So, I read through the original version of this story... and I shook my head as I did so.
Wanted to revamp my old story cause the old version was pretty damn terrible. Not the plot though, cause that was A1, but my writing in general was 'eh', and there were so many parts that had me confused, like 'why did I put that there, what the fu-'
You get it. The original version was 'BLEH'.
So here it is — the revised version! Plot remains exactly the same, but general writing is improved (in my opinion)
And, I needed something new to spice up my interest in writing fics... here it is, hopefully it doesn't bore you readers.
Prologue
A cloudy night in London.
The bright rays of the moon were clouded by the usual grey in the sky. The streets of London were dimly lit with the light sources that hung on the streets.
It was a silent, peaceful night in London. Not many sounds were heard around the streets... other than the humming engines of the various floating cars that inhabited the freeway, and groups of kids that should have been going to sleep, instead causing a ruckus on the sidewalks, unaware parents oblivious to their offspring's mischief...
Other than bad parenting, not much went on around London on a silent night... but silence wasn't permanent...
Silence was considered 'good' in London, and good things always came to an end...
A man donning a red hoodie and black sweats discreetly made his way to the entrance of a 24 Hour convenience store.
His hands were wrapped with bandages, where dried blood stains accompanied the material. His thick, white-layered socks were up to his knees — always.
Whether it was a covered blade he was hiding, or a small bag of 'dope' he had intentions of feeding to the denizens of London — he always came prepared when it came to his life, or, his money. He might have even complained that the outcome of his life depended on the amount of his income.
Which was true to some degrees.
A black duffel bag was strapped onto his back, holding a load of questionable items that would never make it through an omnic-infested airport. Impeccable anti-criminal A.I. programming with the fact that they were self-aware as well, has reduced the concept of 'smuggling' to meer myths, as it had never worked anymore.
He wore a black cap with his hoodie on, giving his face a shadowed look under the already-dark night.
A shadowed face was a face that couldn't be identified easily, and being unidentifiable was important for him.
The light of the convenience store brightened up his face as he walked up to it, revealing sharp-coloured blues that could kill, and an equally sharp smirk as he gripped his pistol.
A calm exhale left his mouth. A sentence that had been repeated time and time whenever he found himself in the process of commiting crime. Time to get my money."
This was routine for him.
He kicked the door open, aiming the weapon towards the clerk. His eyes shot to the clerk's hands, which was reaching for something.
"Touch that gun, and see what happens, pal." He threatened.
The clerk slowly retracted his hand back and held up his arms in surrender.
"Good. Now gimme everything you got in there, and I'll be on my way." He gestured at the cash register with the barrel of his pistol, "Oh, and I ain't playin' nice today either, so get ya finger's workin'!"
His accent dripped heavily of a wiseguy Bostonian, but with a teeny slash of schoolboy England as well, dropping the 'r' in some words.
He kept the gun pointed at the clerk.
He unstrapped his duffel bag and threw it on the counter, unzipping it and pointing his finger inside the bag.
"Money. Now. Hurry it up, will ya?" He cocked his pistol, safeties off.
The nonchalant clerk opened the cash register, and pulled out the pounds.
"You're not getting away with this, you know that? This is all on surveillance buddy, and you don't even have a mask to protect your face." He scoffed and shook his head, keeping a relaxed stance.
"Damn it." He thought to himself.
A negative about being so damn rushed for time, was that he sometimes forgot the essentials.
How could he forget his mask?! He went to work without his tools!
He rolled his eyes at the observant clerk, "Shut up and keep stackin'." He ushered the gun closer towards his temple.
The clerk stuffed pound after pound inside the duffel bag, some of the space was taken up by the other gear that the robber had brought with him.
An aluminum bat, anda deadly looking shotgun that had "Modified" written all over it.
Once the duffel bag had all of the store's money, the robber went to close it, all while keeping the gun pointed towards the clerk's direction.
The clerk spoke up, "Can't live like this forever, you know?"
"Watch me." The robber growled out, daring the man to open his mouth once again.
"You don't get it. You're just gonna end up as fresh meat for the slums, you'll end up getting shanked... or fucking wanked!"
That triggered the robber. He didn't take insults well, especially when it was related to gay intimacy.
He was no 'fruit'.
"Gonna get tossed around, and shagged by men that are twice your size, you scrawny looking-"
The clerk was cut off by the robber's pistol, easily penetrating through his skull to that thick brain of his.
Blood splattered the walls around him, coating bags of chips and soda cans with fresh red...
The robber let out a light chuckle at the fact that he had just committed murder.
"Damn bastards don't know when to shut up." He strapped his duffel bag onto his back, grunting at the weight as it was full of money and his gear.
He kept his pistol hung to his right thigh as he kicked the door open, running like hell into the dim streets of London - Heart pounding and head throbbing at the natural adrenaline that was put into him on the daily...
This was routine for him.