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Post by Vio on Nov 12, 2010 22:18:31 GMT
SHF AWARDS '10The next catagory is for SHF Scribe,it is an award for the Fanfiction forum, read through the posts to pick your fav and send me a vote by PM, remember to say on the message if your vote is for the Awards or the Caption Contest which I am also taking votes for. As usual feel free to checkout the threads if you are still on the fence. dwz1 A man stands in an empty parking lot, quietly looking up into the silver moon shining down on him. The bright reflection of light illuminates the man’s clothes. Dark and dirty army boots rest calmly in the muddy ground below his feet. Worn down, grey jeans sway a little to the empty breeze. His black shirt greedily absorbs the eerie light where the shirt material isn’t actually torn, his chest that is covered in scars upon scars … battle trophies … takes in the rest of the light through the torn fabric of his shirt. Wind plays and mocks him with the whistling sound it makes as it enters the man’s mouth through the decayed hole on his cheek and exits through the one on the other side of his face. As he stands there his arm fingers start twitching violently, he clutches his fist as he notices it. He lifts his arm up and looks at it. His body still thinks he is dead, his arms and feet still feel sore, as if not a drop of blood has been running through those veins in a long time and actually that’s what it was. His nerve endings were still trying to come back to life but with little luck. His vision was still blurry, like through a thick layer of smog, everything was either black or white or somewhere in between. His left lung was mocking him, every time he exhaled he could feel its fabrics stick to one another and every time he inhaled he could feel a portion of the air escaping through that bullet hole in his lung that killed him in the first place. Feeling his fingers calming down he lets his grip loose and watches as they recline back, he grabbed them with his other hand and started contorting them, no pain … yet. Aside from a few drawbacks on his cheeks, left lung and his nerve endings Bryan had gained a lot. He had escaped the dark bindings of that accursed mask and its malicious will, he was no longer a slave to the endless, torturous images that plagued his mind every night in his dreams and, occasionally, even during the day, no longer was he forced to quench the endless thirst for blood and murder that the mask used to poison him with, it all went away when he was killed by that policeman, that man took over the curse of the mask, Bryan was sure of it, no one could resist its evil will, no one could escape its iron clutches. And now, after being resurrected to life, after taking down the nightmares of hell itself, Bryan had even escaped Death itself, he had accomplished the unaccomplishable, cheated and laughed Death in the face. Overlooking the tall buildings silently soaking in the moonlight further away from where he stood Bryan took a deep breath trying to ignore the whistling sound his lung made and pulled his feet out of the mud below where they had sunk. He walked into a narrow alleyway leading away from the warehouse. As he walked his legs twitched on a random note, it was frustrating, he punched them every time not knowing how else to stop the random twitching. In the distance he saw something move by the huge metal waste bin, as he got closer he realized it was just a homeless person curled up in newspapers and dirty rags. Bryan hadn’t really noticed the cold but he knew it was the middle of winter, he could see his own breath in the shape of smoke as he exhaled. That was the only real indicator. Bryan’s skin was still pale white. He came up to the man on the ground and crouched before him, “Nice jacket you have there, I’d need something like that to …” he paused before turning his face to the side so that the man could see his decayed face, “… to hide this,” Bryan finished. The man’s eyes widened in terror, he moved back but hit the wall behind him, there was nowhere else he could go but he would gladly be anywhere but there right then, Bryan could see fear in the man’s eyes. “Am I that scary?” Bryan asked a little mockingly and smiled showing the rest of his teeth that couldn’t be seen through the holes on his face. He grabbed the man by his throat, locking his cold, still dead fingers firmly around him. Holding the man he looked over the clothes he bore. Satisfied with what he saw he locked his eyes on the man who was desperately trying to free himself from Bryan’s grip. “Shhhhhh,” Bryan exclaimed as if calming a baby and pulled his hand back in one quick motion. Everything went numb and silent after that as Bryan watched half of the man’s throat still in his grip and now a dead body with a widely torn open throat before him. He knew he was stronger but this still took him by surprise, he intended to snap the man’s throat, instead he ripped it out. Bryan picked the body up with one hand and took the jacket off with the other. He then threw the body to the side and put the jacket on. It was an old jacket with stains all over, it was torn in many places as well but most importantly it had a big hood that could hide the face completely. Bryan threw it over his head and his face disappeared in the shadow of the hood completely. He left the body behind him and walked towards a place he used to spend time in when the mask wasn’t controlling his mind, a very old and abandoned house on the edge of the poorest neighborhood in town - home. Using one dark alleyway after another he silently made his way through that maze of concrete and steel. Accompanying him on his journey were rats and stray cats, watching carefully from metal ladders on the side of buildings, waste bins and smashed cellar windows. Bryan was careful to avoid the streets with how he looked now for he would have been stopped by someone sooner or later and he wasn’t going to risk being shot again by some policeman or thug or in a fit of rage or massacre. Not after he had gone through so much to be alive again, well, half alive. Still unsure whether he had the mask’s hunger for death or not Bryan decided to first figure out what he had now become. Finally, after a long walk he approached the empty field by the city outskirts and the lone, shabby house standing there and welcoming him back home with its broken windows and rotten wooden walls. lemexThe Strange Old House. The day was slowly turning to night when the two friends first caught a glimpse of the strange old house. Although not of the local area and usually not given to sentimental impulses, the pair took to the mysterious and shabby abode almost immediately, and they approached it with the intent of asking the proprietor if they could lodge the night. They did not wish to be a nuisance, but had travelled far, and this was the only building they had seen for miles that was actually meant for human habitation, so they apprehensively approached it. But when they walked up to the manor driveway they noted there was no car present, and the gate had been left wide open. This made the two men inquisitive, and they quickly rushed into the grounds to survey the tired old dwelling. The building itself stood alone amid a vast overgrowth of grass and shrubbery. One window was stained with red handprints. It was clearly painted, but it still made them nervous as they walked up and peered in though the dark and dusty windows. The rooms were in a terrible state, and had things lying all over the floor that now only hinted previous ownership. Everything looked very ill kept and shambolic; as if thieves had ransacked the house then simply left it alone, so the decades could take their own toll on the withered place. It seemed to them that the house was empty, after investigating every window, the pair eventually tread up the few steps to the entrance, and pushed open the door. Many of the things left inside looked very old and very feeble, and the pair wondered how long they had been dormant; shocked at how such exquisite furnishings of impeccable craftsmanship where simply scattered haphazardly throughout the rooms. Surly, things as old and rare as these would find no problem finding money should the owner wish to sell them? So then, why did he leave this place in such an obviously quick fashion? The two friends both wondered about this as they walked inside, though neither of them spoke. Everything within the strange old house was of a previous age, and the intrepid pair's earlier plans of removing some of the more exquisite looking furnishings disappeared fearing the said items would simply fall apart on the outside, totally unaccustomed to sunlight after having spent so long under the safe, watchful eye of the strange old house and her ancient, crumbling walls. Ancient indeed, for the dust was thick, and had collected in every little crack and crevice. Nevertheless, with such superb antiques sitting idle it seamed very odd that someone could leave. No doubt, one of them suspected, the owner had fallen victim to some awful tragedy or illness that forced him to flee his otherwise lovely home so quickly. But the other, an admitted mystery story fanatic, disagreed, suspecting that very soon they would stumble across the neatly stacked corpses, or skeletons of the previous inhabitants. This idea was supported by the discovery of an unknown slogan that they found painted on the mirror in the guestroom: R NOR-COTOTA! but what this actually meant, nether could say or guess. But the strange old house seemed, despite her shaggy, rundown appearance, to still be habitable. A place the pair could spend the night protected from the elements. They needed to find a place of rest soon, as darkness was closing fast. So the wondering pair decided upon the downstairs dining room as a place to set down bedding and reside for the night. They simply did not trust the creaky old stairs that led up to the higher floors. Also, sleeping downstairs was to add to that sense of adventure the two men had became so inured to after many days travel. After a brief exploration of the house they set up a makeshift campsite in the downstairs room and settled in for the night. After a supper of baked-beans, the men wriggled deeper into the sleeping bags and got comfortable. But as so often with young men at such times, they delighted themselves in the art of spooking the other with ghostly tales and stories of horror before resigning to sleep. The darkness of night was finally covering the sky and the pair needed torches with which to see. That night, they devised a plan, to steal a large number of the collectibles from the house, and hold them in their rucksacks, until later on, when they could sell the items for an appropriate price. They know that many of the older and larger items would perhaps be too delicate for transportation in simple backpacks. But this did not detour the two old friends from their goal and they managed to secure places for the smaller, but still valuable, bits of jewellery and decorative items from the living rooms, kitchen, guestrooms and even the upstairs bedrooms – when they eventually summoned the courage to ascend those old and rotting stairs. They managed to collect a large number of venerable and fragile items from all over the house. They inspected the items in their campsite in the dinning room on the first floor, it included a large number of plates and silverware, necklaces and rings made of gold and a large number of other valuables. Between them both, the two friends surmised that they could make a great sum of money from these things. And so they went to sleep with comfortable smiles. But something happened in the black of night that only the crumbling walls of the rotting old house knows of. Something so chilling they were two friends were found a week later at a nearby ford horribly damaged and mutilated, and their heads where retrieved from the water, apparently washed down stream by the force of the moving estuary. Only the denizens of the tiny local town heard the story of the two unknown gentlemen and their ill fated venture into that ancient abode. A local man was arrested for the murders, though insufficient evidence was accumulated and the man was released without charge. He later moved far away from the tiny town and over the following years the case was mostly forgotten about. Some say the souls of the two gentlemen still haunt the place, and this keeps away most locals who would steal up to the house to investigate. Some also say that the items they supposedly wished to take from the house found their way back to their original locations independent of any human contact. But nothing about that terrible night was ever found and over time the locals shunned the derelict building, and only the unsuspecting traveller by happenstance may wander in to investigate; just like the two unfortunate gentlemen on that night from oh so long ago. Shunned as an evil and retched thing, the strange old house was once again abandoned. The End.(Note: This site restricts the use of the Cyrillic alphabet, so I've had to improvise. The phrase: 'R NOR-COTOTA!' translates into English from Russian as 'I am Yog-Sothoth!') The Crimson One DAYBREAKWe did the only thing we could…we ran. Not a “run through the country” kind of run either, a frantic and ancient sprint fueled by some long buried human impulse to run from something so obviously evil and gigantic. If it hadn’t been for Andy I might not have even ran in the first place. I’d still be frozen there looking up at it, eyes wild with horror. Thank god for Andy. Or perhaps not? He yanked my arm like starting a rusty mower and we ran. I screamed for the first few seconds until some vague rationality took over. After that, deeper instinct and survival impulses fired to life and I wasn’t making any sound except regulated panting, my shoes slapping the damp concrete below us. After about a minute of a cheetah’s pace Andy struggled to say something without breaking stride. His words came out in painful raspy stabs with each breath. “One…of…the doors.” It took a minute to transition back from a wild beast to understand what he was saying. We had been running down a long stretch of hallway flanked by the occasional huge metal door to either side. They looked rusted, and I wondered if they were even able to open anymore. “Left!” Andy shouted as we approached a wooden door. We stopped and Andy immediately tried the doorknob. Locked. We stood there for a few moments breathing acid into our lungs. My heart felt like it would pop at any moment. Everything went quiet. The inky black sky above us started to drip. I might have taken the moment to let the rain cool me off if it wasn’t for the sound beginning to rise from behind us down the alley. It sounded like something you would hear in a factory or a construction site. Dull, heavy metal being dragged across the stone surface below, and in between the dragging…footsteps. I’ll I could say was “oh Fuck.” I felt completely helpless and my breaths were now coming out like a child’s whine. Andy started to kick the door with whatever strength he had left in his trembling legs. The door didn’t take much to break loose, and before I knew it, we were standing inside the backroom of some sort of shop. Both of us fell to the dust-covered floor and huddled together trying to quiet our breathing. The muffled sound of that thing outside was getting closer. I tried to calm myself, but dirty stinging tears began to run down my cheeks and neck. Andy was crying too. The screeching of that awful blade came to a stop right in front of the door. I started to shake. He knew. He knew exactly where we were. I slowly looked to Andy hoping he would give me some sort of sign, a plan of action perhaps, but he was as scared as I was and through the grey-blue light barely slipping into the room through a filthy window I could see he had urinated in his pants. After what seemed like an eternity, I put my lips right against Andy’s ear and whispered as quietly as I could. “Maybe we should look.” He shook his head with the kind of certainty that told me that if I wanted to know, I would have to check. Slowly, legs shaking violently, I started to get up. Fallen pieces of the ceiling crunched under my feet like chalk as I moved through the shadows toward the window. The window was positioned above a surface spotted here and there with canned food and rat shit. I slowly pushed aside an area to pull myself up onto, and when I was up I slowly peered forward into the window, trying to angle my head so just my right eye was exposed. The window was so filthy I had to spit in my hand and rub an area of dirt and dust to see through. Outside, to my left, where the door was, stood the massive, hulking, evil, thing. It was completely motionless save for the occasional blast of its steamy breath through its metal enclosure into the cold night air. Its face was some sort of metal contraption, rusted to a deep crimson and fastened to its form with huge bolts. I wondered if there was someone under there, but it was far too large to be human. It had a human shape, but it was scaled too large, its massive muscles many times the size of even the strongest of humans. Why wasn’t it coming in? It let out a sharp staccato breath that shot out of the metal face like an angry bull in an iron mask. But it remained still. I climbed down from the counter and made my way back to Andy. I whispered. “It’s not moving.” And then motioned toward the hall that presumably ushered into the front of the store. Andy nodded and got onto his knees, taking a second to get used to the idea of moving again. Glass crunched beneath him and I realized that amidst the horror we had sat down on a glass sign. Although it was spider webbed pretty badly I could still make out the words. “Café 5to2.” Strange name. We started to walk toward the hallway, hunching over to stay low. When we were in the hall Andy pulled out his cell phone to use it as a sort of makeshift flashlight. It didn’t work very well, but it was better than nothing. We crept our way into the café behind the counter and tried to look around. Andy held up the cell phone. “Looks ok.” He moved further into the front room, pushing aside large curtains of webs. I followed close behind, eyes scanning the room looking for any sign of movement. Suddenly Andy sharply inhaled and fell back, stepping on my feet. He grabbed his chest. “oh…..oh my god.” He exhaled, and for a second I thought I saw him almost smile. Relieved he turned to me and said, “It’s ok.” He held up his cell phone to show me what had startled him. “It’s just a mannequin.” The room was full of them. Toadkiller DogBella stood in near awe of the...the creature before her. To call this thing human didn't make logical sense to anything she'd come to learn in her twenty-one years. A brick wall of muscle standing over seven feet tall. A smashed, flattened nose, most likely as the result of having been broken numerous times beset by cold, emotionless gray-blue eyes and topped with slicked back, black hair. It was called Welkin. Champion and Prime representative of the secretive, yet feared Old Boy Network. Bella had fought her way this far, having tore through some of the Network's lesser members with ease. Beginning to assume the hype behind it to be blown out of proportion. She'd fought gangs before, been part of a few even, but the Old Boy Network wasn't like your average gaggle of street punks. They had codes, rules and above all else a seeking of worthy opponents on the streets that resembled something close to the spirit of a true samurai. The turn out was impressive for something like this tonight, on a Saturday in an abandoned warehouse. It happened weekly, and every week a few people left with a few less teeth. An amateur fight club of sorts, Bella had picked up the whereabouts from a contact in one of her many night watches. She'd found herself addicted to the thrill of a crowd watching a test of martial prowess between two people. But tonight, tonight something was different. The place was overflowing with jeering, screaming people. Welkin brought this sort of crowd, or so she was told. Sweat poured over her face, she brushed it away quickly, taking a deep breath. Time seemed to slow down, she could hear her heart beating rapidly. She felt half the size of the monster before her, felt weak, inexperienced and lame compared to it's presence. Her only chance was speed, she had to be faster than this guy, had to be. She was small, agile and quick thinking. She'd stick and move, aim for vitals, try to topple the thing and knock it wear it down slowly until it was fatigued enough to take down. There was no other way. Bella watched as the beast began to slowly unbutton it's dress shirt, removing it and the suit jacket with one fluid motion and tossing it to the much smaller man beside him. He spoke, his voice rumbling and stern, but not violent. Calling the lesser massed fellow Largo, she couldn't make out much more. The chiseled, rock face of a chest at eye level, looking as solid as a mountain. He then kicked off a pair of shiny black dress shoes, the size they had to be astounded Bella. Fighting in dress slacks, as if he didn't intend to be at this long. And he probably didn't. He took his stance, one leg up, knee held high, kick boxing, muay thai kick boxing to be specific. She'd expected some sort of grappling stance, joint locking, something, not an agile style like this. Her own street style seemed suddenly so juvenile compared to this. And with one word, the fight began, Bella took off at full speed, her only chance to come and sting at this wall of a man's kidneys to slow it down. She weaved to one side, foot twisting to lashing out with a sharp right hook into the kidney. Her fist connected with nothing, rewarded with a force not unlike being struck by a car to her back. The blow sent her reeling, stumbling, landing on her stomach, face scraping against the concrete. Dazed, she whirled around to see the thing leap through the air and one seemingly inhumanly long leg outstretched, the top of the black socked foot hooking around her face, literally knocking the spit out of her mouth as she was beginning to rise. Bella's vision began to blur before her head even hit the ground. It was over this quickly, two blows. This was Welkin, Bella wondered how anything human could even begin to consider taking down this monster. But the thought was cut short as her vision blacked out. Her eyes fluttered open as the beast of a man was reaching down with one giant hand, grasping at her own to pull her up. She looking to the right hazily before blacking out again. She awoke on a bench in the subway tunnels. Her head ached terribly, breathing hurt, stung in fact. Probably a dislocated shoulder. A suited man sat next to her she noticed as she began to rise. It was the guy before that had taken Welkin's shirt and jacket. Largo. "Couldn't just leave you here, ya know. Don't worry I didn't do anything stupid. Welkin wanted to make sure you didn't get mugged or something. Told me to make sure you got up alright on your own, and if not to escort you to a hospital. But hey, looks like you're up now. Probably a bit sore, but them's just the brakes when it comes down to fighting big Welky. I know personally, trust me. S'okay though, most people don't try to get back up after the first blow, so hey, you did better than most. You did your best, pretty tough chick. We could use someone like you. I think you'd like it too." The man continued to talk, quickly, never letting Bella respond, even though she probably couldn't right now anyway. "You'll be alright to get home on your own I take it? You look like you've been through some shit before. But hey, if you need help..." He trailed off for a moment to look at her. She slowly shook her head, she felt like absolute hell, but she'd make it home, wasn't even too far from here. "Cool. Hey, welcome to the club. I'm gonna give you our card, just call us to get details on how this works, no rush though, you've probably gotta recuperate, understandably." Bella stared at Largo for a second as he stood up, fishing for a card from his suit jacket. He smiled thinly as he handed it to her, nodded and walked casually away and out of sight. He head was pounding, she ached everywhere...but she'd been through much worse. Was this the way to do things? Start up in a high class street gang, despite having being given a second chance on life. The lust for violence and street justice flooded into her mind to answer the question swiftly. She pulled herself up wincing, and slowly walked home, eagerly awaiting an epsom salt bath.
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Post by Vio on Nov 19, 2010 17:06:48 GMT
We have a tie between lemex and King of Dogs, so we will have a re-vote between just these two. If in a weeks time it is not resolved, then I will declare it to be a award split between them! SHF AWARDS '10This is the 2nd and Final Round for SHF Scribe,it is an award for the Fanfiction forum, read through the posts to pick your fav and send me a vote by PM, remember to say on the message if your vote is for the Awards or the Caption Contest which I am also taking votes for. As usual feel free to checkout the threads if you are still on the fence. lemexThe Strange Old House. The day was slowly turning to night when the two friends first caught a glimpse of the strange old house. Although not of the local area and usually not given to sentimental impulses, the pair took to the mysterious and shabby abode almost immediately, and they approached it with the intent of asking the proprietor if they could lodge the night. They did not wish to be a nuisance, but had travelled far, and this was the only building they had seen for miles that was actually meant for human habitation, so they apprehensively approached it. But when they walked up to the manor driveway they noted there was no car present, and the gate had been left wide open. This made the two men inquisitive, and they quickly rushed into the grounds to survey the tired old dwelling. The building itself stood alone amid a vast overgrowth of grass and shrubbery. One window was stained with red handprints. It was clearly painted, but it still made them nervous as they walked up and peered in though the dark and dusty windows. The rooms were in a terrible state, and had things lying all over the floor that now only hinted previous ownership. Everything looked very ill kept and shambolic; as if thieves had ransacked the house then simply left it alone, so the decades could take their own toll on the withered place. It seemed to them that the house was empty, after investigating every window, the pair eventually tread up the few steps to the entrance, and pushed open the door. Many of the things left inside looked very old and very feeble, and the pair wondered how long they had been dormant; shocked at how such exquisite furnishings of impeccable craftsmanship where simply scattered haphazardly throughout the rooms. Surly, things as old and rare as these would find no problem finding money should the owner wish to sell them? So then, why did he leave this place in such an obviously quick fashion? The two friends both wondered about this as they walked inside, though neither of them spoke. Everything within the strange old house was of a previous age, and the intrepid pair's earlier plans of removing some of the more exquisite looking furnishings disappeared fearing the said items would simply fall apart on the outside, totally unaccustomed to sunlight after having spent so long under the safe, watchful eye of the strange old house and her ancient, crumbling walls. Ancient indeed, for the dust was thick, and had collected in every little crack and crevice. Nevertheless, with such superb antiques sitting idle it seamed very odd that someone could leave. No doubt, one of them suspected, the owner had fallen victim to some awful tragedy or illness that forced him to flee his otherwise lovely home so quickly. But the other, an admitted mystery story fanatic, disagreed, suspecting that very soon they would stumble across the neatly stacked corpses, or skeletons of the previous inhabitants. This idea was supported by the discovery of an unknown slogan that they found painted on the mirror in the guestroom: R NOR-COTOTA! but what this actually meant, nether could say or guess. But the strange old house seemed, despite her shaggy, rundown appearance, to still be habitable. A place the pair could spend the night protected from the elements. They needed to find a place of rest soon, as darkness was closing fast. So the wondering pair decided upon the downstairs dining room as a place to set down bedding and reside for the night. They simply did not trust the creaky old stairs that led up to the higher floors. Also, sleeping downstairs was to add to that sense of adventure the two men had became so inured to after many days travel. After a brief exploration of the house they set up a makeshift campsite in the downstairs room and settled in for the night. After a supper of baked-beans, the men wriggled deeper into the sleeping bags and got comfortable. But as so often with young men at such times, they delighted themselves in the art of spooking the other with ghostly tales and stories of horror before resigning to sleep. The darkness of night was finally covering the sky and the pair needed torches with which to see. That night, they devised a plan, to steal a large number of the collectibles from the house, and hold them in their rucksacks, until later on, when they could sell the items for an appropriate price. They know that many of the older and larger items would perhaps be too delicate for transportation in simple backpacks. But this did not detour the two old friends from their goal and they managed to secure places for the smaller, but still valuable, bits of jewellery and decorative items from the living rooms, kitchen, guestrooms and even the upstairs bedrooms – when they eventually summoned the courage to ascend those old and rotting stairs. They managed to collect a large number of venerable and fragile items from all over the house. They inspected the items in their campsite in the dinning room on the first floor, it included a large number of plates and silverware, necklaces and rings made of gold and a large number of other valuables. Between them both, the two friends surmised that they could make a great sum of money from these things. And so they went to sleep with comfortable smiles. But something happened in the black of night that only the crumbling walls of the rotting old house knows of. Something so chilling they were two friends were found a week later at a nearby ford horribly damaged and mutilated, and their heads where retrieved from the water, apparently washed down stream by the force of the moving estuary. Only the denizens of the tiny local town heard the story of the two unknown gentlemen and their ill fated venture into that ancient abode. A local man was arrested for the murders, though insufficient evidence was accumulated and the man was released without charge. He later moved far away from the tiny town and over the following years the case was mostly forgotten about. Some say the souls of the two gentlemen still haunt the place, and this keeps away most locals who would steal up to the house to investigate. Some also say that the items they supposedly wished to take from the house found their way back to their original locations independent of any human contact. But nothing about that terrible night was ever found and over time the locals shunned the derelict building, and only the unsuspecting traveller by happenstance may wander in to investigate; just like the two unfortunate gentlemen on that night from oh so long ago. Shunned as an evil and retched thing, the strange old house was once again abandoned. The End.(Note: This site restricts the use of the Cyrillic alphabet, so I've had to improvise. The phrase: 'R NOR-COTOTA!' translates into English from Russian as 'I am Yog-Sothoth!') Toadkiller DogBella stood in near awe of the...the creature before her. To call this thing human didn't make logical sense to anything she'd come to learn in her twenty-one years. A brick wall of muscle standing over seven feet tall. A smashed, flattened nose, most likely as the result of having been broken numerous times beset by cold, emotionless gray-blue eyes and topped with slicked back, black hair. It was called Welkin. Champion and Prime representative of the secretive, yet feared Old Boy Network. Bella had fought her way this far, having tore through some of the Network's lesser members with ease. Beginning to assume the hype behind it to be blown out of proportion. She'd fought gangs before, been part of a few even, but the Old Boy Network wasn't like your average gaggle of street punks. They had codes, rules and above all else a seeking of worthy opponents on the streets that resembled something close to the spirit of a true samurai. The turn out was impressive for something like this tonight, on a Saturday in an abandoned warehouse. It happened weekly, and every week a few people left with a few less teeth. An amateur fight club of sorts, Bella had picked up the whereabouts from a contact in one of her many night watches. She'd found herself addicted to the thrill of a crowd watching a test of martial prowess between two people. But tonight, tonight something was different. The place was overflowing with jeering, screaming people. Welkin brought this sort of crowd, or so she was told. Sweat poured over her face, she brushed it away quickly, taking a deep breath. Time seemed to slow down, she could hear her heart beating rapidly. She felt half the size of the monster before her, felt weak, inexperienced and lame compared to it's presence. Her only chance was speed, she had to be faster than this guy, had to be. She was small, agile and quick thinking. She'd stick and move, aim for vitals, try to topple the thing and knock it wear it down slowly until it was fatigued enough to take down. There was no other way. Bella watched as the beast began to slowly unbutton it's dress shirt, removing it and the suit jacket with one fluid motion and tossing it to the much smaller man beside him. He spoke, his voice rumbling and stern, but not violent. Calling the lesser massed fellow Largo, she couldn't make out much more. The chiseled, rock face of a chest at eye level, looking as solid as a mountain. He then kicked off a pair of shiny black dress shoes, the size they had to be astounded Bella. Fighting in dress slacks, as if he didn't intend to be at this long. And he probably didn't. He took his stance, one leg up, knee held high, kick boxing, muay thai kick boxing to be specific. She'd expected some sort of grappling stance, joint locking, something, not an agile style like this. Her own street style seemed suddenly so juvenile compared to this. And with one word, the fight began, Bella took off at full speed, her only chance to come and sting at this wall of a man's kidneys to slow it down. She weaved to one side, foot twisting to lashing out with a sharp right hook into the kidney. Her fist connected with nothing, rewarded with a force not unlike being struck by a car to her back. The blow sent her reeling, stumbling, landing on her stomach, face scraping against the concrete. Dazed, she whirled around to see the thing leap through the air and one seemingly inhumanly long leg outstretched, the top of the black socked foot hooking around her face, literally knocking the spit out of her mouth as she was beginning to rise. Bella's vision began to blur before her head even hit the ground. It was over this quickly, two blows. This was Welkin, Bella wondered how anything human could even begin to consider taking down this monster. But the thought was cut short as her vision blacked out. Her eyes fluttered open as the beast of a man was reaching down with one giant hand, grasping at her own to pull her up. She looking to the right hazily before blacking out again. She awoke on a bench in the subway tunnels. Her head ached terribly, breathing hurt, stung in fact. Probably a dislocated shoulder. A suited man sat next to her she noticed as she began to rise. It was the guy before that had taken Welkin's shirt and jacket. Largo. "Couldn't just leave you here, ya know. Don't worry I didn't do anything stupid. Welkin wanted to make sure you didn't get mugged or something. Told me to make sure you got up alright on your own, and if not to escort you to a hospital. But hey, looks like you're up now. Probably a bit sore, but them's just the brakes when it comes down to fighting big Welky. I know personally, trust me. S'okay though, most people don't try to get back up after the first blow, so hey, you did better than most. You did your best, pretty tough chick. We could use someone like you. I think you'd like it too." The man continued to talk, quickly, never letting Bella respond, even though she probably couldn't right now anyway. "You'll be alright to get home on your own I take it? You look like you've been through some shit before. But hey, if you need help..." He trailed off for a moment to look at her. She slowly shook her head, she felt like absolute hell, but she'd make it home, wasn't even too far from here. "Cool. Hey, welcome to the club. I'm gonna give you our card, just call us to get details on how this works, no rush though, you've probably gotta recuperate, understandably." Bella stared at Largo for a second as he stood up, fishing for a card from his suit jacket. He smiled thinly as he handed it to her, nodded and walked casually away and out of sight. He head was pounding, she ached everywhere...but she'd been through much worse. Was this the way to do things? Start up in a high class street gang, despite having being given a second chance on life. The lust for violence and street justice flooded into her mind to answer the question swiftly. She pulled herself up wincing, and slowly walked home, eagerly awaiting an epsom salt bath.
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Post by Vio on Nov 22, 2010 17:43:37 GMT
Ah crap... I didn't vote, but since I was planning to vote for one of the two in the tie brake, may I emit my vote now? I'll do so, feel free to count it or not. (just keep in mind my flaming/hacking skills if you don't...) This is the second round of voting, so yes, it counts. So you won't hack into my computer right? I didn't vote because I don't have much experience with that area of the forum and didn't just wanna skim through the competitor's example posts and just pick one. Hmm, is it just me, or is the brave little toaster afraid to try new things? Only four more days until the voting is closed!
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