Untitled Tale


So, this started off as a collab with two of my mates. My boy Thomas and my pal Jessica, but I don’t think they ever really had the time to really put as much energy into it as I did. Anywho ya’ll should check out there work, ArgylePaisley and Black Berries. When convenient, anywho, here’s what you folks came for..enjoy and please drop some feedback for your pal. It’s invaluable to my growth as an aspiring author.

 

********************

 

“Get up, Demon,” said the guard to the sleeping heap on the cot to the left of the diminutive cell.  “Someone’s here to see you.”

The heap shifted on its resting place but did not get up.  The guard rattled his riot stick irritably at the bars lining the small rectangular opening on the door, the room’s only window to the outside world.

“Come on, Demon,” the fully-armored guard called again, a little louder this time.  “Don’t make me come in there…”

The lying form on the metallic plank held up by two lengths of chain did not even so much as stir this time.  The guard grunted in annoyance and slipped his access card into the lock device beside the door’s knob.  There was an electronic beep and the thick steel portal swung open slowly to admit the security officer.

 

“It’s a suit, Demon,” the guard said, using the facility’s nickname for all office workers, which included lawyers, accountants, supervisors, anyone likely to come in looking sharp and expensive in an Armani.

“He’s probably here for your… hehe… parole terms.  Eh, eh?  HAHA–”

He had stepped too close.

 

The guard’s laughter was cut short by a sharp blow to the side of his abdomen, the area on his torso least protected by the SWAT armor draped over his body.  He doubled over and his helmet was instantly met with a crushing upward blow from the knee that sent a shock straight through the fiber metal protection and into the man’s skull.  He collapsed, twitching on the bare stone floor.

Running feet could be heard from outside and then three more of the armored guards appeared beyond the door, automatic weapons at the ready.  The lead guard aimed his firearm at the straitjacketed figure standing over the sprawled body of the earlier guard.

 

“What in the *fuck* is going on in here, Demon!?”

 

The man in the straitjacket, a man with close-cropped black hair that slanted at angles designed to enhance his glare, stared back at the lead guard, a snarl on his lips.  He didn’t seem to be very concerned about the numerous low-power machineguns trained on him.  “Who IS this newbie, Richard?”

 

From behind reflective visors, eyes closed in tired resignation and the guard lowered his weapon a little, relaxing a bit.  “His name’s Karl Madison, Demon, and he’s just been transferred here from some city schtick.  He’s green, Demon, just give him a-”

 

The Demon flipped the downed guard’s one hand onto his back and then the other one over it.  He lifted his heel over the prone guard’s form.

 

*KRAKK*

 

“-break,”  the guard leader outside finished removing his helmet and then palmed his face.  He shook his head and sighed.  “He’s the sixth this month, Demon.  Keep this up and the higher-ups will have to tie your feet up, too.”

 

“What was this yahoo babbling about?” said the prisoner, sitting down on his cell’s only furnishing.  He ignored the other guards as they dragged their unconscious comrade’s body from the floor, each taking care not to inconvenience the sitting man on the bench.

 

“Some law guy bringing a message from the government.  They want to talk to you about something, Demon, and it must be pretty important,” the guard called Richard explained, slinging his weapon behind him and then folding his arms.  “The suit wants to see you personally and he’s set an appointment since last month.  He’ll probably be bringing you a lovely briefcase full of complicated shit and whatnot.  Whatever it is, it’s gonna be heavy I’m betting.”

 

“Why wasn’t I told?” Demon glowered from his seat.

 

“We know how much you love surprises,” Richard snickered, grinning widely as he put his helmet back on.

 

“I hate surprises.”

 

Standing up, he followed as Richard led him from his cell when the two others returned from bringing Madison to the infirmary.  They followed the path of a single straight corridor that grew out directly from the doorway.  The walls of the corridor were featureless– the Demon’s cell was the only one in the area.

 

The party arrived at a large steel door that wouldn’t open before all three guards inputted their personal clearance numbers into the console embedded into the wall.  It opened into a room with another door that would only permit exit when pressure sensors confirmed that three guards and a prisoner were indeed passing through its interior, no more no less.  They emerged into the holding quarters for the rest of the inmates of New Alcatraz.

 

“DEMON!  DEMON!  DEMON!”

 

“We’ve… gained a few more since you first came in,” Richard said through the chanting and clamoring the prisoners on all levels of the holding areas were making as the Demon and his escort walked through.

 

“Ask me if I give a damn,” was the unenthusiastic reply.

 

They stepped into a complex of barred doors, each stationed by an armed unit of men.  At every checkpoint, those accompanying the Demon had to log their business in worn ledgers and the Demon was checked at every stop for any foreign object he might have gotten a hold of during his short traverse across the common holding cells.

 

Cameras observed the Demon’s progress from every angle, watching him as he strode through yet another lengthy corridor that led into a smaller hallway dotted with unmarked doors.

 

The four stepped into one to find a sharp-eyed blonde man already sitting at the table inside, waiting for them.  Before him was a neat stack of papers stamped with the ominous mark of ‘CONFIDENTIAL’.

 

The Demon smirked.  “Reginald Cray.  How’ve you been?”

 

“Fine, thank you for asking, Mr. Woodson,” the man nodded as the Demon was seated before him on the opposite end.  “And you?”

 

“Peachy,” the Demon smiled slightly, taking a short look at each of his escorts in turn.  They had turned into statues, standing at attention, ready and alert from beside and behind him.  Jordan regarded the man called Reginald with his stare again.  “Any other clients as difficult as me lately?”

 

“Really now, Mr. Woodson,” the lawyer said, flipping the folders before him open and perusing its contents.  “That’s hardly likely.  Your credentials are rather… ah… *unique*.  Now… let’s get started, shall we?”

 



 

The two at the table had been sitting for almost an hour.  One of them had been talking for just as long.

“Jordan D. Woodson,” the man in the suit droned on in his peculiarly emotionless, low voice.  “Do you understand the terms being given to you?”  There was a rustle of paper as the bespectacled lawyer looked up from his documents at the man sitting across him at the silvery metal table in the center of the otherwise featureless room.

 

The other man looked at him balefully with fiery, piercing green eyes.

 

“Do you understand the terms being offered you?” the bored-looking lawyer asked again, putting down his folder and then clasping his hands on the table.

 

Jordan smiled, partly revealing even white teeth.

 

“Let me get this straight,” he said slowly, leaning back on his seat, eyes half-lidding.  “The Maccivelli Syndicate is under new management- again- and this new ringleader is called Remy Forsythe.  He’s taken over where I left off and he’s expanding the Maccivelli into an international operation.  Now the government is afraid of what he can do but couldn’t stop him with its agents, can’t even find him.  Now, the guvs need someone familiar with the underground, someone familiar with the workings of the Maccivelli.  Someone strong and crazy enough to take Forsythe on.  The guvs want Forsythe stopped at any cost, and it figures that I’m the best person for the job.  And in return–”

 

“You get your empire back,” Cray finished for him tonelessly.  “With a few modifications, of course.  Do you understand, Mr. Woodson?”

 

Jordan eyed him intensely for a moment, an eyebrow cocked impudently, managing to look menacing despite his restrictive garb.  The three guards posted about him stood stock still, unimportant and ignored. Cray removed his glasses unconcernedly and began to wipe them with a piece of cloth.

 

And then the Demon began to laugh.

 



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  1. I do like this, but Wil, I have to say I’m surprised! As one of the members of my honored editorial team, one who I always call on in my painful time of needing some one else to beat my work like a dead horse, I do see some kinks in this work. I know it’s an early write up and that’s why you ask for feedback 🙂

    The story is MAD entertaining and I would like to read more as you release it, but it did leave me with a little, “um” and “why come”. I seek more details about how characters look for one. I think you have the most important features tied down, like that nefarious hair on the Demon, but I still can not seeeeeeeeee him. I wont rant but I do have other comments.

    I deeply enjoyed this, but I can see some areas were readers may desire more or need clarification.

    Like

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