Post by justaguy on Dec 18, 2009 21:58:39 GMT -4
There comes a time in every man's life when he has to re-evaluate things. When he must decide to stay on his current path or say fuck it and make a hard left. With Anita missing and me getting suspended, I was left with two options, stay with the government or hunt down the bastards I have been hunting my entire life. I still have designs on kill that fucker who took her hostage. My work was split between the FBI and the CIA. As if any of those idiots could even find tits in a strip bar much less Replicants.
I have found a loft apartment. Basically the entire tenth floor of some converted warehouse. It ain't much but it's home. The TV set sits on a stand I made from some scrap wood. The couch is lumpy as hell. It is literally hit and miss on the hot water. The walls are bare save for a couple pictures of my parents. My bedroom is really quite pathetic. A single twin sized bed with a bare pillow and lone blanket. No cover sheets, no pillow case, just a glorified cot. The apartment really only has one appeal to me...privacy. Through the side door, you enter into what I lovingly call my lab. Hunting replicants is not overly cost effective so I have to work into other fields as well. Demons, vampires, trolls, goblins...fuckin' hate goblins, you name it, I hunt it.
How can I afford to keep living now days? Well, I hope to eventually make some cash hunting. To save on money, this shithole of an apartment also serves as my office. Through door number 2, you will find a crammed little space with a rotating fan that is as glitchy as can be and still actually work. Which is where I am right now. I could hear the mailman get off the elevator. Usually he just drops the latest electric bill through the slot and moves on. Today he knocked. So I walked over and opened the door.
Shit, a fuckin' new one. He just started at my door.
"What the heck does that mean?" he asked with the distinct sound of confusion in his voice.
Alex Draven, Hunter is stenciled on the glass. Typical bold font and black you see on offices all across the globe.
"It means I am a hunter." I replied, does this guy have some mail for me or what?
He looked incredulously at me as he arched his eyebrow and handed me my mail.
"Of what, deer?"
"Sure" This fucker is annoying already. A record maybe.
"We are in New York."
"Well then I suppose I hunt other things." I said as I started to close the door.
""Like what?" he asks as sweat rolls down his plump face.
"Like things that go bumb in the night." I slammed the door in his face, hoping I had broken his nose.
I heard him mutter something about an asshole and his foot as he walked away. I only received one item this day. I tore open the envelope and only a single sheet of paper awaited me. I took at look and it was only a hand scribbled note: "Mr. Jackson, if you are as you claim please call me. 555-8626. Janice."
Well fuck me, my first case.
---EPIC TIME WARP---
The dusk was setting over the sun baked fields. The dust kicked up from just a lone footstep could almost choke a man. Jutting out against the serene sunset was a lone tree and three men. Two men laughed as the third one begged. The man cries for mercy are strained from the noose around his neck. On the horizon, hidden from sight is a man looking through a scope trying to determine the wind when his blue tooth chimes in.
Draven: Go ahead base.
Voice: Draven, we have noticed you stopped. Inform us of the situation.
Draven rolls his eyes and looks again through the scope.
Draven: Just resting my eyes boss.
Voice: Get back on track immediately. The mark will be on the move soon. We cannot afford to let it slip away.
With an annoyed sigh Draven complies with his orders and sets about tearing down the rifle when he sees something he just cannot tolerate. A child had tried to stop the men from killing the man in the noose. When she did, she received a boot directly to the face.
Draven: Dammit, why'd ya have to go and do that?
Locking the rifle away, Draven grabbed his favorite pistol, a Kimble 1911. Yea, it is a smaller gun but it has always been reliable. What good is power if it jams right when you need it most. He then fires up the motor and turns on the fog lights and he puts the hammer down on his F-150. The men turn and stare not at all happy about being interrupted. The truck comes to a rest with the lights still blindingly bright. Ash steps out with a smile on his face as he waves towards one of the men.
Draven: Evenin' sir.
Man 1: Mister, I suggest you get back in that fancy truck and get back up the to the road.
Draven: Yea, about that, I just saw a couple vehicles out here in the middle of nowhere and thought maybe y'all needed some help.
Man 2: Things are just fine out here.
Draven turns to the man who already has lost focus on the man in the noose...this is the bastard who kicked the kid.
Draven: That why you had to kick that kid?
Man 1: This don't concern you mister. You got no business here.
Draven: Well, that's not entirely true. Who owns that incredible looking El Camino over there?
The car Draven refers to is a nearly un-drivable hunk of steel posing as a car. The men look over their shoulders before turning back to this stranger.
Man in noose: That's mine sir.
Draven: Excellent. See, I have a friend who collects cars and it just so happens that he needs an El Camino to complete this show he is putting on. I will give ya...what...one thousand bucks?
Man in noose: Deal.
Draven: Ok, gentlemen, this guy and I are now business partners. Which means this is my business.
Man 1: You will not be cutting him down.
Draven smirks as he speaks.
Draven: You're right, you will cut him down.
Before either of the two men can act they have a bullet in their arms and are screaming in pain. Draven tosses a bowie knife to the first man.
Draven: Cut him down before I put a bullet in your skull. And you, in the noose, 'bout a hundred miles north of here is a small town. Look for The Amarillo Garage and ask for James. Tell him Draven sent ya and he will take care of ya.
Draven turns to the little girl but stares down the man who kicked her.
Draven: You have guts lil one. Make things even.
The girl nods and summons some courage as Draven keeps his gun aimed at the man. The little girl rears back and drops the man with a right hand straight to the family jewels causing even Draven to cringe.
Man 1: He's down.
Draven pistol whips the man, smiles at the the girl and her father before climbing back into his truck and heading off to some town to search for some dumb fucking statue. Being a good Samaritan just cost him at least an hour and possibly a paycheck.
Draven: Damn War Bucks, I knew I tore into you pretty good but I didn't plan on shutting you up until Sunday. But hey, thanks for sparring all of us the pain of hearing your damn voice.
I have found a loft apartment. Basically the entire tenth floor of some converted warehouse. It ain't much but it's home. The TV set sits on a stand I made from some scrap wood. The couch is lumpy as hell. It is literally hit and miss on the hot water. The walls are bare save for a couple pictures of my parents. My bedroom is really quite pathetic. A single twin sized bed with a bare pillow and lone blanket. No cover sheets, no pillow case, just a glorified cot. The apartment really only has one appeal to me...privacy. Through the side door, you enter into what I lovingly call my lab. Hunting replicants is not overly cost effective so I have to work into other fields as well. Demons, vampires, trolls, goblins...fuckin' hate goblins, you name it, I hunt it.
How can I afford to keep living now days? Well, I hope to eventually make some cash hunting. To save on money, this shithole of an apartment also serves as my office. Through door number 2, you will find a crammed little space with a rotating fan that is as glitchy as can be and still actually work. Which is where I am right now. I could hear the mailman get off the elevator. Usually he just drops the latest electric bill through the slot and moves on. Today he knocked. So I walked over and opened the door.
Shit, a fuckin' new one. He just started at my door.
"What the heck does that mean?" he asked with the distinct sound of confusion in his voice.
Alex Draven, Hunter is stenciled on the glass. Typical bold font and black you see on offices all across the globe.
"It means I am a hunter." I replied, does this guy have some mail for me or what?
He looked incredulously at me as he arched his eyebrow and handed me my mail.
"Of what, deer?"
"Sure" This fucker is annoying already. A record maybe.
"We are in New York."
"Well then I suppose I hunt other things." I said as I started to close the door.
""Like what?" he asks as sweat rolls down his plump face.
"Like things that go bumb in the night." I slammed the door in his face, hoping I had broken his nose.
I heard him mutter something about an asshole and his foot as he walked away. I only received one item this day. I tore open the envelope and only a single sheet of paper awaited me. I took at look and it was only a hand scribbled note: "Mr. Jackson, if you are as you claim please call me. 555-8626. Janice."
Well fuck me, my first case.
---EPIC TIME WARP---
The dusk was setting over the sun baked fields. The dust kicked up from just a lone footstep could almost choke a man. Jutting out against the serene sunset was a lone tree and three men. Two men laughed as the third one begged. The man cries for mercy are strained from the noose around his neck. On the horizon, hidden from sight is a man looking through a scope trying to determine the wind when his blue tooth chimes in.
Draven: Go ahead base.
Voice: Draven, we have noticed you stopped. Inform us of the situation.
Draven rolls his eyes and looks again through the scope.
Draven: Just resting my eyes boss.
Voice: Get back on track immediately. The mark will be on the move soon. We cannot afford to let it slip away.
With an annoyed sigh Draven complies with his orders and sets about tearing down the rifle when he sees something he just cannot tolerate. A child had tried to stop the men from killing the man in the noose. When she did, she received a boot directly to the face.
Draven: Dammit, why'd ya have to go and do that?
Locking the rifle away, Draven grabbed his favorite pistol, a Kimble 1911. Yea, it is a smaller gun but it has always been reliable. What good is power if it jams right when you need it most. He then fires up the motor and turns on the fog lights and he puts the hammer down on his F-150. The men turn and stare not at all happy about being interrupted. The truck comes to a rest with the lights still blindingly bright. Ash steps out with a smile on his face as he waves towards one of the men.
Draven: Evenin' sir.
Man 1: Mister, I suggest you get back in that fancy truck and get back up the to the road.
Draven: Yea, about that, I just saw a couple vehicles out here in the middle of nowhere and thought maybe y'all needed some help.
Man 2: Things are just fine out here.
Draven turns to the man who already has lost focus on the man in the noose...this is the bastard who kicked the kid.
Draven: That why you had to kick that kid?
Man 1: This don't concern you mister. You got no business here.
Draven: Well, that's not entirely true. Who owns that incredible looking El Camino over there?
The car Draven refers to is a nearly un-drivable hunk of steel posing as a car. The men look over their shoulders before turning back to this stranger.
Man in noose: That's mine sir.
Draven: Excellent. See, I have a friend who collects cars and it just so happens that he needs an El Camino to complete this show he is putting on. I will give ya...what...one thousand bucks?
Man in noose: Deal.
Draven: Ok, gentlemen, this guy and I are now business partners. Which means this is my business.
Man 1: You will not be cutting him down.
Draven smirks as he speaks.
Draven: You're right, you will cut him down.
Before either of the two men can act they have a bullet in their arms and are screaming in pain. Draven tosses a bowie knife to the first man.
Draven: Cut him down before I put a bullet in your skull. And you, in the noose, 'bout a hundred miles north of here is a small town. Look for The Amarillo Garage and ask for James. Tell him Draven sent ya and he will take care of ya.
Draven turns to the little girl but stares down the man who kicked her.
Draven: You have guts lil one. Make things even.
The girl nods and summons some courage as Draven keeps his gun aimed at the man. The little girl rears back and drops the man with a right hand straight to the family jewels causing even Draven to cringe.
Man 1: He's down.
Draven pistol whips the man, smiles at the the girl and her father before climbing back into his truck and heading off to some town to search for some dumb fucking statue. Being a good Samaritan just cost him at least an hour and possibly a paycheck.
Draven: Damn War Bucks, I knew I tore into you pretty good but I didn't plan on shutting you up until Sunday. But hey, thanks for sparring all of us the pain of hearing your damn voice.
