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Message started by Ghastly on 02/10/11 at 00:08:40

Title: Charred Remains & Scrap Metal
Post by Ghastly on 02/10/11 at 00:08:40
This will be the first post in a very long story.

In a warehouse not far from an impound lot, a man sits on a throne of blackened steel. He is the devil incarnate. His thin graying brown hair rests over his burnt face, a veil of sorts to hide his disfigurement. The chilling stare from his one good eye is enough to make a man's blood run cold. He is dangerous to say the least. He wears a black blazer and a pair of tattered blue jeans. The sickeningly sweet smile on his face shows the true nature of this sociopath. His name is Calypso, and tonight he will make the world curse the day he was ever born.

Surrounding him are a group of fifteen or more thugs, all armed to the teeth with anything from police issue Glock 18s to the old school sawn off double barrels. These mother fuckers are anything but amateur. They don't like to play games, and when Calypso tells them to do something, they know it's their ass if they don't follow through. But if they do, they'll get a fat envelope of benjamins.

A burly man stands by Calypso, wearing a zipper mouth gimp mask, and black leather pants. The rest of him is covered in taught belts around his muscles. It's safe to say that if any part of him was ever a man, it is long gone. Now he exists to serve this Tin God. Calypso sighs, and stretches out, tired as he speaks.

"Six years ago I started this contest. Do you remember that night?"

Black nods. Flashbacks to the first competition. Pit Viper is crushed under the weight of Hammerhead and the woman's screams coming from within the dune buggy are cut short by the sound of it's crumpling frame, and her bones.

"Those were better times. Every competition it gets harder to keep it going. New drivers, new problems, new assholes crawling out of the woodwork trying to get a promotion by trying to put a pullet in my head."

Calypso slams his fist on the hood of the burnt up derby car. All the guards flinch, Black doesn't move. Calypso opens his hand and lets his hand glide along the charred hood. He turns his hand over and wipes the ash off on his jeans.

"This year we need something that will put Twisted Metal back into everyone's mind. Do you have the possible candidates folder?"

Black hands Calypso a manila envelope, it's about as thick as a phone book. He hops off his throne and thumbs through the stack.

"Boring, seen it before, pathetic, bitch looking"

Suddenly he stops and a grin forms across his face.

"Well, maybe not all of these possible new guys are too bad, Kent..."

A lanky man approaches calypso, he's sporting a moth eaten gray hoodie with black carpenter jeans and a pair of work boots.

"Make a few phone calls, let the pit crew know the competition starts in less than a month."

The man nods and walks away.

"This month, we retake the streets and after it's all said and done, they will all flinch every time they hear an engine start."

Calypso laughs maniacally

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Title: Re: Charred Remains & Scrap Metal
Post by Magnum on 02/12/11 at 14:29:37

Keep rolling.
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Title: Re: Charred Remains & Scrap Metal
Post by Ghastly on 02/12/11 at 17:02:39
To say that the Blackfield Asylum is a fortress would be an understatement. Three sections of fence surround the institution, with guard towers at all corners. Each of which are equipped with a sniper rifle and a nine millimeter handgun and are trained to turn your head into a fine pink mist. The doors are all made of heavily reinforced steel. The Blackfield Asylum is not just a fortress, it's a fucking stronghold.

A man walks in through the front door and through the metal detector. He has long black flowing hair, gray eyes and wears a sand beaten duster trench coat. He smiles and winks at the guard woman staring from her seat next to the metal detector. The woman smiles and looks at him with bed room eyes.

"Spread your legs and lift your arms sir"

"You gunna buy me a drink first?" The man says with a grin

The woman's eyebrow peaks and she starts patting him down. Up the sides and across each arm. She feels up from his calves to his thigh. Then she feels something long & thick. He smiles and she gets red in the face.

"All natural honey" He chuckles

The woman sits back down and hits the buzzer on the wall letting him through a set of doors, not looking at him out of humiliation. Immediately the smell of ether & stale piss hits him. The mixture between a sterile hospital and the stench you get when you walk into a gas station bathroom in bumfuck nowhere. He shudders and approaches the main desk where a burly security guard sits.

"Hello, my name is Greg Doherty. I'm here to evaluate a few of your C1 patients."

"I'm going to need to see some credentials. Sorry but we don't just let anyone see the freak show without clearance."

"Wonderful name for em'. Ever think maybe they're human beings?" The man asks, the biting sarcasm and smart mouthing might get him into some trouble.

"Semantics is not my forte. Do you have a valid ID or not?" The guard barks back sternly.

"Easy. Yeah I've got an ID."

The man who calls himself Greg pulls out an ID and hands it to the security guard. While the guard looks it up on his computer, the man is scraping the scum off his teeth with his thumbnail. The security guard looks at the ID, then at the man.

"Welcome Dr. Doherty, it says here you're scheduled to evaluate six of the patients in C1. We have a room for you to interview them in on the second floor. A guard will escort you there."

"Thank you but that won't be necessary. Would it be possible for me to speak with the patients in their cells? With the presence of a guard of course." The man says smoothly.

"You wanna play with those maniacs? Be my guess. Just be careful around the clown. He's killed two security guards, and three inmates that we know of."

"Joy" Greg says with great sarcasm

Another security guard stands to his left and motions the doctor to follow him. They descend down a flight of stairs, the creeping smell of mold hits the doctor like a brick wall. He gags and the guard laughs.

"You get used to it after awhile?"

"It's awful. How long does that take?"

"Still trying to figure that out" The guard laughs

The two reach the door for C1 Solitary. The guard opens the door and holds it open for the doctor to step through.

"Your destination awaits." The man says with a grin.

"What you're not coming with?" Greg asks nervously

"Huh? Hell no! I steer clear of these guys. I remember a guy literally ate an inmate's face one time. He got put down though. Was a shame, guess he was a war hero turned cannibal or something. I dunno."

"That's quite the shocking tale. I would have loved to interview him"

"Yeah whatever you say buddy. Donald is sitting at the far end, he'll fill you in on who is who."

"Thank you, you've been qui--" The doctor is cut off when he realizes the security guard is gone. He looks back at the cells with a wide smile. He walks down the hall and stops in front of a guard reading a newspaper. The guard like the one at the desk is a burly man, but this one is bald and dark skinned and smells faintly of cheap aftershave.

"Ahem" The doc clears his throat which causes the guard to jump

"Jesus, you scared the shit out of me. You the one here to see the lot?" The nervous guard asks

"Yes. Donald right? Did the asylum send you the sheet pertaining to the inmates I am interviewing?"

The guard nods and pulls a folded up stained piece of paper from his pocket.

"Okay, first on the list is a Jebidiah Stane. Former priest and convicted serial killer."

"Fun pick." Donald the security guard says with a smirk.

Doc Doherty shoots him a glare. The guard sits up and walks over to the door. The doctor is eying the pistol on his waist and as the guard puts his hand on the shutter for the priest's door he elbows the man in the back of the head and presses his forearm to his neck and pulls the pistol from his waist and whips the man in the back of the head with it. The man crumples to the ground. The doctor checks the mans pockets and he pulls out a cellphone and dials a number. After a few rings, the phone is answered.

"It's time."

A moment passes and suddenly the very foundation of the asylum is shaking. Gunfire and and shouting erupt from up above. The doc cracks a smile and takes the keys off the guard's body and approaches each cell on the paper, opening the slide view on the doors.

Jebidiah is reading the bible, stops and closes it and looks at Doc Doherty with a smile, his red gleaming eyes peering through his glasses.

"My savior" The possessed preacher says with a wicked grin

The slide closes and another opens. This time a portly man with a comb over and thick bifocals stares at him. Inside his room a picture has been etched onto the wall. Dimensions and floor layouts to a building. Simon Whittlebone, an Irish architect.

The next, a rather gaunt pale man with matted silver hair sits on his cot whispering to himself. He stares into the eyes of the doctor, and he is terrified by the look in his eyes. Mortimer Scharf.

"Are you the one the voices keep telling me about?" Mortimer says in a Cajun accent

"No. I represent the man who visited you last month. The burnt dude with the fucked up eye."


"Erm, yeah..." The doc says, not sure how to react.

He turns and jumps as Calypso stares at him face to face, two body guards stand behind him.

"The burnt dude with the fucked up eye?" Calypso says.

"I apologize. The guys a nut, and your features are kind of distinct." The man says, cowering

Calypso laughs, pats the Doc's shoulder and turns away. He pulls out a Kabar knife and stabs the doc deep in the gut and using the serated side cuts horizontally.

"The Yakuza take the fingers off of a soldier who talks too much. I'll have your life instead."

The doc slumps to the ground, his intestines pile on the ground, blood & bile form around him. As the fluids pool around Calypso he takes a step back.

"You're bleeding on my shoes, asshole." Calypso says and kicks the dying doctor in the temple.

Calypso motions to his body guards to unlock the doors. Calypso opens another slide. Needles Kane sits on his bed with his arms crossed. He chuckles as he looks into Calypso's good eye. Calypso opens the door and steps inside.

"I take it your lackeys are losing respect for you."

"It's hard to find good help these days. Do you have your shit ready?"

"The fuck do I have that's worth bringing?"

"Good point"

Needles Kane gets out of bed and stretches. He's a large man, standing at about 6'5. He has alot of muscle, but he's nowhere near lean and doesn't have a six pack.

"You have a smoke?"

"Will you just fucking come on?"

The clown stares at him

"Do you have a fucking smoke?"

Calypso, impatiently pulls a cigar from his blazer pocket and throws it at the clown. He lights it off of the flame atop his head that illuminates the room and pops it in the mouth of the mask in between it's broken jagged teeth. He pulls the cigar from his mouth.

"Much better. Was that so hard?"

Calypso walks out of his cell, giving Needles the finger as he strolls away. Needles stares at the other drivers being released. Schizos, murderers, and some familiar faces all beaming at him. Jebidiah spits on the floor at the sight of him, the clown laughs.

"Just another day at the office" The clown says as he walks up the stone stairs, stepping over the body of the security guard who escorted Doc Doherty.

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Title: Re: Charred Remains & Scrap Metal
Post by Magnum on 02/13/11 at 16:09:55

Just remember that you don't have to worry about "double posting/replying". If you have a long continuation and you run out of charactors, it's ok to do on this board.
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Title: Re: Charred Remains & Scrap Metal
Post by The Dizaster Child on 02/14/11 at 08:21:00
nice, I'm diggin it so far. I'm curious as to who the other inmates are getting released..

oh, and I like the references btw ;D
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Title: Re: Charred Remains & Scrap Metal
Post by maxamillionaire2 on 02/17/11 at 23:22:44
Very nice, this is well written and a good blend of traditional storyline with original style to make it interesting
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Title: Re: Charred Remains & Scrap Metal
Post by Ghastly on 02/19/11 at 18:10:24
While the other three drivers walk upstairs with one of the bodyguards, Calypso opens the slide hatch on another door. A broken man lay in the corner of his room huddled into a ball, his face obscured by his hands. Calypso's eyebrow arches.


The man reacts, he lifts his head. His mouth has been sewn shut and his eyelids have been cut off.

"Are you ready to compete?"

Frank, the man with no face stands up and stretches, his joints popping from sitting in the fetal position for so long. His tired, dry bloodshot eyes stare into Calypso and know what it means if he wins. Retribution! Vengeance! A painful reunion awaits the man who disfigured him. An eerie smile forms across his stitched up mouth, Calypso grins and shows him the way out.

Calypso steps over to another door and opens the slide. Eyes stare into his, real up close and personal. For the first time in years Calypso has been startled. He opens the door and stares at the woman. A beautiful physique that is overpowered by the mask permenantly covering her face. The face of a child's doll. For a moment Calypso stares through the woman standing before him and he is lost in time. Lost in a moment in his childhood, the sound of a thump and a scream. He flinches and snaps back to present time.

"My dear, are you ready to drive?"

The girl says nothing but hugs the man tightly. The guard perks up, his pistol trained on the broken soul.

"Thank you" a voice coming from behind the thick porcelain and steel.

Calypso is taken aback by this show of affection. It almost warms his cold dead heart. He takes his hands off of her and points her in the direction of the door. The girl walks past him and heads up the stairs.

The final cell on Calypso's list of inmates is the next door over. He slides open the hatch and sees a man laying in bed turned away from him. He's muttering to himself. The wall has carvings of eyes all over the room, and days marked off. But on the floor an even bigger carving of the phrase I MISS THE COLORFUL WORLD is etched in.

"Marcus, it's time"

A man turns toward Calypso. Long black scraggly hair mats his face, and a long beard that comes down to his shoulders. He looks at Calypso.

"You mean to tell me I'll go back to the real world if I win your contest?"

"You can have whatever you want, so long as you win Marcus"

The man lets out a deep sigh and stands. He is a very tall man, standing at a few inches over 6'. He walks past Calypso who is greeted with the unpleasant smell of the man. It's apparent that they do not allow for hygiene in this place.

Calypso walks out with his guard and sees the six drivers standing before him, with another ten of his guards standing behind them.

"Gentleman and lady, the competition will begin again very soon. Until then it is your responsibility to get your vehicles from the impound lot. I've already done the favor of taking out the guards at the lot. You have the address on the letters you received last month. I trust that you still have them. You will bring your vehicles to a warehouse in Midtown by the docks. When you find it, you'll know."

The clown raises his hand, Calypso stares at the clown for a moment and sighs.


"Wheres the rest of the competitors"

"I never said they were all going to be from the asylum, did I?"

"So we're the first lot?"

"Yes. You are the first to be approached by me."

"So there's still people who don't know the contest is going to start soon?"

"They know, they just haven't been told to meet up at the warehouse yet."

"Okay, chief. That's all I wanted to know"

Calypso shakes his head and looks back at the group.

"You are all free to leave. You have one week to deliver your vehicles over or I will consider you non participants. As you know, I don't tolerate tardiness, which is just my way of saying be there or I'll be the one to cut you into pieces and feed them to my dogs. Understood?"

"Bullshit. You haven't done a goddamn thing to me yet and I showed up six hours late."

Calypso nods and one of his bodyguards hits Needles in the ribs with the stock of his AK-47. Needles flame flairs up and stares at the guard.

"You are so dead before this contest starts."

"With all that said, you are all free to go."

The group shuffles off in the direction of the side entrance where the impound lot is. Calypso walks past the guards and taps the one who hit Needles on the shoulder.

"Good luck"

The guard looks uneasy but follows Calypso like the rest do towards the row of parked black SUVs. As the dust collects, a deep shaking comes from where the entrance sign is. The stone sign drops into the earth and a motorcycle emerges from the earth. It's rider is no man, but death himself. His skeletal frame wrapped in a black smoke, riding a custom Harley Davidson.

He gets off of the Harley and walks into the Blackfield asylum. A moment passes and dozens more screams are heard echoing through it's empty halls.

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Title: Re: Charred Remains & Scrap Metal
Post by maxamillionaire2 on 02/20/11 at 04:41:14
Nice. I'm interested to see who the contestants are that aren't from the asylum
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Title: Re: Charred Remains & Scrap Metal
Post by Ghastly on 03/15/11 at 02:50:11
Sorry I haven't been keeping up with this as of late because I'm working on something big ;). But rest assured, I am going to finish this. It's a big story, it just takes time I sometimes don't have.

The screams of the patients dies out as the SUVs pull away, each with one of the contestants inside. Needles Kane sits in the back of the limo, his head is blackening the glass of the rear window while the leather begins to crackle and smolder. He notices the smell and leans forward.

The smell hits his escort, Kent, as well.

"Doesn't that shit ever bother you?"

Needles looks at Kent with piercing eyes

"Yeah, stupid questions tend to piss me off kid. Keep the conversation light and you'll live through this car ride."

Kent's face goes pale and he shuts up. Underneath that mask, the clown has a grin wider than the one he hides behind.

"I'm fucking with you, sort of. Yeah this shit  burns like hell."

"That sucks."

"You have no fucking clue, kid. So, what's your story?"

"I'm a techie. Been hacking through government shit for years but I recently was paid a visit by the FBI. Just when I thought I was boned til C-"

"Calypso bailed your ass out."

"Right. I was in the back of a SWAT van all to my lonesome. Mother fucker had a tanker plow into it and his cronies popped the doors off the bitch. Six months later, here we are. I'm his techie."

The clown can't help but think that sounds familiar.

"You mean lackey"

"Beats being someone's bitch in Guantanamo" Kent says with a smirk

"You're still his bitch"

"I guess you're right about that"

The clown laughs and rolls down the window to get some fresh air, the wind blowing away the hot blaze engulfing his cranium.

Meanwhile in RENO, NEVADA

To say Bruce Cochran is a drug dealer would be an understatement. He is responsible for a great deal of cocaine that flows into the area. His sooped up black 1963 Chevy Impala is his baby. But times have gotten hard as of late for Bruce as he suspects the Police are watching him very closely.

He just didn't know how close. Until today.

Bruce is weighing out a kilo on a pool table in his garage next to his Impala. A man with a spray tan, pencil mustache, and a shitty suit is eying the weight, smiling in approval. He hands Bruce a fat wad of money.

"This is some premium shit, I'm sure you'll find it suitable"

"More than suitable, it's magnifique" the man says in a french accent

Bruce looks confused and realizes somethings up.

"Thought you was from El Salvador cuz?"

The man smiles and goes to draw a pistol, showing his badge. But before he can even grab it from the holster, his throat is decimated by a .357 round to his trachea.

There are red and blue lights flashing outside his garage. He locks the door and slides a toolbox under the side door and steps into the Impala and turns the key and revs the engine.

His tires start squealing like crazy, the stench of burnt rubber permeates throughout the garage as he hits the button on his garage opener and peels out onto the street right past the cops and goes into the park across from his house and out onto a road running parallel to his, heading towards the highway.

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Title: Re: Charred Remains & Scrap Metal
Post by The Dizaster Child on 03/19/11 at 01:12:25
its about damn time you added some more to this story lol
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Title: Re: Charred Remains & Scrap Metal
Post by Ghastly on 03/24/11 at 21:19:06
Bruce races down the highway, two cruisers are behind him. Bruce pulls off to the right shoulder and lines up with the front window of a green Nissan Versa and puts a .357 round through his neck, in a frenzy to grasp his gushing throat, he smashes into one of the cruisers, leaving the Versa & Ford Cruiser both on the side of the road. The other officer is approaching his left trying to ram him off the road. He aims at the officer's engine block and pops off two shots. One ends up hitting his bumper and the other takes out his left turning signal, his revolver is empty and he throws it in the back seat. The officer is still fast approaching and with intent.

The officer is a man in his forties with a unkempt, wrinkled and stained uniform, black hair and cold pale blue eyes with a stare a thousand miles away. His five o'clock shadow shows the scars of his face clear as day. His yellowed teeth are grinding as he's getting more and more agitated. It's been a long day for Officer John Benoit, but it's about to get a helluva lot worse.

Bruce takes notice of the officer and while looking at the road he reaches over over to the passenger seat and grasps his Mac-10 in his hand. It has an extended clip, a stock and suppressor to reduce the spread the Mac-10 has. He open fires as Officer Benoit gets closer. The shots take out his headlights, radiator, and cracks the glass of Benoit's windshield enough so that he ends up swerving off onto the other side of the highway into a guard rail.

He groans, his disorientation is ridiculous and his whip lash is severe, which gets even worse when his airbag deploys and sends his head bouncing off of the back of his seat. He tries opening his door and finds it's smashed shut from impact. His screams are cut short by a semi doing it's best to stop and blares the horn at it's victim. The cop car rolls four times before skidding to a stop twenty three feet from the semi. Officer John Benoit, son of a marine who spent time in Nam and a petty housewife who had a drinking problem, died on impact.

His Impala guns it down the highway heading Northwest toward California. He knows he needs to get off the highway soon and lay low. But just where could he go? His cell phone rings, the number is unknown. Confused, scared and angry, Bruce answers his phone.

"You aint taking me alive fuckers! I'd rather go down swinging"

"You sounds distraught Mister Cochran. But I'm not one of RNPD's finest in blue. My name is Calypso."

The name rings through his head. Flashbacks of a grinning burnt man flourish his mind.


"Yes, I am aware of your predicament Mr. Cochran. I'll get you out of there in a moment if you are thinking about competing this year."

There's no question he says, and above his head in a private jet sits Calypso smiling in his chair with a glass of chardonnay in his scarred hands.

"Very well then. There are two SUVs just a half mile ahead of you, they'll be your escort to a hangar three exits from your current location where your car and yourself will be brought to my warehouse."

"Thank you Caly--"

Calypso ends the call and downs his glass and grabs the bottle sitting in a bucket of ice on the seat next to his. He snaps his fingers and a very attractive stewardess comes to him.

"Do you need anything Calypso?"

"Tell the pilot we need to make a stop in Arizona. I have to see a man about a stock car."

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Title: Re: Charred Remains & Scrap Metal
Post by Ghastly on 04/11/11 at 02:38:58
I'm noticing there are alot of views for this but not alot of comments. I do this for you guys, I'd love to hear your input as it keeps me interested in the piece.
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Title: Re: Charred Remains & Scrap Metal
Post by The Dizaster Child on 04/17/11 at 19:59:28

just sayin...
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Title: Re: Charred Remains & Scrap Metal
Post by Ghastly on 04/26/11 at 17:30:31
Sorry it's been a minute since I've posted an update. I'm working on something rather awesome to accompany this fan fiction...illustrations! While they won't be included in this update, they will be coming soon.

Fifteen minutes outside Flanning, Arizona is the Terra Vista Speedway where Sam Barlow, and eleven others will be racing. He has received a note from Calypso a week ago telling him that he will be there. While they both look forward to meeting each other, only one will be alive to see it.

Calypso's plane arrives on a private air strip twelve miles from the race track. As he gets out he winks with his good eye at the stewardess. Although she smiles back she has a cold sweat from looking into the blackened false eye embedded in his right socket. But her night with Calypso is far from over. Afterall, fear is one hell of a motivator and he knows this all too well.

When Calypso arrives he steps out of the black SUV, his entourage is with him. Black stands close while three of Calypso's men walk behind them. Black takes notice of the flashing lights of an ambulance that is parked just ahead of the SUV. On a stretcher lies a body bag that is unusually shaped, with a large round shape protruding where the chest should be. Almost instinctively he walks over to the EMTs loading the body and shoves one away and unzips the bag.

There lies a decapitated corpse with a helmet resting on it's chest. The number twelve is printed clearly on it. Whats even clearer is whats behind the helmet, the pained expression of Sam Barlow as a piece of his hood went through the windshield and severed his head cleanly. Calypso and his men crowd around it.

"Yeesh. So much for Mr. Barlow competing" a bodyguard mutters

Calypso glares at the man and looks down at the corpse and without hesitation shoves his fingers into the stump like a bowling ball and pops the helmet off and holds the head in his hands. Calypso's good eye glows a bright blue and energy courses through him directing itself towards the head. Suddenly it's expression shifts and the glazed eyes turn to a bitter pale blue. Onlookers are shocked and frightened as they run from the necromancer and his puppet.

"Mr Barlow. I am Calypso."

The death rattle that emits from the disembodied head is so chilling that it frightens Calypso's guards. Black's muffled laugh is on par with the creepiness. The head's expression changes again, to a neutral, human expression. In an unearthly gravely voice, Sam speaks.

"Yes, Calypso."

"You do remember, very good. The competition is starting very soon. I will be willing to restore you were to win the contest."

"What am I supposed to do if you won't restore me until afterword?"

"Your talking aren't you? I would think you'd be able to realize I am capable of."

What Calypso is actually capable of is reanimating the body independently from the head. Calypso sets the head next to the body and shoves his hands down onto the chest of the corpse. Blue energy lurches out, seizing the body's muscles as new life reenters the body. Any spectators who stuck around to watch this ghoulish sight have since ran off. Now the body sits up and taking the head in his hand like he would his helmet.

"Okay, you got me a body but we still have one bit of a problem"

"What would that be?"

"I don't have a car. My baby got completely torn apart after that fucker ran me into the wall. "

"Don't worry, I have that taken care of. You will be taken to my warehouse by my escorts where we will meet."

The corpse nods, more like spasms in the elbow of the corpse.


Title: Re: Charred Remains & Scrap Metal
Post by The Dizaster Child on 05/01/11 at 19:10:18
ok bro, keep this rolling. it's good so far

Title: Re: Charred Remains & Scrap Metal
Post by Ghastly on 05/02/11 at 15:41:15
I'm on a fucking roll guys. At the moment I'm adapting the first chapter into comic book format. It's almost done, I just need to touch up the pages and color them.

A guard walks Sam Barlow to a black Bugatti Veyron SS where a man with a black sleeveless tee and spiked brown hair stands smiling until he gets a good look at his company.

"That'll be a fun car ride" Murmurs a guard to Calypso

Calypso laughs and walks back to his all black 2011 Audi Q7 and heads back to the landing strip where a pretty and most uncomfortable stewardess is waiting for him. As they make the drive to the landing strip Calypso looks out the window and loses himself as he watches a white Ford Taurus go by.

In the back seat of the Ford Taurus are two children. One a teenage boy and the other a young girl of maybe nine. Suddenly their appearances shift and it's himself and his little sister in his parent's station wagon. His sister has her hand out the window holding her doll by the hand as it dangles above the blacktop. Then his sister turns and sees him and after giving him a pained expression screams, she rots away and his young self catches fire in the back seat of the station wagon. Suddenly the clouds become dark and the sky turns red.

Then immediately after the station wagon smashes into the side of the Audi. Calypso jostles in his seat and looks at the driver of the station wagon. It's Minion, and he is beyond pissed. The shocked Calypso turns but Black and his guards are not there. The Audi is driving itself and he is alone in hell. He looks back at the station wagon to see the demon lunging at him.

Calypso jerks to consciousness and looks to the front passenger seat where the guard who uttered the words "fun car ride" sits and pulls out his Glock without saying a word and puts two in his skull.  Calypso lets out a deep sigh and shakes his head and runs his fingers through his gray hair and looks at Black who is sitting beside him.

"I ever tell you I fucking hate dreaming?"

Black nods.

"Well I'm saying it again. I fucking hate dreaming."

As the car drives off, the front passenger door opens and the body of the guard tumbles out of the car where it will lie for ten hours in the hot Arizona sun. By the time someone cleans up the mess, his eyes will have been pecked away by crows, he will have bloated and his left leg will have been gnawed off by a coyote.

"We've got two weeks before the competition starts and we still have room for six more entries, and I think I know just where to look."


Title: Re: Charred Remains & Scrap Metal
Post by Obliverate on 05/03/11 at 18:16:25
I like how much unnecessary detail you go into describing cars.
Not just a Bugatti Veryon, a black Bugatti Veryon SS.
Not just a black crossover. A black 2011 Audi Q7.
Not just a white station wagon. A white Ford Taurus.
It doesn't necessarily hurt the fanfic, it just slows the pace a little. Other than that, good read.

Title: Re: Charred Remains & Scrap Metal
Post by Ghastly on 05/06/11 at 18:29:12
Yeah I thought it would paint a better picture than simply black suv, but yeah I can understand about the Bugatti, I suppose it is a little excessive.

Los Angeles, California

Outside the Top Summit bank are six police cruisers and a swat van filled with sixteen trained police officers who are figuring out how to take out a group of former soldiers turned criminals who have taken the patrons of the bank hostage. Among the cruisers with her Glock trained on the entrance is officer Jamie Roberts, veteran of the force for eleven years. Her brother, Carl, is one of the swat team.

Three bodies lay face down on the stone steps at the front of the bank, hostages. The criminals have not been very kind to the police's lack of motivation to get their demands. Commissioner Daniel Morris is screaming at the negotiator who has been unable to reason with the perpetrators.



"There is another option." Pipes in Jamie as she strolls over to the commissioner.

"What is it Roberts?"

"This bank was built a long time ago, it's probably connected to the old sewer line. We could send the SWAT through the sewers and flank them while we take them from the front distracting them and closing them in."

The commissioner thinks for a minute and nods. He picks up his radio and switches it on, it hisses for a brief moment.

"Alright, I want alpha company to take the sewers under Grant Street and we'll storm the front when we get word that they're in place."

The SWAT van opens and the alpha team pours out in the direction of Grant Street. Jamie walks back to the cruiser where her partner, Officer Cole Dunbar is standing poised and ready to go. She reaches into the passenger seat of the cruiser and pulls out a Remington 12 gauge and ducks behind a wall next to the steps up to the bank. She cocks the shotgun and waits.

The alpha team treads through the sewer water, Carl Roberts taking point with a MP5-K. He trains his sight on the pathway, passing intersecting tunnels until he finds a turn to go left and there stands a ladder into an open building. He steps up quietly, his team right behind him. Little does he know that former marine Ethan Remar is standing at the top of the ladder with a Heckler & Koch. He throws a flashbang up to the surface. But when officer Roberts pops up he steps on the rungs of the ladder a little too loud and two nine millimeter rounds hit him, one in the shoulder and one in the gut despite Ethan's temporary blindness. Carl falls and smacks into the sewer water.

"NOW NOW NOW!" Shouts a swat officer into his radio

Ethan is hit in the leg with three rounds, coming from a Glock 18's burst fire. He drops to the ground in agony as the officers put cuffs around his wrists. The swat team rushes the front of the bank where four other former marines wait with semi auto rifles. As they fire upon the team who has taken cover, Jamie blasts one in the spine with the shotgun. Another five officers pop off rounds into the neck and back of another thief, he chokes on his blood as he watches another comrade get a bullet in the kidney, then the lung while the other drops his gun and puts his hands behind his head.

When they get the cuffs on the surviving thief, Jamie searches for her brother. Cole walks up to her, looking pale as a ghost, which is definitely out of place given Cole's dark complexion. Immediately Jamie knows somethings wrong.

"What happened?"

"Jamie, your brother was shot during the raid. He's in bad shape, we've got an ambulance on the way."

"Oh my god!"

Jamie rushes out the front of the bank to find Carl lying on his back while two officers are putting pressure on his bleeding wound. She drops to her knees and lifts Carl's head off of the pavement. Tears are rolling down her face.

"Carl! What did they do to you?"

" two bullets in me....other than that....just peach--"

Carl slumps, his eyes shut. One of the officers puts his finger underneath his nose.

"He's breathing, but it's getting fainter."


Title: Re: Charred Remains & Scrap Metal
Post by Ghastly on 05/28/11 at 11:17:52
Ten pages of the comic adaptation of this are already done. Too bad ten pages doesn't cover more than one and a half pages of the script written so far haha. Oh well. I promise you all that the next update will have the first pages.

The EMTs arrive a minute later and rush Carl as well as her sister off to Saint Antony's ER in downtown LA. When they arrive surgeons immediately begin working on him. Jamie gets pulled back by a nurse who tries to counsel her to no avail.

After two and a half hours a surgeon walks out to meet Jamie. He doesn't look happy. As a matter of fact, his heart sank into his chest the moment his eyes met Jamie's. The kid sister, the only one who really understood him. He speaks slowly and clearly with a hollowness that is not at all comforting.

"Ms. Roberts, your brother is alive, but we are not out of the woods."

She just stares at him blankly, seeing past him and into the operation room.

"His heart stopped on the table but we were able to resuscitate him. Unfortunately, he is now brain dead. Right now he's in ICU."

"Y-You're telling me he's in a coma?"

"Basically yes."

She lets out a sigh of exasperation.

"You have a choice to make as his medical file states you are his next of kin."

While staring down at the ground, Jamie utters

"Keep him alive. I have some work to do."

She stands and opens up her phone and dials the last received call as she leaves the hospital. After two rings the phone is answered by a familiar voice

"I see you wish to reconsider my offer, Ms. Roberts."

"Just shut the fuck up and put me on the roster."

"Will do. I look forward to seeing you in the tournament."

A moment later Calypso closes his phone with a smile on his face.

He's sitting at a table with Black and a few gentleman in grease monkey suits & wife beaters and a bald man with dark eyes. Calypso has a few pictures laid out on the table of various trucks and cars. The bald man puts his finger down on a photo of a prison transfer bus.

"I like your sense of taste, Mister Cage."

Calypso pauses for a moment as he takes a double shot of tequila. His sixth tonight as he sits around the table in his warehouse with his cohorts, and his guest.

"You should feel most lucky, you see, I don't normally extend this kind of offer to anyone. But seeing as how you're playing a rather special role, I'm entitling you to a vehicle of your choice."

The man slams his fist down on the table. He struggles for a second and pries his hand from it, or whatever is left. For where his left hand was is now a makeshift weapon. It's like something out of a Nightmare on Elm Street, with multiple blades jutting out in different directions all connected to a small pole that is attached to his stump.

"It's going to be a very interesting contest" Calypso says with a smile.

Cage leans into the light, he's been through hell and back. His lips are stitched at a complicated angle, leaving a hideous scar leading up to just below his left eye. He's got an eye that is beet red with the veins very much strained as it tries hard to make up for the cloudiness of his sight. He has a set of stitches that reach around the crown of his head.

"When this is all said and done, I want to mutilate that fucking circus freak, burn him alive and piss on the ashes. You can guarantee this?"

"Mr. Cage, you seem to underestimate me, even after everything I've done to help you. I've given you the gifts you need, now, go out and use them."

A moment later Cage is out the door of Calypso's warehouse and in the night. Dealing with his rage in the only way he has ever murdering innocent people for what someone else has done to him. Tonight it will be a prostitute, a homeless man and a drug addict. No great loss there.


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