anymore” It was all Lee could muster; being a shy, polite guy didn’t make him very imposing. Howard’s smile then dropped. The suited man didn’t expect Lee to put a fight, no matter how weak.

“Well, uh, I can say that won’t be happening any time soon. Maria loves me, we make each other happy. She’s been more honest to me in two days than with you in your entire marriage, got it?” There was a small bite in his voice. Howard could be like that sometimes. Everybody forgets how tough his bite could be.

Lee took a step backwards, afraid. Unbeknown to him, a small slippage had happened that night, making the floor slippery and unpredictable. Lee’s shoe had no grip and Lee fell ungracefully into a drink stand. It was only when he was down did he see the wet floor sign right next to him. Bottles of cola rolled all around him as the checkout girl sighed and went to help him. Both Howard and the cashier moved to a seat before Howard departed, apologizing for the mess and offering her a twenty.

When Lee came to, he saw the girl trying to pick all the bottles up. “That man told me to tell you he’s sorry about that” the girl said. Despite Lee’s wanting villainy of Howard, no one could deny that he was a pretty good guy. He was charming, funny, he volunteered to charity and wouldn’t spend years ignoring his wife. Maria deserved someone like Howard.

“Please, let me help you.” Lee said, in order to something that would distract him.

“No, no, sit down sir, you’re a bit shaken up” Lee reluctantly sat himself back on the seat and closed his eyes, thinking about happier times.

[Typhus]

Things had been different back then, they were young.
And little Mary had believed in fairytales, the stories of beautiful princesses, chivalrous knights and terrifying dragons.
She laid in her bed, taking off her plastic tiara and prepared to go to sleep. It had been a busy day, she was now six years, thirteen hours, twelve minutes and thirty seconds old. And as befitting a girl of such advanced years, she had been showered in gifts. A new dress in her favourite shade of pink, a video of Cinderella, but her favourite was now sat in the back garden of their modest, three bedroom house.
It was a tricycle, in her favourite colour of course. It was so new it almost shined, and as she rode it around the street outside their home, she rang the little bell and laughed with joy as the sparkling tassels on the handlebars fluttered in the wind.
Her father had been keeping up with her every step of the way, laughing and encouraging her.

Go on, sweetheart! Keep it up, keep peddling!

Her new mother, a drowned and miserable looking thing, had tried to muster a smile. But mostly stayed silent throughout the whole day, her eyes constantly darting towards her fat, beastly son.
She didn't care for either of them, they were usurpers, they had waltzed in to her life and been absolutely insufferable. Forever trying to get between her and her father, rivals for his affection. He had been lonely since the divorce and latched on to the first woman he had seen.
Mary was too young to really remember her runaway mother, she imagined a pretty and glamorous woman, the kind with a melodious voice and hair like spun gold. What she got was a woman in her forties with bags under her eyes and a foul, sweaty odour. But what was worse was her son.
Her son, who was standing in her doorway.

"Goodnight." Mary said pleasantly, preparing to turn over.

"Enjoy your birthday?" He said in a low croak, offering a greasy little smile.

"Yeah, it was great." She grinned. "Thanks for your present."

He walked a little closer towards her and she noticed that he had a bottle in his hand, it was one of the fancy glass bottles her dad kept in the cabinet behind their sofa.

"Mum and Dad have went out for a few hours." He said, matter-of-factly, running a hand through a mop of black hair. "They put me in charge."

Usually she would have disputed this, but she had heard the door slam and was in no mood for an argument.

"Okay," she shrugged, "I'm going to sleep now."

He considered her for a moment and looked around the room, as if making sure no one else was there. His eyes fell on Mary and for the first time she noticed that he had been crying, they were red and puffy, and despite her better judgement she couldn't help but feel sorry for him.
He sat on the edge of the bed with a thump and let out a pained moan.

"What's wrong?" She asked.

"My stomach," he whined, "all day I've had this pain in my stomach, I get it a lot at school, you know. I think there's something in there, Mum and Dad want to send me to the doctors."

His head turned around with deceptive speed and again he was looking at her, but now all the tears in the world couldn't disguise the anger in those eyes.

"Your Dad, your precious Daddy. He wants to send me away, the doctor will lock me up, I've heard them talking, they want me gone."

He never raised his voice, but she saw that massive wads of spittle were starting to form around his mouth. But at that age, she didn't register fear, all she saw was a disgusting slob, the same boy who used his hands to ram food into his mouth at dinner.

"My Dad wouldn't do that." She said proudly.

He spat out a mirthless chuckle and took a small swig on the bottle, coughing a little.

"My Dad! My Dad! My Dad!" He shrieked. "That's the point, he's your Dad. Not mine. He doesn't love me, not really. I'm just baggage, something that came bundled along with my mother."

"He loves us both." Mary affirmed.

Her brothers anger seemed to subside, he put one chubby hand out and stroked her hair, making bizarre snuffling and snorting sounds that reminded Mary of a pig.

"And you?" He asked quietly. "Do you love me? Could you love me? If you knew more about me?"

Something about him was dirty, unpleasant. She couldn't pinpoint what it was that disgusted her, but she knew enough to pull her head away.

"What do you mean?" She asked sharply.

He stood up and began to pace around the room, the hideous stinking drink dropping onto the carpet in thick splatters.

"Remember Banjo?"

Mary suddenly smiled, of course she remembered Banjo! He was her best friend, a spry and affectionate little tabby cat. She hadn't seen him in a few weeks, her father said it was the nature of cats and that he'd return in his own time.

"Have you seen him?" She beamed. "Where is he?"

He grimaced a little and loosened the collar of his plaid shirt, wincing and smiling at the same time. Without giving an answer he walked to her window, opened it and leaned out. Mary saw his whole girth rise up and down in quick movements, was he out of breath?

"Banjo's fine." He said flatly, not looking at her. "Just fine, I just thought I saw him the other day, that's all."

He turned around but didn't make eye contact with her, he was sweating and heaving, one hand clawed at his stomach, taking hold of the rolls of flab and squeezing them together.

"Sleep well, Mary." He said, waddling out of her room like an agitated penguin. "I don't feel too good, may as well go to bed too."

"Goodnight, Barty." She called after him, but he had already ran out her room and didn't look back.


As he stood in the alley, the memories of that next year seemed so real and firm that he could almost touch them, as close to him as the disembowelled rat who lay on the grubby concrete floor.
She had never suspected what befell Banjo, just like she had never known who had taken a baseball bat to her prized tricycle. She had cried and cried, tugging on his trousers and weeping hysterically.

"It's not faaair." She wailed, looking over the bent handlebars and the warped wheels.

No, he supposed, it wasn't. But neither was life. Nothing was fair, all he ever wanted was a family. Yet by the time he was fourteen, he had known two stepfathers and a string of boyfriends. All the same, all slimy green skin and black hole eyes.
And they all resented him, all of them. Because he had the gall to stand between them and his mothers vagina.
He wondered if they lamented their fate too, in whatever sleazy hotel room they had scuttled off too he wondered if they remembered him. He wondered if they ever read the newspapers, how would they feel if they knew it was him?
He giggled behind his mask and continued to wait.

[TinTinn]

As Kramer stood in Room 17, he began to become anxious. 'He could be outside the door,' Wuss thought as he stared out the window into the intersection outside the bar. He knew it was only a matter of time before they target every close NAVY veteran in the area and at that very moment, the man standing at the intersection stared at Kramer as to say, 'What have we done', suddenly an 18-wheeler ran down that man... Patrick.

*Ring Ring*

The phone spooked him but he answered it, "Hello, is this Sammy Kramer," the man asked, "Yes. Who is this?" he asked...."It's Sgt. Gregorio, soldiers from Operation Red Star are being killed all over the globe," Gregorio said. Right now, it was between life or death, should I approach the bar or collapse into a fetal position and hide in this room for the rest of my years.

Wussy lit up one last cigarette, because he knew that he was a dead man walking. The evening was eerie, and the valley was cold but the warmth of the sunset hid the incoming load of Military jets. Kramer sat in the cockpit, leading the group into the Russian Valley... everything went to a sudden silence as the missile was fired into the small villages into the valley. Killing so many, he could not count; weakening the Russians, destroying future plans... changing the future of today. After he sat on the end of his bed, he knew it was time to leave for his shift. A thick layer of fog hovered over the town, setting the scene.

He slowly opened the door and entered the hall, it seemed as time froze. He knew he had plans up his sleeves. Not just him, but many more knew the plan; the entire military. Kramer spun the room key around his finger, entering the upstairs bar. Everyone stares at him as he walks over to the bar. He watched for Mikhail to appear but no sign. He worked at the bar for the night, and meet great people throughout that night. In the crowd of social people, stood Mickey... he began to walk towards the bar.

"Give me a shot of that stuff you gave me last time," he asked to Wussy. He poured the moonshine and passed it to him as he stared at him carefully. Helicopters buzzed in the distance but Mikhail simply ignored the sounds around him.

"How's it been for you here in America so far?" Kramer asked as he slowly gripped his hand to a sawn off shotgun below the bars table. "It's been a rollercoaster for me, but the rides about to end," he said as he threw his hands towards his back pocket, trying to grip his pistol, "You don't want to do that sir, trust me," Wuss said as he gripped tighter to his shotgun. "And why is that, Private Kramer?" Mikhail yelled, "Well, right now, you are being monitored by the military. Them helicopters that you heard a few minutes ago are my buddies... my third arm, and they have their crosshair armed directly on your head so if you even dare to lay a finger on me, you are dead," Kramer said giving a slight smile. Everyone in the bar moved downstairs quickly, screaming and yelling. He knew that if he tried to move, he'd blow him across the bar, but if he tried anything suspicious a bullet would replace his brain. He griped even harder to his shotgun, waiting for the ex-soviet's reaction; either way, he would be put to justice.

This post has been edited by TinTinn on Sunday, Apr 29 2012, 05:32

[Dr-Mayhem111]

Mickey sat on the stool that could probably be the last place he'll sit on in his life and he knew that, but he wasn't going to go down without a fight. He knew that Wussy was gripping on a weapon that is placed under the bar table and he knew that Wussy knew that Mickey had a pistol in his back pocket. After Wussy tells Mickey that the place is surrounded by military men, possibly men from Op Red Star, Mickey smiles for a bit then finally speaks. "You must think that I am afraid of death, well I am not. I have been through so much in my past life, killing me will be nothing but a favor for me. Before something really bad occurs, tell me about Op Red Star, what was your objective?" He said to Wussy. "Op Red Star was suppose to be a scare to the Russian Army but our Commander had something else in mind." Wussy replied. "So that is why your Op destroyed the village full of innocent people?" Mickey said in a sorrow manner. "I'm afraid so. And now we are being targeted all over the globe by your men." Wussy yells. "You may think that I am just a soldier serving the Motherland but I am more than that. I am General Vikoruv of the Soviet Army, the one your Op failed to kill in that attack.". Now that Wussy knows who Mickey is, he begins to feel more and more tempted to pick up the Sawn-off shotgun and shoot him just to finish this, but something else happen.

Wussy grips on the gun as tight as he can but he see's that Mickey isn't reaching for his, he is just sitting there drinking his moonshine. After a strange silence between Mickey and Wussy, Mickey finally speaks. "Look Private Kramer, you are going to die soon and so am I, it is only a matter of time." Mickey says to Wussy. "What makes you so sure that I'll die soon?" Wussy replies to Mickey's some-what threat. "Well number one: How are you going to kill me with an empty weapon." Mickey answers. Wussy checks the gun and notices there is no ammo in the gun. "Number two: Your men outside are being watched by my army pointing their snipers and assault rifles at them." Mickey tells Wussy. "And number 3: You are going to be taken away to your deathplace in 3...2...1." The lights go out for exactly three seconds then turn back on. Everybody in bar was unaware of what was happening, but as they turn their eyes to the bar, they notice both Mickey and Wussy are gone.

The regular customers notice how much the bar has changed. It now becomes a war zone between the Americans and the Russians. Which might cause some customers to stop coming. No one is aware of where Wussy is. Could he be dead?

This post has been edited by Dr-Mayhem111 on Sunday, Apr 29 2012, 13:18

[Ziggy455]

Howdy all. I apologize for letting the stories build up for the last few days, but on top of this I've been doing two, six thousand word assignments and my PC had been unplugged due to the fact I have been decorating my new room, only now, halfway through today have I managed to get it back up online, so give me some time to get to where I've missed.

Sincerely apologetic.

Zigs.

Also:

Please stop writing about guns, and organizations and 'badass' characters. They're boring and generic as can be, The Bar is shady, yes, but I'm reading some really rehashed plots here. Create a third dimensional character, no gun toting badass comes into The Bar. Expect your character to be diced.

This post has been edited by Ziggy455 on Sunday, Apr 29 2012, 15:20

[Mr.Funny12]

Tommy had walked out back into the alley for some fresh air. He heard screams inside and saw the lights flicker. Almost immediatly the back door swung open, the russian man and a masked associate were dragging the bartender out the back. Tommy, shocked dupped behind the dumbster in hopes they wouldn't find him. They through the unconsicious bartender into the back of a van and the van then began to drive off. Remembering past trainning, he looked at the van and noticed it was an old Ford van, white in color with some slight body damage.

Tommy ran inside, some bottles behind the bar were shattered, and a stool was broken. Also, blood streamed across the bar surface, and began to drip on the ground. Someone from behind the bar began to clean up. Scarred folks calmed and continued doing what they were doing and things seemed to calm down. Tommy sat in a both and began to think. The russian phone call he had heard, the pilot he met gone, the men he saw dragging him out. Tommy tried his best to make sense of this. He thought to himself

"The russian man in the alley must have been the russian man he saw dragging wussy out of the bar. And Wussy was in the Airforce according to his Jumpsuit so they must of had a dark history somewhere." This interested him so much. He continued to think about this for a while. He had a few drinks and tried to calm his nerves.

This post has been edited by Mr.Funny12 on Sunday, Apr 29 2012, 18:02

[El Zilcho]

This is beginning to get beyond saving.

[Ziggy455]

QUOTE (El Zilcho @ Sunday, Apr 29 2012, 17:45)

This is beginning to get beyond saving.

With the amount of people who are just churning out GTA fanfic style pieces with no thought- I'm beginning to think the same.

[Craig]

If I may make a suggestion, how about introducing story arcs or stems? Situations, news and "challenges" in the first post that offer inspiration and guidelines for those aimlessly writing another GTA story that is ultimately improvised. Rewards could even be offered in the bar, such as a connection with another character or an item to use. It keeps things controlled, but loose at the same time, allowing contributors to do what they like.

Also (though this may take a bit of extra elbow grease) how about a table in the first post offering a brief summary of what the character last did/who they last spoke to? That way, people could see at a glance what people were doing should they want to add to the arc. Things like:

Nero last seen waiting for rendezvous contact in the bar.
Blind Willie Shortbread last seen in hallway, responding to mystery contact.

It's a bit of work, but it would be easier to tie the universe together.

[TinTinn]

Wussy stood there helplessly. He prepares to be shot after Mikhail had outnumbered his army outside. He silently chuckled as he was only bluffing about his army outside, and he knew that Mickey was lying as well. The soviet army collapsed many years ago, so why would they magically appear at a bar in a metropolitan city of America to kill a war veteran; war is war, it isn't far and there is no trade backs, simple as that.

What Wuss didn't know, was that there was no ammunition in his weapon. Both the men were bluffing and indeed good at it. Was Patrick's death a coincidence, he began to think. Is this all a plain coincidence, did it all happen by a moment in history. 'Kay sera sera,' Kramer thought as he stared into the eyes of an owl. One man sat in the bar, beside the dying fireplace; you could hear the crackle of the wood. The man was well built and Wuss guessed he was wearing layers of jackets in which he pulled out a vintage revolver "And number 3: You are going to be taken away to your deathplace in 3...2...1," and fired several times into Mikhail's back... he drops to the floor with a stone cold pale look on his face. 'You work in a bar, you meet people and some people are dangerous and armed,' he thought as he exited the bar towards the man. They both stared at the lifeless body. The last thing Mikhail saw was a cut to black, he didn't even see it coming. The large man took of one off his coats and placed it over the body... Kramer calls paramedics.

They both took risks, they both bluffed but one only came out strong. For the rest of the night, Sammy Kramer (Wussy Reed) served at the bar while everyone watched the body of Mikhail Vikoruv get stretchered out of the bar and into the cold streets of the city in the back of an ambulance, a one way trip to the morgue. Later that night, the grizzly man who killed Mikhail was beaten and thrown into the back of a van outside in the alley, 'It should of been me,' thought Wussy, staring at all shattered bottles and blood puddles. Little did Kramer know, the poor man who was beaten and kidnapped, was a man he use to look up to, 'Sgt. Steve Gregorio'. His whereabouts were unknown but he continued to live on with his life, working as a savage ex-pilot that ended the Soviet war. He didn't like to think of himself as that man, but a man of many. He suddenly realizes he needs to hide the moonshine before the head barman shows up, to see all this mess.

This post has been edited by TinTinn on Monday, Apr 30 2012, 04:47

[AceRay]

QUOTE (Ziggy455 @ Monday, Apr 30 2012, 07:04)

QUOTE (El Zilcho @ Sunday, Apr 29 2012, 17:45) This is beginning to get beyond saving. With the amount of people who are just churning out GTA fanfic style pieces with no thought- I'm beginning to think the same.

Well now, lets look at the list of characters and see how many are "badass"

Badass:

Carson De Luca*
Mikhail "Mickey" Vikoruv
Andre Philip Willis
Wussy Reed
Kramer*
Tommy "Tank" McKenna

Normal:
Jackson Miller
Nero*
Barty Gabble
Archie
Lee Vincenzo
Blind Willie Shortbread
John Wilson
Marlon Richman
Adam McCormick
Patrick O'Fennigan

*=Not sure

That's means, out of 16 characters, 10 of them are normal. That's a percentage of 62.5%. As long as we can keep it above 50%, I think it will go fine.

This post has been edited by AceRay on Monday, Apr 30 2012, 06:30