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Born Killers

04 Thursday Sep 2014

Posted by lexilogical in Odds and Ends, Stories

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part 1

The room in the warehouse was pitch black when Zack slipped into it. He barely needed the flashlight to confirm what he already knew was inside, but he used it anyway. The two people sitting before him, tied to a pair of wooden chairs, were as familiar to him as his own parents. More familiar, perhaps. They were the ones who had killed his parents, Deadly Daven and Avenging Amber, and set him down the path he was on today. They were the reason he’d become a hitman

He could remember the day if he thought back hard enough. His parents, huddled in the back of the sloppily built house, his father begging the pair to spare him for the sake of his son and wife. Of course, the pair had no intention of leaving his wife alive either as they shot her immediately afterwards. Zack had tried to keep silent, and obey his father’s last command.  But there was only so much that could be expected of a 6 year old, hiding behind the curtains while his mother’s blood stained his shoes. Amber and Daven certainly hadn’t expected the small ball of fury that flew at them out of the hiding spot.

Suddenly, the warehouse flooded with light, and from behind Zack he heard the footfalls of Dr. Sean Trenton. The name Dr. ST was well known in the underground world where Zack had found a home. It was said that no on survived a run in with his type of gang. It had taken Zack 4 years to work his way into Dr. ST’s inner circle, and now the fruits of his labour were about to come about. He’d never laid eyes on the man, but he recognized his voice immediately.

“Well well, Zachary, how’s that for a coming home present?” Dr. ST chuckled, gesturing at the two trained killers tied to the chairs. “I’ll admit, the pair was tricky to hunt down, but after that job in Japan, I figured I could go the extra mile. It’s not everyone who manages to whack off an ambassador and get away clean.”

Zack smiled to himself as he inspected the pair in front of him. Tied to chairs and gagged, they hardly looked like the menacing pair of his childhood. Beaten and swollen, they both looked rather pathetic. Daven gave him a pleading look over the dirty gag, imploring him with his eyes. Zack wondered if that was a similar expression to what his father had worn, 27 years ago. Amber looked barely conscious, her head rolling at an awkward angle with blood crusting over half her lovely face. Dr. ST walked over to her, lifting her head with one hand to stared into her one barely opened eye.

“So what are you thinking, Zack?” the Doctor moved behind her as he spoke, running big, filthy hands through her gritty, auburn hair. “Shoot them quickly and be done with it? Torture them slowly for their crimes against your parents? This is your big moment.”

Zack hemmed as he pulled his gun out of it’s hidden holster. It was a good gun, it had served him well over his years. Hitman was hardly a typical career path, but his had hardly been a typical life. It was a small handgun, not nearly as useful in the long range kills he specialized in now, but at this range, he could hardly miss the shot.

“I’ve always been a believer in making it quick.” Zack said, raising the gun. It let out a quick bark that echoed in the warehouse, as Dr Sean Trenton fell to the ground, a bullet hole through his forehead.

Zack moved quickly to untie Daven, slicing through the ropes that bound his wrists before moving over to Amber. Daven pulled the gag from his mouth before working on the tight ropes that bound his ankles.

“I really thought for a moment there you were going to shoot her,” Daven said quietly as Zack pulled Amber’s limp form up from the chair, draping her arm around his neck.

Zack scoffed, “Shoot you guys for one more scumbag weapon’s dealer? Come on, Dad, you know me better than that. You’re the one who taught me to lie when I was barely 8 years old.”

Daven gave him a wry smile as he rummaged the crime lord’s body, coming away with a spare gun.

“I suppose I did, Kid. So then, what’s our best path out of this wasp’s nest?”

A Pokemon Story

26 Wednesday Mar 2014

Posted by lexilogical in Established Universe, Pokemon, Stories

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part 1, pokemon. fanfic, Story

The mewling from beside the bed dragged me slowly towards consciousness.

“Jewel, be quiet.” I muttered, turning over and burying my head in the pillow. She just meowed louder, scratching at the bed. I shoved my hand out from under the covers to push her away. “Nooo, don’t scratch the bed…” Her soft head butted up against my hand for a few moments before she chomped down, grabbing my hand in her claws. I bolted awake, cursing about never learning when I looked down at her.

“Uh, Frank…” I nudged my husband awake, staring at the black fox-like creature with golden rings in it’s fur, happily chewing on my hand. “Why is Jewel an Umbreon?” My husband stirred awake.

“Because you couldn’t decide what to evolve her into before she evolved herself.” He stretched and started getting dressed. “A Leafeon may have been less evil, you know.”

“No, but…” My protests were cut off when I noticed her lavender sister, perched on the bookshelf and twitching her two tails. “And Katie’s an Espeon?”

“At least she’s not evil.” He replied, getting dressed for work. Jewel had given up eating my hand and was now licking it lovingly.

“Jewel’s not evil, she’s just- OUCH! JEWEL!!” I swatted her away as she resumed biting. “Okay, she’s evil. But… Wait… She’s supposed to be a cat!” Frank just stared at me.

“Shouldn’t you have bought a Meowth if you really wanted a cat pokemon?”

“I… No, that’s not what I meant…” I stared at the Umbreon now attacking my toes as the gears turned in my head. “Hey Sweetie, where do we keep their pokeballs?”

“They’re beside the door, on the bookshelf.” He gave me a goodbye kiss. “Try not to get them too hurt playing in the tall grass.”

Part 2

Drums of War #1 – Introductions

21 Friday Mar 2014

Posted by lexilogical in Stories, The Drums of War

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Creative Writing, fantasy, part 1, Story, The Drums of War, tropes

The atmosphere was lively at the World’s End Tavern that night, with minstrels playing about the fire and a roaring game of poker around one of the bigger tables. As such, it nearly went unnoticed when a lone stranger came in with their hood held close, letting in the wind and rain that the heavy doors held at bay. With few words, the stranger ordered a mug of ale at the bar, and slunk to an unoccupied booth in the back corner of the tavern.

Near unnoticed, but not completely so. At the bar, Turgis Balborkanon, captain of the Iron Hawks for the kingdom of Kalmar, nudged his bar mate in the ribs. With a jerk of his head, he gestured towards the stranger in the back. The man beside him glanced over, taking in the stranger. As one, they both got up from their stools and headed over toward the back table.

Walking alongside each other, the two men appeared very dissimilar. Turgis’s companion wore plain clothes, no different than many of the men in the tavern, however his golden hair, fair skin and piercing blue eyes marked him as different. He looked to be about 19 years old, with boyish good looks and charm that made many caused many of the barmaids to have small “accidents” when he walked by. On the other hand, the captain had quite the opposite effect on the young barmaids, many of them suddenly became quite interested in where they were walking. He was older, with dark hair, and he had a dark shadow of stubble, which sharply highlighted a small white scar near his the corner of his mouth. It gave him the illusion of a permanent scowl, which didn’t extend up to his bright green eyes. Both men carried themselves with a similar gait, however. The walk of a soldier, used to carrying the weight of armour and weapons, though neither wore those trappings now. The two men sat down across the table from the stranger.

“Hello, good sir, do you mind if we sit with you?” The young man asked, belatedly. The stranger sighed, and pushed back her hood.

“I don’t suppose there’s any stopping you, is there?” She asked, wryly. The woman’s appearance startled the two men. She had deep, grey eyes, and her hair fell over her shoulder in a single, long braid. Her hair appeared to be black, but woven into the braid was a dozen different colours of hair, sometimes braided into smaller braids, other times bound or twisted with coloured threads. Blondes, browns and reds streaked through the braid, with small darts of blue and green threads between them. But more shockingly was the scar burst pattern on her cheek, standing out as bold scars against her pale skin. The marks appeared deliberate, beginning around her left eye where they showed clearly in red and fading to paler scars that continued down the side of her face, shining in the firelight. Beneath her deep green cloak, she wore simple leather armour, with a small hunting knife bound to her belt with a leather strap. The older man chuckled.

“No, probably not. I’d like to introduce myself. I am Turgis Balborkanon, captain of the Iron Hawks for the kingdom of Kalmar, and my companion here is Prince Lucien, sometimes called the Protector of the Light in his father’s kingdom of Avesta. The two of us were hoping you could settle a debate between us.” The woman’s eyes narrowed.

“Are you two not sworn enemies? What has brought you to be drinking buddies at World’s End?” Lucien gave a half shrug.

“It is a neutral zone, after all. The druids strip anyone entering the city of weapons and armour.”

“More of a truce zone, in actual fact. But Lucien and I used to be buddies, before his father decided to raid Anniseburg and kicked off this war.” Turgis sipped his ale while Lucien scowled.

“Perhaps if the people of Anniseburg hadn’t decided to infiltrate the city of Nora and defile their dead with necromancy and witchcraft, my father would not have seen reason to invade Kalmar!” Lucien ranted, “Not to mention the countless “incidents” with “bandits” our merchants and travellers had encountered crossing the Spinetail mountain pass, which was supposed to be protected by the Iron Hawks themselves!” Turgis waved off the boy impatiently.

“At any rate, this is an old debate, and not the one that brings us here. We couldn’t help but notice you seemed to enter under a dark storm cloud than the one brewing outside. We hoped that you might share your tale with us, Miss…?” Turgis trailed off, hoping to coax a name from the strange woman.

“Not a Miss.” The woman replied. “Keita. Keita Tennerose. And I’ll share my tale with you, though it is a long one…”

To Be Continued

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