Months after the Police Department Incident.
As the late night rain settled, a homeless man, 52 but looking around 65, stumbled out of an open shed in Little Haiti. He scoured the ground to find paper that he could use his only match to create a fire to warm his shivering self with.
"Ahh, luck", the homeless man muttered as he picked up a stack of papers that had been hidden from the cruel rain by a stray tarp.
He went back to the shed with the paper and used the garbage can outside to light a fire. Just a normal day for the unlucky victims of taxes, bills, and Vice's current short supply of jobs.
He lit the fire and warmed himself up, looking across the street, where a group of Haitians had gathered around a young Cuban, around 13.
"Hey, got the drugs?" said one Haitian to the young boy.
"Yeah, got the money?" replied the kid.
"No, we gots the guns, boy!" the Haitian said as they whipped out Uzis.
The homeless man gasped.
Suddenly a group of men dressed in black jumped out of the bushes and grabbed the Haitians and dragged them into the bushes. The sweetly quiet sound of silenced pistols corrupted the air for a period of 2 seconds. All was quiet.
A long-red haired man wearing a black trench coat emerged, followed by the group of night warriors who had taken out the Haitians.
"Here's your money, kid", the leader said in a low scarred voice, "now give us the drugs and scatter"
"Uhh, okay sir!" said the child, recovering from the shock of what had just happened.
The trench coat-laden warrior walked over to the homeless man, gave him some money, and him and his fearless men walked off.
***2 days later***
"Men, the Haitians are posing a threat to our dealings", Panther told his men at a conference at their Vice City Port hideout, "we're going to have to minimize this threat by minimizing the Haitians".
Anarch had been feared and infamous since the Police found out that it was them who created the hellfire of the Police Department Incident (PDI). All who wore the Anarch colours, green and black leather, that had been seen had been brought in for questioning by the cops.
The meeting tonight had all the divisions of Anarch attending it. The warehouse was full of these dreaded death-bringers.
Suddenly the door broke open, letting in an army of Haitians. Guns blazing, the entered and slew the first row of unsuspecting Anarchs. Panther drew his guns and jumped of the stage, firing. As he leapt from the stage, he appeared to many Haitians as an angel of death, his hair like fire, his green eyes like poison, the trench coat just looking plain badass. Haitians kept pouring in. Panther took a hiding place behind some wooden boxes in a corner and killed many with his pistol, then, taking out an AK-47, he killed a couple rows that were pouring in. The Haitians over- whelmed the great Anarch empire that night, and they took Panther prisoner in an old abandoned house in Little Haiti.
The house of torture. They had a psychotic war veteran, who would whip and slash at Panther daily. This went on for about a month. They would torture Panther for 5 hours a day and leave him alone for the rest of the day. At first, Panther was shocked and depressed, numbed, by the great tragedy that had fallen upon him again. After 2 weeks he had started to come around and he looked around his room for possible escape routes. He found some weak boards and used the last of his strength to work them loose. He worked the boards loose over the coarse of a week and covered them up when it came time for torture. That night, an hour after the psycho left, Panther made his escape. Being bound by only handcuffs, he dragged his battered and hurting, bleeding body out of the dreaded house. He dragged himself, unable to walk, through the bushes until he came to an old dark open shed. He dragged himself inside and was met by another person who had currently occupied the shed. A homeless man.
"It's you!" the homeless man said in an excited whisper, "you're hurt. I think I've got some of those band-aids around here somewhere"
He went off looking through the shelves. Panther, too tired to talk, just laid there on the floor and looked at the roof. The old man came back and offered Panther some band-aids.
"No thanks, sir", Panther muttered, "I'll get some friends to patch me up tomorrow. I'll just sleep now"
"You're not goin' to sleep without a proper meal. Not with wounds like that. I've got some canned soup cooking on that fire outside", the old man said, pointing to the pot over a fire in a garbage can outside, "you should eat some before going to sleep"
"Thanks sir" Panther said wearily.
A while later, the old man left and came back inside carrying the pot in his gloved hands. "Hope you like it", the homeless man said, "by the way, the names Fred. Fred Chambers."
"Thank you, I'm MB Romerex. Call me Panther."
"Okay Panther", Fred said with a smile.
They ate, talked for a while and then slept. Fred tried to offer his sleeping bag but Panther refused to take anymore from the old man and slept on the floor.
The next day, they shared farewells and Panther left. He had healed up a bit overnight and was fully awake. He wanted revenge on the psycho who would plague his dreams for the rest of his life.
He jacked a Voodoo and drove off to Ammu-Nation and bought a pistol and a flamethrower (he didn't have to pay because he was friends with the owner).
He returned to the house of torture and resumed his old position on the floor, pistol behind his back and flamethrower waiting outside. He had bolted back up his escape and waited for the psycho to return.
"Hello", the psycho said in his squeeling voice as he entered, "ready for more fun?"
"Fuck you", Panther said. It was his usual response.
Panther whipped out his pistol and shot the psycho in his kneecaps and listened to the inhuman being scream. Panther ran outside and locked the psycho in the house. He let the psycho go through pain for about 5 minutes and then set the house on fire and listened to the psycho die.
Panther collapsed with the thought that the torture was over and lay as the fire consumed the house. He finally got up and walked off to an old friend's house.
***The story will continue, please review***
As the late night rain settled, a homeless man, 52 but looking around 65, stumbled out of an open shed in Little Haiti. He scoured the ground to find paper that he could use his only match to create a fire to warm his shivering self with.
"Ahh, luck", the homeless man muttered as he picked up a stack of papers that had been hidden from the cruel rain by a stray tarp.
He went back to the shed with the paper and used the garbage can outside to light a fire. Just a normal day for the unlucky victims of taxes, bills, and Vice's current short supply of jobs.
He lit the fire and warmed himself up, looking across the street, where a group of Haitians had gathered around a young Cuban, around 13.
"Hey, got the drugs?" said one Haitian to the young boy.
"Yeah, got the money?" replied the kid.
"No, we gots the guns, boy!" the Haitian said as they whipped out Uzis.
The homeless man gasped.
Suddenly a group of men dressed in black jumped out of the bushes and grabbed the Haitians and dragged them into the bushes. The sweetly quiet sound of silenced pistols corrupted the air for a period of 2 seconds. All was quiet.
A long-red haired man wearing a black trench coat emerged, followed by the group of night warriors who had taken out the Haitians.
"Here's your money, kid", the leader said in a low scarred voice, "now give us the drugs and scatter"
"Uhh, okay sir!" said the child, recovering from the shock of what had just happened.
The trench coat-laden warrior walked over to the homeless man, gave him some money, and him and his fearless men walked off.
***2 days later***
"Men, the Haitians are posing a threat to our dealings", Panther told his men at a conference at their Vice City Port hideout, "we're going to have to minimize this threat by minimizing the Haitians".
Anarch had been feared and infamous since the Police found out that it was them who created the hellfire of the Police Department Incident (PDI). All who wore the Anarch colours, green and black leather, that had been seen had been brought in for questioning by the cops.
The meeting tonight had all the divisions of Anarch attending it. The warehouse was full of these dreaded death-bringers.
Suddenly the door broke open, letting in an army of Haitians. Guns blazing, the entered and slew the first row of unsuspecting Anarchs. Panther drew his guns and jumped of the stage, firing. As he leapt from the stage, he appeared to many Haitians as an angel of death, his hair like fire, his green eyes like poison, the trench coat just looking plain badass. Haitians kept pouring in. Panther took a hiding place behind some wooden boxes in a corner and killed many with his pistol, then, taking out an AK-47, he killed a couple rows that were pouring in. The Haitians over- whelmed the great Anarch empire that night, and they took Panther prisoner in an old abandoned house in Little Haiti.
The house of torture. They had a psychotic war veteran, who would whip and slash at Panther daily. This went on for about a month. They would torture Panther for 5 hours a day and leave him alone for the rest of the day. At first, Panther was shocked and depressed, numbed, by the great tragedy that had fallen upon him again. After 2 weeks he had started to come around and he looked around his room for possible escape routes. He found some weak boards and used the last of his strength to work them loose. He worked the boards loose over the coarse of a week and covered them up when it came time for torture. That night, an hour after the psycho left, Panther made his escape. Being bound by only handcuffs, he dragged his battered and hurting, bleeding body out of the dreaded house. He dragged himself, unable to walk, through the bushes until he came to an old dark open shed. He dragged himself inside and was met by another person who had currently occupied the shed. A homeless man.
"It's you!" the homeless man said in an excited whisper, "you're hurt. I think I've got some of those band-aids around here somewhere"
He went off looking through the shelves. Panther, too tired to talk, just laid there on the floor and looked at the roof. The old man came back and offered Panther some band-aids.
"No thanks, sir", Panther muttered, "I'll get some friends to patch me up tomorrow. I'll just sleep now"
"You're not goin' to sleep without a proper meal. Not with wounds like that. I've got some canned soup cooking on that fire outside", the old man said, pointing to the pot over a fire in a garbage can outside, "you should eat some before going to sleep"
"Thanks sir" Panther said wearily.
A while later, the old man left and came back inside carrying the pot in his gloved hands. "Hope you like it", the homeless man said, "by the way, the names Fred. Fred Chambers."
"Thank you, I'm MB Romerex. Call me Panther."
"Okay Panther", Fred said with a smile.
They ate, talked for a while and then slept. Fred tried to offer his sleeping bag but Panther refused to take anymore from the old man and slept on the floor.
The next day, they shared farewells and Panther left. He had healed up a bit overnight and was fully awake. He wanted revenge on the psycho who would plague his dreams for the rest of his life.
He jacked a Voodoo and drove off to Ammu-Nation and bought a pistol and a flamethrower (he didn't have to pay because he was friends with the owner).
He returned to the house of torture and resumed his old position on the floor, pistol behind his back and flamethrower waiting outside. He had bolted back up his escape and waited for the psycho to return.
"Hello", the psycho said in his squeeling voice as he entered, "ready for more fun?"
"Fuck you", Panther said. It was his usual response.
Panther whipped out his pistol and shot the psycho in his kneecaps and listened to the inhuman being scream. Panther ran outside and locked the psycho in the house. He let the psycho go through pain for about 5 minutes and then set the house on fire and listened to the psycho die.
Panther collapsed with the thought that the torture was over and lay as the fire consumed the house. He finally got up and walked off to an old friend's house.
***The story will continue, please review***