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harveysburntside
13th Feb 2009, 05:22
Ok gang...
Thought I'd get a little fictional on y'all. I'm pretty stoked for the game, and thinking about it has gotten my creative juices flowing.
I imagined the end of the game, and what the condition of Gotham's underworld might be.
I'll have more soon, so when you've had a read let me know what you think. I'd love suggestions. (Lets keep it constructive)


1.
Let the rain pound. Let it wash away your scent. Let it slick the roofs. Let it cleanse your trail. Let it. I love it.
He crouched on a brickwork escarpment, the docks below and Arkham cloaked in Gotham River fog beyond that. Jokers mad plot may have ended with him predictably incapacitated, but now...
A moment from now I'll be gliding through a maze of fire-escapes and clotheslines, satellite dishes and waterpipes. Skulls will require cracking, weapons disarming. No time for dalliances. But just now... for now I can wait. Feel the rain pelt down.

They knew he was coming. Sub-machine gun fire erupted before his car had even rolled to a stop, and although Oswald had expected this, the sheer volume of bullets had overwhelmed his savagely stupid thugs and left him hunched against the rear of the well perforated limo. His open umbrella wobbled upside down and open in front of him while he fiddled an avian influenced explosive into readiness. Sweat rolled from his greasy scalp and down the bridge of his hideous nose. "Waugh...You knew this was coming LYLE! Don't think this...waugh... can be AVOIDED!" A pause in the gunfire and Oswald scoops up his umbrella, swings it round in front of himself and lurches out from hiding. The darkness popped away with a surge of firey ballistics tearing through the windows and doors of 1872 Calloway Lane, only to violently ricochet like Hollywood squibs on Oswalds armored umbrella. Completely hidden behind the open canopy he advanced against the rain of rounds. Thunder echoed loud and close by, the shots pre-empted by reloading. The fowl grenade flies over the umbrella and bounces across the walk, thumping onto the rickety wooden porch and righting itself atop ostrich legs. It can cluck. And when it begins to, a quick change of mind seems to take 1872's residents. First a single uzi sails from a shattered window, then a pair from another. Quickly a half-dozen firearms and a handful of small daggers litter the front lawn. The front door creaks and falls opens on bent hinges to reveal a massive brute, hands held up and empty.
Oswald's thin grinning lips and spitball sized bloodshot eyes rise up over the edge of his umbrella. "Say 'Uncle'," he spits.
Pointing to the bird-bomb, the big man can't stop from stuttering, "C-c'mon.. just turn it off."
Oswald's umbrella's collapsed, and waddling forward the fat little mobster wheezes some weird laughter and shows a remote in hand, "waugh waugh waugh, Lyle, it's already off. You know... waugh, I wouldn't lie." He's reached the porchsteps and Lyle steps gently out. "I didn't think it'd was y-..."
Oswalds remote beeps. Both men look at it, then the bird with surprise on their faces. The bomb clucks once more before detonating in a small controlled explosion. Oswald's slimy hair is blasted back, with a fine spray of blood dotting his visage and he grimaces at Lyles remains. "Sometimes these fingers of mine, waugh, you know... They don't always work so good."
It becomes obvious Lyle hasn't died, when pained moans drift up from his burnt lips. Oswald tosses the remote and waves his deformed hand before him. "You know that, how clumsy my hands can be, waugh. That was not my fault." Having mounted the steps by now, he clods over Lyle's remaining half, pulling a large modified revolver from a jacket holster and waddling into the house. "What are you morons STILL DOING HERE," he sqwuaks. Surprised voices precede a sharp ker-blam and white flash, before panicked hoodlums flee clumsily through the windows and door.

harveysburntside
14th Feb 2009, 06:20
Ok...
Would you like more?

2.
These gametrails never change. I can follow the scent of lies and murder from one den to the next.
His cape wrapped like a body bag, he stands still, tall and wedged into a tiny dark corner behind Lonnies Family Restaraunt.
They have the dumbest names for their watering holes.
He'd seen enough cocky looking swine swagger into this place in the last ten minutes to let those familiar fingers of hunt lust run up his spine. Now these last two cronies, coming round the corner without any warning.
My gears messed up. I should've waited a little more. Of course... Gear isn't everything.
He slid out of the darkness and behind the unsuspecting goons.


When he got up his hip was a tangle of furiously burning nerves. Slipping down the bloody steps, Oswald had cried an involuntary warble. His head snapped left and right, beady humiliated eyes searching for pointing fingers, gaping mouths. "waugh.... could happen to anyone." He rubbed at his hip and waddled towards the street. Snapping out a phone with one hand and swinging his umbrella overhead with the other, he mumbles a few inaudible words and closes the phone. His bullet pocked umbrella deflects a single raindrop a second before the sky opens with a blanket of swollen prcipitate. He's ugly, foul-smelling, socially dysfunctional... Oswald may be hated almost universally, but he's also proof that a man with obscene wealth, can, in Gotham, be whatever he sets his mind to. Only a moment later a sleek black towncar brakes at the curb in front of him. The door opens and waugh waugh-ing quietly, Oswald climbs inside.
"We've got men waiting at the club, Mr. Penguin. I doubt this new guy will argue much-," the little man in the opposite seat gilded officiously.
"Why's he there at all?"
"- only just settled in. Without my per-"
Oswald clapped his hands, the soggy leather smacking like monstrous lips. "WAUGH... shut up you fool... Why is he even there? What have I been paying you for? Or protecting your crippled wife? You let some... some... two-bit hood waltz into my main club?"
The slight, suited man slouched into his seat, handheld organizer slipping from his hand. "I... When your appeal was overturned, the accounts were weaken-"
Oswald screeches and slams the point of his umbrella down on his assistants loafered foot. The poor bastard howls and grabs at the freshly smashed extremity. The car lurches to a halt. The door swings open to rain pulsing off the sidewalk. Oswald squirms his way out of the seat and then the vehicle, turning to lean back in. "Now...waugh stop whining and get Selena on my phone," finally waddling away.

harveysburntside
2nd Aug 2009, 00:02
Bump.

Batman The Trailer Hunter
2nd Aug 2009, 00:27
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LemonLoafer
2nd Aug 2009, 12:46
..................................

I don't get it. :hmm:

Vaad
2nd Aug 2009, 12:52
Wall of text hits you for 1000k .. you are now dead