New York City was bathed in moonlight. On a night like this, rich, present-
day aristocrats could look down upon this city, this empire, from their
gleaming, opulent towers, and see every crack, every alley, every
crumbling, forgotten street that the moonlight could fall upon and see
nothing but opportunity for growth; opportunity for capital...and inevitably,
opportunity for death and misery to the ones that justice forgets or turns
a blind eye to.
Some would look up from their Brooklyn shantee towns, or their Central Park
hiding spots, and where once they saw hope find only the memories of bitter
betrayals, always providing a constant reminder that Johnny Law and his
crooked band of dime-a-day Georgie Lunchpails had sold this town out long
ago for a cheap lay or a favor down the road. New York City was no longer
a place you lived. It was a place you survived, and if you were lucky, it
would become a place that you escaped.
But for those too weak to escape, there is a man. A man who has no fear.
A man who died and came back to life four years later, only to find his
city in ruins, and its law enforcement a sham, bent over backwards to take
it gently in the rear from the stiff rod of organized crime with the hopes
that someday they'd get theirs. And so they shall. One shill at a time,
the CastAway will give them theirs.
Edward scrambled through the twisting maze of sewer systems in a frantic huff. His legs had gone numb long ago from the running, somewhere around 115th street. He was running on adrenaline, on his body's natural fuel reserves. He squeezed his fingers tighter around the treasure in his left hand, and realized that soon all this running would be worth it. The plan was so clear in his head, it made him dizzy with anticipation. Take the old broad's purse to Franky's and pawn its contents for they're worth. Take the money and meet Jose, and leave the docks with a fist full of what Edward needed to get to sleep that night: CRYSTAL METH. That old woman didn't need that purse anyways. She was old, had plenty of money. Edward was young, had people to provide for, a woman to satisfy at home. He'd make her night with this rock candy, and soon he'd once again be the king of his house.
Suddenly Edward was blinded by something. Blinded by what? As he careened toward the soppy sewer floor, his mind grappled with this question. As he hit the stinking cement, he realized that he was blinded not by light, or by a clumsy trip...he was blinded by pain. The thought settled in his mind as he skidded to a halt in the foaming sewage. Edward checked to see if he still had his purse: check. He reached up and felt his face. Something warm was on his face, a different texture and heat than the sewage dripping through his long, stringy hair. He realized then that it was blood, pouring from his nose and mouth. He quickly spat out the remnants of a few teeth and looked around for his assailant.
"Who the fuck hit me man?" said Edward. "You're gonna be sorry as hell!"
Suddenly he heard a booming voice, shaking him to his very core.
"Are you ready sir?"
Edward was horrified. He clasped his knees together to keep from shaking, and found the resolve he needed to call out this...was it a person? It sounded more like an animal. Edward decided it was time to move on.
"Fuck this shit, man." Said Edward. "I ain't got now beefs with ya'll."
Suddenly, a splintering crack was heard, and reverberated down the walls of the sewer in all directions. Edward crumbled to the ground, dropping the purse in an effort to hold together the splintering pieces of bone that were once his shin. He screamed in pain and pled for mercy, but heard only laughing in response.
Standing in front of him was a man, obscured by shadow. The man spoke to Edward in a voice that was a mix of a wolf's hungry howl and a man's lonely voice.
"I have a friend who must talk to you, sir" said the shadowy figure. "Oh please" said Edward. "Let me get back to my home! I got a family! You can have the purse!"
The figure bellowed: "You should have considered these things before you went a-stealing. Now, I introduce you...to Wilson!!!!"
With that, the figure revealed his slender, ghostly form. Edward recognized his picture from the local papers. It was the legend, the fiend himself...The CastAway! His crazed eyes, his possessed hair, his living snake belt...Edward knew he was in trouble the likes few had seen.
The CastAway raised Wilson, his volleyball companion into the air, the bloody handprint-face just barely visible in the sewer's gloomy musk. Suddenly, spikes extended from all sides, and the CastAwat hurled Wilson at Edward's head.
Seconds later, silence filled the room. The CastAway cut his victim into pieces, and sewed Edward's retrievable body parts and organs into his own body, for this was the secret of the CastAway's immortality. Finally, he claimed his prize...the purse. The CastAway, standing in his subterranean lair, clutched the purse to his bosom, modeling it for the first day of school he was reliving in his mind's eye. A time when the CastAway was a real person...not the rotting, immortal vigilante he had become.
"Hello, everyone" said the CastAway into his full-size mirror. "My name...my name is..." With this pause, the CastAway punched the mirror, shattering his vivid daydreams of youth as well as the reflection he so badly despised. "AAAAAAARGH! I AM THE CASTAWAY, AND I SHALL ALWAYS BE!!!!"
After a good long cry and some Ramen noodles, CastAway called up Darkman and they went and got hella drunk and tore shit up just like the old times.
Edward scrambled through the twisting maze of sewer systems in a frantic huff. His legs had gone numb long ago from the running, somewhere around 115th street. He was running on adrenaline, on his body's natural fuel reserves. He squeezed his fingers tighter around the treasure in his left hand, and realized that soon all this running would be worth it. The plan was so clear in his head, it made him dizzy with anticipation. Take the old broad's purse to Franky's and pawn its contents for they're worth. Take the money and meet Jose, and leave the docks with a fist full of what Edward needed to get to sleep that night: CRYSTAL METH. That old woman didn't need that purse anyways. She was old, had plenty of money. Edward was young, had people to provide for, a woman to satisfy at home. He'd make her night with this rock candy, and soon he'd once again be the king of his house.
Suddenly Edward was blinded by something. Blinded by what? As he careened toward the soppy sewer floor, his mind grappled with this question. As he hit the stinking cement, he realized that he was blinded not by light, or by a clumsy trip...he was blinded by pain. The thought settled in his mind as he skidded to a halt in the foaming sewage. Edward checked to see if he still had his purse: check. He reached up and felt his face. Something warm was on his face, a different texture and heat than the sewage dripping through his long, stringy hair. He realized then that it was blood, pouring from his nose and mouth. He quickly spat out the remnants of a few teeth and looked around for his assailant.
"Who the fuck hit me man?" said Edward. "You're gonna be sorry as hell!"
Suddenly he heard a booming voice, shaking him to his very core.
"Are you ready sir?"
Edward was horrified. He clasped his knees together to keep from shaking, and found the resolve he needed to call out this...was it a person? It sounded more like an animal. Edward decided it was time to move on.
"Fuck this shit, man." Said Edward. "I ain't got now beefs with ya'll."
Suddenly, a splintering crack was heard, and reverberated down the walls of the sewer in all directions. Edward crumbled to the ground, dropping the purse in an effort to hold together the splintering pieces of bone that were once his shin. He screamed in pain and pled for mercy, but heard only laughing in response.
Standing in front of him was a man, obscured by shadow. The man spoke to Edward in a voice that was a mix of a wolf's hungry howl and a man's lonely voice.
"I have a friend who must talk to you, sir" said the shadowy figure. "Oh please" said Edward. "Let me get back to my home! I got a family! You can have the purse!"
The figure bellowed: "You should have considered these things before you went a-stealing. Now, I introduce you...to Wilson!!!!"
With that, the figure revealed his slender, ghostly form. Edward recognized his picture from the local papers. It was the legend, the fiend himself...The CastAway! His crazed eyes, his possessed hair, his living snake belt...Edward knew he was in trouble the likes few had seen.
The CastAway raised Wilson, his volleyball companion into the air, the bloody handprint-face just barely visible in the sewer's gloomy musk. Suddenly, spikes extended from all sides, and the CastAwat hurled Wilson at Edward's head.
Seconds later, silence filled the room. The CastAway cut his victim into pieces, and sewed Edward's retrievable body parts and organs into his own body, for this was the secret of the CastAway's immortality. Finally, he claimed his prize...the purse. The CastAway, standing in his subterranean lair, clutched the purse to his bosom, modeling it for the first day of school he was reliving in his mind's eye. A time when the CastAway was a real person...not the rotting, immortal vigilante he had become.
"Hello, everyone" said the CastAway into his full-size mirror. "My name...my name is..." With this pause, the CastAway punched the mirror, shattering his vivid daydreams of youth as well as the reflection he so badly despised. "AAAAAAARGH! I AM THE CASTAWAY, AND I SHALL ALWAYS BE!!!!"
After a good long cry and some Ramen noodles, CastAway called up Darkman and they went and got hella drunk and tore shit up just like the old times.