Ever since I watched Fight Club with my friend about a year or two ago I've been obssessed with it, probably to the duress of some people. But since then I've been part of one, tried creating one at secondary and so it seems the next step would be to either blow up some banks or write a fan fiction about it, I think this is the wiser option. The story itself is set during and after the events of Fight Club and is based on the book and film depending on how well i think they did on certain events.

This story is really for everyone feeling they've been crushed; by teachers, bosses, parents or anyone really. And how when you hit bottom anything or anyone with the answer seems your Messiah, but basically the point is just to say 'Fuck you!' to anyone trying to make you blend in with all the sheep out there.

'In Tyler We Trust'

Ground Zero

Say the name Tyler Durden to people and more than likely they'll react with a look of 'who the fuck are you talking about?' or with a silent look of awe. See, to most people he was just another nobody, a face on the wall of employees crushed by corporate formalities. But, to the lucky few who actually knew him, or, at least knew of him he was an icon, the only pariah of our time and the mastermind to one of the greatest forms of release around.

Fight Club wasn't so much Tyler's creation as it was his gift to us; junkies had drugs, alcoholics had their beer. We had Fight Club. Quite how Tyler came up with it no-one knows, some say he had a fight in a car park and went on from there, others that he got his ass kicked by his boss so he set the club up after so his co workers could feel the same release he had felt. Knowing that crazy bastard all the rumours were true. Before long Fight Clubs were springing up all over America, inevitably catching the attention of the media and politicians. Elections were coming up. They promised to get rid Fight Club. A 'plague' is what they called it. Tyler made sure they could do fuck all about it and before long even they stopped trying to finish Fight Club. The 'plague' spread and like all good plagues it soon infected other countries.

As a kid you always have high expectations of your life; finish secondary school with good grades, get a degree from university, high class job at twenty two and settle down with a family set for life at thirty. The reality though? Well, that's a little different. The girl you love ditches you for some exec dick, swiftly followed by your parents throwing you out for wrongly believing you've turned to drugs which leaves you on the streets alone but with last month's pay. The normal thing to do would be to find solace through drinking right? Not when you've still another month until you turn eighteen with the option of attempting to buy alcohol anyway ruled out with what's known as a 'baby face'. When I was younger my parents used to call me 'Angel Face' but with the red hair of the Devil. Religious bastards. No, instead you find yourself renting a shitty flat above the local pub and throwing yourself into work. After a while work blends into one continuous action, cars always need fixing; especially with the current set of assholes on the road.

A truck sets off from 'A' with the intention of reaching 'B' within two hours. The truck is carrying immaculate fridges that only the rich or stupid would even consider buying, it's also being driven by Mike Newlan. See, Mike had been in the running to be the manager of the newest brewery in the city but, his wife, Mindy, was fucking the CEO of said brewery. Mike put the CEO in hospital and himself in prison. By the time he got out Mindy and the CEO had eloped taking his kids with them leaving Mike jobless and alone with one helluva mortgage left to pay on his house. Mike hit the bottle. Hard. He promised not to drink again after the police found him cradling the corpse of the family dog, sobbing...in a vat of distilled alcohol. Mike was a liar. And a bad navigator.

After a bout of comfort drinking Mike found a 'C', which he crashed through, flung through the windscreen he landed in 'D', a ditch. 'C' had been a primary school during dinner break. Like all schools at dinner the playground had been full of screaming kids running like little crazy midgets. Take a truck fully loaded with large fridges, add a drunk driver and a bunch of kids you end up with twelve kids injured, one teacher seriously injured, five dead children and quite a few grieving parents. Oh, and a dead Mike. Understandably the grief the parents felt turned to anger and with Mike dead they had to direct it elsewhere.

When Mike had brought his truck to me for a routine service we got talking, mainly about his drinking during which he told me it was like a poison. The second he ingested it the alcohol infected his entire body. Veins swelled as his blood turned stale and stagnant, cells in his body rotted away eating him from the inside and the area of his brain that usually made sensible decisions literally haemorrhaged, pooling blood until it no longer functioned. His body could reject the poison, he told me, it could bring it back from the route it came exiting very civilly through his mouth leaving an aftertaste of shame. That poison he felt infected the grieving parents turning sensible people, most of whom were regarded as the elite of the city into, well, idiots directing their anger not at him but at the company who had serviced his truck. The company I work for. The report their solicitors published claimed the brake pedal had been faulty but the only faulty thing was that the dumbass driver had been too intoxicated to realise it was there and press it before driving through the school.

The directors couldn't let it be traced back to them because that would mean everyone else would lose their job and more importantly, they'd lose money so the blame was passed to the managers. Of course they couldn't accept the blame they'd lose money as well besides, they didn't control what happened in the garage the supervisors did. Accepting the blame would mean the supervisor of that shift would lose his job, as a qualified mechanic he should have seen such a nonexistent fault, as should all the other qualified mechanics who would also lose their coveted roles. The apprentice however, the kid who was expected to make mistakes would only get a slap on the wrist, a written warning and some pissed parents after him. Therefore the blame gets passed from Mike all the way down to me. Whopee fucking doo. Mike gets to lie cold in a grave and I get roasted by my manager and a solicitor for his mistake.

Nice.

AW

Whilst the first chapter is fairly short the following ones get longer, basically I wanted some feedback on people's first impressions on the character before continuing, and yes I know that there's not muh mention of Tyler, Fight Club or even violence but trust me, it only gets darker here on out.

Peace, Cloud932 out.