Post by Nathan Whyte on Oct 16, 2008 7:02:18 GMT
Well, this is something I'm working on. Just a small chapter, so enjoy it 
Panting, footsteps and the thudding of the rain. Marianne Schewski ran along the dank alleyway, her lungs burning with every step, desperation driving her onwards, forwards and away from the pursuer. The darkened streets of the British city played a home to many dank secrets, heightened by the growing crisis surrounding the homesteads, a fog of lies and deception sculpting, moulding.
A small path of blood was on the pavement, glinting in the half-light passed down by the moon. It wasn’t staying long, the rain washing it away after a few seconds, but the noise of the fear was enough to bring on the hunters. The trio of men, dressed fully in black with death masks upon their faces silently traversed the route, their movements hidden by the large flowing gowns they wore, making it seem as if they were gliding over the surface of the earth, supernatural creatures not right for this earth. They made no contact with each other, but simply stayed in line, moving at an even pace, turning in time, as if they had practised this hundreds of times before. The reality wasn’t that far from that.
Marianne looked around hopelessly as she made her way along the street, looking for anything, anyone. Her right arm was limp on her side as the blood leaked from the elbow, dripping along the ground, her dress not helping with the movement. It was an elegant little thing, navy in colour with no sleeves and the fabric coming down to just below the knees. She made a small whimpering sound as she carried on, fear adrenaline and anger feeding the pathetic outburst.
As one, the three rounded the street corner onto the old village market place styled promenade, a cobbled floor and concrete bollards preventing any vehicles entering. At the ungodly hour, nobody was traversing it, nobody wanted. Those with sense were indoors, others at the more heavily populated areas of the city at the multiple bars and clubs. The only other person was Marianne. Together, the men dropped their robes, revealing short-sleeved shirts, ties and trousers, all black, around thin bodies. The visible skin was ghostly pale in colour, their arms seeming to glow, while the death masks, still and taunting looked lifelessly at their victim. Three knives, ugly serrated things, designed not only to kill, but to cause maximum pain, damage and fear to their victims rose from their belts, the blades and the pale hands holding them flashing slightly in the light thrown down from the few streetlights dotted here and there.
Marianne thumped violently on the glass front of a typical village shop, one which in the window showed paintings, wooden chairs and woven baskets, as if trying to show an idyllic life. “Help me!” she cried, pitifully, her voice falling slightly with the sobs “Somebody, please…” She tailed off and span, her gut instinct dictating her moves. Behind, silently were the three men, the knives in their hands. “What do you want?” she pleaded at them, her eyes wide with fear, trying vainly to appeal to their sense of righteousness. For all it was worth, she could have been speaking to a wall, they stood their, the death masks looked on.
Marianne tried walking backwards, away. Every step she made was met by one from the three. Together, they herded her into a corner where she stood, back against brick panting. Still they came closer, raising the blades steadily with each step, closing the gap. There was no escape, nothing feasible.
Skin broke, sinews tore and organs collapsed as the three men repeatedly stabbed, the serrated edges of their blades causing more and more pain with each movement. Marianne fell onto the floor, bleeding, and still they carried on, mutilating her as screams left her lips, nothing but fear was on her mind, her body shutting down bit by bit. Consciousness left her, then life.
Aaron Mitchell slowly raised himself from the stained mattress stretching his arms and yawning loudly. He collapsed backwards, and stretched his arm out, wrapping his fingers around the small cell phone charging on his bedside table. He flicked open the screen to check for any messages, missed calls, some sort of contact with the outside world. There was none. He let out a sigh before pushing himself upwards with one arm.
Rotating, he got out of bed, walking in his underwear over to the window and pulled down the string on the blinds. Yet another wonderful day of rain and grey in the British capital, were his initial thoughts as he stopped and observed. Cars drove by, sending up large sprays of rain onto the pedestrians who hurried by in rain coats and umbrellas. He let out another sigh before turning and stumbling across the room to the small sink in a corner. He flicked the warm tap on, sending a small dribble out while he hunted around for a shirt and a pair of trousers. Finding fruit in his labour, he returned to the small mirror and looked at himself, as was his morning tradition. A deep set twenty-three year old face looked him back, eyes surrounded by shadow suggesting too much worry, not enough sleep. His light brown hair complemented his eyes, and he measured it with a pair of fingers, considering a haircut, but dare he be that outrageous in his day? Could he handle that excitement? He splashed water over his face to try and bring a bit more consciousness around. This failing, he flicked on the kettle in the squalid kitchen in the next room along while he slipped his clothes on to show some level of decency.
The intercom buzzed and he hopped over, one leg in his trousers, the other stuck halfway down. Nearly tripping in the process, he made it over to the phone by the door and pulled the receiver to his ear. “Hello?” he asked tentatively.
“Hello, Mr. Mitchell? Courier delivery.”
“Bring it up.” He replied pressing the button to unlock the door. Through the headset, he heard a buzzing.
“Sorry, sir, the doors not opening.” Was the reply of the delivery man, sounding slightly strained as if there were a few hundred better things he could be doing with his time.
“It’ll be the deadlock,” explained Aaron, “I’ll be down in a moment.”
Kicking at his trousers until they were on, Aaron pulled opened the door, grabbing his key on his way out. Barefoot, he hurried down the stairs, stopping about halfway down to skit past a large puddle of sick with something floating in it he’d rather not think about. “Bloody alccys” he muttered on his way past, careful not to dip his toes in the concoction. When he reached the bottom, he span the deadlock and manually opened the door to the bored looking delivery boy. “Hi,” muttered, Aaron, and he was greeted by a smile that said ‘I couldn’t care less’, causing Aaron to give up.
“Here, is you package, sir. Would you care to sign?” He stated, doing a routine he had repeated hundreds of times, opening up a shoulder bag and passing out a clipboard and an envelope. Aaron smiled slightly as he signed the slip, recognising the crest of the Metropolitan police on the back of the envelope. After initialling the paper and the delivery man leaving, he slipped the envelope open, pulling out the slip of paper.
‘Dear Sir,
We are pleased to announce that your police record and character checks have come up clean, and we would like to offer you a place in the Metropolitan Police, training starting as soon as possible’
Aaron stopped reading their, a grin dominating his face as he walked up the stairs. He felt something cold between his toes and looked down onto the ground and the large puddle. “Oh for fu-“
Aaron looked at the framed certificate above his bed; his room was a lot nicer than it had been a year ago. Police work was a well paying job, that had to be said and this had allowed him to upgrade from the terrible conditions he had previously been in. He know shared a rather nice little flat in a slightly nicer part of the city with a pair of other police officers. A small leather lounge suite, lots of wood and metal all over the place, it was indeed a very luxurious place to live in.
He released himself from the pull-up bar and dropped onto the floor gently, the white t-shirt under his tracksuit showing visible sweat stains. He shook his arms before walking out of the small office-gym room they kept stocked with weights, a treadmill and one of those Ab machines. He took a swig of water from the water bottle on the ground before walking down the corridor. He knocked on the first door he went by and called into it. “Abby, time to go!”
“Just a second!” Came the muffled reply as Aaron knocked on the next door.
“Sure, sure,” was the deep African reply from within the room.
Aaron carried on walking into the kitchen, squirting the remainder of the bottle’s contents down his throat. He coughed as some if it went down a bit fast, but got over it quickly before either of the other two officers could come into the room. He flipped open a cupboard and grabbed a small plastic lunchbox, stuffing it into a backpack and pulled on a pair of trainers.
Dillan was the first in, a large black man, his parents both immigrants from Africa. His hair was brutally short and cold, merciless eyes dominated his face such a deep shade of brown they were almost black. He nodded at Aaron, his simple way of saying hello as he zipped up a tracksuit top over his muscular chest. Aaron returned the gesture as he finished knotting his shows. Abigail was soon out, tall, blonde and stunning all over she was one of the most desired women on the force, and not to put two fine a point on it, they lived in a two bedroom flat and Dillan didn’t share.
Aaron walked over and kissed her on the cheek, her skin was still damp from her shower and he was intoxicated by the smell of the shampoo lingering on her. “Bra,” he muttered into her. She looked down and could see the strap of her bra clearly through her shirt.
“Oh dear!” she giggled, “How terrible.” She winked at Aaron who was pleased. Being in such a playful mood could make the evening slightly more interesting.
“If you’re finished in their, I’m going to the toilet. Shan’t be a moment.”
After a quick pee, he came back into the hallway, wiping his wet hands on his tracksuit before going over to where Dillan and Abby were talking. “Are we off, then?” he asked.
“Might as well, it’s stopped raining so we can get most of the way dry…. Hopefully,” replied Dillan, slipping a key into the lock. Aaron playfully slapped Abby’s arse as they went out the door and jogged down the stairs to street level for the run to work.
Chapter 1
Panting, footsteps and the thudding of the rain. Marianne Schewski ran along the dank alleyway, her lungs burning with every step, desperation driving her onwards, forwards and away from the pursuer. The darkened streets of the British city played a home to many dank secrets, heightened by the growing crisis surrounding the homesteads, a fog of lies and deception sculpting, moulding.
A small path of blood was on the pavement, glinting in the half-light passed down by the moon. It wasn’t staying long, the rain washing it away after a few seconds, but the noise of the fear was enough to bring on the hunters. The trio of men, dressed fully in black with death masks upon their faces silently traversed the route, their movements hidden by the large flowing gowns they wore, making it seem as if they were gliding over the surface of the earth, supernatural creatures not right for this earth. They made no contact with each other, but simply stayed in line, moving at an even pace, turning in time, as if they had practised this hundreds of times before. The reality wasn’t that far from that.
Marianne looked around hopelessly as she made her way along the street, looking for anything, anyone. Her right arm was limp on her side as the blood leaked from the elbow, dripping along the ground, her dress not helping with the movement. It was an elegant little thing, navy in colour with no sleeves and the fabric coming down to just below the knees. She made a small whimpering sound as she carried on, fear adrenaline and anger feeding the pathetic outburst.
As one, the three rounded the street corner onto the old village market place styled promenade, a cobbled floor and concrete bollards preventing any vehicles entering. At the ungodly hour, nobody was traversing it, nobody wanted. Those with sense were indoors, others at the more heavily populated areas of the city at the multiple bars and clubs. The only other person was Marianne. Together, the men dropped their robes, revealing short-sleeved shirts, ties and trousers, all black, around thin bodies. The visible skin was ghostly pale in colour, their arms seeming to glow, while the death masks, still and taunting looked lifelessly at their victim. Three knives, ugly serrated things, designed not only to kill, but to cause maximum pain, damage and fear to their victims rose from their belts, the blades and the pale hands holding them flashing slightly in the light thrown down from the few streetlights dotted here and there.
Marianne thumped violently on the glass front of a typical village shop, one which in the window showed paintings, wooden chairs and woven baskets, as if trying to show an idyllic life. “Help me!” she cried, pitifully, her voice falling slightly with the sobs “Somebody, please…” She tailed off and span, her gut instinct dictating her moves. Behind, silently were the three men, the knives in their hands. “What do you want?” she pleaded at them, her eyes wide with fear, trying vainly to appeal to their sense of righteousness. For all it was worth, she could have been speaking to a wall, they stood their, the death masks looked on.
Marianne tried walking backwards, away. Every step she made was met by one from the three. Together, they herded her into a corner where she stood, back against brick panting. Still they came closer, raising the blades steadily with each step, closing the gap. There was no escape, nothing feasible.
Skin broke, sinews tore and organs collapsed as the three men repeatedly stabbed, the serrated edges of their blades causing more and more pain with each movement. Marianne fell onto the floor, bleeding, and still they carried on, mutilating her as screams left her lips, nothing but fear was on her mind, her body shutting down bit by bit. Consciousness left her, then life.
Chapter 2
[/u][/center]Aaron Mitchell slowly raised himself from the stained mattress stretching his arms and yawning loudly. He collapsed backwards, and stretched his arm out, wrapping his fingers around the small cell phone charging on his bedside table. He flicked open the screen to check for any messages, missed calls, some sort of contact with the outside world. There was none. He let out a sigh before pushing himself upwards with one arm.
Rotating, he got out of bed, walking in his underwear over to the window and pulled down the string on the blinds. Yet another wonderful day of rain and grey in the British capital, were his initial thoughts as he stopped and observed. Cars drove by, sending up large sprays of rain onto the pedestrians who hurried by in rain coats and umbrellas. He let out another sigh before turning and stumbling across the room to the small sink in a corner. He flicked the warm tap on, sending a small dribble out while he hunted around for a shirt and a pair of trousers. Finding fruit in his labour, he returned to the small mirror and looked at himself, as was his morning tradition. A deep set twenty-three year old face looked him back, eyes surrounded by shadow suggesting too much worry, not enough sleep. His light brown hair complemented his eyes, and he measured it with a pair of fingers, considering a haircut, but dare he be that outrageous in his day? Could he handle that excitement? He splashed water over his face to try and bring a bit more consciousness around. This failing, he flicked on the kettle in the squalid kitchen in the next room along while he slipped his clothes on to show some level of decency.
The intercom buzzed and he hopped over, one leg in his trousers, the other stuck halfway down. Nearly tripping in the process, he made it over to the phone by the door and pulled the receiver to his ear. “Hello?” he asked tentatively.
“Hello, Mr. Mitchell? Courier delivery.”
“Bring it up.” He replied pressing the button to unlock the door. Through the headset, he heard a buzzing.
“Sorry, sir, the doors not opening.” Was the reply of the delivery man, sounding slightly strained as if there were a few hundred better things he could be doing with his time.
“It’ll be the deadlock,” explained Aaron, “I’ll be down in a moment.”
Kicking at his trousers until they were on, Aaron pulled opened the door, grabbing his key on his way out. Barefoot, he hurried down the stairs, stopping about halfway down to skit past a large puddle of sick with something floating in it he’d rather not think about. “Bloody alccys” he muttered on his way past, careful not to dip his toes in the concoction. When he reached the bottom, he span the deadlock and manually opened the door to the bored looking delivery boy. “Hi,” muttered, Aaron, and he was greeted by a smile that said ‘I couldn’t care less’, causing Aaron to give up.
“Here, is you package, sir. Would you care to sign?” He stated, doing a routine he had repeated hundreds of times, opening up a shoulder bag and passing out a clipboard and an envelope. Aaron smiled slightly as he signed the slip, recognising the crest of the Metropolitan police on the back of the envelope. After initialling the paper and the delivery man leaving, he slipped the envelope open, pulling out the slip of paper.
‘Dear Sir,
We are pleased to announce that your police record and character checks have come up clean, and we would like to offer you a place in the Metropolitan Police, training starting as soon as possible’
Aaron stopped reading their, a grin dominating his face as he walked up the stairs. He felt something cold between his toes and looked down onto the ground and the large puddle. “Oh for fu-“
Aaron looked at the framed certificate above his bed; his room was a lot nicer than it had been a year ago. Police work was a well paying job, that had to be said and this had allowed him to upgrade from the terrible conditions he had previously been in. He know shared a rather nice little flat in a slightly nicer part of the city with a pair of other police officers. A small leather lounge suite, lots of wood and metal all over the place, it was indeed a very luxurious place to live in.
He released himself from the pull-up bar and dropped onto the floor gently, the white t-shirt under his tracksuit showing visible sweat stains. He shook his arms before walking out of the small office-gym room they kept stocked with weights, a treadmill and one of those Ab machines. He took a swig of water from the water bottle on the ground before walking down the corridor. He knocked on the first door he went by and called into it. “Abby, time to go!”
“Just a second!” Came the muffled reply as Aaron knocked on the next door.
“Sure, sure,” was the deep African reply from within the room.
Aaron carried on walking into the kitchen, squirting the remainder of the bottle’s contents down his throat. He coughed as some if it went down a bit fast, but got over it quickly before either of the other two officers could come into the room. He flipped open a cupboard and grabbed a small plastic lunchbox, stuffing it into a backpack and pulled on a pair of trainers.
Dillan was the first in, a large black man, his parents both immigrants from Africa. His hair was brutally short and cold, merciless eyes dominated his face such a deep shade of brown they were almost black. He nodded at Aaron, his simple way of saying hello as he zipped up a tracksuit top over his muscular chest. Aaron returned the gesture as he finished knotting his shows. Abigail was soon out, tall, blonde and stunning all over she was one of the most desired women on the force, and not to put two fine a point on it, they lived in a two bedroom flat and Dillan didn’t share.
Aaron walked over and kissed her on the cheek, her skin was still damp from her shower and he was intoxicated by the smell of the shampoo lingering on her. “Bra,” he muttered into her. She looked down and could see the strap of her bra clearly through her shirt.
“Oh dear!” she giggled, “How terrible.” She winked at Aaron who was pleased. Being in such a playful mood could make the evening slightly more interesting.
“If you’re finished in their, I’m going to the toilet. Shan’t be a moment.”
After a quick pee, he came back into the hallway, wiping his wet hands on his tracksuit before going over to where Dillan and Abby were talking. “Are we off, then?” he asked.
“Might as well, it’s stopped raining so we can get most of the way dry…. Hopefully,” replied Dillan, slipping a key into the lock. Aaron playfully slapped Abby’s arse as they went out the door and jogged down the stairs to street level for the run to work.
