I was pleased with myself for creating a "world" for two storylines to take place. In the the story, the United States has broken down into two political sides and is now fighting the Second Civil War. All of the US is engaged, except for Texas, which has seceded from the union to once again become the Republic of Texas, which is where this storyline takes place.
This focuses mainly on Vincent, sort of a gunslinger and anti-hero who does less than moral jobs for generally bad people. While on a job for one of his most frequent employers, he learns of a potential line of work that forces him to look at himself.
Oh, and theres probably language in here, so just be forewarned. In fact, on second inspection, there is. Im sure this place has editing stuff so it probably wont come out anyway.
Without further adieu,
Vincent focused on the Anaconda spinning on his finger. He wasnt timing it, but he guessed hed been spinning it for around a minute straight. Now that he thought about it, his Colt Anaconda was probably his favorite gun that he carried. It may not have had the ammo capacity that his M1911s had, especially not when he used the two .45s at once (he was actually pretty accurate firing two guns at the same time), plus it was heavier than the automatic pistols, and had a stronger recoil than even his Winchester 1300, but it did have its charms. It was definitely a more intimidating weapon than the .45s, especially when fired, showcasing the .44 magnums strength. Plus it also felt more appropriate to carry a revolver, especially a magnum, now that Texas had become a reincarnation of the Wild West after it seceded from the rest of the United States, which itself was currently fighting the Second Civil War. Having the Anaconda as his weapon of choice really made Vincent feel like a gunslinger of sorts.
Vincents focus was torn from his gun with a loud knock on the door. With a high degree of unintentional style, he stopped the revolver mid-spin by grabbing the grip, pulled back the hammer, and pointed the weapon at the door. He calmly sat up, and put his feet on the ground.
Come in. Vincents smokers voice had a bit of irritation in it. He really would have rather not been bothered. He had his meal, and now his room, and he would have liked to fall asleep without having to deal with anyone else. Vincent lowered his gun, realizing it was completely unnecessary, and remembering it wasnt even loaded.
The door opened, and in front of it stood one of Angels guards, armed with an AK-47. Behind him was someone else, who Vincent almost couldnt see. He got a better view of the person as the guard stepped to the side and motioned them in with his rifle. It was a girl.
The girl, who was white, and didnt appear to be more than eighteen years old, walked slowly into the room, humiliation and fear emanating from her medium stature. She was almost totally naked, except for a nearly see-through, white piece of cloth tied around her waist that extended down to just above her knees in the front, and down to her mid-calf in the back. She also had a long brown piece of cloth wrapped around her head like a headscarf. It covered most of the ginger colored hair on her head, which extended down from under the cloth to her shoulders. The cloth itself was tied behind the girls head, and went down behind her back. The girls torso, legs, and feet were bare, although she timidly covered her breasts with her arms.
Vincent looked at the girl, totally confused. This was one of the last things he expected to walk through his door. If anyone were to bother him, he expected it to be Angel with another job opportunity, or merely to see if everything was all right. Angel, for a bad guy involved in bad things, was actually a pretty accommodating and generous host. Then Vincent remembered their prior conversation, and got a clue as to why the girl was there. He stood up from his seat on the bed, and walked toward the guard, past the girl.
Her face still hung in shame, she watched him as he walked, only slightly turning her head as he passed her before she looked back down at the ground
Whats this about? Vincent motioned his head backward in the direction of the girl as he asked the guard.
Angel sent her to you, the guard replied in a heavy Hispanic accent. He said he wanted to give you a demonstration of his new business, to entice you to join.
You mean the whole kidnapping people and exporting them thing? Vincent tried to hide the bitterness in his tone, but felt he wasnt very successful. Angels big activities were drug and weapon smuggling, and bringing people (almost exclusively Mexicans) into Texas illegally. An embarrassed, frightened, half-naked white girl would have a hard time fitting into any of those three activities.
I dont know, the guard answered rather ambiguously while shrugging his shoulders. Vincent glared at the guard for a moment, and then thanked him. The guard walked off to the right as Vincent closed the door.
The girl trembled as tears fought their way through her tightly shut eyelids. She felt so desperate and alone, being held captive in this place by herself. She would have given up the rest of her life just to see someone familiar again. She wanted nothing more than to tell her parents how much she loved them. She thought of her best friend Kyle, or Flint, as he was known by his nickname. She prayed that by some miracle, he would kick down the door, shoot this guy, and whisk her away back to her home in Fort Worth. None of that was to be, she realized. Her legs gave way, and she fell to her knees, crushed by her own despair. She pressed her face against the cold, concrete floor and sobbed.
Vincent was a quiet person, but now he was officially speechless. He had never heard such a painful cry in his entire life. All he could do was stand there in his own silence, watching and listening to this girl. The worst part was, he thought, that she had every reason to feel the way she did. She had already been torn against her will from the life she knew, which was probably a relatively privileged one Vincent would have guessed, although he didnt know why. Then she was brought to this place, to the crime king Angel (Vincent then realized how ironic the mans name was), who probably viewed, and treated, her as little more than merchandise, holding no more value than a crate of AK-47s or a shipment of cocaine other than the dollar amount attached to it. And what did she have to look forward to? Eventually, she would be sold to someone in a foreign country, to be used however they wanted. She would probably be paraded around and displayed by some rich anti-U.S. businessman who would proudly boast that he now owned an American. She would be treated as inhuman, and without a doubt raped over and over. Finally, once her owner was done with her, he would sell her to someone else, and she would endure the same thing again and again, until nothing was left of her but a shell of a girl who once had a life of her own. Vincent had once heard someone say that suicide was a cowards way out. He wondered if that person would say the same thing if they were here.
Hey. Vincent finally spoke, trying to sound as calm as possible. The girl responded to Vincents voice by tucking her face into her knees, and covering her head with her arms. Hey, its ok. Im not gonna hurt you.
The girl listened to Vincents raspy words. She had been kidnapped about a week ago, and they were the first words shed heard since then that werent insulting or demeaning. His voice was rough, but his words were actually a little calming.
I promise, Im not going to touch you, Vincent affirmed. The girl, no longer sobbing, but still in tears, slowly turned her head to look up at Vincent. He looked down at her, right into her red, tear soaked eyes, and once again assured her that he meant her no harm. Her crying slowed even further as she listened to him. Vincent stepped forward slowly, and raised his hands up in front of him to once again reiterate that she was all right.
I had to shorten it so look for part 2 if you wish to continue.
This focuses mainly on Vincent, sort of a gunslinger and anti-hero who does less than moral jobs for generally bad people. While on a job for one of his most frequent employers, he learns of a potential line of work that forces him to look at himself.
Oh, and theres probably language in here, so just be forewarned. In fact, on second inspection, there is. Im sure this place has editing stuff so it probably wont come out anyway.
Without further adieu,
Vincent focused on the Anaconda spinning on his finger. He wasnt timing it, but he guessed hed been spinning it for around a minute straight. Now that he thought about it, his Colt Anaconda was probably his favorite gun that he carried. It may not have had the ammo capacity that his M1911s had, especially not when he used the two .45s at once (he was actually pretty accurate firing two guns at the same time), plus it was heavier than the automatic pistols, and had a stronger recoil than even his Winchester 1300, but it did have its charms. It was definitely a more intimidating weapon than the .45s, especially when fired, showcasing the .44 magnums strength. Plus it also felt more appropriate to carry a revolver, especially a magnum, now that Texas had become a reincarnation of the Wild West after it seceded from the rest of the United States, which itself was currently fighting the Second Civil War. Having the Anaconda as his weapon of choice really made Vincent feel like a gunslinger of sorts.
Vincents focus was torn from his gun with a loud knock on the door. With a high degree of unintentional style, he stopped the revolver mid-spin by grabbing the grip, pulled back the hammer, and pointed the weapon at the door. He calmly sat up, and put his feet on the ground.
Come in. Vincents smokers voice had a bit of irritation in it. He really would have rather not been bothered. He had his meal, and now his room, and he would have liked to fall asleep without having to deal with anyone else. Vincent lowered his gun, realizing it was completely unnecessary, and remembering it wasnt even loaded.
The door opened, and in front of it stood one of Angels guards, armed with an AK-47. Behind him was someone else, who Vincent almost couldnt see. He got a better view of the person as the guard stepped to the side and motioned them in with his rifle. It was a girl.
The girl, who was white, and didnt appear to be more than eighteen years old, walked slowly into the room, humiliation and fear emanating from her medium stature. She was almost totally naked, except for a nearly see-through, white piece of cloth tied around her waist that extended down to just above her knees in the front, and down to her mid-calf in the back. She also had a long brown piece of cloth wrapped around her head like a headscarf. It covered most of the ginger colored hair on her head, which extended down from under the cloth to her shoulders. The cloth itself was tied behind the girls head, and went down behind her back. The girls torso, legs, and feet were bare, although she timidly covered her breasts with her arms.
Vincent looked at the girl, totally confused. This was one of the last things he expected to walk through his door. If anyone were to bother him, he expected it to be Angel with another job opportunity, or merely to see if everything was all right. Angel, for a bad guy involved in bad things, was actually a pretty accommodating and generous host. Then Vincent remembered their prior conversation, and got a clue as to why the girl was there. He stood up from his seat on the bed, and walked toward the guard, past the girl.
Her face still hung in shame, she watched him as he walked, only slightly turning her head as he passed her before she looked back down at the ground
Whats this about? Vincent motioned his head backward in the direction of the girl as he asked the guard.
Angel sent her to you, the guard replied in a heavy Hispanic accent. He said he wanted to give you a demonstration of his new business, to entice you to join.
You mean the whole kidnapping people and exporting them thing? Vincent tried to hide the bitterness in his tone, but felt he wasnt very successful. Angels big activities were drug and weapon smuggling, and bringing people (almost exclusively Mexicans) into Texas illegally. An embarrassed, frightened, half-naked white girl would have a hard time fitting into any of those three activities.
I dont know, the guard answered rather ambiguously while shrugging his shoulders. Vincent glared at the guard for a moment, and then thanked him. The guard walked off to the right as Vincent closed the door.
The girl trembled as tears fought their way through her tightly shut eyelids. She felt so desperate and alone, being held captive in this place by herself. She would have given up the rest of her life just to see someone familiar again. She wanted nothing more than to tell her parents how much she loved them. She thought of her best friend Kyle, or Flint, as he was known by his nickname. She prayed that by some miracle, he would kick down the door, shoot this guy, and whisk her away back to her home in Fort Worth. None of that was to be, she realized. Her legs gave way, and she fell to her knees, crushed by her own despair. She pressed her face against the cold, concrete floor and sobbed.
Vincent was a quiet person, but now he was officially speechless. He had never heard such a painful cry in his entire life. All he could do was stand there in his own silence, watching and listening to this girl. The worst part was, he thought, that she had every reason to feel the way she did. She had already been torn against her will from the life she knew, which was probably a relatively privileged one Vincent would have guessed, although he didnt know why. Then she was brought to this place, to the crime king Angel (Vincent then realized how ironic the mans name was), who probably viewed, and treated, her as little more than merchandise, holding no more value than a crate of AK-47s or a shipment of cocaine other than the dollar amount attached to it. And what did she have to look forward to? Eventually, she would be sold to someone in a foreign country, to be used however they wanted. She would probably be paraded around and displayed by some rich anti-U.S. businessman who would proudly boast that he now owned an American. She would be treated as inhuman, and without a doubt raped over and over. Finally, once her owner was done with her, he would sell her to someone else, and she would endure the same thing again and again, until nothing was left of her but a shell of a girl who once had a life of her own. Vincent had once heard someone say that suicide was a cowards way out. He wondered if that person would say the same thing if they were here.
Hey. Vincent finally spoke, trying to sound as calm as possible. The girl responded to Vincents voice by tucking her face into her knees, and covering her head with her arms. Hey, its ok. Im not gonna hurt you.
The girl listened to Vincents raspy words. She had been kidnapped about a week ago, and they were the first words shed heard since then that werent insulting or demeaning. His voice was rough, but his words were actually a little calming.
I promise, Im not going to touch you, Vincent affirmed. The girl, no longer sobbing, but still in tears, slowly turned her head to look up at Vincent. He looked down at her, right into her red, tear soaked eyes, and once again assured her that he meant her no harm. Her crying slowed even further as she listened to him. Vincent stepped forward slowly, and raised his hands up in front of him to once again reiterate that she was all right.
I had to shorten it so look for part 2 if you wish to continue.
