Perfect Dark: Dead on Arrival
Original story owned and written by: Rareware, Nintendo.
The following written by: Todd B. James.
PD: DOA
Intro
Sunday. August Seventeen. 2025. 3:28 AM.
Chicago, U.S.
The long-abandoned city of Chicago. Once a great, sprawling, thriving city, now a wasteland of concrete and asphalt. The occasional cruiser prowls the mean streets, the patrolling officers inside scanning the surface, trying to catch any suspicious behavior in the act. Actually, any behavior at all would suffice. During the war back in 2018, Chicago changed faces many times from bustling metropolis, to buzzing temporary military stand, to hellish hotzone, to it's current state since the war's end in fall of 2019. Widespread thought and rumors held that The Windy City had become The Nuclear Windy City, even though there was zero nuclear presence anywhere during the war aside from the enemy's turf. But, legends soon become national lies, and Chicago has since decayed into a deadly labyrinth that only gang members and club owners dare traverse. Four years can make a difference, though. Last year, in fact, some semblance of business finally returned, but after the G-5 fiasco was unraveled, business once again cooled off. The legitimate kind, that is.
Deep within the bowels of The Uptown, an ubiquitous gray hovercar saunters it's way down a dark back-alley without it's headlamps burning a swath through the moody, dimly lit streets. It parks 15 feet from another hovercar, a dark red one, it's anti-grav drives still whirring. The gray one's passenger door opens. A figure in a brown overcoat steps out, holding a small package in his left hand, his right arm blocking the red car's sudden headlight glare. It's passenger door opens, and from it emerges another figure, clad in civilian garb, a DY357 tightly clenched between white knuckles.
The Overcoat speaks first.
"New England clam chowder."
"Red or white wine?" Magnum responds.
The Overcoat hesitates; The Magnum cocks the hammer of his DY.
Overcoat struggles for a moment. God help me, I can never remember that!, he thinks to himself. "...Red?"
The Magnum uncocks the gun and tucks it into his belt, much to the visible relief of The Overcoat.
"You're half a week early. That raises eyebrows in this business, Chief, " Magnum calls out.
Overcoat smirks in the shadows, stepping forward, handing over the small, tightly wrapped package.
"What can I say? My contacts are being unusually efficient in the consummation of their given tasks," Said The Overcoat, receiving an antique PDA with several account numbers on the notepad file.
Magnum discreetly nods the go-ahead to his partner, placing a device on the gray car's rear bumper.
"All of the accounts are there. The amount each one's got is the same. 305 G's each." The Magnum assures.
Overcoat checks their authenticity via an open connection to the agreed- upon banks on his watch. "They all check out, except for the missing numbers. What's the deal? Because our deal was six mil. There's only 16 accounts here. You're short a full seven figures, compadre`."
"Maybe I still need to see if this thing is a solid commodity before I feel like investing, Mr. Harvard," Magnum spits out, examining the goods.
Suddenly, The Overcoat unleashes his Beretta 920 .50 AE, training it's sights on The Magnum. "Perhaps it's validity can be proven true by another party, preferably one that's willing to pay!"
Magnum's hands fly into the air, sweat tracing shining streaks across his stubbly cheeks.
"All right, all right! Here. Don't shoot, I'm just reaching for the other four numbers."
Never blinking, Overcoat snatches the second PDA, it's numbers quickly proven legit. He reholsters the B, a snooty smirk breaking the hawk-eyed staredown.
"Glad to see that we're still partners... For the time being, at least," Overcoat says as he steps into the car, slamming the door.
Magnum watches it take off, lowering his hands and putting on a smirk of his own. He watches it disappear behind a building, then listens for the whirring a-g drives to make sure of it's departure. He calls for his driver.
"Yo. The coast is 'beachy keen.' Get out here."
His compatriot saunters out from behind the street corner, handing his partner the other half of the device.
Magnum cracks a crooked smile, examining the lighter-shaped remote, popping a cig in his craw.
"...Yeah, I'm glad, too, pal. And I'm real glad that you're my cheapest contact yet!"
Magnum lights the cigarette, puffing that first crisp blow, reveling in the distant explosion.
"C'mon, Shemp, Moe needs us back home in an hour, an' I need to pick up a few things."
They both slumped deep into the brown leather seats, the partner juicing up the drives.
Magnum takes one last, long drag, then flicks the cig out the window as the bloodred vehicle gains altitude and speeds off into the night.
Ch. 1 coming soon. Reply and, be honest, now dearies!!
Original story owned and written by: Rareware, Nintendo.
The following written by: Todd B. James.
PD: DOA
Intro
Sunday. August Seventeen. 2025. 3:28 AM.
Chicago, U.S.
The long-abandoned city of Chicago. Once a great, sprawling, thriving city, now a wasteland of concrete and asphalt. The occasional cruiser prowls the mean streets, the patrolling officers inside scanning the surface, trying to catch any suspicious behavior in the act. Actually, any behavior at all would suffice. During the war back in 2018, Chicago changed faces many times from bustling metropolis, to buzzing temporary military stand, to hellish hotzone, to it's current state since the war's end in fall of 2019. Widespread thought and rumors held that The Windy City had become The Nuclear Windy City, even though there was zero nuclear presence anywhere during the war aside from the enemy's turf. But, legends soon become national lies, and Chicago has since decayed into a deadly labyrinth that only gang members and club owners dare traverse. Four years can make a difference, though. Last year, in fact, some semblance of business finally returned, but after the G-5 fiasco was unraveled, business once again cooled off. The legitimate kind, that is.
Deep within the bowels of The Uptown, an ubiquitous gray hovercar saunters it's way down a dark back-alley without it's headlamps burning a swath through the moody, dimly lit streets. It parks 15 feet from another hovercar, a dark red one, it's anti-grav drives still whirring. The gray one's passenger door opens. A figure in a brown overcoat steps out, holding a small package in his left hand, his right arm blocking the red car's sudden headlight glare. It's passenger door opens, and from it emerges another figure, clad in civilian garb, a DY357 tightly clenched between white knuckles.
The Overcoat speaks first.
"New England clam chowder."
"Red or white wine?" Magnum responds.
The Overcoat hesitates; The Magnum cocks the hammer of his DY.
Overcoat struggles for a moment. God help me, I can never remember that!, he thinks to himself. "...Red?"
The Magnum uncocks the gun and tucks it into his belt, much to the visible relief of The Overcoat.
"You're half a week early. That raises eyebrows in this business, Chief, " Magnum calls out.
Overcoat smirks in the shadows, stepping forward, handing over the small, tightly wrapped package.
"What can I say? My contacts are being unusually efficient in the consummation of their given tasks," Said The Overcoat, receiving an antique PDA with several account numbers on the notepad file.
Magnum discreetly nods the go-ahead to his partner, placing a device on the gray car's rear bumper.
"All of the accounts are there. The amount each one's got is the same. 305 G's each." The Magnum assures.
Overcoat checks their authenticity via an open connection to the agreed- upon banks on his watch. "They all check out, except for the missing numbers. What's the deal? Because our deal was six mil. There's only 16 accounts here. You're short a full seven figures, compadre`."
"Maybe I still need to see if this thing is a solid commodity before I feel like investing, Mr. Harvard," Magnum spits out, examining the goods.
Suddenly, The Overcoat unleashes his Beretta 920 .50 AE, training it's sights on The Magnum. "Perhaps it's validity can be proven true by another party, preferably one that's willing to pay!"
Magnum's hands fly into the air, sweat tracing shining streaks across his stubbly cheeks.
"All right, all right! Here. Don't shoot, I'm just reaching for the other four numbers."
Never blinking, Overcoat snatches the second PDA, it's numbers quickly proven legit. He reholsters the B, a snooty smirk breaking the hawk-eyed staredown.
"Glad to see that we're still partners... For the time being, at least," Overcoat says as he steps into the car, slamming the door.
Magnum watches it take off, lowering his hands and putting on a smirk of his own. He watches it disappear behind a building, then listens for the whirring a-g drives to make sure of it's departure. He calls for his driver.
"Yo. The coast is 'beachy keen.' Get out here."
His compatriot saunters out from behind the street corner, handing his partner the other half of the device.
Magnum cracks a crooked smile, examining the lighter-shaped remote, popping a cig in his craw.
"...Yeah, I'm glad, too, pal. And I'm real glad that you're my cheapest contact yet!"
Magnum lights the cigarette, puffing that first crisp blow, reveling in the distant explosion.
"C'mon, Shemp, Moe needs us back home in an hour, an' I need to pick up a few things."
They both slumped deep into the brown leather seats, the partner juicing up the drives.
Magnum takes one last, long drag, then flicks the cig out the window as the bloodred vehicle gains altitude and speeds off into the night.
Ch. 1 coming soon. Reply and, be honest, now dearies!!