Post by strange on May 28, 2009 1:53:41 GMT -4
Fog consumes the city of London like the aftermath of a tsunami. Specks of tall buildings like big Ben can barely be seen in the highly dense and unusual fog. Screams echo throughout the city as lights shut off leaving everything in a pitch black ocean drowning out hope with fear. Police cars are heard by the civilians but suddenly mysteriously silenced. Politicians, pencil pushers, whores, and convicts all hold their breath and unite in hopes to survive till sunrise.
In an alleyway Mr. Strange walks down carrying a blood knife. His all seeing mask makes perfect images for him to see as if the fog was not even there. As he approaches his next target, someone wraps their hand around his hair. With a mighty jerk he’s thrown backwards a few steps and punched across the mask. The force was great enough to knock the mask clean off his face but the fog was still far to thick for anyone to get a glimpse of his face, even at this range. The stranger shoves him into a wall and reaches for something. Mr. Strange holds his arms out in defense but suddenly hears a thud as he realizes that his forearm is missing. Bleeding a raging river yet at the same time it still felt as if the arm was there. With no mask he could see no one in the fog. This stranger grabs his throat and choke slams him to the ground where he then knelt over him and grabbed him on the back of the head. From there he continuously smashed Strange’s face into the ground till there was pools of blood and a face impossible to see in the bloody mess.
He kicks Strange onto his back shoves the mask back onto his face for him to see his attacker. To his surprise, his attacker was none other then… Mr. Strange. Wearing the same clothing and the same mask, he pulls out the gun commonly known as Vengeance and aims it at the identical man’s face.
Mr. Strange (the Attacker): I leave to take care of some things in a very important mission to come back to this. Look at this mess you made! Look at the mess your in.
The attacking Mr. Strange contacts Captain X through his mask.
Mr. Strange (the Attacker): Captain, I’m resuming my position as leader. Contact Creed and demand my money back! This clone is nothing like me! If he wants proof then make him watch his Nunez rant and Street Wilson fight.
Mr. Strange (Victim): Clone? What the fuck are you talking about!
The attacking Strange pulls the trigger and blasts the other man’s foot clean off with his improved bullets.
Mr. Strange (the Attacker): I’m not talking to you right now. Captain, get me my money back immediately. I’ll take care of the defective product.
The attacker stabs the working arm of the victim into the ground to keep him pinned and unable to grab anything from his jacket. The attacker crouches down to speak with the victim.
Mr. Strange: I pulled a few favors to have you made. It wasn’t easy and I must say that it wasn’t worth it either. The thing about me is that I can be anyone I want to be and that I could be anyone as well. The problem is to find a replacement with the right mind set. Even my trained personal army has no one with these features so I pulled a few favors with an old… friend, I suppose. He just happens to be the only person I know to have created the perfect clones. So perfect that the original and the clone are supposed to share the same soul, but I’m sure that’s just a marketing propaganda for him.
Mr. Strange: What I didn’t take into account was that being a Mr. Strange was a state of mind. Mr. Strange isn’t in the DNA but rather it’s achieved mentally and physically. When you were created you knew everything I wanted you to know but you didn’t have the right attitude or understanding of a Strange! How could you! You were just born, heh. This state of mind is an abnormality that can’t be transferred through genetic copying. The proof is in your first fight with Street Wilson.
Strange Clone?: I… I’ve been a clone since the fight with Wilson?... When did you-when was I… I DON’T BELIEVE YOU!
The clone shook franticly to try to escape. Mr. Strange put a gun up to the clone and inject a serum that made him relax.
Mr. Strange: Show boating, underestimating, weak immune system? These are signs of being something other then Strange. The attack on London is far too soon and your actually pitying some of the victims including Jesse Nunez. The only thing of mine that you have is some of my memories. Here’s a special one for you. Remember what I injected into Mr. Valdez? You’ll be sharing the same fate. I say you have a good three minutes to live if you don’t bleed to death before then. By the time the police find you, you’ll be nothing but bones and a pile of decaying organs. This way incase Creed decided to give you a matching face, you won’t have one left for them to see. With this dense fog, even if someone did find you immediately, this dense fog will assure you they cannot see it.
The real Mr. Strange plucks off the mask of the imposter.
Mr. Strange: You won’t need this.
Mr. Strange presses a button hidden in his wrist.
Mr. Strange: Don’t have room for any of my borrowed weapons so they’ll implode in a few minutes. Good bye impostor.
As quickly as he came, he vanished into the fog.
*Few hours later in a hidden location*
The camera turned on to reveal Mr. Strange playing an organ in a dimly lit room playing the same Beethoven’s Moonlight Sonata. Soft elegant music echoed the room in an eerie display of a beautiful talent of a mass murder. His gloves were off but the lighting made it impossible to see the skin tone of his hands. On top of the keys was an area with a few picture frames and the Mask taken earlier on a picture frame stand. Dabs and smears of blood can still be seen on the mask.
Mr. Strange: I have… wronged you.
He sighed as he went deeper into his music.
Mr. Strange: I have wronged, all of you…
He paused in his speech and sunk back into his melody.
Mr. Strange: I should have started later. I should have taken a break, but I didn’t…
Mr. Strange: I relied on a man and his word to make things appear as if I’m still there, but… one cannot still exist if one has yet to exist. A man, a man named Mr. Strange approached you all. He threatened and belittled you to no end only to find himself dead with nothing more to say. Dumbstruck by his own down fall of which he believed was impossible, believing himself to be some sort of… God. The fool.
He played on for awhile, staying silent.
Mr. Strange: A Strange dances between the borderline of Godliness and mankind. A Strange shrieks with laughter at the face of fate and death. Human body with the Godly ability to change. This… This is what it means to be a Strange.
Mr. Strange: Then there is you, you Mr. Biggs. Mortals such as yourself who laugh at us like a man whom believes not in Gods and fate. God is real but such power is unconceivable to the weak minded. God is as real as the Strange whom laugh and play with the strings of fate like the Greek beings known as the three fates who decide when and where a person will die or if they should die.
He sighs once again and continues on with his music with such a passion that one would think of him as harmless as any renaissance man.
Mr. Strange: There was a man who tried to call me a ghost. A ghost of all things which I for one, found that ironic. Look at the many men here. Are they who they say they are or ghosts of another? How many Shadows and Slades have we all seen before? How many Wilson’s come and go? I can name at least three. If anything, the one’s around me are ghosts. Nothing more but shadows of another, an original, the basic idea stolen from a particular figure. Simple conditioning to make them believe they are who they are and not someone else. Ask yourself this though. How many Mr. Strange’s do you see? A few try to take the idea of me and become it but in the end they all fail. I once thought Goth was close to me but he was dead. He was dead inside and continued to walk this earth like another ghost.
He continued to play his song all the way out to the end. He finished his song with these words.
Mr. Strange: I am sadistic but unlike any of you… I want to be beat. To be beaten is to be proven there is life left here on this rock. So many shadows… like one big mirage… is there anybody out there? Prove to me this isn’t what you would call a dream….
The lights dimmed even farther till there was nothing.
And the music stopped all together.
*end*
What does it mean to be Strange?
Strange is not a condition but a state
The state itself is total and complete freedom
No man or power can manipulate Strange
However it is the Strange that manipulates the man and power
To a Strange there is neither life nor death
All there is to the eyes of Strange is fate
To live forever is a fate for the Gods
But to die the next day is a fate for man
Strange is neither man nor God
A mere twister of his own fate is he
With such power and total freedom
He hath more power than the Gods themselves
-David Velez (Author of the Strange Series)
In an alleyway Mr. Strange walks down carrying a blood knife. His all seeing mask makes perfect images for him to see as if the fog was not even there. As he approaches his next target, someone wraps their hand around his hair. With a mighty jerk he’s thrown backwards a few steps and punched across the mask. The force was great enough to knock the mask clean off his face but the fog was still far to thick for anyone to get a glimpse of his face, even at this range. The stranger shoves him into a wall and reaches for something. Mr. Strange holds his arms out in defense but suddenly hears a thud as he realizes that his forearm is missing. Bleeding a raging river yet at the same time it still felt as if the arm was there. With no mask he could see no one in the fog. This stranger grabs his throat and choke slams him to the ground where he then knelt over him and grabbed him on the back of the head. From there he continuously smashed Strange’s face into the ground till there was pools of blood and a face impossible to see in the bloody mess.
He kicks Strange onto his back shoves the mask back onto his face for him to see his attacker. To his surprise, his attacker was none other then… Mr. Strange. Wearing the same clothing and the same mask, he pulls out the gun commonly known as Vengeance and aims it at the identical man’s face.
Mr. Strange (the Attacker): I leave to take care of some things in a very important mission to come back to this. Look at this mess you made! Look at the mess your in.
The attacking Mr. Strange contacts Captain X through his mask.
Mr. Strange (the Attacker): Captain, I’m resuming my position as leader. Contact Creed and demand my money back! This clone is nothing like me! If he wants proof then make him watch his Nunez rant and Street Wilson fight.
Mr. Strange (Victim): Clone? What the fuck are you talking about!
The attacking Strange pulls the trigger and blasts the other man’s foot clean off with his improved bullets.
Mr. Strange (the Attacker): I’m not talking to you right now. Captain, get me my money back immediately. I’ll take care of the defective product.
The attacker stabs the working arm of the victim into the ground to keep him pinned and unable to grab anything from his jacket. The attacker crouches down to speak with the victim.
Mr. Strange: I pulled a few favors to have you made. It wasn’t easy and I must say that it wasn’t worth it either. The thing about me is that I can be anyone I want to be and that I could be anyone as well. The problem is to find a replacement with the right mind set. Even my trained personal army has no one with these features so I pulled a few favors with an old… friend, I suppose. He just happens to be the only person I know to have created the perfect clones. So perfect that the original and the clone are supposed to share the same soul, but I’m sure that’s just a marketing propaganda for him.
Mr. Strange: What I didn’t take into account was that being a Mr. Strange was a state of mind. Mr. Strange isn’t in the DNA but rather it’s achieved mentally and physically. When you were created you knew everything I wanted you to know but you didn’t have the right attitude or understanding of a Strange! How could you! You were just born, heh. This state of mind is an abnormality that can’t be transferred through genetic copying. The proof is in your first fight with Street Wilson.
Strange Clone?: I… I’ve been a clone since the fight with Wilson?... When did you-when was I… I DON’T BELIEVE YOU!
The clone shook franticly to try to escape. Mr. Strange put a gun up to the clone and inject a serum that made him relax.
Mr. Strange: Show boating, underestimating, weak immune system? These are signs of being something other then Strange. The attack on London is far too soon and your actually pitying some of the victims including Jesse Nunez. The only thing of mine that you have is some of my memories. Here’s a special one for you. Remember what I injected into Mr. Valdez? You’ll be sharing the same fate. I say you have a good three minutes to live if you don’t bleed to death before then. By the time the police find you, you’ll be nothing but bones and a pile of decaying organs. This way incase Creed decided to give you a matching face, you won’t have one left for them to see. With this dense fog, even if someone did find you immediately, this dense fog will assure you they cannot see it.
The real Mr. Strange plucks off the mask of the imposter.
Mr. Strange: You won’t need this.
Mr. Strange presses a button hidden in his wrist.
Mr. Strange: Don’t have room for any of my borrowed weapons so they’ll implode in a few minutes. Good bye impostor.
As quickly as he came, he vanished into the fog.
*Few hours later in a hidden location*
The camera turned on to reveal Mr. Strange playing an organ in a dimly lit room playing the same Beethoven’s Moonlight Sonata. Soft elegant music echoed the room in an eerie display of a beautiful talent of a mass murder. His gloves were off but the lighting made it impossible to see the skin tone of his hands. On top of the keys was an area with a few picture frames and the Mask taken earlier on a picture frame stand. Dabs and smears of blood can still be seen on the mask.
Mr. Strange: I have… wronged you.
He sighed as he went deeper into his music.
Mr. Strange: I have wronged, all of you…
He paused in his speech and sunk back into his melody.
Mr. Strange: I should have started later. I should have taken a break, but I didn’t…
Mr. Strange: I relied on a man and his word to make things appear as if I’m still there, but… one cannot still exist if one has yet to exist. A man, a man named Mr. Strange approached you all. He threatened and belittled you to no end only to find himself dead with nothing more to say. Dumbstruck by his own down fall of which he believed was impossible, believing himself to be some sort of… God. The fool.
He played on for awhile, staying silent.
Mr. Strange: A Strange dances between the borderline of Godliness and mankind. A Strange shrieks with laughter at the face of fate and death. Human body with the Godly ability to change. This… This is what it means to be a Strange.
Mr. Strange: Then there is you, you Mr. Biggs. Mortals such as yourself who laugh at us like a man whom believes not in Gods and fate. God is real but such power is unconceivable to the weak minded. God is as real as the Strange whom laugh and play with the strings of fate like the Greek beings known as the three fates who decide when and where a person will die or if they should die.
He sighs once again and continues on with his music with such a passion that one would think of him as harmless as any renaissance man.
Mr. Strange: There was a man who tried to call me a ghost. A ghost of all things which I for one, found that ironic. Look at the many men here. Are they who they say they are or ghosts of another? How many Shadows and Slades have we all seen before? How many Wilson’s come and go? I can name at least three. If anything, the one’s around me are ghosts. Nothing more but shadows of another, an original, the basic idea stolen from a particular figure. Simple conditioning to make them believe they are who they are and not someone else. Ask yourself this though. How many Mr. Strange’s do you see? A few try to take the idea of me and become it but in the end they all fail. I once thought Goth was close to me but he was dead. He was dead inside and continued to walk this earth like another ghost.
He continued to play his song all the way out to the end. He finished his song with these words.
Mr. Strange: I am sadistic but unlike any of you… I want to be beat. To be beaten is to be proven there is life left here on this rock. So many shadows… like one big mirage… is there anybody out there? Prove to me this isn’t what you would call a dream….
The lights dimmed even farther till there was nothing.
And the music stopped all together.
*end*
What does it mean to be Strange?
Strange is not a condition but a state
The state itself is total and complete freedom
No man or power can manipulate Strange
However it is the Strange that manipulates the man and power
To a Strange there is neither life nor death
All there is to the eyes of Strange is fate
To live forever is a fate for the Gods
But to die the next day is a fate for man
Strange is neither man nor God
A mere twister of his own fate is he
With such power and total freedom
He hath more power than the Gods themselves
-David Velez (Author of the Strange Series)
