Chapter 14: A Stick-up to Rule Them All part-2
Yo! It's your buddy Hamtaro!
Apparently, some war crime folks are debating about the morality of gang r*pe, many of them arguing that r*ping a prisoner to death is self defence while others say it's a good policy to make people fear them...terrorism much?
I'm back with a chapter, I know it's been a while, but I was busy writing some chaps in reserve just in case. I am officially 5 chapters ahead!
Now you know the drill, since I didn't update in a couple days, this chapter is much bigger than our usual 2K words max, sitting at a cozy 2600 words.
Drop your stones, write a comment, make a review if you feel like it.
Drink some water, study well, sleep and eat plenty.
That's the Hamster Hermit Way!
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"Well, you can still be destroyed but... Forget the books and the movies. Garlic? It's worthless. A cross? Pfft! Shove it right up their ass! Hahahaha! A stake? Only if it catches you in the heart, and then it just paralyzes you. Runnin' water? Ah, that's no problem. I bathe... eh... occasionally. Now, a shotgun blast to the head? Oh, that's trouble, boy. Fire? That's real trouble. Sunlight? Well, you catch a sunrise and it's all over, kiddo. Get it?"
- Wisdom from a Jolly Blood Sucker.
… … … … … …
John knew the streets of Brideshead like the back of his hand. He'd spent weeks scoping out every corner, every alley, every damn crack in the pavement where the scum of the city hid their dirty business. He wasn't just some bloodsucker out for a midnight snack—he was a hunter, and these streets were his hunting grounds.
After feeding and levelling up, the thirst was sated, but the hunger for more power still gnawed at him. He was ready to tear through the filth that had taken root in his neighbourhood. The dealers, the thugs, the so-called soldiers—they thought they owned Brideshead, poisoned it's people, they maimed and slayed his cattle. Tonight, John was going to show them just how wrong they were.
It started with a tip-off—an exchange set to go down at a corner stash just past midnight. One of Hungry's guys, a lieutenant in charge of this particular crew was one of the more cautious types, the kind who didn't let his boys get too comfortable. He rotated locations, kept the deals short and quick, and always made sure to be on the move.
But no one could stay off John's radar for long.
He perched on a rooftop, hidden in the shadows, watching the street below like a hawk. The stash was hidden in plain sight, a viable alternative to the usual vacant house. A busted-up phone booth with a false bottom, a garbage can with a hollowed-out interior—it didn't matter. The real action was what happened around it, the comings and goings of the corner boys, the muscle lurking nearby, and the lieutenant who orchestrated it all.
Sure enough, he spotted the man in charge, a wiry fella with a slick, greasy look about him. He moved with the nervous energy of someone who knew he was in a dangerous business but wasn't quite sure how to get out. The guy had half a dozen men with him, each one armed, though they tried to keep it subtle. A couple of Glocks tucked into waistbands, a shotgun hidden under a ratty jacket….now that's troublesome.
Unless you were some Superman-kinda guy, a shotgun blast to the face will always be a bad experience.
Fortunately for him, the man on the other side of the barrel was big, green and squishy.
John couldn't help but smirk. They had no idea what was coming.
The exchange was quick. The lieutenant handed off a small duffel bag—probably stuffed with cash—while his guy passed over a package wrapped in brown paper. It was a smooth transaction, efficient even, but John didn't care about the deal itself. He was after the bigger fish.
'This kind of transfer is routine, give the corner boy's a new package and take your share of the profits back home,' The vampire thought, getting himself ready.
He put on his game face, he was dressed in all black with a hood large enough to cast a shadow over his face to protect his identity, though he knew that a bit of presence and showing off his burning red eyes would be enough to craft a separate image from the charming, playful John Harker.
As the crew started to disperse, the lieutenant gave a nod to his men, signalling them to take the stash back to their corner. It was then that John made his move.
He dropped down from the rooftop, landing silently in the alley. The lieutenant was already heading back to his car, a beat-up sedan that looked like it had seen better days. John slipped through the shadows, his footsteps soundless on the pavement, until he was right behind the man.
The lieutenant never saw him coming. John's hand shot out, grabbing him by the throat and slamming him against the car with enough force to dent the door. The man's eyes bulged in shock, his hands scrabbling at John's grip, but it was like trying to move steel.
"Where do you think you're going?" John hissed, his voice low and cold.
The lieutenant gurgled something incomprehensible, his eyes wide with fear. John loosened his grip just enough to let him speak.
"W-what the hell… who the f*ck are you?" the man stammered, his voice shaky.
"Doesn't matter. What matters is you're going to take me to your boss." His red eyes shone even brighter under his hood.
The man's eyes darted around, looking for the crew, but they were too far away, already heading down the block. John could see the panic setting in, the realization that he was utterly alone with a predator he couldn't hope to fight off.
"You've got two choices," John continued, his voice as calm as ever. "Take me to your boss, or I start tearing apart your little operation piece by piece until there's nothing left but blood and dust."
The lieutenant hesitated, and for a moment, John thought he might try to fight back. But then the man's shoulders slumped in defeat, and he nodded weakly.
"All right, all right, I'll take you… just don't kill me, man."
John smiled—a cold, predatory grin that showed just a hint of fang. "Good choice. Now, drive."
The ride to the main stash was tense. The lieutenant kept glancing at John in the rearview mirror, his hands gripping the steering wheel so tightly his knuckles were white. John didn't say a word, just stared out the window, already planning his next move.
Of course, his nine-millimetre was pressed against the driver seat, business end pointed right at his new friend's spine, just in case his balls got bigger and overthrew his brain's rule.
"I'm out, I'll take my money and go back to Texas, game got too fierce nowadays…" He heard the relatively old man, at least in his profession, mumble under his breath.
"Yes, that would be a smart idea." He answered honestly, but his driver didn't think much of his advice.
Or maybe he did? John couldn't tell, the poor guy just flinched and kept driving in complete silence this time.
'That's pretty rude.' He thought, shaking his head in disapproval.
The main stash was exactly what he expected—a rundown strip club on the edge of Brideshead. The kind of place that looked as shady as all hell, seedy in more than one way, but still pulled in a decent crowd thanks to the cheap booze and cheaper thrills. It was the perfect front for a drug operation. The bouncers at the door gave the lieutenant a nod as they passed, not even bothering to search him or his "guest." It was a sign of just how secure they felt in their little kingdom.
But their arrogance would be their downfall.
Once inside, John could feel the tension in the air. The place was packed with muscle; dozens of guys, all armed to the teeth, lounging around as if they owned the world. The lieutenant led him through the club, past the bar, and into the back room where the real action was.
'Seven pistols, three assault rifles, four shotguns and a bunch of baseball bats, knives and knuckle dusters.' The vampire counted in less than a second, choosing the most fitting among the many plans of attack he had prepared.
Hungry was there too, surrounded by his best soldiers. He was a large man, built like a tank, with a bald head and a thick gold chain around his neck. The kind of guy who looked like he could break bones with his bare hands—and probably had on more than one occasion.
He favoured the melee judging by his scarred knuckles, though he still had a large revolver within arm's reach.
"Franky, who the hell is this?" The boss growled as John and the lieutenant entered.
"Uh, boss… this is the guy who's been causing trouble," the lieutenant stammered, trying to keep his voice steady. "He—"
Before he could finish, John moved. It was like a blur of motion—a speed that no human could match. He grabbed the nearest thug with a shotgun, twisting his arm behind his back with a sickening crack, then used him as a meat-shield as the others scrambled to draw their weapons.
The room exploded into chaos. The thugs fired off shots, but John was already on the move, darting between them with supernatural agility. He could feel the power coursing through him, the strength that came from his recent feeding, from levelling up. His fists were like hammers, breaking bones and crushing jaws with every strike.
"F*ck this, I'm getting outa here," His driver said, running away without looking back amidst the confusion.
"Bye Franky!" He called while neutralising the last of the shotgun-men with a brutal kick right on the liver, he grabbed the metal weapon and threw at a shooter who was a bit too accurate for his taste.
*Crunch*
"Argh!" His target whimpered on the floor after his skull had a nice meeting with the heavy gun.
The handgun fire that might have torn a normal man to shreds barely slowed him down, and he was much too fast for the riflemen to spray him without butchering their own friends and brothers.
The few wounds he sustained where healed almost instantly, and he still had more than enough blood in his reserves to unleash dreadful presence upon his helpless enemies.
He used the fear to his advantage, letting the terror spread through the room like wildfire. The men started to panic, shooting wildly, hitting more of their own than they did him.
The vampire was unwilling to personally kill anyone just yet, getting caught by this or that vigilante was still a risk, so he'd rather keep the 'I am Justice' card just in case.
However, it didn't mean he had to save them from themselves.
John focused on their boss, the big man who had once seemed so imposing. Now, he was just another target. Hungry swung at him, a meaty fist aimed at John's head, but John ducked under it with ease, then drove his elbow into the man's ribs with enough force to crack them.
However, he wasn't a boss for nothing, the enraged criminal all but shrugged it off, instead aiming his large revolver right at John's hooded head ready to take the shot.
A weapon of this caliber would take a pound of flesh, and he was a bit too close to evade all six shots without taking chances, so John burned some blood to activate his bloodbuff for the very first time in battle.
The explosive increase in speed was all it took to close the distance between them before he could even press the trigger, John punched him right in the stomach with so much force both he and the gun were sent flying on different directions.
In his Earth, the gangster would be a peak athlete with the strenght, speed and durability he displayed. But here, he was just a common brute.
Hungry staggered, gasping for breath, but John didn't give him a chance to recover. He grabbed the man by the collar, lifting him off his feet as if he weighed nothing, then slammed him into the wall. The boss's eyes were wide with fear, the bravado gone in an instant.
"Please… please don't kill me," the boss wheezed, his voice trembling.
John leaned in close, his eyes glowing with a cold, predatory light. "I'm not here to kill you," he said, his voice dripping with menace. "Not yet. First, I'm going to take everything you've got. Then I'll let you live long enough to see your empire crumble."
He dropped the battered and bruised boss to the floor, leaving him gasping for air until a foot on his face sent him to land of dreams. The rest of the thugs were either unconscious, wounded, or too terrified to fight back.
John walked through the room, picking up the duffel bags filled with cash and drugs, grabbing a few guns for good measure, and stuffing them into his coat.
He scattered the rest of the drugs; crack, dope and coke around the home, making it unfit for consumption.
He checked for cameras, but even thugs had the sense not to record a criminal conspiracy.
As he left the strip club, he felt a grim satisfaction. The first step in his plan was complete. He had taken down one of the biggest players in Brideshead, and he'd done it without breaking a sweat, the sound of sirens coming to the worst neighbourhood in all of Gotham was the cherry on top.
But he wasn't done yet. Not by a long shot.
John returned to his apartment, the spoils of his raid hidden beneath his coat. His place still wasn't much to look at, a relatively clean crackhouse was a crackhouse nonetheless, but it served its purpose.
He didn't need luxury for the moment; he needed privacy, a place where he could lay low and plan his next move.
He stashed the cash and weapons in the bathroom, making sure everything was secure. The duffel bag felt heavier than before, not because of the money or the guns, but because of the significance of what he'd just done. He'd made a statement—a loud, violent statement—that Brideshead was no longer under the control of petty thugs and dealers. It was his territory now.
But John wasn't naive. He knew that taking down one gang wouldn't be enough. The others would see what had happened and either come after him, or go into hiding. Either way, he needed to act fast before they had a chance to regroup.
He wasn't too worried about being targeted, he was essentially a ghost for all intents and purposes.
He didn't sell dope, didn't flaunt wealth and didn't hang out with any crowd save for a dopefiend and people just ignored those folks.
John didn't get out in the day either, when most of spying and gossiping...I mean, 'intel-gathering', took place.
So he was safe from the wrath of those he robbed.
He stepped back out into the night, his mind already working on the next target. He needed to track down the remaining gangs, find their main stashes, and hit them where it hurt. It wouldn't be easy, each gang had its own network of hideouts, muscle, and connections, but John had something they didn't. He had the element of surprise, and he had the power that came from feeding, he was a vampire.
They never stood a chance.
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Writing action scenes is pretty new, any idea on how I might improve them? Readers or writers, I'll take anyone's advice if he's giving it away.