Brodie
10-13-2002, 11:43 AM
The Foot, or what was left of them, had all hid within the shelter of the old Bends Co., factory on Fletch and 9th. There were 12 left. All between 14 and 17. Children. The group used to be large, huge. Ages 12 through 26. And now? The group was slim. Many killed by The Shredder himself.
The Shredder. A myth. Something of Children's dreams. Nightmares. There was no truth to the story, right? A man in a dark cloak, spiked claws upon his hands, a helmet and mask that hid his true identity. The blades. The claws. Sharp enough to tear flesh, to impale a human body. . .Or a turtle's. . .
The whole story was clouded. A villian from a Japanese background. Four heroes, masked as well, a human hero, his true friend being his weapons. . . The story is much like that of a Zodiac. A Zodiac of destruction.
The Shredded Man: The dark creature that haunts children, people. Bent on destruction for what had happened to himself.
The Intellect: One of the heroes. Masked in purple. Fighting a battle that may be lost. His reason? Too save those who need it.
The Hellbent: Masked in Red, Crimson. Fighting the battle in the most violent of ways. Why? Revenge.
The Jester: Masked in Orange. Fighting the battle for a reason he knows not.
The Truest: Masked in Blue. He fights because there needs to be a battle. He fights for truth, for justice, but he couldn't give two cents about "The American Way".
The Darkness: Masked in darkness. Fighting because he is sick. Sick of destruction, battles, and bloodshed. His methods are made of what he hates. He causes destruction, and bloodshed.
This Zodiac tells what will happen, not what Might. Much like a deck of Tarrot cards, this Zodiac will tell the fates of those involved. . . What if these lives were destined to be told in a drawing of cards? What fate would each hold? What part would they play?
The Foot were torn. Torn between their once master and their newly found allies. Some thought it wise to side with the four heroes, some thought it best to try and find the Shredder, thinking he would save them from destruction. . .
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"Hey, scumbag! Get off the lady, she asked you nicely. I believe her words were: "Help, get off me you ****-faced creep!" Notice the 'Get-Off'. . ."
The man holding the woman lifted a brow at the opposing-force. The Opposer? A man in a hockey-mask, black haird that drifted over the mask slightly. Maybe twenty-two, maybe twenty-three, but that might be a stretch.
He was Casey Jones, an Anti-Hero. His methods would be frowned upon by the likes of 'Spider-Man', and other various 'Super-Heroes'. But Jones didn't care.
The other man was Vincent Deeder, a sloth of a man that couldn't score a digit off of the opposite sex. (Legend had it that even Oprah didn't drop even 3) Deeder was sniffling, Casey could see snot dribbling down Deeder's face.
"Just chill-out, 'Jason'!" Deeder called out, a poor-attempt at a Horror-Flick Joke. "This ain't Friday The 13th, Mistah' Vorheese!" And another.
"Wow, that was dandy, You pick that up off the 'Tube? Because that was, well, just Grand!" Caseynarrowed his eyes under his mask, his sarcasm couldn't be missed.
Jones spun his hockey-stick. Deeder widened his eyes. Casey pulled his arms back and swung. But Deeder was still holding the woman. . . Surely Casey would hit her. . .right? Not a chance, the stick came across, smacking across Deeder's neck.
Deeder lost his breath. He couldn't breathe. Jones had hit the spot. Deeder dropped the woman, and she ran.
"Yeah, I take 'Thank-You' payments with Visa, Master-Card, and Amer-. . . American Express. . . Why do they always run?" Jones looked down at the collapsed, gasping Deeder, now speaking to him. "Jeeezus! It's like a guy in a hockey mask, running around like a lunatic can't even get a date without the babe acting like I'm some guy in a hockey mask, running around like a lunatic!"
Casey furrowed a brow at Deeder, who's face was turning blue.
"Whatta' you? A smurf?" He snickered." See? I can make bad jokes too. I bet you wanna' breather, don't you? That'd be nice, hm?"
Casey lifted his hockey-stick, and swung it down, the force cracked the stick upon Deeder's bony-chest. Deeder gasped, taking in as much air as possible.
"Now. Promise to be a good Boy, and I'll let you go."
"I- . . . I pro-. . .promise. . ."
"Good." Casey tightened his grip on what was left of his hockey-stick. "You bastard. . ." He swung, breaking the stick on Deeder's face, blood splattered onto the sidewalk.
"One good deed and no one to see. . ." Casey started to walk home.
He was wrong. Someone did see. . . A shrouded figure, shrouded in darkness. . .
". . .One. . . Only five more to complete. . ."
The Shredder. A myth. Something of Children's dreams. Nightmares. There was no truth to the story, right? A man in a dark cloak, spiked claws upon his hands, a helmet and mask that hid his true identity. The blades. The claws. Sharp enough to tear flesh, to impale a human body. . .Or a turtle's. . .
The whole story was clouded. A villian from a Japanese background. Four heroes, masked as well, a human hero, his true friend being his weapons. . . The story is much like that of a Zodiac. A Zodiac of destruction.
The Shredded Man: The dark creature that haunts children, people. Bent on destruction for what had happened to himself.
The Intellect: One of the heroes. Masked in purple. Fighting a battle that may be lost. His reason? Too save those who need it.
The Hellbent: Masked in Red, Crimson. Fighting the battle in the most violent of ways. Why? Revenge.
The Jester: Masked in Orange. Fighting the battle for a reason he knows not.
The Truest: Masked in Blue. He fights because there needs to be a battle. He fights for truth, for justice, but he couldn't give two cents about "The American Way".
The Darkness: Masked in darkness. Fighting because he is sick. Sick of destruction, battles, and bloodshed. His methods are made of what he hates. He causes destruction, and bloodshed.
This Zodiac tells what will happen, not what Might. Much like a deck of Tarrot cards, this Zodiac will tell the fates of those involved. . . What if these lives were destined to be told in a drawing of cards? What fate would each hold? What part would they play?
The Foot were torn. Torn between their once master and their newly found allies. Some thought it wise to side with the four heroes, some thought it best to try and find the Shredder, thinking he would save them from destruction. . .
----------------------------------------
"Hey, scumbag! Get off the lady, she asked you nicely. I believe her words were: "Help, get off me you ****-faced creep!" Notice the 'Get-Off'. . ."
The man holding the woman lifted a brow at the opposing-force. The Opposer? A man in a hockey-mask, black haird that drifted over the mask slightly. Maybe twenty-two, maybe twenty-three, but that might be a stretch.
He was Casey Jones, an Anti-Hero. His methods would be frowned upon by the likes of 'Spider-Man', and other various 'Super-Heroes'. But Jones didn't care.
The other man was Vincent Deeder, a sloth of a man that couldn't score a digit off of the opposite sex. (Legend had it that even Oprah didn't drop even 3) Deeder was sniffling, Casey could see snot dribbling down Deeder's face.
"Just chill-out, 'Jason'!" Deeder called out, a poor-attempt at a Horror-Flick Joke. "This ain't Friday The 13th, Mistah' Vorheese!" And another.
"Wow, that was dandy, You pick that up off the 'Tube? Because that was, well, just Grand!" Caseynarrowed his eyes under his mask, his sarcasm couldn't be missed.
Jones spun his hockey-stick. Deeder widened his eyes. Casey pulled his arms back and swung. But Deeder was still holding the woman. . . Surely Casey would hit her. . .right? Not a chance, the stick came across, smacking across Deeder's neck.
Deeder lost his breath. He couldn't breathe. Jones had hit the spot. Deeder dropped the woman, and she ran.
"Yeah, I take 'Thank-You' payments with Visa, Master-Card, and Amer-. . . American Express. . . Why do they always run?" Jones looked down at the collapsed, gasping Deeder, now speaking to him. "Jeeezus! It's like a guy in a hockey mask, running around like a lunatic can't even get a date without the babe acting like I'm some guy in a hockey mask, running around like a lunatic!"
Casey furrowed a brow at Deeder, who's face was turning blue.
"Whatta' you? A smurf?" He snickered." See? I can make bad jokes too. I bet you wanna' breather, don't you? That'd be nice, hm?"
Casey lifted his hockey-stick, and swung it down, the force cracked the stick upon Deeder's bony-chest. Deeder gasped, taking in as much air as possible.
"Now. Promise to be a good Boy, and I'll let you go."
"I- . . . I pro-. . .promise. . ."
"Good." Casey tightened his grip on what was left of his hockey-stick. "You bastard. . ." He swung, breaking the stick on Deeder's face, blood splattered onto the sidewalk.
"One good deed and no one to see. . ." Casey started to walk home.
He was wrong. Someone did see. . . A shrouded figure, shrouded in darkness. . .
". . .One. . . Only five more to complete. . ."