Introduction:
The nearby footsteps violated the ground it walked on, each step being one more closer to what could be considered a trip to hell itself. The old man's surroundings were invisible, the freak dust storm clouded the corpse of the former Epcon building that used to breathe in the old world. It didn't matter though, a creature thought to have been urban legend is now back in the living and the last thing he wanted to be was under the gaze of the monster. He attempted to crawl out of the small wooden cupboard that he was in, erring over to the hole that was covered underneath a replaceable tile. It was slowly but surely, the glow of eyes illuminating dust particles up above his head, any slice of hair unearthing another chance to get caught.
A green haze formed from a short distance down the hallway, a bulky build outlining the glow from around it. The head was shaved straight down the middle and jagged edges of orange hair poked out of the sides. The gas mask wrapped around its face reflected the surroundings with a white hue, with all other colors being smothered with a gross brown color. The dust particles slide through as it gleams across the blade that it seemingly floats in the air. The next couple of minutes seemed like a blur, ducking and dodging through pieces of broken dry wall and pipes; after a minute or so he woke up outside in the storm again. His eyes felt like a constant stream of painful tears as dust rested in his eyes, a pulsating feeling in his back as a warm feeling shoots out quickly. Any more movement was futile, and yet the old timer still gave one last look, the hope that the last thing he would see would maybe be a shining sun; alas the sun that was staring back at him wasn't his bastion of hope, but his sealer of doom. The devil now looked upon him, and his name was Needles Kane: the embodiment of pure evil.
The old man knew that there was no hope; he had heard rumors about a clown roaming the former United States. He wasn't any usual raider, they didn't come around to pilfer from him; he was a serial killer. He enjoyed what he did, and he was violent enough that raiders would avoid him if they could. Needles didn't seem to eat, or drink or even sleep for that matter; it's like the only thing that drove him were the screams of those he hunted, the chase itself.
"WAIT", the old man gasped with his last breath; he just had to know what was going on in his head. Just a simple explanation, something that was digging all too much on the elderly man's psyche.
"Why?" he questioned. The world went silent around him, nothing made a peep except for the crack of the clown's jaw.
"Because I Can". The old man's breath left him as he heard one last sound of the old world, the familiar tune that he once heard as a child before the end of the world: Ice Cream.
All there was left was the stomp of mush, followed by the clown's foot slowly pulling itself out of the juices that was the old man's brain. His eyebrows took a different form and his cheekbones loosened up, another victory for the clown. Afterwards? Dead silence. Needles was bored again, and in need of another chase, another thrill. He gazed over his entire body, blood covering him like a diseased blanket before trotting over to his ice cream truck, pulling out a gas can. Needles wanted to deliver a gift just as Prometheus once had, the gift of fire. The old man's corpse had become a place to get warm, as in Needle's mind he was a bit chilly from hanging out in the truck all the time. The sandstorm subsided as Needles pulled off his gas mask, revealing contorted makeup and a creepy, wretched smile; the smile of the same old clown that he used to be. Except now he changed, he was smarter and just a little bit more sadistic; his true self had woken fighting in the chaotic presence in his head and whoever came out winning reaped the rewards.
However in Needle's mind, he knew he was starting to run out of cattle fast; La Vega as it was called now was purged entirely by his own doing; it was the barren wasteland that it always was before and after the radioactive fallout, just stripped for parts and reassembled in memories of his own mind. Flashing lights of raider camps, pockets of civilization fighting to survive; he adored each and everyone of his victim's struggles and then some. The once bustling den of sin now was no more, the flames extinguishing the history of Sodom and Gomorrah; and now it was onto bigger and better things. Hours ran miles past him as he drove down an empty road, frustrated with nothing in sight.
Miles stretched down the road, uncompromising in its unending nature. Boredom had set in for Needles, a strange uneasiness that was led on only by non stop adrenaline. The boredom had set into a rising irritation, only settled by the night slowly setting in again and another strange green light coming from the background of the canyon. The green light piqued Needle's interest, and only rose more with each shade of green it blossomed into. From behind the lime green pierced a dark shadow, which prompted Needles to stop the truck in pure awe. The shadow was overtaken by the light, and he could see a frail figure shambling out; the frail figure looked like a zombie but the face was all too familiar. It was the last person he saw before the end: Calypso.
Calypso's lower jaw cracked into place, an almost skeletal facial structure, the brain exposed and surrounded by a putrid mist. In his torso you could only see pockets of flesh with a highly visible rib cage seemingly surgically sewn onto a pair of ragged pants. A gag inducing smell pushed through to Needles, forcing him to put his gas mask back on as he approached. Calypso stopped just short of Needles, not affecting him in any way with the radiation surrounding him, and a smile formed upon him and his mouth slowly opened as words formed out of his shit eating grin.
"Sweet Tooth, winner of the Twisted Metal contest" he somehow spewed out of his mouth. Needles noticed that his mouth wasn't moving with the words being spoken, as the words were recited almost perfectly. The same voice back from 1996 from when the eleventh official Twisted Metal competition first formed, however the second competition that he joined. A charismatic, playful yet undoubtedly evil voice. Whatever became of the host, the parasite within him still lived on and stronger than ever. With how he was walking around now, he talked as if he was living in comfort for years. Needles knew what Calypso wanted, it was something that mutually connected both to each and every Twisted Metal contest: a desire for chaos. He knew Calypso must have gotten bored and decided to start up another one in the land of the lost.
"Long time, no see…old friend" Needles said with a deep, musty voice; of course he didn't actually think of him to be on any friendly terms, he despised him deep within his core. But he was useful, and Needles took great pride in the back and forth mental trickery he and Calypso had engaged in for so long.
Calypso proceeded to relay his innermost desires. "It is time to host another Twisted Metal contest yet again, and you're the first person I knew I could count on. As usual, the winner acquires one wish of their deepest desires. You already know the deal, you've always been more of a…journey than the destination kind of guy. If you're interested, which no doubt you are, go back to the place where it all started. I'll see you soon.." he whispered. Right behind him was a shining star, one which passed over Needle's head. He gave a quick glance and noticed that it wouldn't fall as gravity would have it, a strange sight to himself as he had seen gravity make short work of anyone he'd ever come across. He gave another quick look back to where Calypso was, only for the entire canyon to be covered in the sheer darkness that had once been graced with the host's presence.
Back to where it all started huh? Los Angeles; it's where the first and second Twisted Metal contests started off, and where he'd go yet again to start in tradition. Needles slowly leaped back into his ice cream truck, driving further into the canyon. Last he had heard of Los Angeles it was picked clean, but truth is he was driving in that direction anyways, and with the new contest he knew there would be fresh victims and right now that's all he could dream about. The tail lights slowly faded like the lives of the people he'd kill, and just like their last seconds on Earth, everything cut to black.
Diary Entries:
The Zone-
Boys and Girls: Los Angeles, my old home. Things haven't changed much, it's still the same shithole that I left years ago at the end of the last Twisted Metal competition. I never thought there would still be survivors here of all places, Ground Zero. I don't really know what I want other than to kill, but I guess the more I play along with Calypso's contest the quicker I'll figure it out.
Savior's Point or Scorched Earth-
We've been doing this for a long time, haven't we? I can't believe I'm saying this but I dare say I even miss doing this sort of thing. It's been years and the truth is, I've gotten a little bored of it all; it's become more and more rare to find more prey, and honestly, my reasons for living are starting to dwindle. Then again, I was in the body of a drooling moron, so anything was better than where I was.
The Arctic or Niagara Falls-
It took a lot of work for me to escape my previous mental entrapment, but sometimes I wonder, was it all worth it? I was in control, I had the power; here I have nothing. Everything seems to be slipping away faster than I can grab it; I guess when you're the forerunner of change oftentimes it tends to go out on its own.
Boss: The Junkyard (Auger & Mr. Slam) or Old Orleans (The Redneck Trio)-
Ahhh I see….you need more than one person to face me? You've already lost; this arena will be the tomb of your overconfidence.
The Belfast Exclusion Zone or London Point-
Isn't it cute? Roadkill is still trying to take me down. The nightmare will never end Marcus, because the truth is: humanity was already racing towards the inevitable, I'm just helping them get to the finish line.
Venice or Transylvania-
I should really get out more often, the darkness these places hold could keep me going at least for a little bit longer. Too bad when we're done here there won't be anything left.
Boss: North Korea (Apocalypse 9 Trio) or Mount Rushmore (The Government Duo)-
Utterly pointless trying to re-establish a creation of MY design. I will not be controlled, you fucking cretins; this will be both your first and last mistake: prepare to die.
Chichen Itza Or The Oasis-
In all of my time in Paradise, I had yet to see something that wasn't tainted by my wickedness. Now is my chance…my chance to destroy something…beautiful. There won't be any more chances left after this…I'm gonna miss this feeling.
Kowloon Karnage or Johannesburg-
When this is all over, how many people do you think will be left? You think there'll be enough to sustain myself? Harold? Oh hell, what am I fucking kidding you're a paper bag, why am I asking you?
Final Boss: Hell on Earth (Minion) or Mexico City (Minion)-
Is this all there is? This is the final contestant? There's something that flesh drooping zombie Calypso isn't telling us. What's his endgame, putting his most hated enemy in the competition? No matter, I defeated the devil's reject once before in the last Twisted Metal competition, and I'm not afraid to stare down this piece of shit in its eyes yet again. If you want to see what real evil looks like, then you've found him.
Ending:
Feeling a strange satisfying, yet empty feeling; Needles marched onto the designated meeting site so he could receive his reward for the contest: one wish. It was perplexing to him: after he defeated Minion, he just kind of knew where to drive. Taking the main routes to his destination, of which he would only recognize once he got there, he wanted to see the paths of destruction that he had a hand in. One of his favorite things to do other than murder was to relive it again and again, a reminiscence of fond memories from his past. He lived vicariously through the moment before a realization hit him: he hasn't seen anyone in days. While not unusual, he'd usually see a straggler here and there, a group of people perhaps; days turned to weeks, and weeks turned into a blur of time before he finally got to where his precognition got him: back in The Zone, where the contest first started. It was poetic almost, the birthplace of Twisted Metal and the end of the world all in one shot.
The wheels crunched as it ran over old ghosts, bones lying on the old L.A. Freeways as the ruins of Thumper's old group were badly decomposed from the events of long ago. Somehow in his daze he saw the corpse of River Park with all of the ice rinks, the bodies of Cyburban houses and even the remains of Big Blue, wading in between the remains of the vehicles on the freeway and arriving at the location that he saw in his mind: it was an old arena of sorts, a nightclub with bleachers and stands encircling the center, which housed a green light that grew brighter the closer Needles got. He knew where he was now, the first arena for his first outing in the contest in 1995; he recognized it even though he was never there, lying dormant in another man's head.
He left the ice cream truck slowly, but ever confident in his brutality. However, something was gnawing in the back of his mind, something that had been growing with each step of the contest he partook in, hell even a bit before that: there was no more cattle to slaughter. Repetition breeds clarity but he couldn't believe it, he wished for the apocalypse previously and not taking into account humanity's state continued to whittle down the numbers until nothing was left. He was alone now, with the only exception being the shambling corpse in the middle staring at him; he had an itch to scratch but nothing to scratch with. The clown's old friend, Harold the lunch sack, flew out of the truck and followed the gust past both himself and Calypso; now he really was truly alone. He marched forward until he was near face to face with the bastard himself.
"Sweet Tooth! Winner of the Twisted Metal competition…yet again!" the parasite proclaimed in old nostalgic excitement, the mouth of the husk's body still not moving. He could tell that behind his last two words had a sort of cocky arrogance to it, that he was smirking on the inside of whatever his avatar once was. He didn't like it, not one bit.
"As you are the winner, you are granted an audience with the founder of the contest to grant you your prize! Anything you desire, regardless of price, size or….reality." Calypso chuckled to himself. Hatred brewed inside of Needles once again, festering more and more in his chest like borrowed oxygen from the people he killed. He was always a big headed fuck, ever confident in his ability to screw over anyone he desired by twisting their words, like he viewed Needles as a lesser being, pathetic almost. He loathed people like him, as in his eyes there could only be two big fish in one pond, though they fed off of each other, using one another for a purpose or another. But this time? He couldn't do that, he couldn't give in; he had already dealt with the likes of people like him before, trapped in the mind of the body he possessed.
Anything Calypso had said since then drowned itself out, as Needles's face under the gas mask for the first time went from a smile even in the most precarious situations to one of irritation as the person he hated just kept talking and talking, would never shut up. The clown's patience had worn thin by each second that spoke when finally something that Calypso said made him snap.
"Well? What do you want!" he impatiently shouted, while still smiling on top of that. Without any control in his body, Needle's mind lost control of his body as he proceeded to slowly pull off his gas mask, revealing a charred face quite like Calypso's. A pungent mixture of black and white filled his mask, a reminder of the fire that once was; how the wish for Paradise had indeed come true for himself but scarred him in doing so, the remains of the old world, a singular missile. The scowl pushed Needles face down, and those who don't remember the past are doomed to repeat it.
"I want you to shut up and bleed you motherfu.." Needles growled in a calm tone, the "ker" at the end drowned out by the sound of his knife scraping into Calypso's neck with quick haste, instant gratification as blood had splattered everywhere including onto his face. He killed Calypso about as well as he had killed anyone before. The green light then grew brighter than before, as it enveloped the both of them, the only remains of what they had been were the shadows reflecting on the walls nearby before even they disappeared, only bringing forth their oblivion.
It was gone once and for all, Calypso's light had faded as all that remained were the remains of Calypso, a head which tore off before collapsing almost immediately into dust. The gratification wore off almost immediately as he wrought the consequences of his own actions; he was all alone now. He had nothing to live for now, no future to speak of, a world which had nothing to hunt but memories of the old world. The gas mask collapsed to the dirt below, before Needles himself fell to his knees. For the first time ever, he knew the hopeless feeling in his chest, Karma. Cowardice came soon after, unable to deal with the consequences of his own misdeeds, he put out his own flame with what he had in his hands. He abandoned the world of his design, and in his own head? He figured he would meet up with Calypso in hell and show him what hell could truly be.