Hello reader. Skip this if you dont care, its okay. Just a disclaimer. This short story is super dark, contains graphic language and the insinuation of ultra violence. I apologize for any grammar errors, I edited it to the best of my abities. Please leave feedback, if your a grammar Nazi, I WILL LOVE YOU FOREVER IF YOU POINT OUT ERRORS!!! I want to improve my grammar. And if that's what you like doing, have at it broham. This is going to be a series of short episodic stories. Eventually when I'm confident with my skills I'll start writing full chapter's. If I think its worth doing. If only one person wants to read my stories I will write for you and it will be worth it in my eyes! If you want to leave story ideas I would love to implement your ideas. If I like them. If I do, I'll let you know and credit you as Co Writer or something. So… Without further ado… I now present my very first Fan Fiction story.
Episode One: Rex beats the fucking fuckity fuck out of Mr. Fuck Face with a baseball bat...
Written by Max Isom.
"Hello Mr Fuck Face, my name is Rex. And yes. I'm totally going to fucking kill you now..." A giant of a man named Rex stands in front of a traveling Merchant on an anonymous stretch of road just outside of New Vegas. The filthy dirt caked trader sits on his knee's with his head dipped down and his arms dropped at his sides. Limp from exhaustion. And from being beaten within an inch of life and death. Rex is wearing a brown leather jacket with a fur collar that's severely burnt on the left side. A laser beam nearly took off Rex's head a few year's back in Chicago, unfortunately for Mr. Fuck Face it only seared Rex's jacket. On the back of the jacket is a faded letterhead that reads, "El Diablo's Motorcycle Club". Under that is a very graphic image of a cartoon demon mischievously bent over a dead body while eating out its guts with a spoon. Rex holds a beaten up old M1911 in his right hand and a Louisville Slugger wrapped in barbed wire in the left. " Please, let me go… Take whatever you want, just don't kill me. I have an 8 year old kid to feed at home. Please…"
"I'm sorry Mr. Fuck face what was that? You have a kid? Awww. I'm so sorry, really, I truly am! But I'm also confused. What does that have to do with me smashing the fucking fuckity fuck out of your face with my baseball bat?" The trader grabs Rex's right leg, then looks up into his face with tears running down his dust smothered face. He pleads. "THIS ISN'T FUNNY! I HAVE A KID! HE NEEDS ME! DO YOU KNOW WHAT HAPPENS TO ORPHAN'S IN NEW VEGAS!" Rex slaps the man in the face with his gun hand then kicks the man square in his chest. A plume of dust erupts from the mans shirt as he topples over onto his back from the force of the kick. Rex shoves his pistol into his shoulder hoster then grips the bloodstained baseball bat in both hands. "YOU DON'T GET TO PLEE FOR MERCY YOU SICK FUCK! Did you show mercy to that little girl back in Radiator Springs? How about that 8 year old boy on Route 88? The 4 year old girl and her pregnant mother in New Reno? I can go on and on Mr Fuck Face. By day you travel the wasteland peddling your shitty wares town to town, and when nightfalls and no ones looking you rape and murder children then skip off to find your next victim! Darcy Brown. Emanuel Rodriguez. Carl Green. Samantha Burns. Agatha Smith. You deserve to die Fuck Face. I've been tracking you FOR, SIX, MONTHS! IVE SEEN THE DEVASTATION YOU'VE LEFT IN YOUR WAKE! You've destroyed hundreds of lives. My only serious regret in life is that I didn't find you sooner and cave your fucking head in." The traveling Merchant pushes him self up on his elbows and tries to shuffle away. "NO! YOU DON'T UNDERSTAND. THEY LIKED IT. I SAVED THEM! THEY WHERE LIVING A LIFE OF ENVY AND SIN I FREED THEM! THEIR IN HEAVEN NOW! I HELPED THEM FIND GOD THEY LOVE ME!" Rex tightens his grip on the baseball bat, the tension makes a squelching noise from his fingerless leather gloves. "They didn't love you Fuck Face. Your sick. And what you got ain't got no cure. I'd use the old zombie movie cliché and say the only cure for you is a bullet to the head. But a bullet is expensive Mr Fuck Face. And even if it weren't expensive, a bullet to the head is to good for the likes of you. Not that anyone actually LIKES you, I never understood that phrase. Huh. Maybe I should read a fucking book later? Well, you get my point. Nobody likes you. So much so, in fact I was actually PAID, by PEOPLE, to beat you to death with my handy dandy mother fucking baseball bat. So here I am." Rex walks closer to the traveling merchant who's still trying to scuttle away. Rex mentally prepares himself to start swinging. Its a hell of a thing to beat a human being to death with a baseball bat. Even when they deserve worse. The Merchant is terrified, he sees the look in Rex's eyes. Its the look the early Neanderthal's knew to well when the Homo sapiens drove them to extinction. Pure, Primeval, bloodlust. He knows what's coming. "NO! DON'T DO IT! PLEASE! NOT LIKE THIS! ILL GIVE YOU A BULLET! I HAVE BOX'S OF THEM!" Rex cracks his neck then inhales a deep breath of air. "BATTER UP FUCK FACE! Things are totally about to get fucked up!" The Merchant shields his face with his arms and curls into a ball.
FIN
Our hero will return… Mr. Fuck Face was just a foot note in Rex's big bad book of death and destruction. Tune in next week when our valient anti hero usurps the throne of a drug cartel leader! Will Rex Slater become a free side hero? Or just another leather jacket scum ball?