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There Are No Angels

Guybrush122

By Guybrush122
in Ye Olde Harbour

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Guybrush122 Newbie

Guybrush122

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okay, my origonal post was this.....(a story ive been writing and i want your opinion....im also making an adventure game out of it, if i can...doubt it, though) if your dont like the "c" word, then watch out for it in the story......i had to unedit that word because its sorta part of the main character etc.....plus, censorship ****ing sucks

 

There Are No Angels

 

2279

 

I had that feeling you sometimes get. You know, when something just isn’t right. The room was dark and cold. The smell of fear yelled in my nostrils, but the room was empty. The blinds for the windows were just barely separated, allowing long, thin strips of sunlight to splash across the apartment.

I had a few drinks with Chandler before I left the pub. Three screwdrivers isn’t much, right? Three or four. I don’t really care if I’m drunk on the job, actually. Chandler does, of course, but he never seems to get the balls to tell me that I’ve had enough. It’s a good thing, too, because I hate it when people dictate to me how I should live my life, and how I should drink, and how I should be responsible and all that other horse ****. It’s society’s fault really. We live in a society that wants all the dark, gritty taboos in the world stashed away in some locked closet. And it is, too. That’s why us creeps are nocturnal. And that’s also why I do what I do. Not that I like to kill or anything, I’m no sicko. It’s just that my job is so important; it benefits the city, really. Because of me people can sleep at night assured that, corpse-by-corpse, society is collapsing. And that I’m slowly turning the key to let the freaks and weirdoes and sick ****s out of the closet.

The sound of footsteps sent my adrenaline coursing through my veins. I turned quickly to hide in the nearby closet. Unfortunately my vision was blurred from the drinks I had earlier, so instead of opening the closet door, slipping through, and closing the door behind me softly, I opened the door, stumbled over my feet, and collapsed on the inner door knob of the closet door, slamming it behind me. Hey, I never said I was smooth.

Suddenly I heard the door to the apartment open and then slam. Since I couldn’t see through the crack of the closet door, I assumed it was Carl Page.

I heard a revolver c-o-c-k.

“Show yourself! I know you’re in here!” screamed Page. There was a minute of silence, then, “Where the **** are you??”

I slowly wrapped my bottom three fingers and thumb around the handle of my gun, which was tucked in my pants.

Page let out another yell, “Show yourself you ****ing c.u.n.t!!!” I slipped my finger over the trigger and pulled the gun out of my pants.

C.u.n.t. I hated that word.

As I kicked the closet door open I could’ve sworn time slowed down just for me. Leaping from my hiding spot I squeezed the trigger, flame burst from the tip of my gun as it does from the snout of a dragon. The dragon roared, and snarled, and growled with all its fury.

As I pulled myself up from the ground the room was as still as before. But there was a new addition to the apartment that, I must say, went beautifully with the blood-red drapes. I peered from where I stood at the dead body’s face. I had killed an innocent. It wasn’t Page…probably just some poor shmuck that lucked out. Maybe I had the wrong room, or maybe Page left town in a hurry? Chandler will have a fit.

I took a step forward to get a good glimpse of the corpse. It had an empty, accusing stare in its eyes. Suddenly, I felt like growing wings and flying away from this city. I’d fly where angels go. But there are no angels here.

I turned away from cold eyes, and headed for the door.

 

 

I had woken up with the worst hangover I had in ages. Everything about last night was a blur. Funny, I only had a few drinks. Five or six.

The vid-phone rang, so I had to haul my drunken ass out of bed and switch on the vid-phone monitor. Surprise, surprise: it was Chandler. I pressed the “receive” button on the phone panel.

“Hey Chan.” I mumbled. Chandler just frowned.

“You have a lot of explaining to do, Ray.” He just had to call me, didn’t he?

“Chan, relax. I’ll get Page. It was just a lousy mistake.”

“You better get Page, because I’m not going to tolerate another **** up, Ray. I just won’t tolerate it.” He twitched, “I want you to get your ass back in that apartment, clean it the **** up, and find Carl Page. Understand me?”

“Now? Christ, Chandler, it’s not even sunrise.”

“I don’t care about sunrise! You get your ass there and you clean up!” He’s always like this. Irritated, that is. He’s a highly obsessive-compulsive man, huge control freak. But, we all have our problems, don’t we?

“The caretaker will take care of it.”

“No, you will take care of it.” God, he’s such a prick when he wants to be. He really is.

“Fine. How about I get showered and dressed for the job?” He just hung up. Charming man, isn’t he? I got up from the edge of my bed and walked into my bathroom. I rolled up the blinds…the sun was coming up. A dusty gold hue ran throughout the cityscape. I never appreciated sunsets and art and crap like that. It’s a bunch of bull****, really. My opinion is that it can’t be beautiful after seeing it a million times. But then again, I’ve seen a million sunrises in my time and none of them were beautiful.

After a warm shower I took my ‘work clothes’ from my dresser drawer and placed them on the bed. I then proceeded to get down on all fours and reach under my bed for my briefcase. I keep everything in my briefcase. My car and house keys, my gun, my holster, files from Chan, files from my targets. Everything.

I dumped the contents of my briefcase out on my bed and searched through the files. I found one on Page. I pocketed my car keys and put my gun in my holster. I closed and locked the briefcase and left.

 

It was early morning and New York City was already bustling. There were seas of sleazy businessmen and lawyers, seas of fancy-ass BMW Hover Cars and Mercedes’ Flying Convertible Series Cars. New York City today is nothing more than a bunch of rich, perverted ****s. I keep them in check. I keep the cops in check, the gangs in check, the lawyers in check, the businessmen in check, all of them co-operate. And if they don’t? Their whole foundation for their life comes toppling down. It’s a nasty job. And I wouldn’t trade it in for the world.

I opened up my car door and sat down behind the wheel. It was a ****ty-ass loaner…don’t you even ask what happened to my real car. You don’t want to know.

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