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HopperUK
Apr 29, 2007

Why would an ambulance be leaving the hospital?
I can't stop thinking about what all these places probably smell like.

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chitoryu12
Apr 24, 2014

PetraCore posted:

I literally can't read this. My eyes just slide off. It's nothing. It's not even shocking, it's nothing.

Don't worry, he has lyrics for this moment!

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Tz_vKZABjx0

quote:

I am near the end
I've accomplished nothing
And when I fall into the sky
Oblivion

chitoryu12
Apr 24, 2014

Chapter 10

quote:

“Forgive me for I have sinned. I don’t remember how long it’s been since my last confession,” the voice says with a smile.  

“What is it you would like to confess my child?”  

“Four months ago I was hired to kill a man driving a Lincoln Continental. A poo poo stain that my bosses wanted dead. But instead of just him I also succeeded in killing his ugly girlfriend. What sort of punishment will I receive for such vicious crime?” he slightly chuckles.

Well, that's awfully convenient!

quote:

I can hear his crooked teeth clicking away as he speaks. My blood turns to ice and I’ve seen this man. A split second before the accident with Vivienne he was grinning at me. My vision is focused and before M can reply I jump out of the booth. He is laughing about killing everything I held close to my heart. The look of shock on his face as I fling the curtain back is astonishment, it’s surprise, it’s confusion. I am the angel Death and I have come to take him away.

“Get the gently caress out of here mate and wait your turn!”  

“Some poo poo stain?!” I scream.

I can't say I disagree.

quote:

Rage. I’ve never felt this powerful before in my life. The emotion explodes from every neuron in my brain traveling down to the tips of my fingers and toes, setting them on fire. Steroids and robotics couldn’t make me this strong and if there were a brick wall standing between us, I would have no problem smashing it down with my bare hands and blind wrath. Tunnel vision begins and the mark becomes clear. Everything traveling through time in slow motion, the sound of champagne glasses clinking, a pocket watch in the waist coat of a patron across the room clicking, the dangling heels off the feet of the illustrious debauchee tapping, a cork popping into the air, the laughter, the smiles, the dancing, the music, the sweat from greasy pores creating a cacophony of sound in the fraction of a second and I can distinguish it all. Supersonic senses coming into view along with Lucifer and Azael. They are both standing behind me mixed in the crowd. I can feel their eyes watching me and the strength of an angelic army is swelling inside my bones.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pIIhLvpvIJM

quote:

I wonder if this is in my job description. I wonder if Vivienne will get punished for my reckless emotional actions up here amongst the living. I hesitate slightly and then realize that I cannot control my hatred at this moment nor will I control my thirst for vengeance. I want to drink this guy’s blood. Not in the nerdy vampire sense, but in a very ritualistic and cannibalistic manner. Simple creatures we are, flaccid and weak, driven by blood and hate. This is a culture of hate no matter which way you want to slice it.

"We're all animals! All of us! I'm the only loving one smart enough to know!"

quote:

Everything freezes and silence rushes over the entire room. Everyone around me is stopped in what seems a cryogenic state, like a frozen frame in a film noir. I’m standing there huffing, blood boiling, and heart pounding…   “My dear sweet boy.”  

I know that voice instantly and the inflection of his first syllable is sending shivers down my spine.

A feeling of lust.

quote:

“Why the gently caress are you here?” I say without turning around.  

“To witness the complexity of your deepest regrets and boiling hatred for a man you don’t even know. It certainly is an electrifying state you’ve gotten yourself into. I manage, I torture, I barter, I spend all my time in a million places at once, but none of those places are as gratifying and lovely as when my Revelator is revealing the sinister edge of his actions and ingenuities. Imagine that little needle you’re holding in your hand, multiplied by ten thousand and filled to capacity with the concoction you’ve cooked up. Then imagine what that would do to the vital organs in your human system right before you overloaded, passed out and expired. This is how your actions affect me. You see? I am not much different than you. I told you we were the same. I am a junkie but on an atomic scale. Fitting I should think, for the Prince of Darkness to have his vices. Even you can understand that, surely.”

You ever read something that you know the author was writing one-handed at the thought of his own awesomeness?

quote:

“I thought you wanted me to love and to be loved?”  

“Well it’s sort of an all-inclusive package. Emotion is emotion. Chemicals are chemicals. A mother loves her offspring because of the hormones she produces during childbirth. A killer loves the act of slaughtering his victim because of the essential emotion he produces while the light flickers from the dying eyes. There’s no distinction in the wild and your species has just gotten so egotistical that they think evolution has changed the landscape and that human creatures operate on some distant cloud of morality, some mountaintop of equalizing judgment. But it’s all the same to me as it is to you. The way you operate is like an injection of the highest quality for me. I had to drop everything I was doing to come and witness this. So go on boy… feed that rage, let the anger envelope you, become the conduit of hatred and love wrapped up into one decaying package and strike with all of your might, every loving shred of it.”

There's something deeply disturbing about a man who became notorious for abusing women and glorifying BDSM having Lucifer talk about the similarities between love and rage. It's a moment that would be benign and trite for anyone else, but revealing for him.

quote:

With that he steps back into the crowd and blends in, everything speeds up to normality. My intensity is gashed open and the floodgates of resentment explode.  

I stab him in the neck with the syringe filled with the speedball meant for my arm and push the plunger in, emptying every CC into his external carotid artery.  

“That was me you tried to kill you loving scumbag!!”

You spent all your time cooking that up and now you're wasting it!

quote:

His eyes light up in terror, he clutches my torso with his hands trying to wrestle me off. I pull the needle out and know the effects are immediate. He is already going limp, his body melting into a tranquilizing seizure, but his mind is still there, his eyes staring at me in disbelief. I place my hands around his neck and begin squeezing so tight his eyes blow up with blood. Crack and pop go the vessels in his face. I love this so much my dick is hard again. Slowly I begin bashing his head against the back wall of the booth until he goes limp. Thump, thump. I am yelling something inaudible, speaking in tongues. Nothing can stop me. I am loving Hercules on fire. Mistress Marie is flipping out behind me trying to drag me away but it’s no use, I throw her to the ground. I strangle the life out of this man without remorse. I am the monster I was afraid of becoming, the transformation is finally complete. It’s easy to feed this beast. I no longer lack the proper motivation.

I need to make a counter for all the inappropriate boners he gets during this.

quote:

We are creating a scene and people come to investigate; they are silently standing around the booth as I step out dripping with sweat and anger. I’m shaking. Violence. Seething animosity. Guilt-free. My dope is in his slowing circulation and all I can think is, what a waste. I walk back into our side of the booth and pull out the medical bag and grab one of the spreader bars. The cold hard steel in my hand, I step back out and there is a crowd gathering, simply watching. I stare at them blankly for a moment, like a wolf in the wild preparing to eat his prey. I pull back the curtain of the booth he is lying in and drag him out by his feet. He is the dead living. He’s barely breathing, but by the look of horror and fear dribbling down his face I can tell he’s still with it. I pull him out just enough so that he is lying flat on his back staring up at the ceiling, I ponder for a moment what could be flashing through his mind, then I blink and realize that I don’t give a flying gently caress and stand over his lifeless body. Here comes my retribution, my reward. I proceed to bash his skull in. Smash, one Mississippi… Smash, two Mississippi… Smash, three Mississippi… I take my time, slowly getting to about fifteen and then I stop counting. The open gash in his skull is spurting blood all over the curtains and the crowd and I’m covered crown to toe in brains and blood and fragments of this worthless pig. Pig’s head on a stick, Ralph declares to the boys in The Lord Of the Flies. I wish I had a spike, although I’d have to use this guy’s torso because he doesn’t have a head anymore.

You can't tell me this has never happened in a lovely place like this.

quote:

I wipe my eyes and the large group gathered around us now is listening in silence. Shocked by the ferocity with which I applied to the killing of this man. Saraphine is looking on in horror. It wasn’t meant to work out anyway. Mistress Marie doesn’t say a word. She gathers my things and leads me through the mess of people who have stopped loving and beating and drinking to see what was happening. I can taste his blood as I walk through the stunned crowd and I feel the hatred of this culture I belong to… Retribution is absolutely EVERYTHING that it’s cracked up to be.  Vengeance does not belong to the lord… It belongs to me. 

And that's the end of the second book. A compilation of random sex, drugs, and violence for 72 pages before it just sort of peters out and ends abruptly, much like his career seems to be doing. The third book is somewhat longer and tries to return the story to its quasi-noir beginning, actually managing to be worse than what we've read.

chitoryu12
Apr 24, 2014



quote:

“Literature, not scripture, sustains the mind and – since there is no other metaphor – also the soul.”  
-Christopher Hitchens  

To Phineas

You are the best adventure I’ve ever embarked upon. Don’t ever lose your splendid curiosity, keep your wit sharp and take care of your mother when I am gone. I love you forever.

Oof.

Prologue

quote:

All of us possess a little darkness, a shadowy reflection of negligence and failure marred by the hue of deep sadness and left in the shape of a sharpened knife. I would rather pretend that this grim confidence inside me doesn’t exist at all, but the reality is… I am just a liar and an actor with a cold heart and a loaded gun. This lack of illumination resides in every conscious and living human creature on this planet, whether we choose to deny its existence or not. I cannot turn back the sullied hands of time in order to eliminate the disastrous events of my past. Nor should I. My failures define me. They created me. They will be the End of me. The inability to give up control is the fabric of my catastrophe and I crave it entirely without any shame at all. Among the rusty nails and screwdrivers in the heavy toolbox I carry over my shoulder is a useful talent I picked up along the way: the ability to shut myself off from the sunlight, the agony, the common morality in this world, and forge ahead through the pain, the sorrow and the regret in order to reach my definitive destination. Do you think I am mad? I suppose that depends on how I go about defining the word in these dangerous and modern times. You answer "yes"? Well, you’re probably right. Here I humbly pen my experiences regarding true love, life, death, resurrection, insanity, drug abuse, sex, violence, vengeance, more violence, still more revenge and yes, more sex. Can verse or fable, song or dance, make the hardened and most callous of us jump from the diving board of sanity off the ship of Lady Disappointment and into the enormity of the Ocean Misery? Maybe I’ve come to find out. Maybe I’ve written this just for you. Conceived in the damaged neurons firing within my skull down to the nerve endings of my hardened prick and shot out against a white digital canvas here in the twenty first century. Strands of my silky DNA exposing a silhouette of the monster you might become yourself if you don’t tread lightly, breathe slowly and always remember that the choices you make are yours and yours alone, despite who shows up in the mirror after nine days with no sleep, plenty of pure Bolivian cocaine and the willingness to comprehend the truth.  

What say you in the cruel light of my disillusionments? Am I a monster or a fool in love? Am I practitioner or a patron in the art of destruction? Would you have committed the same atrocities if you were faced with these sinister choices? Or would you have slunk back into the hole from which you crawled never to be spoken of again?  Was I wrong when I smashed that son of bitch in the face, sending his crooked teeth down his throat? Did I fail when my Continental was demolished into a smoldering pile of burning metal and terror? Could I have changed the aftermath and simply crawled back into the flames and ended up in the fires of Hell alongside my beloved Vivienne? I suppose I could have told Lucifer to take his Revelator bullshit and stuff it right right up his burning rear end in a top hat. But I, just like every single one of you, am loving weak. I suffer pride and vanity, weaknesses of the flesh, the thrill of victory and not giving up despite my inept understanding of the world around me. I only wanted love, I wanted passion and I wanted it to last forever. Like a charming film written for an optimistic teenaged heart. But I wasn’t made for the popularity contest in this life. I wanted true love and to have that true and unfettered love returned ten fold. What more can a man desire in this world but the devotion of a good woman who is put in his path to protect and serve him? Money? Power? It’s loving meaningless without love, without devotion, without honor. Oh my friends, this journey is far from over. This darkened corridor I’m stumbling down is wrought with danger, plastered with desire. The smell of sex and death up ahead draws me closer with a handsome melody, a sweaty oval office and the promise of closure. Curiosity will unquestionably be my undoing. Wouldn’t you agree? Could you beat a man to death with a metal rod meant for keeping someone’s legs spread apart while you gently caress them? Could you laugh and sing while doing it? Could you walk through fire and pain and spit in the face of St. Peter and Lucifer, then live to tell everyone about it? Could you die a thousand times and still wake up angry and shaking from the endless bitterness suffocating your broken heart? Perhaps you could do just that, if you had the right amount of supplies to violate the Uniformed Controlled Substance Act.  

I am not finished with you, dear reader. Nor am I finished wishing for a nuclear explosion to engulf the gates of Heaven and the depths of Hell. I am most certainly not finished with those who are responsible for the death of my beloved Vivienne and the resurrection of my everlasting hate. Every story must come to an end. Nothing in this life lasts forever if the right pressure is applied. So let us indulge in every delicious second of this existence while the breath in our lungs still permits us.

You know what? Don't even bother reading that. It's so dumb.

Chapter 1

quote:

I have been here before. The dust and grime and greasy pessimism of my former glory paint murals of fantastic demons dancing on the roof of a stone mausoleum. I’m gruesomely standing on the sidelines of a consciousness I cannot escape from, still waiting for a lucid reality to return and rear its nasty face. I realize that I’ve experienced this reality more than once. I’ve seen it, lived it, loved it, discarded it and then pined over it. Sanity, oh my sweet, sweet sanity, please come back. I beg of you. My loneliness screams without you. Failure, self-degradation and immolation are flying overhead like an ugly pack of loud, flapping crows, surrounded by the flames of a certain Hell we are all headed towards. I am mad with desire to undo the past, though I am truly at ease with some of the choices I have made. Sullen and saddened doesn’t cover the scope of my misery and yet I still feel the courage to carry on. The vigor of strangulation will help me endure and god dammit if I am not fueled by the hatred I feel for everything around me. Perhaps I feel too much. Too much hurt, too much regret, too much agony and sorrow. There’s too much of this crummy atmosphere, all of the time. The optimist within me doesn’t want to feel anything at all and yet there I go, bleeding from the inside out. Can you hear the dying yells of the man you once knew? Dying yells and a rattling corpse with wings and a crown of shame. 

There is blood on my hands, my face and my shoes, gore from a shady man with crooked teeth that I killed in the presence of complete strangers in an auditorium of marble and red velvet with the stink of oval office and rear end all around me. These are not typical strangers mind you, these are monsters that drink formaldehyde and spit balls of fire, fiends that chew the flesh from the living with iron chains and leather whips. They sip their drinks and flay their pork with impunity. Shackled in visions of grey sandstone and splendor, they are laughing at my indignation, laughing at the folly in my swing, the sloppy way that I beat this man with crooked teeth to death. His fangs are all gone. They disappear straight down the esophagus and into his bowels. Spit and gurgle goes the gimp in the purple mask. I am unforgiving, and I don’t care.
I wake up.

Gimps are possibly the fastest way to remove the drama from a scene you're trying to paint. There's some really odd spacing here that the quote blocks are fixing.

quote:

These rough sheets are soaked with sweat through the linen down to the core of the mattress and I am in agony, shaking violently. It was only that dream again. London. The dream in which I transform into the monster I was afraid of becoming back then, but the one I am not afraid of becoming today.
"Acceptance is the key to all your problems," Bill W. writes in his bleak novel, Alcoholics Anonymous. gently caress you, Bill. I lived in a hotel for a week after my escape from England, somewhere in the south of France. The only two books in the whole place were a copy of the King James Bible and that piece of poo poo that was published sometime in the thirties and probably left by some rear end in a top hat tourist in the eighties. Acceptance. I guess so. The cold morning air and small rays of dull light are delicately pouring through the crack of the curtains covering the window to the outside world. It takes me a minute to realize that there is a woman lying next to me, breathing softly, sleeping soundly, protected. She’s lying on her stomach with one leg tucked up to her belly. I can’t help but marvel at the beautiful curve of her hip. I used to sit up all hours of the night and watch Vivienne sleep that way, wondering how I got so lucky. I stand up and stretch my tired limbs and hobble over to the chair under the window, wearing nothing, baring it all for the insects crawling on the wall to see. Pulling back the curtain a few inches, I can tell the sun hasn’t risen yet. The blue hour is upon me and it’s the most charming of all the hours in the day. That subtle and somber tone of bliss right before the explosion of life and we are yet again propelled into another stretch of survival with lingering minutes held together by fragile tape. I light a smoke, turn on the clock radio and keep it low. Sam Cooke's “Touch the Hem of His Garment” plays from a golden oldies station that I’ve been listening to. Pop music has driven itself into a dismal abyss and I can no longer deal with that screeching frequency. The protagonist in this song is a very sick woman from “the Bible days” who receives word that Jesus (yes, that Jesus) is coming through town and that if she can somehow touch even a small piece of his clothing, her disease might disappear and she would be able to live normally all the rest of her days. The romance of a healer, the genuine belief that someone had that kind of power once upon a time is pretty magnificent. Although, these were desert dwellers with zero knowledge of the working universe, biology or even simple physics, so my infatuation is quickly replaced with umbrage and I turn it off and smoke the rest of my cigarette in silence. Silver clouds slowly sigh around the room and my anxiety may finally be subsiding. The clang and bump of early morning garbage trucks are rumbling four stories below me on Twenty-third Street. I’m in the Madonna Suite at the Hotel Chelsea here in New York City. I wonder why it’s called the Madonna Suite? She doesn’t live here. Perhaps she stayed once during the "Like a Virgin” Tour, christened it by getting hosed in the bed and taking a poo poo in the toilet. Fancy me. making GBS threads in the Madonna toilet, although I don’t give a gently caress either way. It’s a room in a kooky hotel where Sid killed Nancy and Burroughs lost his mind a few times. Oh and I’m fairly certain I bumped into Ethan Hawke in the hallway the other day on my way back from picking up a pack of cigarettes. He looks a lot older in real life. Reality certainly does bite.

This is possibly the worst formatting of any book I've ever read.

Yes, Madonna lived in the Hotel Chelsea in the 1980s and shot the photographs for her book Sex in Room 822.

quote:

I’ve been living here for the last couple months after almost a year on the run throughout the whole of Europe. After the London debacle and escape, I rode trains and sat for days in stations. I drank in a dingy club next to a crumbled wall that used to separate East and West Berlin. Met women of all shapes and sizes, creeds and colors, and like the Earl of loving Rochester, I was up for it, all the time. I left petticoats and blouses and stockings and panties strewn across the continent. I slept in whorehouses from Bulgaria to Belgium, Poland to Paris. I ran from Spanish cops in Madrid, fought with Romanian locals in a village with no name, stitched myself up when I bled and fueled the fire with Scotch and coke and acid and the willingness to forget everything I had ever felt, seen, or loved. A man can only meltdown so many times in the wretchedness that he creates for himself. Searching for forgiveness in the sigh and moan of a lover or a stranger didn’t absolve me of my sins, but it did supply a reprieve from time to time. Sex and enthusiasm was my communion. Illicit and dangerous vice was my redemption.      

So there.
I am tired.
I am burned out.
I need a loving miracle.
I need a resolution.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FvccHfW2R3U

quote:

The ache in the muscle of my leg is still tormenting me. Oh yeah, I was shot in the Czech Republic, which is just my luck. I’ve got Lucifer, the king demon of the apocalypse, on my side and Azael, his watcher of all things “Revelator”, and I get loving shot by a drunk in Prague? It wasn’t even my fight to begin with. But that’s a story for another time. Loser, liar, drunkard. That’s me. After that, I decided there was nothing left but to go back and try to pick up the pieces of my shattered life somehow. To enact revenge so divine that someday, someone would have the guts to write about it. A modern day Odysseus fighting to get through Scylla and Charybdis, but instead of a two-headed monster and a deadly sea, the protagonist is up against a vicious drug lord, his crime syndicate and a sympathetic Devil that calls himself Lucifer but is actually just a big baby with infinite power and resources. Lucky me. 
I also needed change. A change that was worthy of verse, a revolution worthy of song. So I hitched a ride through France to the ferry at Calais that ushers you to the foot of the marvelous White Cliffs of Dover. There I traveled by an old wooden train to the northwest of England, chasing the beautiful and mighty Manchester sunset until it disappeared over the western horizon. Then boarded a plane that jetted me across the Atlantic back to this America, back to the country of my suffering. Seattle was a place too painful to return so I settled for the grime and the filth of New York City. A psychic in Berlin also told me that I would find what I was looking for here. I’ll believe anything these days. Here is a place I can reconnect with my heart. It’s also a place I can find solitude in a crowded room.

The formatting in this book is incredibly weird and inconsistent. Sometimes he only goes down one line and indents, sometimes he starts a separate paragraph.

quote:

After the events in the Whipping Haus, the Mistress Marie and her slave kept me locked away for a few days until they found someone who could smuggle me out of England. I’m sure that whatever she signed up for, it didn’t include watching someone get beat to death with a spreader bar by a complete lunatic doped up on coke and smack. Leave it to me to seriously gently caress someone’s day up. I’m not sure if anyone was even chasing me or not, but I’ve operated under the assumption that somebody has been on my tail ever since. Sleep deprivation and crushing paranoia can keep one safe if one's got the right attitude, a little bit of cash and a lot of drugs. It can also cause terrifying hallucinations. Many of which I’ve paid the price for.

So are we going full bore with the hallucination angle? Or was it all real?

quote:

In this life I have lived there is hate and there is jealousy, then warmth and debauchery. There are lies and there is envy, then more lies and finally… Emancipation. An unreliable narrator can only take you so far in a story but you must trust that his account is accurate.  

Why?  

Well, what other option do you have?

chitoryu12 fucked around with this message at 19:13 on Mar 24, 2020

chitoryu12
Apr 24, 2014

Chapter 2

quote:

As I am stubbing my seventh cigarette of the morning into an overflowing ashtray, the guest who has been sleeping so peacefully in the Madonna bed begins to stir. I can’t remember her name for the life of me. Perhaps she didn’t offer one, or maybe the benzos and cocaine mixed with alcohol erased it from my memory. It may look like I have a death wish, and sometimes I do. Last night, however, was an average evening for me. The events are a blur of sweat, dancing, drinking, grinding, kissing, petting, pounding away at her pulsating velvet temple and her lovely voice as she told me she was coming. The wee hours approached rapidly and as I started to drift off, I fell in love. I have fallen in love with every woman I have ever bedded, even if it was just in that singular moment.  

"Pulsating velvet temple" is one of those phrases that deserves to be put in a repository of bad sex writing for all time.

quote:

My burner phone sitting on the glass table starts to buzz. I don’t recognize the number and answer it quietly.  

“Hello.”  

“Good morning, Sir. How did you sleep?” A female voice replies  

“Uh, okay I suppose. I’m sorry, but who the gently caress is this?” I ask somewhat impatiently.  

“This is a friend and I’ve got some bad news for you.”  

“Should I even ask?”

"And do you look any different from the last four girls who appeared in this book?

quote:

“Listen closely. There are two men headed up the stairs to your room at the Chelsea. They are armed and extremely dangerous. I suggest you find a way out of there immediately, one that doesn’t involve you going down to the lobby and out through the front door. I am waiting on the corner of Eighth and Twenty-third just up the block. If you want to survive, you had better go… Now.”

The best part is this is supposed to be a major plot point, but it feels so meaningless because he skipped over his ridiculous international adventure. He's fought people, gotten shot or shot at more than once, and hosed countless people. These could be anyone that he pissed off at some point.

quote:

The line goes dead and I’m already throwing on my clothes. I pack lightly these days and only have a small bag with a change of clothes, some cash and a Colt 1911 that shoots hefty .45mm bullets, with a couple of extra clips. I kick the bed and tell the lovely stranger to get her poo poo together and that it’s time to go. She is shaken by the frantic inflection in my voice but stays in the bed confused and asks what the problem is. I tell her I don’t have time to explain, she needs to go right loving now. I get her up and push her confused and half naked out into the hallway leaving her to get dressed just outside the door. I would feel bad but I don’t even know her name, and she wouldn’t want to get involved in this mess if she knew how wicked things were about to get. Her voice trails off and suddenly I hear a commotion, a scuffle and a scream, a gunshot and then a body hitting the floor and know in my heart what happened. It’s time to escape.

I thought .45mm was hefty. This is very concerning.

quote:

I can’t go out that door. gently caress. To the window, idiot.  

I try to open it but layers upon layers of lead paint have sealed it shut. gently caress it. I grab the chair from the dinette in the makeshift kitchen area and hurl it at the window, sending shattered shards of dirty glass four stories below. The fire escape is sketchy but I jump out onto it. It almost falls off the side of the building. The bolts and iron are rotting away from the ravages of time and it’s not meant to be used as an escape route anymore; it’s more for decoration, a crummy decoration at best. I shimmy down to the next floor and then the next.  I can hear the goons kicking in the door of the Madonna suite and searching around until they see the broken window.

The fire escape is probably in such condition because at the time of this book, the hotel was closed for renovation! Only a few long-term tenants still live in it as the renovations have dragged on with seemingly no end under new ownership. It's highly doubtful he would have been able to just show up and rent a room.

quote:

BLAM! Bullets are whizzing by me now and I’ve got my Colt cocked and ready. I look up and try to fire through the maze of metal above me while carefully trying not to fall to my death from two stories up. Down down down and I make it to the ladder and have to jump from the first floor. My loving leg gives out and I fall straight on my rear end. I can see two of these guys trying to come down, a glimpse and I catch that one of them is smaller than me, the other has a thick black mustache. I fire off a couple more rounds toward the heavens as I get to my feet and run (well, I’m hobbling actually) out of this alley and up the block towards Eighth Avenue.

The only way to describe other people are "smaller than me" and "mustache."

quote:

There’s a black Mercedes waiting on the corner with its lights flashing and that must be my mystery caller. The passenger door opens as I approach and I jump in head first as three more shots come whizzing by my head and neck, one of them striking the inside of the door panel as I reach to close it. I scream “GO!” and we speed off into the morning like a leopard on a freshly cooked batch of gruesome methamphetamine.  

I’m adjusting myself in the front seat, rattled and shaking. Near-death experiences tend to make me a bit nervous and I don’t even notice blood seeping through the knee of my trousers at first. I must have gashed it on the way down the fire escape.

This might be the least exciting action scene I've read since Ready Player One.

quote:

“Jesus Christ! What the gently caress was that all about?” My voice quivers. “Who was that trying to kill me?”  

“Those were the men hired to finish a job that someone botched back in Seattle,” a female voice replies. “It looks as if they might have gotten pretty close this time.”

We are speeding down Fourth now, toward the Bowery, weaving through the early taxi rush, trying not to sideswipe anyone or kill pedestrians in the process. The woman driving looks young, fierce, focused. She is slender, and her legs are long. Black leather pants tightly hugging the curve of her hips. The blouse she has on is made of silk, short sleeved and purple. Her skin is dark ebony, just one shade lighter than her pants. I ask who she is and where she is from. Her name is Veronica; she was born in Saint Lucia down in the Caribbean islands but has been living in London most of her life. She is beautiful, precise, and driving with sort of a half grin, her white teeth shining behind pristine lips. She wears her hair almost shoulder-length, jet-black and flat-ironed straight. Attraction is calming my shattered nerves. I need a drink.

Oh good, it's a black hot chick in leather pants this time! I'm sure Will won't somehow find a way to be racist about this later on!

quote:

“My name is William.”  

“I know who you are,” she replies, biting her lip as she finishes the sentence.  

“Apologies, my dear. But would you mind telling me how you know that? And how the hell did you find me?”  

“Come now, you don’t really need to ask me that do you? Surely you know who you are, and that He is always looking out for your best interests.”  

I know who she is referring to and sink deeper into the leather seat of this Mercedes like a sullen child. Sweat on my forehead is now dripping into my eyes. My leg is throbbing. I take the clip out of my gun and notice there is only one bullet left in the chamber. I cock the hammer back and let the shell fall down the handle into my lap.

Because that's how guns work, right? You take the clip out and cock the hammer and a round falls out of the grip?

quote:

“I wish I didn’t,” I say as I turn my head towards the passenger side window and watch the blur of the avenue dance maliciously next to me.

sebmojo
Oct 23, 2010


Legit Cyberpunk









It's not physically possible to have more than one bullet in the chamber, is it

I come from new zealand, the least gun place in the universe, and I know that

chitoryu12
Apr 24, 2014

sebmojo posted:

It's not physically possible to have more than one bullet in the chamber, is it

I come from new zealand, the least gun place in the universe, and I know that

If you have more than one bullet in your chamber, seek medical attention immediately. Because you probably had a squib load and the gun has now exploded.

Also cocking the hammer doesn't eject anything.

chitoryu12
Apr 24, 2014

Chapter 3

quote:

There is always a little hint of danger in the atmosphere of my existence. The charred and ugly truth I live, and the threat I have survived could be written of endlessly.  I walk through the valley of shadows and death daily. Bullets and wit instead of prayers and faith, this will keep my heart pumping, my blood flowing and my pulse palpitating. I tried hard to erase the victimization I felt after Lucifer sent me back to Earth without Vivienne through the use of hardcore narcotics, violent sex and a willingness to continually step off the edge of reality. It worked for a while. Even after my lame attempts at suicide. But the intervals of amnesia and relief became shorter and shorter until the drink and the drug couldn’t mask my hate or my regret. Until the sex couldn’t fill my damaged heart, the violence became friendly and the edge of reality became a dull blade barely sharp enough to open a letter. I woke up in a city unfamiliar and decided it was time to go back, to seek revenge, to demolish. I get sidetracked, yes. Sometimes I go out and get tight and end up stumbling back to the shithole I am staying in with some broad and shag her as if Armageddon is just over the horizon and we are all about to be annihilated, like the scene at the end of Fight Club. Marla Singer is holding my hand as the buildings are exploding in sequence all around us. I feel the pure satisfaction of her devotion and loyalty, the destruction that surely awaits us both. That is true romance. We are a living, breathing organism with a life span that lasts about as long as it takes for the universe to burp and then we are dust. Forgotten. Erased.

Is there a term for an author who can only reference other material instead of doing anything creative?

Other than "Ernest Cline."

quote:

The grief process is strange.
Sorrow.
Drugs.
Destruction.
Drugs.
Sex.
Anger.
Drugs.
Self-loathing.
More drugs.
Sew me up with hate.

That's just a synopsis of the book.

quote:

Then finally the realization that none of it really matters anyway and you’ve wasted more time than you should have. These are minutes and days that you cannot get back. Ever. Snatched away by a hungry bird from the black sky.  

I’ve come to this conclusion more times than I care to count but haven’t been able to let go and move on. Every waking moment I spend above ground is a moment I am contemplating vengeance. It took a while to get here. After Vivienne died, every waking moment was consumed by thoughts of suicide. Then more suicide. Then drink. Then anger. Then even more suicide. What a wreck. What a loving pussy. The Mistress Marie was wrong, just like I knew she would be. You can’t use Scotch tape and Elmer’s glue on a broken heart.

I think every paragraph that isn't Will cursing and doing drugs or loving someone is Will complaining about how lame he is.

quote:

“How long have you been back in the States?”  

“I don’t remember telling you that I left. It’s quite strange, you showing up out of nowhere. What makes you think I am not from here?”  

“You would be surprised about the things I know. The stories spoken about you are incredible.”  

“The stories?”  

“Yes, the tales of your ability to let the Master feel, the unique way in which you allow Him the pleasure of living in our reality. The love you have shown us all by allowing Him to love again. You’re truly special William.”

"The way you just beat people to death with bondage implements and do heroin."

quote:

The Master? Ha! You call him the Master?”  

“Of course I do. All of us call him the Master.”  

“Who the hell is all of us?”  

“All of those who live in His service here on Earth.”  

“Jesus Christ, this just gets better and better.”  

“Jesus was a follower as well! Although his is name was actually Zeelzuzeus, but the old guard changed it in the fourth century to fit in with the Western culture and fables. From what I’ve been told, he is responsible for laying the foundation of this whole network. Moses, Jesus, Mohammad, they were all working for Him.”

"Well I'm sorry I asked."

Same!

"Zeelzuzeus" is not a real demon or angel name as far as I know. It sounds like what Michael Scott would come up with at the last second when pretending to be a Satanist.

quote:

“Well I’m sorry I asked.”  

“There’s no need to be sorry, Sir.”  

“You don’t have to call me that.”  

“Sorry, Sir.”

Wow, he actually tried making a funny!

quote:

We have arrived at our destination.
Veronica kills the engine, exits the vehicle and says, “Follow me”. Out into the cool autumn night I step with a slight limp and a hard cock. What the gently caress is wrong with me. It must have rained sometime last night; the streets are semi-cleaned and the layer of grease and crust underfoot seems thinner. The humidity is heavier than normal; slightly sweating, I feel connected to the city that surrounds me. Veronica pushes off quickly and I can barely keep up. She is tall, has bones made of steel and walks like a machine, a highly intelligent and beautifully crafted machine to say the least. A perfected device ascended from the demonic fires below us. Or maybe I’m just a sucker for a black girl in tight leather pants with a perfect rear end.

Dude's just walking around with a boner straight out of his pants at all times.

quote:

Human beings are tribal by nature. Sure it’s an evolutionary trait to stick with our own kind for safety, for compatibility, for familiarity. But I’ve never understood racism. A racist is by nature uninformed, has the lack of understanding and is simply put, less evolved. He has obviously never tasted black pussy. He is stupid and useless and has no idea what he’s missing. gently caress him, more for me.

I can't even begin to break down everything wrong with this paragraph, so I'm just going to scream for a while.

quote:

Veronica is leading me through a narrow alley somewhere in the Bowery. Here’s my New York fragrance coming back to haunt me. The piss and garbage is assaulting my sense of smell and the word 'vile' doesn’t even come close to describing it. I’ve reloaded my Colt and have it tucked into the waist of my trousers. I don’t take any chances these days.

Hope he's not carrying in the front of his waistband. It'll be like balancing on a tightrope.

quote:

I hear moaning and whimpering coming from a doorway up ahead and I slow my pace. Veronica doesn’t even look back as she disappears into the darkened entrance. I reach back and put my hand on my gun. Veronica pops her head out and asks “Are you coming or not?” I relax and catch up to her. “It would be easier if I knew where we were going my dear.”  

Down a short set of cement stairs I step onto the dusty landing. The ceilings are low and this is the cellar of some semi-abandoned building. The musky scent of rat poo poo and mold makes me gag a little. There are exposed pipes and wires running overhead, rusty and malfunctioning. Opposite the side we came in is a dark figure standing over a man tied to a wooden chair. His wrists are bound behind his back and his knees tied to the legs of the seat. He is blindfolded. His face is beaten. Bleeding. I know what that feels like. He’s muttering something incoherent, a plea for mercy perhaps. The dark figure wearing a black overcoat and grey hat has muscle and lots of it. Between swills of blood and broken teeth, the overcoat smashes a fist across this poor fucker's face without words. The brutality of it makes me smile in the dim light. Perhaps that’s a reaction only I suffer from, or maybe once a sadist always a sadist. Veronica tells the muscle to stop what he’s doing and he complies without question. She is in control.

They're helping him maintain an erection! How kind!

quote:

The contents of his pockets are lying on a table a few feet away and I start to shuffle through them. A Ruger 45mm hand cannon with an after market rubber grip, a full clip of hollow point bullets, a box of matches, ninety-seven dollars in cash and a business card with “Hotel Chelsea – Madonna Suite” written on it. 

Yeah, I'd definitely classify 45mm as a hand cannon!

quote:

Veronica leans in close to the man in the wooden chair and picks up his chin with her hands and asks if he would like to say a few words yet. I’m not sure this guy knows what planet he’s on.  

He chuckles and spits blood back up into Veronica's face and she doesn’t bat an eyelash. She steps back and pulls a handkerchief from her pocket and wipes her eyes clean, slowly.  

“Go gently caress yourself you filthy black bitch,” he grumbles. One of his eyes is swollen shut and I am surprised he can speak.

But it's okay, Will isn't a racist! Because he likes black pussy!

quote:

Calmly she replies, “First I’d like to thank you for this opportunity. It’s not every day I get to cause great suffering to such a piece of poo poo like yourself, although I’m tempted on a daily basis to do so. I would also like to thank you for your consideration, for giving us the information we had needed before I send you to meet the Master.”  

“Meet the who?” he says bewildered, the stupid oval office.  

“Without your help I wouldn’t have known to call and deliver my friend here out of harm's way.” She motions to me and I stand there stupefied, like a small child that just broke a glass in his mother’s kitchen.    

“I don’t really give a gently caress honey, my fate is sealed. Rats do not survive in this city. So what the gently caress are you waiting for??” He spits, blood running down his chin.

Nobody talks like this.

quote:

In one fluid motion Veronica grabs the Ruger from the table, cocks the slide, points it directly between his eyes and pulls the trigger. BLAM! A flash of lightning breaks the darkness. Brains and tissue and fragments of skull explode against the dirty brick wall behind him. The violence of it all rushes through my veins and I should be ashamed to admit that I am highly turned on by this little fraction of viciousness, but it turns out that I am not ashamed at all. The spark of emotion inside me, it makes me feel. It makes Lucifer feel. That fucker.  

“Holy poo poo!” I say, stunned.

That isn't the emotional reaction I expected based on the previous paragraph.

quote:

“That bastard ruined my eye shadow and we got the information we needed. You should actually be thanking him. I wouldn’t have known to call you if he didn’t spilled his guts before I spilled his brains,” she says while cleaning the rest of his spit off her face.

"Didn't spilled his guts"?

quote:

“Thanks?” I say to the corpse with half a head.  

“What other tid-bits of info did you extract from this slug?”  

“He may have also let slip where to find the guy who wanted you dead to begin with. He just might be in this city as we speak.”  

My mind runs ablaze. Heat with rage and excitement. Crows cawing and scratching at the inside of my head and I can hardly breathe to get the words out.



quote:

“Tell me where he is.”  

“Not just yet. First, someone requested our presence.”  

“Who?”

chitoryu12
Apr 24, 2014

Chapter 4



I had to get a screenshot of this, because I wanted everyone to see what I was seeing. I have no idea how the hell he managed to get that highlighted portion in. That's not even a "didn't proofread" error, that's a "didn't even skim my own book" error.

And that second paragraph is just...godawful.

quote:

Azael and his loving lectures. I was tired of these back in London.  

“But you’re still a man that is in need of saving and I have tirelessly put myself on the line to pull your rear end out of many a dire situation. Have I not?”  

“Have I ever asked you to, Azael? Have I ever called out your name in pain or regret? Did I scream for you when I was lying on that sidewalk in Prague bleeding from a gunshot wound?” I ask, pulling a cigarette from my crumpled soft pack of Marlboro Light 100’s.

If you're trying to wreck yourself on purpose, at least smoke filterless.

quote:

We are sitting in a tearoom attached to the penthouse suite of some swanky apartment on the Upper West Side. I imagine this is but one of many residences he calls home. The walls are gray steel, ubiquitous and cold, the ceiling is made of glass and it’s a good thing the sky is overcast this morning. I’m not sure if I could handle the sun exploding in my face. 

“No I suppose you didn’t. But I wouldn’t have come anyway. I knew it wasn’t a life-threatening emergency and you needed to learn that if you meddle in the affairs of others you might get yourself hurt.”  

“So it was a lesson then? And here I thought we were friends.”  

“William. My boy, we are friends. I’ve watched out for you and catered to your safety more times than I care to count. I’d like to think that we have some sort of bond of mutual affection.”  

“Well I suppose I am confused by your compassion towards me, Azael. You want to watch over me, you want to leave me in the gutter, you want me to survive this game and you want me to hurt and feel and gently caress all at the same time. I just fail to comprehend what the goal is.” My back is straight and I’m staring right into his eyes. “Am I some sort of toy that amuses you?”

Nothing about you amuses me. You're the most pathetic man on Earth.

quote:

“Not at all! My my my… You’re an enigma that fascinates me to no end. I want to understand you. I want to understand why you exist. I had the same curiosity about Mozart and Caravaggio. I’m fascinated by your ability just like I was with theirs. Why can the poem or symphony of one man have the same effect on an emotion as a beautifully crafted portrait painted by another? Are they connected somehow even if they live centuries apart? If a woman finds herself soaking wet seated in an auditorium listening to that symphony and goes home to her husband has she committed adultery? Or is it a chemical reaction triggered by something so beautiful she simply doesn’t have a choice?”

Some people cry at concerts, some people get horny. I guess?

quote:

“But if I am so special and so important why am I wasting so much of my life trying to forget I exist? Am I simply made to suffer? I’m tired, Azeal. I really am. I need to understand this role I’m supposed to play.”

If you look carefully, you'll notice Will misspelled Azael's name!

quote:

“Before you existed there was only monotony, drudgery, boredom in this Hell that I call home. There was nothing but the job. To tip the balance of good vs. evil in the direction that is most appropriate, i.e. In His Favor, ad infinitum, ad forever nausea. Barf. Boring. We’ve been at this for a long time. Imaging living the way you live forever. You’re already sick of the way things are and your life has only lasted as long as it takes for my fingernails to grow long enough to scratch my chin. After you entered into the circle, life and everything we knew was transformed, rehabilitated, magnified into something so indescribable that it would take me a hundred years to give you an accurate description of it all. To be concise, I’ll just say that this change is marvelous, it is revitalizing, it is… truly beautiful. There is a new fire to work towards. Lucifer has a clear vision. But this has all been quite the undertaking, the mechanics of it all are not fully understood yet. But I’m certain with a little patience and perseverance we will get there.” He takes a swill from his crystal glass and sighs.

Hell was boring, but somehow this is more interesting?

quote:

“You see? For the very first time in that miserable existence of yours you’ve proved yourself important, needed. You’re not just some guzzle from the jug of apathy anymore, my young man. This survival of yours is highly important to our movement. I must admit though, watching you clean yourself up only to fall down again has been quite entertaining these last few years. It’s almost like watching one of those atrocious reality shows you creatures here on Earth remain pacified with.”

Didn't we play out the "sheeple watching reality shows" joke in like 2009? I know that's the birth year you prefer for your girlfriends, but come on.

quote:

“Well I’m certainly glad I was made to amuse you all.” Gritting my teeth I look out into the futuristic city. Jutting digital towers of flawless glass and metal scrape the sky like hands reaching up out of the cement grave below us. I am here now. I’ve come for a resolution. My revolution.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=n0UsvH3LT24

Also, there is absolutely nothing futuristic about New York. Most of the buildings are visibly decades old, especially on the Upper West Side.

quote:

“Not just my amusement, you were made for my enjoyment and you’ve given me purpose in an otherwise meaningless existence…. No, I don’t really mean that. Of course my existence has meaning. But you are the bright shining new portrait painted upon the fading canvas of our lives. There’s nothing in this world we cannot accomplish as the harvester of your energy, the atomic release of that which is in your heart. All things revealed, all systems go, you will show the world what you were made for, you will show the world who the Revelator truly is. Men and women will be jealous and intrigued. They will all share stories about the grandeur of your power, they will fall down and worship you forever.”

Is this how he views himself?

quote:

“The Revelator.” I scoff. “What the gently caress does that even mean? You explain it in metaphors like a drunken poet from the Renaissance.”  

“You mean to tell me you haven’t figured it out yet?” A smile begins to curl his lips. “Why did God create this mess to begin with? Why was Ludwig a musical genius? Why does a man have needs when his comprehension of that need is so limited? Why are you attracted to wider hips in lieu of slender ones? Can you find the true answer to the most basic and fundamental questions of this modern generation? Or are we simply here for a reason. Some for more brilliant reasons than others.”  

“I’m not sure I want to know, Azeal.”

He is now misspelling his own character's name multiple times.

quote:

“It’s okay. In due time you will discover, embrace and define it my boy.”  

“I’ve returned to the disaster of my life for a reason. I know that there is vengeance in my heart. There is a hatred that I cannot quite explain and an ample supply of unresolved anguish. I have to find the guy that killed Vivienne. I have to end his life before I live up to any of this poo poo you’re talking about. Do you understand me?”

Sitting there in silence looking at one another, he knows that I am ruthless and that the severity in my voice cuts to the bone. He can feel my teeth grinding into one another and the palpitations in my heart growing wilder. Sitting across the table in a smoking jacket and silk cravat, smoking black cigarettes that smell like poo poo, he waits. He waits with that classic Clark Gable charm, patient and endearing. I won’t lower my gaze and he notices the change in my soul.

You're finally going to do something other than piss yourself and bitch?

quote:

Shifting one leg over the other he says, “You’re a much different creature than you were when we first met back in the St Giles. I believe I had your head in the toilet and you were throwing up rotting bile. What a disaster you were. There’s a look of determination about you now that was not present then. I understand your isolation in the Old World must have rearranged in you a new perspective on survival and the art of living, but this vigor I see before me, this is something much more than I had imagined it could ever become. The transformation is coming.”  

“Transformation? No. Europe gave me a keen sense of where I’ve been and what direction I am headed. Sure I wasted a lot of time bedding lonely housewives and submissive girls and boys, discovering how many lashes it takes to break the skin on the rear end and consuming more drugs than I care to recount. Suicide never worked and my only reprieve from agony was escapism and the occasional explosive orgasm. Well that and running, lots and lots of loving running. But listen to me now, I am out of breath. I am simply a man who is broken beyond repair and in order to find any semblance of forward motion I have to end this.”

Reading this is like having a stroke mid-sex.

quote:

“I know this to be fact, that is why I never interfered. I knew that you needed to resolve these issues of turmoil on your own and come back in one piece, stronger than ever. Now look at you. Unwavering. Firm. You’re ready to fully realize your potential, like a lion that has come of age. There is nothing that can stop you, of that I have no doubt.”  

He stands and gracefully moves to a table slid up against the far edge of the room behind me. With one hand holding the crystal and cigarette, he uses the other to grab a white envelope. I’m watching him over my shoulder and as he walks past me he drops the envelope onto the table next to my glass. It’s marked For William, and I’m wondering what the gently caress is listed inside.  

“Speaking of lions,” he says softly.  

I don’t ask permission, I reach for the letter and tear one side completely off, tip it up and a necklace falls out into my lap. It’s a small silver chain with a heart-shaped locket I gave to Vivienne shortly after she saved my life. My eyes begin to tear up. My hand shaking, I ball it into my fist and hold it close to my face trying to catch a whiff of her scent in remembrance of the only thing that I ever truly loved.

If you go back to the first book, you'll notice that at no point did Will give Vivienne this locket.

quote:

There’s something else in the envelope, a six-by-nine inch post card. I pull it out and there on the back in hand written letters is a name and an address somewhere back down in the Bowery.  

Richie Calahan
140 2nd Ave
New York, NY 10003 

It's actually a few blocks north of the Bowery!

quote:

“Revenge won’t change the past my friend,” Azael says sympathetically.  

“Yeah well, it’ll sure help to benefit my future.”  

“There is only one future for you, William. To show this world what true love really looks like.”  

Suddenly, a doorbell rings and it startles me.  

“Grab that, would you?” Azael says. “It’s for you anyway, you’ll be needing a ride.”  

I stand to answer it, glancing at the digital security screen next to the door. I notice that Azael has vanished behind me.  

Typical.

Lord Zedd-Repulsa
Jul 21, 2007

Devour a good book.


This is even more boring than Twilight was and the "edgy" content is why. I can find any number of people who write drugs, sex, self-loathing, and even the religious stuff far, far better.

chitoryu12
Apr 24, 2014

So the quote blocks are actually fixing some of the bad formatting. This is what the first chapter looks like on Kindle:



The spacing is all over the place. He may start a new paragraph, he may just do a line break. He may indent, he may not. The number of spaces between paragraphs is inconsistent, though it's hard to tell if you're not the one copying and pasting. He doesn't seem creative enough to be using it for artistic purposes, so I think it's just sloppy typing and no editing.

anilEhilated
Feb 17, 2014

But I say fuck the rain.

Grimey Drawer
I think the most shocking part of is that he's trying to present Bush as a good guy. I think.

chitoryu12
Apr 24, 2014

anilEhilated posted:

I think the most shocking part of is that he's trying to present Bush as a good guy. I think.

He's a puppet put in place by Hell because of a lost bet with Heaven, which doesn't speak well of him.

Now that I think about it, I actually don't think angels appear at all in this book. The other side of this war gets mentioned a lot but the brief moment at the Pearly Gates is all we get. We're already 30% through the last book!

chitoryu12
Apr 24, 2014

Also I was in a conversation about this book and I noticed how badly Will mangles his geography. From earlier:

quote:

“Listen closely. There are two men headed up the stairs to your room at the Chelsea. They are armed and extremely dangerous. I suggest you find a way out of there immediately, one that doesn’t involve you going down to the lobby and out through the front door. I am waiting on the corner of Eighth and Twenty-third just up the block. If you want to survive, you had better go… Now.”

quote:

BLAM! Bullets are whizzing by me now and I’ve got my Colt cocked and ready. I look up and try to fire through the maze of metal above me while carefully trying not to fall to my death from two stories up. Down down down and I make it to the ladder and have to jump from the first floor. My loving leg gives out and I fall straight on my rear end. I can see two of these guys trying to come down, a glimpse and I catch that one of them is smaller than me, the other has a thick black mustache. I fire off a couple more rounds toward the heavens as I get to my feet and run (well, I’m hobbling actually) out of this alley and up the block towards Eighth Avenue.

quote:

We are speeding down Fourth now, toward the Bowery, weaving through the early taxi rush, trying not to sideswipe anyone or kill pedestrians in the process.

8th and 23rd is to the west of the Hotel Chelsea. In order to get to 4th Avenue (which is actually a very short segment of Park Avenue now) Veronica would need to drive east, directly toward the gunmen he just fled from. The conversation's tempo doesn't suggest 4th Street, as that could take upwards of 20 minutes to reach depending on traffic and wouldn't lead to the Bowery.

Also, the hotel has no alleys and no fire escape. As any picture will show, the front just has distinctive iron balconies and the building has zero gap between the two on either side to form an alley. Alleys are actually very rare in New York!

chitoryu12 fucked around with this message at 05:25 on Apr 1, 2020

chitoryu12
Apr 24, 2014

Chapter 5

quote:

Frost in my veins as we cut across the avenues through Hell's Kitchen and then down Sixth towards the stink of Lower East Side again. Vacationers zigzag along the sidewalks, Starbucks coffee in hand whilst window-shopping for poo poo they can’t afford without a care in the world. I am an ugly entity, a pile of raw nerves wrapped up in layers of hatred and I’ve got a thirst for gore. My mind has switched into a mechanical mode of revenge with gears that are grinding out images of retribution, justice, death and despair. They are biblical in nature and I’ve got a chilling sense that my itchy finger is going to pull the trigger before I say hello, I’ve come to take your life. I don’t even know who Ritchie Calahan is but I am certain that today will be the last day he ever has the privilege of breathing.

He's gone one page before misspelling Richie's name!

quote:

The driver stops at a red light. From the window I see a young mother holding her son in her arms waiting to use the crosswalk. He’s got an ice cream cone in one hand and a big chocolate smile smashed on his lips. She’s making him laugh at something. Her grin is brilliant, so full of love and devotion to this little child.  

I could have had that. I have envisioned it so many times it hurts, like slowly driving a dull knife through the roof of my mouth up behind my eyes and into my brain. There was a man once buried deep inside of me. I catch glimpses of him as I pass my reflection in display windows and hotel mirrors. He was loving and dominating and full of optimism. I was a man with hopes and dreams and desires. As of late, all I’ve been able to feel are the scattering ashes of a dying dream. Maybe he’ll return someday and take me away from this traumatic hallucination I am living in, the one where the girl dies and the hero is hell-bent on total self-destruction.  

But not today. Today a man is going to die and that man is not going to be me.

This book was published in 2017, less than a year before his crimes would lead to him being divorced.

quote:

Focus now. I’ve reloaded my Colt. Holding it I can feel the cold hard steel of annihilation in my steady palm. I place it inside my leather jacket and zip it half way up so that I have quick access when I need it.  

The driver slows as we approach the address. I tell him to drive by and drop me off up the block. Premeditated murder isn’t really my thing. I’ve fantasized about killing and suffered over death but never have I planned something this malevolent. Taking a life has consequences, residual effects for which I have paid a steep price. But the time for conventional optimism is gone. I’m lost in the moral fabric of reprisal. Is it okay to kill the man or men that took everything you loved? Doesn’t my America grant them rights? Liberties? Due process?  

Well gently caress all of that. Vivienne’s death was ruled an accident by the state so they aren’t even looking for means or motive. No, this is a silent war that I am engaged in. My losses have been staggering and now it’s time for them to pay the price.

Of course the guy who has a death fetish would write in excuses for his self-insert to kill people.

quote:

I stand in the tranquil autumn shade next to a shabby tree without leaves. The morning sky is still overcast, a mixture of sick clouds and pollution rising into the atmosphere overhead as I weigh my options. I light a cigarette to deal with my raging nerves. Breathe William breathe. Kill someone, or just walk in and drink myself stupid. These are easy choices I face in this life.  

The address written on the post card is a dive bar named the Sly Fox. I walk up, push the door open and the musty scent of stale cigars and beer slaps me in the nostrils. It’s quiet. Low music plays on a tattered jukebox in the corner. I clock five people total.



The Sly Fox is actually a real bar; it's located at 142 2nd Avenue, but Google mistakenly puts it at 140 which is why Will messed it up (140 2nd Avenue is actually a restaurant next door). It's important to note that, far from being a grimy neighborhood, this is a very popular area in the East Village for tourists and locals. It's right next to Veselka, the most popular Ukrainian restaurant in the city that's been around since 1954. It's a few blocks from a Momofuku location. I actually go to this neighborhood all the time when I'm in town.

quote:

A hefty man in his early sixties behind the bar, bald, sweat beads on his forehead, he’s wearing a dirty apron and a rag slung over his shoulder.
A couple towards the back in a booth that look like they may have been sleeping in the dumpster around the back.
An old man with a cane at the first barstool holding onto what looks like a purse?
Lastly, there’s a gentleman at another barstool with his back towards the door as I walk in.

It would be pretty surprising to find such an odd collection of people here. In all the bars I've been to in that neighborhood, they're actually pretty friendly and the customers are all normal.

quote:

Stepping through slow motion stills of a cold film I can feel the callous anger in my blood being replaced with serenity. Calahan, Calahan, Calahan, I silently repeat.  

I pull up a seat at the bar, a few stools away from the guy with his back to me as I walked in. I order a rum and Coke.  

“You want ice with that buddy?” the barman spits in a thick Brooklyn accent.  

“Neat,” I reply steadily.

Who the gently caress drinks a room temperature rum & cola without ice?

quote:

“Neat,” chuckles the guy next to me quietly, “I haven’t heard that sort of highbrow remark in this place before. What are you, James Bond?”  

“I think he takes it with ice, shaken, not stirred,” I lob back, half jokingly.

Don't bring my loving thread into this!

quote:

Light from the afternoon sun is streaming through a dirty window, mixed with muted smoke in the air all I can see is this man's silhouette. He reminds me of someone I’ve met once before but I can’t place it. I take the drink and down the whole thing in one stride.  

“Whoa buddy, you in a hurry?”

“No Sir. I’m simply taking my medicine.”  

“Medicine?” croaks the old man at the other end of the bar. “I take my medicine every day! I take it all day! I love my medicine!”  

“Calm down Jimmy.” The bartender looks annoyed, as if Jimmy is a drunken uncle that sits on that stool all day drinking for free.

I should go to Sly Fox next time I'm in the city and show the bartender how they're represented in this book.

quote:

“I gotta piss,” says the silhouette to the bartender. He reaches down and picks up a cane. I catch a glimpse of his face for the first time as he hobbles his way back towards the bathroom, clicking with every step. It’s slow and looks painful. There are deep marks and scars on his face and my soul jumps out of my chest…

Midjack
Dec 24, 2007



chitoryu12 posted:

Chapter 5

This book was published in 2017, less than a year before his crimes would lead to him being divorced.


Who the gently caress drinks a room temperature rum & cola without ice?

Lolling at the idea of Will I Am Control being a dad.

To be fair, from the bar you can probably tell if they have a soda gun or cans and if it comes out of the gun it'll be cold enough without ice.

chitoryu12
Apr 24, 2014

Midjack posted:

Lolling at the idea of Will I Am Control being a dad.

He named his son Phineas, after Phineas Poe, which makes the usage of Phineas Poe's love interest as Viv's BDSM name way weirder. Having read part of the first book, this kid will probably be mortified one day to find out exactly where his name came from.

chitoryu12
Apr 24, 2014

Chapter 6

quote:

Tranquilly I stare at the bottles behind the bar, labels facing out lined in neat rows and organized by price. The muted anger in my chest falls away.
I breathe.
I contemplate sitting here for the rest of my life but quickly decide against it.
I stand.  

I leave a twenty on the bar for the drink. Calculating and precise, I’m on a death march back towards the lavatory to kill a man. This is the goon that was chasing Vivienne and I through the back alleys of Capitol Hill, the goon that had no qualms in putting a bullet in my head but only succeeded in putting one through my shoulder. Vivienne must have really crippled him badly after mowing him down with the Audi we escaped in. I remember the sound of bones shattering in his legs so vividly, like holding a half dozen crisp celery sticks in your hands and bending them until they break. Even that didn’t stop him. The cane makes sense. Although I’m not sure how he even survived at all.

I don't think that's quite the sound it makes when you hit a dude with a car.

quote:

The air is heavy. A blanket of anxiety and panic washes over me as I turn the handle of the bathroom door. It’s cramped, dingy and smells of puke and poo poo. He’s holding the wall bracing himself with one hand and his dick in the other, piss slowly dribbling out while he grunts softly.

Yeah, definitely need to confirm if the bar has a puke and poo poo-covered restroom and tell the bartender. I'm sure they'd be real happy to find out.

quote:

“Ritchie Calahan,” I say in an arctic voice.  

“Yeah who wants to know?” He replies without turning around.  

The slide on my 45mm is loud when I pull it back and release it locking a bullet into the chamber. I can see his back stiffen and shudder. He zips his pants, grabs the cane for balance and turns around.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CjASau5goW0

quote:

“Do you remember me?”  

“No. I’m sorry I… I don’t.”  

“Granted I’ve put on some weight since then. It’s been a few years since we met, I am not the scrawny little fuckup that I was. You shot me in the shoulder after one of your associates tried executing me. Is that ringing any bells?”  

“gently caress me. You were with that bitch who crushed my legs to pieces.”

This is going a lot calmer than I expected it to.

quote:

I rush him and smash the barrel of my gun into his right eye, pushing him up against the wall I nearly let a bullet fly through his brain. I want him to suffer badly. But I stay in control.

I am control.

I bet he's got that on his Fetlife page.

quote:

“That Bitch was the love of my life and the people you work for took her from me. Now you’re going to tell me everything you know about them or I am going to take the breath straight out of your lungs and flush it down this piss-stained toilet.”  

He’s shaking like a patient with Parkinson’s now. He’s Marty motherfucking McFly the moment after a couple lines of uncut cocaine.

That's really what we're going with here? All right. Whatever.

quote:

“Whoa whoa whoa man calm down, p-p-please. I haven’t worked for them since that night. After you two cut me down I couldn’t walk for months. They forgot about me as soon as the ambulance arrived. I don’t know anything.”  

“Bullshit.”  

“I loving swear man!”  

“I want some names.”  

“Didn’t you work for them? I was told you were an employee that needed to be dealt with?” He says.  

“I was a low level pusher that didn’t have access to any information. But now I want answers. So tell me, who was it that hired you?”  

“The man who ran everything we called The Lion.”

"That's dumb as hell!"

quote:

“Tell me his loving name or the next thing you hear will be the sound of your brain hitting the tile behind you.”  

“poo poo… uh that’s it man. He doesn’t have a name… The Lion.. That’s what they called him. Please you gotta believe me!”  

I ease up and pull the gun that I had jammed into his eye back towards my chest. My emotions have plateaued into a symphony of heightened aggression, a high-octane racing engine with the RPM meter flat lining in the red. I blink and he lifts the cane he’s holding to try and smack the gun from my hand.  

The reflex occurs and before the cane strikes, the bullet ejects and pierces his heart. A look of shock washes his face of all other emotions and the light in his pupils grows dark as he crumples to the floor. Dead. Blood squirting and gushing from his still beating heart and I’m alive.

The 45mm shell from his handheld anti-tank gun careens back into the bar, ending its trail of obliteration in the grocery store across the street.

quote:

I turn around to look in the mirror. Blood on my hands, face and torso. I’m Patrick Bateman right after he chops up Paul Allen with an ax while Huey Lewis sings from the hi-fi stereo on the shelf.  

I should have worn a clear plastic raincoat.

Stop referencing things

Hypnobeard
Sep 15, 2004

Obey the Beard



...is he really setting up some kind of actual plot? Like this poo poo should have been in the first book, dingus.

sebmojo
Oct 23, 2010


Legit Cyberpunk









This is, hm, bad. It's even very bad. Possibly worse.

chitoryu12
Apr 24, 2014

Chapter 7

quote:

Senses are burning as I stumble out onto the avenue. My hands shake violently, cursed with adrenaline and anxiety like two tiny broken washing machines that have come off the track mid-cycle.  

I trudge halfway up the block to meet the driver but have to pause and lean against a wall to vomit. My hand pressed against the dirty brick from a different era, I can feel the soot and grime and grease on my fingertips and against my palm. Out comes liquid anxiety, strands of anger melted by time and amino acid. I wretch and tense up, muscles surely bleeding on the inside, my abs burn in agony. Relax. Stand up straight. Get yourself together. I breathe heavily and take a moment to stare at the nasty load of bile splattered around my feet. I revel in the stench of this small victory. Almost smiling I straighten my spine and head toward the car. I can hear sirens in the distance. Surely the barkeep has discovered a dead body in his tidy little bathroom and the police have been dispatched by now.

Let me show you where this bar is.



The Sly Fox is in that gray wall on the right, next to the Ukrainian restaurant. This is a busy thoroughfare surrounded by popular bars, restaurants, and shops. It's not a tourist area, but a major area for locals to visit. This kind of traffic is completely normal, especially in the afternoon when Will is shooting this guy. Shooting a dude in the face in the restroom here is incredibly stupid and liable to get the cops on you in a heartbeat, in addition to having dozens of witnesses watching you running out of the bar and throwing up instead of fleeing.

quote:

Cold-blooded murder. But this is revenge I seek, and is revenge really murder? Or it is karma? Sins visited upon the father will be inherited ten fold by the son. Surely it must be. “Vengeance belongs to the Lord,” says the book of Romans. Although I play by the rules of twenty-first century morality, I’ve come to an understanding about this plane of existence and the world in which demons and angels fight and gently caress and vie for opposing teams. Would the Jews have been able to make it to the foot of Mount Sinai where Moses handed down the Ten Commandments if they hadn’t already known that killing was wrong? I doubt it.

....what? The Jews wouldn't have escaped Egypt if they didn't know killing was wrong? What the gently caress is that supposed to mean?

Also I should point out that there's actually no evidence of the Jews being slaves fleeing Egypt, and that origin story was likely concocted after the fact.

quote:

Blurring the lines between my realities, I justify my actions and feel a great sense of relief. I know Lucifer can feel that sense of thrusting relaxation coursing through his blood.  

“You’re welcome,” I mutter under my breath.  

“Are you ready, Sir?” The driver of my private getaway car responds.  

“I guess I am,” I reply.
We push off.  

I don’t know which direction we are headed because the rays of sunlight are masked by the enormous skyline that surrounds me. Buildings in all directions obstruct the light so that nothing but concrete and sewer rats can survive. Piss-smelling trash bags piled up on every corner, steam from the sewer system rises out of manholes as we pass by and I know my purpose. I’ve come into my own. Killing that loving oval office in London happened with blind rage, killing this fat crippled slob took patience. Yet it was considerably easier. I’ve taken the plunge off the cliff of general morality. I wonder how far I’m going to fall.

Have you even loving been to New York? Yeah, it smells in the summer when the trash hasn't been picked up yet, like any other city! There's plenty of light coming down through the skyscrapers, especially in the area you're in where there aren't as many tall buildings.

quote:

I sink deeper into the back seat and begin sobbing. Not because of the remorse I feel for my destructive actions but rather a sense that justice in some small way has ensued. Relief. The skyline rushing by, blurry and windowless, the air is clean and I can’t hear a sound. I lean forward and put my head in my lap and suddenly feel a comforting hand on the back of my neck, the soft touch of congratulations and pride. Lucifer sits there triumphantly in my despair. He has loved every second of my tortured life from the moment I was born. How is this any different? Why has this happened to me? What the gently caress did I do to deserve this? I am being punished for the sins of my father, the sins of your father and everyone else’s malevolent past.  

Or this is just the luck of the draw, the shittiest hand of poker ever dealt. It’s my Three Sixes against your Four Aces. It’s evolution taking a poo poo and resetting itself with higher odds and a much more dangerous bet. I am the total sum of zero plus zero times a million. My self-deprecating game is strong and I snap out of it.

"I am simultaneously worthless yet the most important human being in existence. Praise me, but pity me!"

quote:

I am the loving Revelator. I am here to control my future.  

“You’re almost there, my son,” I hear Him whisper.  

I lean back and He’s gone.  

The driver pulls up to an indiscrete brownstone on Sixty-fifth, kills the engine, turns around, hands me a bag and says, “The key is in the front pocket. You can lay low here for a while. It was a pleasure and a privilege meeting you, Sir. My name is Silas. We will be in touch.”  

Words escape me as I exit the vehicle.

Great, now a loving Da Vinci Code ripoff?

Chapter 8

Yes, that is a new chapter. This was only 2 pages. This book sucks.

quote:

A handful of muscle relaxers mixed with a few shots of bourbon will corrupt the synapses firing around in the brain and decrease the rage boiling up in just about anyone, even the most cruel and murderous. I can sleep eternally like this and part of me wishes that the mixture would just usher me out of this world and into the next. A dark and dreary train of deceit and I’m the only passenger aboard. But what if the next life is filled with the same horror and regret? gently caress. Days, weeks, months go by in my solitude or maybe just hours. I can’t decipher the time. Minutes last forever and the hours go by in seconds. I’m hosed up. This is my standard baseline of operation.  

This place is upscale. Refinished cedar floors and expensive rugs underfoot. The walls are an eggshell white with brown trim and crown molding in every room. It has an open floor plan here on the ground floor. The kitchen with hardened marble countertops has a sub-zero refrigerator unit built into the wall made to look like cabinets. I make my way upstairs; the master bedroom is gigantic with only a four poster bed and a nightstand seated next to it. The whole place looks like something out of a strange catalogue for rich and lonely bachelors.  

I've had a few shots of bourbon just doing this chapter myself. Benefits of working from home!

quote:

In the bathroom now. I need a shave. Staring at myself in the mirror I notice that I’m losing weight again. My hair is longer now and I have a lot more scars. Scars I’ve picked up on this foolish adventure; scars that prove my love. My body heals quicker than it did before. The gash on my knee is already closed and I don’t feel much pain there at all.  

I take the razor blade out of my shaving kit and hold it up in front of my blurry eyes. It glistens in the fluorescent glow of the light overhead.  

“What the hell is happening to me?”  

“You’re beginning to realize the full potential of your true nature,” my reflection replies.  

“Well, well, look who’s come back to the rescue.”  

At this point I know I’m talking to myself. Perhaps the residual effects of the muscle relaxers haven’t quite worn off yet. Maybe this is just a dream.

Are you still trying to pull that "Is this the real life or is this just fantasy?" bullshit almost halfway through the last book?

quote:

“I never left, you prick. I’ve been here with you the whole time.”

“When you call me a prick, doesn’t that mean you’re one as well?”  

“I suppose you can look at it that way. But that’s very near-sighted of you,” he says with a smirk.  

“What do you want?”  

“What does anyone want? Love, respect, sex, fortune? All of the above? I want the satisfaction of my enemies' demise. I want the world on a platter and a beautiful woman on my cock. I want joy to replace anger, acceptance to replace hatred… and, I want you to slash yourself on the edge of that razor.”

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=J_2kzMNiJEk

Since Will is shamelessly reusing stuff from the prior chapters and I've already used "Razor's Edge", you get this one instead. It's hard to describe how bad the video is, but it's clearly indicative of how much his bank accounts were draining at the time. It makes you wonder just how much he got from his Aiden connections and the band's money with how fast his quality deteriorated once they disbanded. Even fans in the video comments are mocking the cheap props, including a $7 Hot Topic ring on one of the models.

quote:

“What? Why the gently caress would I do that?”  

“Because you know full well that it cannot hurt you.”  

“And how could I possibly know that? This thing is sharp as gently caress. I’ve tried to kill myself with one of these more than once. You know that.”
“I want you to see what you’re becoming. I want you to loving slice your chest open and watch our transgressions spill out rather than our blood.”

That's biologically questionable.

quote:

Demonic possession of my hand presses the blade into my left collar bone and drags it down to the last rib on my right side. I gasp and drop the razor. It clangs around the porcelain sink and stops suddenly. I clutch my chest. Not in agony mind you, in fear that my insides are going to come shooting out onto the tile floor.  

“Let go, William. Let go.”  

There’s no blood spilling out. It’s just an open wound and I can see tissue and bone swirling around like it’s alive under my skin, a small sea of guts and membrane, nerve endings that feel nothing and everything, heat and frost, anger and sorrow. It begins to close as quickly as I cut. I’m clenching the sides of the sink with both hands and although I can feel my face wincing and my teeth gnashing, my reflection is smiling.  

“What the gently caress does this mean?”  

“It means no more bleeding, no more danger. It means no more hiding, no more shame. It means you can find The Lion and do whatever the gently caress you want to him.”

Oh, he suddenly has super powers now. Great.

quote:

“I don’t understand, why now? Why is this happening now? And what exactly is happening to me?”  

“Does it matter? Just embrace what is galloping over the horizon toward us.”

chitoryu12 fucked around with this message at 08:02 on Dec 29, 2020

chitoryu12
Apr 24, 2014

Chapter 9

quote:

I lose myself over the next few days. When I say 'lose' I mean, evade, escape, wander out of the confines of reality and get lost in the cabbage field of insanity, endless and unforgiving. Binge drinking, binge coking, binge pill popping, binge masturbating. I cut myself open and smear cocaine into the wounds before they close, laughing and crying and falling down again and again. I sing to myself, I eat nothing except little white and blue prescription pills. I hire a couple hookers to come keep me company one night, maybe it was daytime, the shutters and blinds were closed blacking out any sliver of sunshine that might try and illuminate my madness. We gently caress like animals and drink like dehydrated dogs for hours on end. In the end I succumb to “coke dick”, yeah that’s a thing. One of them wants me to piss in her mouth. I tell her I would do it if she would lick my rear end and then pack their poo poo up and leave. I want to be alone again. I need my solitude. I need my thoughts back. I need to loving sleep. This isn’t getting me anywhere.

Oh look, he's doing the exact same thing he's been doing this whole time. Exciting.

quote:

Drunk. Again. Coked out of my mind. Again. I pass out wailing at a tiny statue of a golden Buddah sitting on the mantle of the fireplace in the living room that I smacked to the floor by accident during a rendition of West Side Story’s “Maria”. I couldn’t remember all the words. What a loving loser.   

I wake up on the floor a thousand days later, naked and covered in a green layer of smelly vomit. It has started to coagulate like old blood. It’s in my hair and my nostrils.

How did you not get bored writing this? How did you not notice that you misspelled "Buddha"? Was there no squiggly red line like I have on my screen right now?

quote:

Coffee. Black. I make it strong. I can taste the grounds with every swill. Surprisingly my head is not pounding. It’s bringing me back to life. I make myself get up, shower, shave and find a closet full of expensive suits that run my size. I choose the Tom Ford jacket, waistcoat and trousers; Ted Baker shirt and tie; size nine black medallion-tipped Alden shoes. The full-length mirror in the dressing room of this brownstone is flattering and I start to wonder who the gently caress lives here and where have they gone, although I wouldn’t give a poo poo if they walked in either way. I’m here now, focused on my violent future. I haven’t seen the outside world in days and it’s time I gather my collective thoughts, energy and desire to make right the wrongs I have tolerated for much too long. I need a plan of action.

Naming his shoe size does nothing but emphasize how unassuming and small this dude is.

quote:

Find The Lion.
Put a bullet through his skull.
Maybe I’ll cut his head off and carry it around on a key chain.
I need some information. I need to find out more.  

I’m pacing around the room now, trying to scratch the information out of thin air. I grab my cell phone from the bag my driver handed me. I try and dial Veronica but it goes straight to voicemail. My hands are starting to shake from the coffee. Maybe it’s the lack of booze. There’s a cabinet filled with expensive stock next to the fridge. I grab the Johnny Walker and pour three fat fingers into a tumbler and down it in one go, smooth fire falling down the hatch. The trembling stops almost immediately. Focused now.

Can't even spell the name of his whiskey right.

quote:

I hear a knock at the door and I already have my gun cocked and loaded. I ask who’s there from beyond the lock and hear a tiny voice reply… "It’s Hope."  

Hope?
Holy-gently caress.

I guess that's a hyphenated statement now.

quote:

I am no longer focused.
I open the door and she is standing there in a white dress and heels, black belt and black stockings. Her red hair is pulled back in a bun tied with a red ribbon. She walks in and brushes her shoulder against mine and smells like the first time I fell in love. I almost fall over.

Is she going to actually do something interesting this time?

quote:

I close the door behind us both and turn around. She is a dagger staring straight up at me. I think I’m going to fall apart. Idiot. Stand up straight.  

“Wow. Look at you.” She says confidently. “Looks like someone finally got his poo poo together.”  

“Yeah well, it’s been a long time. I am not the shattered boy you dropped off at the airport all those years ago, although it’s good you showed up today and not yesterday.” Imagining her divine lips wrapped around my cock I start to stiffen. One doesn’t just forget a great blowjob in the back of a limo.

In his defense, she did pretty much nothing else memorable.

quote:

“How did you find me?” I say shuffling over to the kitchen counter so she won't notice my trousers getting tight.  

“Tisk William. That’s a silly question.”
“I suppose it is. Well what are you doing here? This isn’t really a good time. I am in the middle of some work and it’s still not finished, in fact I was just getting ready to leave.”

No you weren't!

quote:

“Tell me huh, where are you going? Do you have a plan? You’re all dressed up with nowhere to be.” She steps closer to me, fiery blue eyes in contrast with red hair making her invincibly beautiful.  

“I’ve got to start somewhere. I need answers and I need a resolution.”

"I need a proofreader, please!"

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UJqms5-nFZQ

quote:

“You need a drink is what you need, perhaps some dinner first. I know a place and you’re certainly dressed the part.”  

“gently caress, you look amazing,” I say stupidly and out of turn.  

“Why thank you, Sir. So do you. Let’s get out of here.”

Gotta make sure your self-insert gets endless praise from hot bitches.

quote:

I don’t even hesitate. She can make me do anything, go anywhere, say whatever she pleases. I’m weak. What kind of black magic is this? Where is my self-will? Where is my head? It’s throbbing in my pants. I feel the influence of her heart-wrenching scent, the flash of those lascivious eyes and lips that know exactly how much pressure to apply. Men are all the same and the power of pussy is astonishing. It can make us wage war, forget our names or occupations, it can crumble cities, and move planets around the solar system. Pussy has been the greatest motivator since the dawn of our wretched species and I dare say that it will always remain as such.

Is this what you consider an excuse, Francis?

quote:

I snap out of it.  

Outside my driver is back and waiting for me. Sneaky little gently caress. Has he been here the entire time? He hops out and rushes over to the passenger side and grabs the handle.  

“Allow me, Sir.”  

He is small, almost frail looking, about five foot four and maybe a hundred pounds soaking wet. He keeps his hair parted to one side like it’s the fifties, and wears cheap cologne that I can smell from down the block. This kid is no older than twenty. He doesn’t have any facial hair and if I were to guess, he doesn’t have the ability to even grow it. His enthusiasm is nauseating but I feel closeness to him, like an older brother of sorts. I have no clue as to why, and I’m not sure I can get used to this “Sir” bullshit from someone I am not inside of.  

He drives us leisurely down Fourth Avenue towards the financial district. It’s a Wednesday night and the taxis are not out on the road stinking up the city with exhaust pipes and blaring horns.

I can assure you, they are still there on a Wednesday night.

quote:

“It’s very nice to see you again Hope. I never thought I would get the chance. What are the odds?”  

“The odds are certainly in your favor my dear. All you needed was a little push and look at you now.”  

“Well then please explain to me why you’ve come to New York and specifically why you found me.”  

“Call it curiosity to see what had become of the boy I shuffled off to London with an envelope of cash, a notebook of filth and instructions on how to brave a new adventure.”

So what you're saying is: you had no actual reason for her to show up again.

quote:

“You know what they say about curiosity don’t you?”  

“That it rewards the cat with beauty and pleasure if I recall.”  

“What can I say to that?”  

“Don’t say anything at all. Just enjoy yourself my dear.”  

“I suppose I could use some enjoyment at this point.”  

She puckers her lips and with her best impression of Jack Torrance spits out, “All work and no play makes William a dull boy.”  

“I am the dullest of boys.”

Indeed.

Lord Zedd-Repulsa
Jul 21, 2007

Devour a good book.


This is possibly the worst book I'll ever read in my life. When the character himself admits that he's dull, there should be even more compelling reasons than usual to not simply delete this file and find something entertaining to read. My reason is that I want to see how terrible the last Twilight book becomes when chitoryu gets back to it.

Proteus Jones
Feb 28, 2013



Lord Zedd-Repulsa posted:

This is possibly the worst book I'll ever read in my life. When the character himself admits that he's dull, there should be even more compelling reasons than usual to not simply delete this file and find something entertaining to read. My reason is that I want to see how terrible the last Twilight book becomes when chitoryu gets back to it.

poo poo, I'm almost scared if this book is considered a break from the Twilight stuff.

chitoryu12
Apr 24, 2014

Chapter 10

quote:

We are seated at a table ten feet away from a stage. Front and center, a strikingly beautiful woman in her late twenties with long black hair, red lips and wide hips belts out a rendition of Billie Holiday's Life Begins When You’re In Love. She’s tall and I fall in love with her instantly. I am absurd. Charmingly, she moves around the stage singing to different strangers, her evening lovers and admirers. With a wink she mouths “Thank you Daddy” to the gentleman in the front row in between the verse and chorus of the song. Her grace and elegance is exalting and I have to look away.

No she didn't.

quote:

The lights are low and this place is packed with people dancing, eating, smoking and drinking. They are all laughing and transforming into the ecstasy of the night, living in the absolute intensity of the moment. There’s electricity in the atmosphere, a thundering applause after each song is finished and the smell of whiskey and cigarettes put me at ease in my eclectic surroundings. There are a thousand little chandeliers hanging from the ceiling glowing softly overhead. The clang and bump of silverware, champagne glasses. The bliss of ignorance. The scent of Hope’s soaking vagina from across the table. I’m here now to witness but not play a part in the madness. Behind me is a tall blonde and her escort for the evening. She’s telling him about how she never gives head on the first date, he’s telling her that he doesn’t expect anything, but the disappointment in his voice says otherwise.

No, she's not an escort.

This is loving ridiculous. This is a version of New York that's so comically seedy, literally every person Will sees has to be involved in some kind of depravity, whether secretly or openly. Every woman is a prostitute or a slut, every man is involved in kink and sex work, everyone is on drugs. No sunlight reaches the streets, all rats and puddles and garbage.

And he's still smelling vagina how does this keep happening

quote:

Starving now. I can’t remember the last time I had a proper meal with a knife and fork. I order a steak and tell the waiter I want it raw, that he can put it on a plate and just walk it by the oven. I want to taste death and fresh blood. Hope gives me a lustful look as she sips her red wine.  

I’m going to gently caress her tonight.

This is one of the passages I sent to my friends when I first read this.

quote:

I’ve made my decision. Or did she make that decision for me? I’m not so sure at this point. Either way, it’s happening. There’s nothing I can do to stop it. I’m loving weak and I know it.  

“What is going through that head of yours?” she calls over the clash and bang of this pumping lounge we are dining in.  

“Disastrously dirty things, my dear. You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”

I would. You really haven't done much else in this book.

quote:

“My, my, do behave yourself. This is a respected establishment.” She grins. She loving loves it. Her leg brushes mine under the table. She knows exactly what is going to happen.  

“I’m thinking about that delicious oval office that I can smell from over here and how badly I’d like to fill you up with my throbbing cock.”  

When did I become so brave?

Imagine if they really are the only people doing this poo poo at the restaurant, and he's just drunkenly shouting this while everyone stares at him.

quote:

She blushes, and just as she is about to reply, Veronica walks up to the table.  

“Hope!! Hello, my dear! What an absolute pleasant surprise. Long time no see! How have you been?”  

“Well, hello to you too, my Caribbean Queen! It has been some time hasn’t it?”

I promise "Caribbean Queen" is not the worst way Francis will describe the only black character in the book.

quote:

Hope stands and they embrace each other and now I know I’m playing the second fiddle here. It looks as though they might need to get a room. Body language is a strong indicator for gauging the time it will take for a woman’s panties to hit the floor. By the look of things, I could slink away and they wouldn’t even notice. They go on and on about the past, chat like giddy schoolgirls about the importance of living in London at least once in your life and the experiences they’ve shared with Him. They sing praise and dribble on excited about the future. I drink the blood from my steak in silence, a passenger in a crowded train car waiting for my stop to approach but enjoying every second of the ride.  

“So, William,” Veronica starts in her exquisite British accent, “Have you begun the transformation yet?”  

“The what exactly?” I reply in feigned bewilderment.  

Just as the words pass my lips she reaches over the table, grabs my left hand and flattens it against the milk-white tablecloth. She smiles and picks up a steak knife. I’m looking at her confused, and glance at Hope for some sort of silent explanation when Veronica drives the knife downwards through the top of my flattened hand.  

gently caress. Me.

Why are you feigning bewilderment when you're authentically confused and shocked?

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=uNPwfOF584g

quote:

My voice tries to scream but shock has taken it from me. Veronica sits back next to Hope and they both look at me intently, waiting for the rage. But then I notice I feel no pain. I can certainly feel the cold steel between the bones and tissue and tendons of my middle and ring finger, but there is no agony. Still in shock, I pull the knife out slowly and set it next to my plate. I play it off, hoping no one around us caught sight of what just happened. I hold my hand up to the light of the chandelier overhead and watch as the wound closes rapidly. My horror is replaced with relief and they are both dripping wet now. I can smell it.

No you can't! Nobody can smell that!

quote:

“What the gently caress Veronica?”  

She turns to Hope and says, “There he is.”

chitoryu12
Apr 24, 2014



Literally no difference.

Midjack
Dec 24, 2007



Hey Willy don't drag Billy Ocean into your story, please and thank you.

Doctor Faustine
Sep 2, 2018
Every single woman in these stories needs to make at appointment with the gyno STAT.

chitoryu12
Apr 24, 2014

Do you think it's just these specific women, or can he smell all of them? Is his face just enveloped in a cloud of pussy juice every time he steps outside? This is the world's worst superpower.

chitoryu12
Apr 24, 2014

It's almost 2:30 AM and I'm drunk on Glenlivet. Let's do this poo poo.

Chapter 11

quote:

I don’t know if it’s power that turns women on or if it’s a mixture of great steak, pleasant music, luck and drugs. Maybe it’s a beautifully written line in a poem, fresh aftershave, a bouquet of dark red roses, a lustful glance from across the room or two fingers inserted into the oval office. It could be looks, it could be money, it could be a chemical reaction happening in the brain, but I know that tonight, for these two stunning women, it’s the thought of loving the Revelator that has them practically tearing their skin off. Somehow I knew we’d get here.  

Toward the back of the club, the three of us are locked in a bathroom now with magenta colored paisley wallpaper, black marble flooring and a low ceiling,. The raucous lounge filled with the party of patrons drowning out any sound we make. There’s coke on the marble counter next to the sink and we are taking turns blowing lines into the cavity of our thumping nostrils. My dick is hard as a rock and I grab Hope from behind. She presses her perfect rear end into my throbbing trousers. Her hands are on the sink and she’s kissing Veronica.  

The panties have hit the floor. I can smell heat. I can taste desire.

Okay, we're in a club now. Not sure where it is or how we got there, but here we are! Note the combined period and comma after "ceiling."

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=e64fSJ_Fv18

quote:

I am inside of Hope and her dripping pussy, my fingers are playing with Veronica. They switch and now Veronica’s big fat Caribbean rear end is bouncing off my cock. God drat it’s enormous, it’s perfect, it can block out the sun on a cloudless day.

Okay I have to stop here to ask just what the gently caress this dude is writing. I've had an unhealthy amount of scotch and this is still something I'm not drunk enough to write. Remember this dude portrayed himself as a poet, penning a tale of love, loss, and depravity. He turned himself into a Byron or Wilde-esque figure. And this is what he comes up with? If I scraped mud off the soles of my espadrilles and licked them, the scum I spat out would be less offensive than this.

quote:

Hope stands back and gazes at me as I pound Veronica’s pussy to pieces. The contrast of black on white is picturesque. It’s artwork in human form. We are all awash with limbs and pleasure and muscle and vice, anticipating the brilliance of an orgasm and another and yet another. No holds barred. I loving take them both in every position, from behind, from the front, the side, and even upside down. I gently caress Hope while Veronica watches and destroy Veronica while Hope observes.  

“You’re the only man that has art instead of sex,” Hope says, breathing heavily.



quote:

oval office. The flow, the juice, the joy. The flaps and folds, the warmth, the love. It begins with the truth and ends with the truth. There is not a goddamned thing on earth that is more sincere than a oval office. Tight, loose, old, young, they tell a story, they shout melodic honesty right there onto the shaft of your cock and leave a legacy, a story that only you can read.  

I can't. I can't make this any more unbelievable than it already is.

quote:

I make her come, I make Veronica come. Lightning and thunder, earthquakes and volcanoes. I’m John Lennon at Shea Stadium after The Beatles step out onstage for the first time, I am Lucifer falling out of Heaven. I am hosed. Double hosed by these two glorious broads and their screaming vaginas. They are both shattering, corporeal reality is at an all time high, they give everything to me and I revel in the glory. I celebrate silently in my heart for the first time since I can remember.   

My sweat glands are at maximum overload. All three of us stink of nature. We have driven down the cocaine boulevard towards the primal beach of optimism and pleasure and landed safely. No seat belts required. There is an elevated plane of existence that all of us on Earth work towards. Whether the castle has built itself on a bed of rock or sand, we climb the towers any way we see fit. We stand and we conquer, we destroy and rebuild. This is our life and it’s instinctual within our own human nature. I can hear Lucifer’s voice cheering from the throne room of Hell.

As the other demons awkwardly watch.

quote:

“I didn’t do it for you,” I say under my breath.  

“What’s that, my dear?”  

“Nothing, don’t worry about it,” I reply back with a smile and a sweaty brow.  

“Well that was much more than I had anticipated.” Hope says to Veronica. “I’ve been waiting years for that to happen.”  

“I can’t even speak right now. I’ve had all the words properly hosed out of my head,” she laughs.

Try not talking, then.

quote:

They are putting themselves back together. Pulling up seamed stockings, fastening garters, hiking skirts and adjusting blouses. I stand in the corner watching. This is my favorite part, the part where she puts herself back together for the world to see while I sit in the corner smoking a cigarette. There’s nothing more beautiful than watching a woman breathe heavily while adjusting her stockings right after she’s been annihilated.   

The bathroom we are in is rather large. I assume it’s a ladies room and there’s a line of women waiting to get in here to piss. I don’t know how long we’ve been locked in here, five minutes? An hour? In the light of our enchanting adventures I don’t really give a poo poo. There’s an opulent gold-framed mirror above the sink, it reminds me of a mirror that Vivienne carried around from place to place wherever we lived. I’m standing in front of it and my reflection gives me a wink. I roll my eyes and look away. Hope is sat on a velvet chaise lounge in the corner adjusting the strap on one of her heels and inhaling new breath with pleasure and excitement. 

So in addition to being gross, these guys are unbelievably rude. The last time I was in a bar where someone took an unusually long time, someone forced the door open.

quote:

Veronica is standing gracefully just in front of the door, taking a drag from a cigarette.  

Suddenly a commotion, shuffle and shouting. The door comes flying off the hinges.  

I see a flash.
Then silence.
Hear a bang.
And stare in disbelief.  

I watch as Veronica’s right eye comes bursting out of the front of her face along with half of her cheekbone and part of her jaw.

The plot comes screaming through the door at over a thousand feet per second.

quote:

She falls like a bird out of the sky and the thud of her body hitting the floor sends shivers down my spine. A dark figure emerges through the doorway. I’m in shock looking at her dead flesh that was radiating heat just a moment ago. I’m clubbed over the head before I reach my gun, and I fall down next to her. I can hear Hope screaming and shouting for help but I can’t move, the darkness creeping over my vision. I’m locked in a paralyzing dream state with a dead body and mouth full of ash.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=28BuE2P8LEc

quote:

Someone is pulling me along the floor.  

I pass out.

Midjack
Dec 24, 2007



Dude really likes the word “oval office” I guess. 3edgy5u!

chitoryu12
Apr 24, 2014

Chapter 12

quote:

Total darkness, a complete lack of self-respect, my thoughts run sideways trying to catch up with who I am and where I am going and I think my hands are tied together. Music thumping, a drum line pounding out the death march.  

William is going to die tonight.
The panic rush.
Impeding doom.
Let the empire fall.
Breathe.
loving breathe, you bastard!
That’s better.
I’m breathing.
Suffocating.
Still breathing.

Still writing "impeding" instead of "impending."

quote:

I’m cramped, disoriented, but don’t feel any pain. Did someone club me over the head? Am I in the womb again? No it’s not wet enough for that. It’s bumpy, loud, the squeal of rubber tires on a wet road. Seagulls are shrieking and slamming into buildings. Ghosts that I can’t see are humming, whispering and reciting lyrics from an old hymnbook I used to read through at church as a young boy. The sermons were always so boring. Sanctions, servitude, sacrilegious, ceremony, communion, coveting, creation, killing, genocide, love, Hell, forgiveness, hatred, jealousy, destruction, infinite wisdom, morality that is destitute, a god that is bankrupt, and a devil that loves me. Me? Why me? Everything I thought I knew about the world is now upside down and backwards. As hard as I try, I cannot heal.   

It’s Christmas Day 1987. I’m five years old. I wake up and rush down the hallway of my parents’ three-bedroom rambler, hoping that Santa Clause has plopped his fat rear end down our chimney to leave me a new set of Ghostbusters toys. Instead I find my mother passed out on the floor in front of the fireplace, face down and crumpled. She looks dead, a crystal tumbler lying sideways next to her right hand, empty of its contents from last night. Smoldering logs still cracking and the smell of vomit hits me in the face as I slowly approach. I try and rouse her to ask what happened to Santa and she grumbles something about being on the naughty list and that I should go back to bed. That maybe I should try harder next year. I panic, cry and then go back to my bedroom in shame.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=d3Mh9g9qN4I

quote:

I feel that shame right now. Except the panic is starting to subside and I doubt I’m going to cry. Instead my focus starts to shift to my inevitable escape. Whoever is behind the wheel of this vehicle doesn’t know the severity of the situation unfolding.  

Any minute now Lucifer or Azael is going to show up and break these dickheads in half.  

Any minute.  

Any loving minute.  

The Underworld is experiencing unusually high call volumes right now. Please try your call again later. Dial tone. Frustration, panic, and now determination.

Lucifer's probably too busy violently jacking off at this.

quote:

Manhattan is divided into 2 sections. The old and new world. South of Houston, the streets wind without a singular direction. They start and end abruptly and are named after maniacs, alcoholic beverages and dead politicians. In the early nineteenth century, city planners got together and decided it would be easier if they had avenues and streets that intersect and are labeled so as to discern precisely where you are at any given time, or to carry out an attack on certain groups of individuals if need be. Fourth Avenue and Fifty-seventh Street, please. Simple and effective. The gridiron system was born. The chaos laid to rest and the rest of the country followed. Innovation at its finest. We are no longer going straight down the avenue. The car sways back and forth like a taxi in London Town after midnight. Twisting and sliding, I’m able to loosen the rope around my hands and get free. The ride is smooth and the factory suspension on this car provides a cushion while cruising over the potholes this city has neglected over the years.

Famous alcoholic beverage, Wall. Famous maniac, Pearl. Famous dead politician, Water.

The first part he gets wrong is that the grid system actually starts breaking down south of 14th Street. There's tons of oddly angled streets and neighborhoods that curve off in weird directions north of Houston. The grid system comes from the Commissioners' Plan of 1811, which is today viewed as an extremely efficient plan (in spite of contemporary criticism) and is the big reason large swathes of Manhattan are extremely easy to navigate with limited directions. The grid layout dates to Mesopotamia and is only unique in Manhattan for its thoroughness.

"Carrying out attacks on certain groups of individuals" is perhaps the most ridiculous statement here, because the city envisioned in the original grid literally did not exist. As in, it was countryside and farmland except for a small portion at the southern tip of Manhattan Island where the original colony was established. The ethnic enclaves formed organically decades later without any consideration for segregation and would often change ownership, especially Harlem and Little Italy losing their Italian populations to get taken over by African-Americans and Chinese, respectively. Almost nothing remains of Little Italy today except one block thanks to rapid Asian expansion.

In short, your edginess belies your childlike ignorance. Suck my dick from the back.

quote:

There’s a trunk release. Every vehicle made after 2001 has one. Don’t ask me how I know this. I just do. Blindly touching every crevice of the lid and searching for the plastic handle, I find it. My savior.

Lots of people know this because it's common knowledge and advice online. But go ahead, imply you were involved in a kidnapping.

quote:

Suddenly I’m struck with a spasm of heartache. Remembering the vicious moment right before someone smashed me over the head. It replays in the cortex of my short-term memory like a deleted scene in a horror movie that is too graphic to receive an R rating. A gunshot and most of Veronica's face splattered on the wall and dripping down to the floor. My spine twitches and I don’t think I’ll ever get used to watching someone die, no matter how many bodies I end up leaving behind me by the time this trail of vengeance ends.
I’m holding the trunk release in my left hand so that after we stop I can open it and come out swinging. I’m going to turn into Robert DeNiro from Raging Bull sans the dumb smile, boxing gloves and black eyes.

How is it worse? How is this writing getting worse?

quote:

Any minute now.
I’m poised and ready for anything.
Any loving minute now.  

The vehicle comes to a halt.
The music cuts out.
Engine dies.
Nobody exits.
It’s boiling back here. 
I hear muffled voices.
My blood is sweltering.
The heat.
The humidity.
The seconds tick like slow rain on a lazy Sunday.
Am I a patient man?
The driver door opens.
The passenger door opens.
There are two of them.
I don’t hear any keys.
One set of feet.
Click.
The electronic lock.

This was incredibly aggravating to format.

quote:

Something inside me breaks. The fury that has been buried inside my blackened heart suddenly detonates. Vivienne, the goons, the crash, the chase, the enormity of my failures in this life and the impending sense of death I feel at long last. Everything comes out at once in a raging fire fueled by animosity.  

gently caress the Revelator. I am the Monster. I am the teeth sunk in your skin. I am the ultra-violent, terrifying sin.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=leLjRIK-nwc

This might be the most clunky, blatant insertion of his lyrics in the whole book. There is also no song that fits the upcoming scene worse.

quote:

I jump out of the trunk and plant my fist so hard in his face I can hear a compound fracture rippling through his nose and feel my knuckle push the bridge and cartilage straight into his brain. The horror in his eyes, the shock, the awe is beautiful as he wobbles and falls on to his back into a murky puddle. It’s raining. It’s pouring. The Devil must be snoring.

That might be the single dumbest line in the history of literature.

quote:

I’m possessed now, or have I always been this way? Was I too embarrassed or afraid to embrace the lust I feel in violent situations? His partner stands in shock as we make eye contact. My dick stiffens. The color flushes from his face almost as if he’s seen some sort of ghost or phantom. The cigarette hanging from his lip has extinguished itself and his wide eyes won't blink at me. 

Yes, Will is about to conduct the entire upcoming action scene with a rock-hard erection.

quote:

He pulls out his gun and points it at my face.  

I’m breathing fire and smoke. I walk up slowly. He’s shaking from head to toe. Vibrating ferociously, his voice cracks.  

“Wh-wh-wh what are you man?! Back up!!”  

Click.  

His stupid loving Ruger jams.

Did this guy bulk purchase a bunch of cheap used Rugers?

quote:

I’m getting closer but he doesn’t move. He’s paralyzed with fear. I catch a glimpse of myself in a puddle near my feet. I’ve got glowing red eyes and metal horns coming out of the sides of my forehead.  

Oh that’s the transition she was referring to.

How was this written by a grown man in his 30s?

quote:

“I am your only chance of surviving this night. Tell me where they took her. ” I say as I smack the gun right out of his palm in one fluid motion and wrap my surprisingly strong hands around his throat. “Tell me or I’ll loving snap your head clean off this weak little body.”  

Foul odor. This guy has just taken a poo poo in his pants and it’s running down his leg, over his shoes and out on to the concrete below us. I want to laugh in his face. I squeeze harder and watch the veins in his forehead almost burst. I am seething now.  

He gurgles and taps my arm, I let go and he falls to the ground. Coughing and gasping for air he tells me that they are inside the building right behind us waiting in the penthouse suite.  

I do my greatest impersonation of George Best and kick him in the face. He is out cold. Even I am impressed.

chitoryu12 fucked around with this message at 03:40 on Dec 30, 2020

chitoryu12
Apr 24, 2014

Chapter 13

quote:

I’ve knocked out both of these guys and left them bleeding in the alley behind me. One of them took my Colt at the club and had it hiding in the waistband of his trousers. Lucky for me the clip is still full. He also had a rather large Bowie knife on him that I now possess. Unlucky for me, I only have nine bullets and no idea what the gently caress I am walking into. I’ve got two goals here: save Hope and destroy everything in my path.

Including the English language!

quote:

I pull the service door open on the back of this building and step into a fluorescent hallway. White linoleum flooring stained with busy footprints from the staff and various deliverymen. One bulb in the ceiling flickers, causing my eye to twitch. There are a thousand different ways in which this scenario plays out in my head, all are very gruesome and none of them end well. I make my way through the door marked… “Lobby”.  

When did I become so brave that I would sacrifice my own safety for a woman I barely know? Is it because I was just inside of her? Why am I so intent on saving her? My altruism died long ago and I’ve lived so many years in the service of myself I don’t even know what the definition of Selfless feels like. I’ve escaped and could just as easily leave this place and continue my search for the scumbags I’ve decided to kill. Something is driving my need for redemption. Too many people have died. Too many haunt my every dream. The voices in my head are a little too quiet. Usually they are screaming at me and I end up jumping ship. I’m compelled to move forward into this disaster and I don’t know why. Or maybe I do. Reality is getting fuzzy like warm lace laid over my eyes.  

gently caress it. I wipe the lace away.

Here goes nothing.

Your altruism is dead, you're being compelled to drive forward and kill everyone...but this is about redemption?

quote:

I crack the door, trying to get an idea of how many people are waiting when suddenly it comes inward knocking me back. A guard stands stunned, surprised that there was someone blocking the entry. I grab his vest and pull him into the hallway, wrapping my right arm around his neck in a sleeper hold so he can’t make any noise. I’ve got the knife out and am holding it up to his eyeball. I tell him to stay calm. I instruct him to explain how many people are in here waiting for me to arrive, I tell him that if he resists I will plunge this knife directly through his eye and into his brain. He tells me seven here in the lobby and four more upstairs.  

Eleven. Twelve including this sack of poo poo, I can do this.  

Before he can whisper anything else I slice his throat from ear to ear. The blood jets out as I cut the jugular, covering the wall next to us. I lay him down quietly and watch as each pump of his heart spews less and less thick red fluid meant for his limbs, not the wall. His war is over. Lucky devil.

Which one? This guy, or...

quote:

Stepping out into the lobby, the carpet is thick and plush; I can feel the pad under each step. Symmetrical patterns of diamonds and stars weaved together intricately from wall to wall. I’ve got eight in the clip and one in the chamber of my gun. I hold it out and blast holes in the first two guys I see. This is it. Game on. I am Neo from the Matrix. Everything is a mixed reality in slow motion.

Christ alive.

quote:

Diving behind a stone column next to imitation foliage, a barrage of bullets starts flying in my direction. I can hear them sinking into the concrete I’ve got my back against. They are firing semi automatic AR-15 rifles. I can hear the bolt carrier group firing and the clank of the .223 bullets from the ejector. They have twenty-five round clips and I’m counting them down.

I think that paragraph was written for a competition in getting the most things wrong about a gun in the shortest amount of time.

quote:

I have seven bullets left.  

And five goons to go.  

The firing ceases for a moment. They are reloading. I know it won’t take long. Those rifles are meant for quick combat military action. I step out and hit another one in the right arm. He goes down behind the concierge desk.  

“We are going to kill you motherfucker!” one of them shouts.  

“I’m waiting,” I reply coolly.

They didn't hear him, as the sound of firing their entire magazine indoors has deafened them.

quote:

I can hear them scuffling around trying to position for a better shot. The guy I put a slug in is moaning in agony on the floor. I smile.  

“You can all just walk away from this alive. Tell me where they took Hope and I’ll let you all go,” I lie. I am going to kill everyone in this place. I’m going to eat them alive one by one. I want their scalps. I want their hearts. I want their suffering.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=529ECZ4CX5o

quote:

I take a deep breath and try my luck stepping out in full view of my enemy. One by one they pop up or come around a corner or column. They empty their clips into me and I’m still standing. Breathing. The look of horror on their faces, the realization that they are totally hosed, I grin and revel in it. Adjusting my shirt collar, I raise my gun…  

Bam one. Bam two. Bam three. Bam four. Each receives a bullet between the eyes.

It's really easy to just skip to the end when you get God Mode in the last quarter of the book!

quote:

I walk up, towering over the one I shot in the arm. He raises his gun and I kick it from his working hand.  

“He told us you would be easy to dispose of. I gave my life and everything in it to Him. He promised me eternal life.”  

“Yeah well you should have read the fine print. Now, tell me where they took her.”  

“The Lion, he’s got her upstairs in the pent…”  

My last bullet rips from the chamber and through his skull before he can finish his sentence. 

HopperUK
Apr 29, 2007

Why would an ambulance be leaving the hospital?
Uggh what's the point of any of this? what's he achieved, what's he done? What's even slightly interesting about him to any cosmic being? He takes drugs, he feels good while they last, then he feels pathetic and awful, he takes more drugs, and occasionally this is considered important and meaningful by the narrative, but what the gently caress has he DONE, what's the revelation implied, who cares? Who cares about any of his stupid BS? He hasn't driven a plot event even once. I hate this book and I'm mad that it exists.

PetraCore
Jul 20, 2017

👁️🔥👁️👁️👁️BE NOT👄AFRAID👁️👁️👁️🔥👁️

HopperUK posted:

Uggh what's the point of any of this? what's he achieved, what's he done? What's even slightly interesting about him to any cosmic being? He takes drugs, he feels good while they last, then he feels pathetic and awful, he takes more drugs, and occasionally this is considered important and meaningful by the narrative, but what the gently caress has he DONE, what's the revelation implied, who cares? Who cares about any of his stupid BS? He hasn't driven a plot event even once. I hate this book and I'm mad that it exists.

The point is it's written by a narcissist who thinks this drivel is the most interesting thing possible bc he's the most interesting person in existence. It's sort of fascinating!

chitoryu12
Apr 24, 2014

HopperUK posted:

Uggh what's the point of any of this? what's he achieved, what's he done? What's even slightly interesting about him to any cosmic being? He takes drugs, he feels good while they last, then he feels pathetic and awful, he takes more drugs, and occasionally this is considered important and meaningful by the narrative, but what the gently caress has he DONE, what's the revelation implied, who cares? Who cares about any of his stupid BS? He hasn't driven a plot event even once. I hate this book and I'm mad that it exists.

Would you believe the very next chapter is the one that tries to reveal the entire plot?

Hypnobeard
Sep 15, 2004

Obey the Beard



I mean, he's literally trying to save Hope (after he saw The Matrix but thought they shouldn't have let Trinity do anything) so I'm going to assume she represents something Important.

chitoryu12
Apr 24, 2014

Chapter 14

quote:

“Yes, Sir.”  

Her words echo through the empty chamber of my broken heart.  I can hear them bouncing around like broken glass with brutal tones on a concrete floor. “Yes, Sir” she would say after each instruction, at the end of every sentence, in the heat of every moment. Our life in the distant corner of my memory still primed with the fluids of intense desires, filth and the willingness to let go of who I really am, sings to me a song that only I can hear. A melody fueled by torture and pain, the crescendo of screams and the only true bliss I have ever felt. It haunts me through every endeavor. Everything reminds me of her and no matter what I get myself into, there is no escape from this cruelty. That pain I feel, that ache, that sorrow is only dulled temporarily by the use of violence and narcotics. Lucifer gave me a life that was not worth living and here I am still breathing. Still fighting for a reality I do not consider malleable to my requirements.    

Vivienne was perfect. I was her slave. I still am that slave. Only now I’ve got souls to send down to the hell I never believed in.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0VO91fGwdPE

quote:

The elevator sings no tune. I hear the sliding of weights down thick industrial strength cables and the ding as we pass each floor towards the top of this building. Ding twenty-four, ding twenty-nine, ding, ding, ding. Fifty, sixty-five. Ding. I reach the penthouse level.  

My shoes have blood on them. Speckled with droplets of crimson death, I feel no remorse. These are the goons that took my life once, these are the creatures that took Vivienne and are now holding Hope hostage. These are the idiots that killed Veronica right in front of me and think they are getting out of this alive tonight. It sways side to side, this box of iron is delivering death right to their door and they don’t even know it. My muscles tense and relax, my fingers wrap around the knife tightly and I can feel hatred coursing through my veins. Over the years I’ve learned how to tap into that emotion quite easily, letting it clear my head and heart of the wreckage of the past and focus my strength on the task at hand. Hatred of one's own mistakes will eat one alive if not careful. It will devour every sensible thought in one's head and create a monster. Vile and vicious in nature. 

What a great Myspace journal post!

quote:

I am not of this world anymore.  

I’ve reached my destination.
The door begins to slide open.
My gun is out of bullets.
I am armed with only a knife.
Certainly this is all I need.

I mean, you were literally given superpowers to make the climax completely devoid of any tension.

quote:

Standing there beyond the elevator door with a modified Anderson Arms AR-15 trained on me, I throw my hands up in surrender. I can hear him pulling the trigger and with lightning speed I grab him by the cuff of his tactical vest and pull him inside. The trigger compresses and bullets are flying all around us leaving holes in the iron box, bouncing around and then down the dark shaft to the ground seventy-two stories below us. I have him from behind and as I stuff the knife into the side of his neck I feel every muscle in his body seize up and go cold. Human flesh is pathetic. Instead of slicing his throat, I begin sawing from the left jugular through the skin and muscle, the voice box and larynx to the right jugular and then finally back through the top of his spine. The speckles that were on my shoes are now covered in buckets of his blood, as are my new suit and most of my face. Rarely does one expect to end the day by decapitation and I keep forgetting to wear a plastic raincoat.

You already made that reference!

quote:

I’ve got a bloodlust quota to fulfill and he was standing in the way.  

I step out into a suite of marble and cold pillars, floor to ceiling windows that look uptown and lights that have been drawn low. I can see everything in the room perfectly from the glow of Manhattan at night, the city that never sleeps. The power bill must be colossal.  

Hope.
She’s whimpering but still alive. At the far end of the room on her knees.

So right where you want her, then?

quote:

I cautiously walk up, scanning the room for signs of life. Kneeling down and removing her gag she screams as I take the blindfold from her eyes. I cover her mouth and calm her down. She’s mumbling incoherent sentences about lions and death. I pick her up and walk her over to a white velvet sofa next to one of the windows. She’s shaking uncontrollably. Another goon steps around a pillar, his automatic rifle trained on me. I throw my knife, sticking him directly in his left eye. He doesn’t make a sound, his body smacks the floor face first and pushes the knife in deeper through his brain and out the back of his skull.

See? He doesn't even have to struggle.

quote:

“I thought I was going to die,” she says weeping. 
“It’s okay now, is there anyone else in here with us?  

“There were thr…thre…three of them,” she stutters, visibly shaken by something she cannot explain.  

“Well that leaves one more. Did you see a man they called The Lion?”  

“Yes. Yes he is here.”  

Clicking footsteps from across the room. Size ten and a half, Italian leather, hand sewn and expensive.

Wow, twice Will's size!

quote:

“I am very impressed that you made it this far, William.” A man steps from the shadows. “I did not expect you to get through the lobby. I told those two when they put you in the trunk that you were dangerous, that they needed to handle with a certain kind of care if they wished to get here in one piece. Not only did you escape but you also slaughtered all of my men on your way up here. What a beastly lad you’ve become. Bravo.”

"Beastly Lad" is the name of my new album.

quote:

My blood is cold, devastatingly cold, like praying to some stupid god, naked in the polar ice caps during a blizzard.

....what?

quote:

“Every attempt I’ve made on your life has been wrought with disaster, mayhem and disappointment. And here you stand, covered in the blood of my men, unharmed. You’re one lucky son of a bitch.”  

“Yeah well let’s just say that I’ve got some powerful friends,” I say, rising to meet his gaze.  

He stands no taller than me but much older. Perhaps thirty-five years. His short beard is freckled with gray and wispy strands of hair cover his head. He’s much uglier than I expected. Pockmarks and a red nose, a slight belly protruding over his belt. I can see him there standing strong. He’s gotten his way by force and he is not going to let me get away.

Or so he thinks.



quote:

“You know? You weren’t even that important. You were just some fuckup kid that needed to go so that I could get on with the business of overthrowing the regime. You weren’t supposed to come back from that crash. I was certain we had gotten the job done. It wasn’t until your little episode in London that I found out that you somehow survived. Fancy that. The news of some lunatic beating one of my men to death in a dingy sex club in Europe travels fast in these circles.”

No explanation for why that guy was in London in the first place, of course.

quote:

“Perhaps your man shouldn’t have been jerking off in a confessional booth telling strangers that he has killed people. And what do you mean 'overthrowing the regime'?”

“Come on now, haven’t you figured it out by now? Lucifer has become weak, His decisions are poorly organized and I, along with legions of others, simply cannot stand by and let Him steer this ship into the sea. He thinks that by letting you come back to Earth somehow He will be able to find love. His love for you is one big pile of bullshit. He tried to keep it a secret. He tried and failed but when word got out that His Revelator was gallivanting across the European continent, we formulated a plan of revolt to take Him out of power.”  

My brain is processing a million miles an hour. A regime change? A coup?  IS this a demonic rebellion here among the living?

There we go. The whole plot has just been about demons pissed at Lucifer trying to coup him. Yes, this does mean that the entire second book did literally nothing for the plot and was a complete waste of everyone's time.

quote:

“But you simply will not die god dammit.”  

Visibly frustrated, he pulls out a gun from the waistband of his trousers.  

“You think that is going to stop me from cutting your head off too?” I say.  

“Not a chance here in hell.”  

He changes his aim and points it at Hope over my shoulder. Before I can say a word, he pulls the trigger sending a 45-caliber hollow-point projectile through the front of her skull blowing all of her brains out against the window behind me. I can hear it in slow motion. The crunch and splatter, the gag and moan, her once vibrant and beautiful body changed into a bag of bones and guts as it hits the floor. I am no stranger to death at this point but I can feel the air being sucked from my chest and I nearly collapse from the pain of failure yet again. 

Because gently caress any women surviving this, right? They're just walking vaginas.

quote:

The heartbeat fades.
Her eyes get dim.
She’s gone.  

I’m kneeling there holding her tightly in my arms.
My heart thumping.
Louder it grows.
It’s about to beat out of my chest.
I smell the smoke of The Lion's gun.
Silence.
Hard silence
The ringing in my ear is coming back.
Growing louder into a scream.
I let go of Hope, of all hope, and of ever coming back.  

I snap like a log under the tracks of a tank.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Tlwda9S58Lg

quote:

I step up and slap the pistol out of his hand and punch his chest so hard my hand goes right through the skin and tissue, breaking the ribs around my knuckles. The blood and gristle sliding around my fist, I clutch his warm, damp demon heart. I yank it out in one fluid motion, the blood still beating out of it. I hold it up to his smiling face, his eyes wide open in surprise, and just before the collapse he says…  

“This body is of no use to me anyway. I’ll be seeing again you very soon.”

chitoryu12
Apr 24, 2014

Chapter 15

quote:

I am standing on the roof of the building looking out towards the Atlantic Ocean, London and Seattle both a distant memory. Some would consider New York City the center of the known universe, the heart from which all economic and sociologic blood pumps towards the rest of the extremities in the world. But this is only one layer. The layer only human beings can see in three-dimensions. The crusty grime and gritty cholesterol filled valves pumping poo poo and lies all over the globe. I can see my life on a linear map displayed out before me. Birth, drugs, lies, drugs, love, sex, adventure, death, life, drugs, more drugs and now I’m a killing machine. I’ve piled on blankets of hatred to keep myself warm from the sorrow and still I’m nothing but a shivering mess of self-degradation in a nice suit covered in demon blood. Even with the inability to die I’m still confused as to what the gently caress I am supposed to do here. There is no life without Vivienne. Lucifer knows that and yet here I am still mad from the desire to get her back. Blind denizens wander around this earth without knowledge of what is going on all around them. The battle for their souls rages on and the time for them to see this truth this has finally arrived.

As we approach the end, nothing has happened.

quote:

Dear citizens of the world: you’re hosed, and you don’t even know it.  

Now.  

Listen to the sound of your heartbeat.
Stop breathing for a moment and attend to it.
Feel it.
Learn from it.  

Let the thump of that longing to inflict a path of destruction dance around the core of your existence. Let it linger, let it rage. Are you still holding it? Can you feel every beat within your chest? Let it fall upon the graves of fallen angels and fire-breathing demons. Breathe it out. Taste it. It’s a bright burning effigy in a hillside of the living, a monument to your immortal beginning. It’s a loving REVELATION. A thousand times a thousand stars. A revolution for your broken soul, the salvation you’ve been searching for and there it is at your fingertips. Oh no, poof, it’s gone. How frustrating and dismal life on this planet can be and still there’s nothing you can do about it.  

Do you know why that is? Control. You are not in control. Neither is that useless prick you pray to, or that molten and rotten demon you fear. No one is in control. We are just bumping and crashing around like insects in a cage without air, suffocating on the very worst bits of our own pitiful psychosis.

This is like emo Dunning-Kruger.

quote:

I thought I could change the world but ended up destroying the only shred of humanity I had left, and in search of what? Love? Connection? A woman? Pussy? I’ve done a lot of things in my life for the warmth of the velvet rose, for the crush of naked skin pressed against me uninhibited, exposed, mine and only mine, even if that possession only lasted a moment. I’ve loved and loved and loved and still Lucifer has me chasing my loving tail up here. I’m nothing but a spastic dog with three legs and one eye.

That dog would be infinitely more entertaining and lovable.

quote:

How much can a man endure to fight for the love of his life? Well I’ve discovered that limit and now it’s been reached and breached. All applications are now being denied. Vivienne was my only hope for a normal life. Every moment up until I met her was filled with darkness and hatred and fear and misery. She was the big bright shining star of the north that pulled me from the wreckage of the past and showed me that there could be a future for someone like me. I was nothing when I met her and she gave me purpose, pleasure, a future. She gave me hope that there was something we could create in this dog poo poo of an existence that was worth fighting for.  

I guess it was hope that killed me in the end. Hope that I could somehow crawl my way back to her via Lucifer’s instructions, by doing what I was told. But the truth really is stranger than fiction, unless that truth is something we CHOOSE to believe in. I’ve died and met St. Peter and still I don’t believe in the god he pushes paper for. I’ve sat with demons and Lucifer himself and still I don’t believe their bullshit. Everything I live for is false and so now it’s time for me to end this somehow. It’s time for a magnificent escape.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZX7uu8FX6ZE

quote:

“William.” I hear a whisper as I step up to the ledge of this roof.  

Casual wind brushes through my hair like the fingertips of a soft and delicate stranger.  

“William.” Again I hear the whisper, slightly louder than before.  

“Get out of my head!” I shout towards the sky.  

And there He is.

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Hypnobeard
Sep 15, 2004

Obey the Beard



gently caress you, Bill, for playing the loving pronoun game.

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