Our Feature Presentation:
Philip Williams writes:

KILL PHIL
A rip-roaring tale of blood, death and fanfiction.

Chapter Two:
"The Blood Splattered BRIDE."

Somewhere in Texas…

A country sheriff drove up along a dusty desert road, along to a church in the middle of nowhere. For some strange reason he had a row of differently coloured sunglasses along the dashboard. Eventually the lonely old church came into sight. It was already teeming with deputies.

"What we got here?" said the Sheriff, chewing on a piece of wheat, sunlight bouncing off his dark sunglasses.

"Well sir" said the Deputy. "Looks like we got ourselves one sick motherfucker. It's a goddamn massacre in there sir."

"Well, Jesus, son, don't stand there blocking my way, let me through."

He shoved past the deputy and walked into the church. Immediately a horrific stench of death overpowered him. Bodies were strewn everywhere, decapitated for the most part. In the centre of the room, next to a groom sporting at least a dozen stab wounds, was lady that was already being referred to as 'The Bride'. She was lying comatose, beaten and bruised on the floor.

The Sheriff walked over towards the bride, whom one of his deputies was taking photographic evidence of.

"Yep, I'd say this was done by about four maybe five people, professionals, advancing slowly firing a hail of bullets right into the dozen or so people we got here."

"But chief…!" began one of the deputies "They're all dead from stab wounds!"

"Okay then they…"

"Hold on chief!" shouted a deputy by the door, he had a videotape in his hand. "We caught them on the CCTV, looks like just one crazy blonde assassin in a yellow jumpsuit!"

The Sheriff sighed, holding his hands against his face. After half-a-minute of quiet sobbing, he stooped down and looked at the half-dead bride.

"So… this little cutie pie is still alive huh?" he sheepishly asked a deputy.

"Just" said the Deputy.

"Look at her. Long blonde hair, nice if a little ruffled, greyish blue eyes, slim athletic figure, smooth creamy skin…"

Is he part in-love or what? In case you're wondering that 'Bride' is not me. Looks like me, sounds like me but, boys and girls, she wasn't me…

A shadow fell over the bloodied interior… at the door was a silhouette, a figure clad in yellow and holding a sleek, reflective Japanese katana.

Right there, that's me.

One of the deputies approached the jump-suited Tcutla. He had two questions: First was "Who the fuck?" and second the much more professional sounding "This is a crime scene, police only".

"Who the fuck are you?" said the Deputy, choosing the first question.

An eloquently put question, Unnamed Deputy Number One. Here is my own expressively assembled response to that:

Tcutla pierced him through the chest with her katana. Claret spurted out of him like a spray, and then the deputy gurgled, squealed, and hit the ground. Everyone drew back in surprise, the sheriff had still not stood back up. By the time their guns were drawn Tcutla had run across the run, chopping the head off of another deputy and ducked behind a large wooden pillar. The three remaining deputies - everyone outside is dead or dying at this point – cautiously drew themselves towards the pillar.

Oh! here's my favourite bit:

Tcutla leaned out and, with a powerful desert eagle bearing the image of a depressed looking falcon, hastily blew off the heads of each deputy.

The Sheriff was still and in shock, on his knees next to the Bride. She walked up, katana in one hand, desert eagle in the other and…

"No, wait!" screamed the Sheriff.

…chopped his head off with one swift stroke. It rolled over across the already reddened chapel. More red gore leaked over the floor; the blood splattered Bride became even more blood splattered with the Sheriff's headless corpse next to her.

Tcutla looked at the comatose body of The Bride.

Huh, they were calling her 'The Bride'. What a stupid nickname…

"Ya know now I get a better look at you, you don't look like me that much" said Tcutla. "Yeah, you go that Venus thing going for you but, now I get a closer look at you, you're kinda weird looking."

Jealously? No way! Hey it's true! She had a big nose and funny eyes that looked warped and mismatched. Once I had a closer look I could see that she looked nothing like me. If only you could've been their to get a REAL look at her too.

Don't look at me funny. I had a job to do – and I got paid well. The fact that I drew bloody satisfaction out of it doesn't come into it. I shot down that bride-to-be. The contract was only on her, but I thought why not? So I killed the groom. Then I killed the whole fucking wedding party as well. Then when I realised I had to finish her off I waited. I waited for the thin blue line to appear. Then I got some extra play time with them.

Tcutla aimed her desert eagle.

"So long, bitch,"

She pulled the trigger, Bang!, and splattered the brains of The Bride across the room.

I stood there, alone in the church, surrounded by the bodies of my victims. At moments like this I always feel at peace. It's nice. I sighed, my mind completely free and clear. They all had it coming. So what if I damn well enjoyed it?

Want another example? How 'bout this one, set a year or two afterwards:


El Pisso General Hospital

Back in Texas once more. This time I've got to finish a job someone left unfinished. A so-called great assassin, who shall remain unnamed, failed to take out a target. I took out the target, now I have to take out the assassin. Luckily, he's travelled all the way to this bumpkin hospital for a kidney operation…

The rain came down in buckets. Tcutla's trademark car, the ridiculously over-the-top Kitty Mobile, pulled up outside the hospital. Emerging from the car was Tcutla. The rain poured down so heavily that she was immediately soaked. Since it was obviously useless pulling out the umbrella now, Tcutla walked into the hospital, soaked. She held in her hand a large sports bag – her bag of tricks.

Let's fast forward fifteen minutes. You won't miss anything important, except maybe a highly revealing clothes changing sequence…

Tcutla stood in the patient's room, dressed in a white nurse's uniform. It would have been too tiring to simply hack her way through the hospital staff, so for once she was using her discretion. Learning the slice through a hundred people without becoming tired was a trick she'd learn a little later…

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"THE CRAZED UMA THURMAN LOOK ALIKE"

Sole member of

THE JADED FALCON KILL-TEAM

Codename: 'TCUTLA'

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Tcutla looked down at the patient, her target. He was supposedly one of the world's greatest assassins. Tcutla had met several of the greatest assassins. Indeed, she had fought several of them. She had met Number 47 for example, a legendary Hitman in the employ of the mysterious Agency. Tcutla hated organised groups of killers, so she had never joined a agency. But she did start a group called the Jaded Falcon Kill Team. It wasn't really a team, since she was the only member, but it sounded good and people seemed to feel that faceless organisations were more professional than lonesome psychotic lunatics willing to kill for money. Tcutla had even her own logo for the group, a depressed-looking falcon resting on a perch. It also meant that she could write 'self-employed' on her tax forms and, depending on the country she was resident in at that moment in time, claim tax benefits. Not that she ever paid taxes of course, but it was nice to know that if she did she would pay less then most other people.

This particular assassin, asleep, vulnerable and unsuspecting, worked for massive sums of money, the US equivalent to a million British pounds apparently. Tcutla had never heard of him. In fact she couldn't even pronounce his name.

"Looks like you screwed up Mr Scare-Man-Ja. But at least now you'll be at peace. Look on the bright side - a quiet death is something our types are never granted. Consider this a gift from one killer to another."

And then, in a distinctly sombre and dignified manner, she injected him with a lethal concoction and turned off his monitors.

He was probably a bastard. He had probably killed more people than me. But I respected that man. Maybe because he'd killed more people, maybe not. Maybe I respected him because he was like me. All the same, at that particular moment I was filled with a deep respect…

"Now let's see what is in your pockets" said Tcutla, thinking out loud.

She rummaged around in his coat pockets. In his top pocket she found several useless paperclips and bits of lint (paper clips and lint must always appear in breast pockets as well as drawers – it's a law of reality) , but one of his lower pockets she felt a large rectangular object.

"A golden cigarette lighter?" said Tcutla. "Nice."

She flipped it and tried it. It did indeed work. But after some investigation, Tcutla found out that the lighter could be folded out into a gun. It was empty of ammo, and didn't look like it would accept standard ammunition. It was one for her wall then, to be displayed there for all her guests to see. Well, just Tcutla really. She never had guests for some reason.

In his other remaining pocket she found some money, which she used later on to by a hearty meal from a nearby café. After that refreshing meal she left. She climbed into her Jaded Falcon Kitty Mobile and spud off. One of the world's greatest assassins was dead, by the hand of another of the world's greatest assassins.

Sometimes I wish I could've faced him in real combat. But a jobs a job right? Bored of the past yet? Want to be back in the present, to hear the rest of this rip-roaring tale of blood, death and fanfiction? Well, I'm getting there. Just this once I'll be merciful and skip to an event that occurred quite recently, one month ago…


One Month Ago
Undisclosed Location
Midnight

"And that is your target," said the shadowy figure, finishing his description of the intended targets.

Tcutla nodded and thumbed her way through the documents the hooded rat-like figure had given her.

"Remember, it is not enough to merely kill Phil, you must slay his characters and his associated group of fanfiction lovers."

Tcutla about this for a second. What Marc had failed to realise was that through her next few pieces of dialogue she took care to make sure he worded his desired mission outcome just right…

"So… you want me to kill the Fatal Cobras?" asked Tcutla, convincingly feigning a lack of understanding.

"Kill them all" said Marc, foolishly. "Kill every Fatal Cobra without mercy."

Tcutla smiled (demonically) and nodded. So it was agreed, so it shall be done. It was now unavoidable, Tcutla would fall upon it's members like a raging whirlwind.

The Fatal Cobra Fanfiction Squad would cease to exist.

"May I ask why you are hiring me?" enquired Tcutla sweetly.

"Because I hear you're good. And your company name remains me of sweet, sweet BattleTech."

He sighed dreamily.

"If only you were called Word of Death or something…"

He stood quiet and still for a few more moments, dreaming of giant robots in bright, shiny white paint somehow managing to ambush a line of other, more sensibly painted armoured mecha. It was tempting to just kill him now, but instead Tcutla just poked him when his eyes began to glaze over.

"Sorry," he mumbled.

"What I meant was, why are you hiring an assassin?" said Tcutla.

"Because…" started Marc. He grabbed at the air, and tried to remember the reason. "Because last Thursday he dared me too!"

Tcutla raised an eyebrow.

"Don't look at me like that!" said Marc. "And he keeps calling me Rat Boy. I am not rat-like! When I signed up I asked to be called Nineteenth Angel, but he insists on calling me Rat Boy. I am not a rat!"

Feeling hungry, Marc took out a block of cheese and nibbled on it. Tcutla's eyebrow remained raised.

"I'll have you know that it's mice that nibble on cheese. Thank-you-very-much" said Marc. "You'll find your payment in hidden in a bag behind me. It took some doing to find the money, but I did it."

"Arigato," said Tcutla. She bowed slightly.

Marc left, and Tcutla picked up the bag. True to his word, it was full of money. He'd actually done it: Marc had foolishly paid in advance.

First mistake: hiring me. Second mistake: paying in advance. Third mistake: wording it vague enough for me to include him in the kill-list. If any potential customers are reading this by the way, I swear I wouldn't do anything like that again. Honest.

Anyway…

I strolled away, humming. Life is good. On to the next challenge. The Fatal Cobras lay ahead, and by this point I was very excited. I went back to the cheap model I'd rented. It's crummy and run-down. Don't even bother imagining it. Just picture me, The Crazed Uma Thurman Look Alike, lying on the bed, plotting evilly.

As I lay on the rubbishy old bed reading through Marc's information on the Fatal Cobras, I pictured their faces in front of me. The members, all of them, of Phil's brainchild;

"The Fatal Cobra Fanfiction Squad"