Chapter one: The Masquerade Begins. The night air hung swaying with the breeze and giving off the stench of old drugs. The streets were bathed in blood. On top of a empt spiraling building's top stood a lone figure. His face was masked and he wore a old black leather cloack. The mask fit him. Not just in size, but in personality.His name was Masquerade. Any other name he had had he had forgotten long ago. The streets began to blaze with light and sound. Not with the light of redemption, but with sin. Police sirens blazed throught the sinful night and called him... and he answered. He leapt into the air without a care for his life. If he died, it would be for a bigger cause. His life was meaningless in the large scheme of things...but he could never back down. He arrived at the place where the smell of sin was coming from, before the cops. "Like they care," he thought. "They are part of the reason this city is the way it is. They were the protecters, and they failed. Now that this city is drowning in it's own filth, sin, and sex, where the Hell are they? Ah, in Hell, burning with the rest of us." He sighed gently as he finished this statement and crawled into the walls of a apartment. "Who the **** are you?" the man from whome these words came from wore a mask. Not like his, diffrent. The others was coated with fresh blood."I'm the end result of a thousand years of sin and oppresion. A renegade angle sent from Heaven when God couldn't get his hands dirty," was Masquerade's menacing reply. "I don't care who the He-," before the wold-be burglar could finish his statement, he was snatched up by Masquerade by the neck and thrown into a bathroom. "We have quite a dirty mouth don't we? Let's see if we can wash it out," Masquerade said with a smile beneath his mask. Masquerade picked up a bar of soap and before the dazed criminal could reply, stuck it in the criminals mouth. "What the-," the criminal mumbled, and to his horror could not finish the sentence. "Toxic soap, interesting, huh? Just like you, something that slowly kills something and is meant to clean." Masquerade replied mockingly. "Listen, man. I don't know what you're talking about," the criminal said finding enough will to speak. "What's your name?" the criminal said after a moment of silence. "Dead men have no need for names." was Masquerades simple, melancholy, reply. The criminal began to reply, but only foam came out of his lips and soon he was silent. Masquerade set something down and jumped out a window. What echoed behind him was a "Bang.", flames, and then...silence. "Like I said, dead men have no need for names. Now you don't need one, ether," Masquerade said this as he tipped his hat off in mock respect. As he went to his place to sleep for the night, a lone garbage field with a field of houses in front and he sleapt in the house, he dozzed off. The next morning Masquerade awoke to someone banging on the door. "Rent," a gruff, hubby, bald, man smoking a cigar said. "One more day, sir," Masquerade said through grinting teeth. "Listen, bub. I don't care who you are. You pay the rent now, or you sleep woth the dogs. You're flesh'll be there meat," as the bald man said this a puff of smoke entered Masquerade's room. Masquerade saw the man had a name tag: Steve. "Well, Steve. I won't pay you today and I won't go to the dogs today. But I do love dogs and I wish to be generous to them so how about you go?" Masquerade said. Before the man could react, Masquerade threw him in a dumpster. Blood started to leak out. Masquerade got a glimps of the face. "Ah, the final mask. Throughout life we wear masks, death being the last one," Masquerade said this aloud with a bitter sweet smile underneath his mask. "One less grain of filth in this dumpster," Masqurade said aloud also as he begain to walk to the exit of the housing place/garbage dump.
Wow that was really good. I like how you were really descriptive and all. You really captured the creepy meloncholy of the scene and I could feel it. Excellent work, please continue!!!
Thanks. I hope I'll be able to get this story somewhere plot wise. Chapter 2: Drunk on Sorrow Masquerade found himself on the city's borders. The buildings loomed over him, sliding their shadows everywhere. Hiding the vermin that infected them. Slowly feeding off of them until there was nothing left but a hollow shell. Posters ran around the buildings, poasters of wanted faces, lost loved ones, and suicide notes. The posters coverd the buildngs until it looked like their natural skin. One building remained untouched, it's neon sign spelling, Big Al's Happy Beer Place. While it remained untouched by the signs of corrruption, it was just as corrupt as the rest, if not more. Masquerade opend the brown, old, worn out door that served as entrance to the drunken Hell. Here the filth were not only drunk on their own beer, but their own misery. The place got all types. All wishing to escape reality and if lucky enough that their debts pilled high enough, escape life. Though when they did, they would discover that life was the same after death. A living burning Hell with no pity or remorse for who it burned. "What do you want?" a bald, skull-shirt wearing man asked. He seemed drunk. On beer...or misery. "I'm searching for someone, someone called Enigma," was Masquerade's hollow reply. "Are you kidding me? Information like that don't come cheap. You sir, are going to have to fork something over, but what could you have that I want? I have a shop, beer, and a escape from reality," was the owner's, Al's, reply. Masquerade hated the man's reply. "You want something else? Sure...," Masquerade said calmly as he lifted Al's arm off of his can of beer and suddenly there was a snap and... "Now you have a broken arm," Masquerade said smugly. "Listen, man. Nobobody's gonna trade him out for you," Al said stammering. "Oh but this won't be a trade," Masqurade said as he grabbed Al's neck. "This'll be a steal!" Masquerade threw Al out of the closed window. There was a crash as glass, man, an blood hit cold, merciless pavement. It seemed like somebody was trying to mutter "Son of a-," but before this sentence could be finished, Masquerade withdrew a Gun, shots were heard, and then the loudest of all the sounds that had been heard, silence. "Now that that bloody buisness is over with, anyone know where I may find someone who knows where Enigma is?" Masqerade said as he pulled somethings out of his pocket and turned to a young, scared, man. He had fear in his eyes... "The scared dog is usually the first one to yelp," Masquerade thought with some pleasure. He was sure this man knew that, also. This whole bar was just a tiny sink pit, there were bigger ones, but in order to purify this whole city from it's sickness he must clean all of it. "How about you? You know?" Masquerade asked. "Back room," was the low life's only reply. "Ony reply and it was a stuttering reply," Masquerade thought with some satisfaction. "And just in case any of you get any ideas here's a treat. Take one and pass one back. Careful, you might wish to wait 'till the fourth of July to see those fire works," Masquerade said this as he opend a door behind the bar tenders counter.
