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Charred Remains & Scrap Metal (Read 9949 times)
Ghastly
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Charred Remains & Scrap Metal
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

PART TWO COMING SOON.
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Re: Charred Remains & Scrap Metal
Reply #1 - 02/12/11 at 14:29:37
 
Interested.

Keep rolling.
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Re: Charred Remains & Scrap Metal
Reply #2 - 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."

"Ahh"

"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.

PART THREE COMING SOON
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« Last Edit: 02/12/11 at 20:11:32 by Ghastly »  

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Re: Charred Remains & Scrap Metal
Reply #3 - 02/13/11 at 16:09:55
 
Cool.

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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Re: Charred Remains & Scrap Metal
Reply #4 - 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
Grin
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Re: Charred Remains & Scrap Metal
Reply #5 - 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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Re: Charred Remains & Scrap Metal
Reply #6 - 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.

"Frank?"

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.

"Yes?"

"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.

PART FOUR COMING SOON
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Re: Charred Remains & Scrap Metal
Reply #7 - 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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Re: Charred Remains & Scrap Metal
Reply #8 - 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 Wink. 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.

PART 5 COMING SOON
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Re: Charred Remains & Scrap Metal
Reply #9 - 03/19/11 at 01:12:25
 
its about damn time you added some more to this story lol
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Re: Charred Remains & Scrap Metal
Reply #10 - 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.

"Calypso!"

"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."

PART SIX COMING SOON
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Re: Charred Remains & Scrap Metal
Reply #11 - 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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Re: Charred Remains & Scrap Metal
Reply #12 - 04/17/11 at 19:59:28
 
POST PART 6!!!

just sayin...
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Re: Charred Remains & Scrap Metal
Reply #13 - 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.

PART SEVEN COMING SOON!
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“Build a man a fire, and he'll be warm for a day. Set a man on fire, and he'll be warm for the rest of his life.” http://thefoodmonster.com/cgi-bin/tma/YaBB.pl?num=1253569866 ^ FANFIC ^
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Re: Charred Remains & Scrap Metal
Reply #14 - 05/01/11 at 19:10:18
 
ok bro, keep this rolling. it's good so far
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