City Sweeper: Heart of War

[Comradebot]

This was my city.

But this is also my country. I left one, hoping to defend the other… but it was trick. There was war, there were battles, but they were not the kind I had dreamt. I was stuck in the desert, fighting for one while the other… the other wept. Ravenholme, it should’ve always been Ravenholme… a cancerous blight swept across its cold, grey sreets, festering and infecting and killing…

When my lips told the army that we were fighting the wrong war, they didn’t listen. When I spoke with my fist, they did.

Ravenholme… my city. It is there America knows true peril, not in some desert halfway around the globe. My Ravenholme… the disease has left her so withered, worn, desiccated, and corrupt that I barely recognized her face. The gangs, the murders, the psychopaths and sociopaths… they rule the city now, spreading fear, horror, and death to the innocent. They are a cancer corrupting all that was once good here, and the only way to save healthy tissue is to cut the cancer out.

My city, my Ravenholme… the streets are her veins…

*a soft sound of fabric as a vest slips over a dimly lit room*

… and now they’re filthy with scum, human scum….

*a tool cabinet squeaks open*

I aim to sweep these streets clean…

*a metal ‘schiick’ as knife slides into holster*

…one…

*a pair of clicks, magazine into gun…*

…bullet…

*… and safety off*

…at a time…


http://i32.photobucket.com/albums/d12/JodoKastTRL/CitySweeper-1.jpg
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“The City Sweeper has you in his sights, punks, and he’s gonna power-wash the streets clean with your blood!!!”

[Comradebot]

City Sweeper Issue#1: Grim Tidings... For CRIME!


http://i32.photobucket.com/albums/d12/JodoKastTRL/CitySweeper.jpg


The city stank of corruption and fornication, and ran rank with the wicked. Ravenholme may never have been a pretty city, but the piss-stains of humanity plastered across her did little to help. Police, politicians, the very so called “authority figures” this city thought they could trust now fell into one of two categories: either “A”, useless, or “B”, part of the problem themselves. There was a job to be done in this city, one apparently too messy for weaker men. To think, they call themselves Americans…

Through the still of night, the City Sweeper sticks close to wall and shadow alike. The streets are as desolate at this hour as they are every night. Few remain here, and fewer yet give the man in camo more than a curious glance. Long enough for some to realize he may not be easy prey, but never long enough to quite identify the object slung at his hip. A man with more enthusiasm than the rest of Ravenholme combined gleefully blurts outs the obvious from the safety of a radio station. Probably outside the city, too, Sweeper ponders to himself.

“… record highs continue folks, and for the eighth straight day the Ravenholme area can expect temperatures in the high 90s. Heck, I saw people cooking breakfast on the sidewalk this morning! And now “Action” Karl Jackson with sports!...”

Sports... I wonder how many of them aren’t rigged. He turned the corner, spying his target slinking a couple of blocks ahead. Less than the ones that are, I’m sure. Maybe none. The target swiveled his head, scanning the street before ducking out of sight. Slowly, carefully, quietly he continued to follow… approaching the edge of the alley he’d last seen the man he’d been following for the last hour enter. His back sunk into the wall, his ear scouting around its corner of brick and mortar.

“What? No… Kev…. Last night, ‘round three in the mornin’… yeah, by the river… Which river you think?... Uh hu… uh hu… uh hu…”

Quiet as a shadow, the City Sweeper slipped around the edge, greeted only by the gleam of streetlight on the back of a bald man’s head.

“C’mon man, you know he ain’t no match for Johansson… whattya mean he’s on steroids?”

Gently, he reach out a single finger, tapping the other man gently three times on the shoulder. He didn’t even bother to turn around to respond.

“Buddy, can’t you see I’m on the phone? Shop’s closed, come back late’.”

Idiot.

This time, the City Sweeper tapped less gently. And less “with a finger on his shoulder” and more “fist across the side of his head”, shattering the phone against his ear and sending the man sprawling into a respectably large pile of trash bags.

“OW, what the… ****, man!?”


http://i32.photobucket.com/albums/d12/JodoKastTRL/StabbyJoe.jpg


The Sweeper stood unmoving, watching a trickle of blood ooze out of the bald man’s right ear… and then the nearly nine inch blade draw from his hip.

“Hey, buddy, do you have any ****in’ clue who the **** I am? No, clearly, ya don’t. Othe’wise, you’d already know that I’m Mr. NOT THE KIND OF GUY YOU **** WITH! “

He watched the sociopathy swirl unbridled in his eyes.

“Information, punk.”

A cruel half-smile curled at the crazed man’s lips. “You want information? Yeah, and I want a busty blonde in a schoolgirl outfit. Don’t look like eitha’ of us is gettin’ what we want tonight. Howeva’, neva’ let it be said Stabby Joe isn’t a charitable man… so I’ll give you this instead.”

Lurching forward, Stabby Joe slashed his knife wildly through the air, never coming close to City Sweeper despite his best efforts. Violently, he stabbed forward with most of his weight well behind it… the Sweeper stepped the to the side, snatching his wrist and jamming a tazer into Joe’s ribs, it’s pulsing electrical hiss resonating with Joe’s on surprised yelp as he slumped to one knee. Again Stabby Joe slashed out, rising to his feet as his knife raised into the air, its edge scratching at the Sweeper’s chest. This time, however, the tazer’s shock entered through the side of his neck… followed by a hard fist to his face, sending him tumbling ass first to the pavement.

“The face?! Not even I go for the face you mutha-“

BANG!!!

The bullet hit just below his elbow, releasing an explosion of blood down his forearm. The dull sound of the knife falling to the pavement was a whisper under Stabby Joe’s fevered wailing.

“My arm, you ****in’ shot me in my ****in’ arm!”

Taking a couple of steps forward, City Sweeper raised the assault rifle again

“Be happy it wasn’t your face.” He pressed the barrel of the assault rifle to Joe’s forehead, freezing him instantly. “But the next time you won’t be so happy.”

“Oh c’mon, buddy, you don’t wanna do that.” He wiggled his way to his knees, trembling arms raised for mercy. “I’m sorry, I swear, I didn’t mean to try and stab you with a knife! I can’t help it, my motha’ didn’t love me and my pops used to beat me. And, like, the public schools, they let me down… just please don’t put a bullet in my head, I don’t know nothin’ I swear!”

Not so brave when someone can defend themselves, is he?

“You’re right, Joe, I’m not going to put a bullet in your head…” he lowered the rifle an inch… only to jerk it back up to Joe’s head, “I’m going to put a dozen of them in there! But not tonight. Tonight, even a worthless punk like you is better off alive. Now, information-“

“I told you, I don’t know nothin’!”

“I don’t want information, I want YOU to pass along some information, a message. Go find your boss and all the other criminal vermin you can… and you tell them this. You tell them to pray to whatever dark God is willing to listen to scum like you for mercy, tell them to slink back into the deepest and darkest shadows they can find and hope that I never find them. But I will find them, and when I do I’ll use Gia here,” the Sweeper lovingly pats his rifle, “to sweep every last one of them out of this city and into the depths of Hell itself. Either they can face justice, or I’ll bring it to their doorstep. The choice is there’s.”

City Sweeper steps back, lowering his rifle, allowing Stabby Joe to (cautiously) get back to his feet. Before I change my mind about turning your skull into a donut, punk. Almost as if he could sense the Sweeper’s thoughts, Stabby Joe turns on his heel and sprints away down the alley, leaving the Sweeper to wonder if the trail of liquid leading out the other side of the alley was there before or not…

“Wow,” the voice from above caught him off-guard, and the started City Sweeper raised his rifle toward the fire escape, “I didn’t know Stabby Joe was such a fast runner.” The slim figure gracefully threw herself over the railing, landing without a sound next to the clearly suspicious City Sweeper. She reached out a gloved black hand, the same color as the mask that her face hid behind.


http://i32.photobucket.com/albums/d12/JodoKastTRL/MidnightFox.jpg


“Folks call me Midnight Fox. What do they call you?”

[Comradebot]

OOC: So yeah, this is a pretty new writing style for me... so all feedback and creative criticisms are welcome.

[MJStark]

Awe....some!!!!!

[SGRaaize]

OOC: So yeah, this is a pretty new writing style for me... so all feedback and creative criticisms are welcome.

Amazing, when I check this board, I can see a good bunch of dynasties, all of them great in their own right, but I gotta say, yours is the best as of now.

Keep up the amazing work.

[DJenerationT]

Great start! I really enjoyed it. I'm really tempted to write for Midnight Fox since I started a save and I really really like her character.

With all these Ravenholme Fics there's space for a decent colab universe story arc.

[Jman2k3]

Loving the write up.

We all know City Sweeper fears The Coog. :p

[cmdrsam]

Looks good so far. Even if there is no Stateman around. :p

[Comradebot]

City Sweeper Issue#2: Bullets, Blades, and Blood!A plus-sized issue!


http://i32.photobucket.com/albums/d12/JodoKastTRL/CitySweeper.jpg


She hadn’t left him alone in days (nights in all honesty, but the heat rising from the pavement would have you believe otherwise). Last night had been no different, despite all efforts. The streets of Ravenholme were more abandoned than the night he’d “met up” with Stabby Joe: either the scum were just staying a step ahead of him and retreating to the grime of their lairs before he happened upon them, or the message he’d sent along with the knife-wielding lunatic had spread faster and with more potency than expected. I should’ve sent him scrambling to his masters an eye or hand less… or without half a pair of another body part. He paused briefly, looking over what remained of the old movie theater, now no more than a crumbling ruin fenced off from the world (though that didn’t stop teenagers from vandalizing and fornicating within, that he was sure of). Maybe then they would’ve realized they should’ve listened.

And then, he wasn’t alone.


http://i32.photobucket.com/albums/d12/JodoKastTRL/MidnightFox.jpg


Maybe she’d been following him all night, or perhaps she’d just now stumbled across him, spotting him as he hunted in the shadows. Did he just not hear her soft footsteps on the sidewalk, or had she been up on the rooftops once again? At least she’s not in the movie theater creating another child to be fed with welfare money. Never-the-less, he grunted his displeasure at her presence.

“You look lonely out here,” Midnight Fox said, sauntering up behind him.

“Go home, Fox. A girl like you shouldn’t be out on these streets at night.” Or during the day, as wrong as this city has become. The City Sweeper returned to his patrol, turning down the next side street he could, picking up his pace as he turned the corner. Behind, softer steps quickened with his own. He kept his eyes forward and scanning for signs of danger, but never looked behind him. Maybe if he didn’t she’d just go away. Home, maybe, or possibly some place safe… or just some place that wasn’t four feet away from him.

The silence was too much to ask for.

“Why do you use a gun?” she blurted out, clearly not content to just walk behind him.

“Because asking a murderer not to use his usually doesn’t work.”

“I don’t use a gun.”

“And? Do you think that’ll make the lowlife scum of Ravenholme from using them? We’re more likely to see Captain Awesome fly down from Principal City and take a shit on the steps of city hall than one of these punks willingly fight fairly. Me? I’ve got my equalizer,” he stroked his rifle with the affection one might give a kitten; “She’ll make any fight a one on one fight, if I ask her politely.” The Sweeper’s finger toyed at the trigger, and for an instant he was almost sad he had no reason to squeeze it.

“Guns aren’t right. The bad guys use guns all the time, so what makes you any better than they are?”

“They use guns to sow terror and suffering to innocent Americans, and for the sick pleasure of it. I use a gun to stop them.” Though I’d be lying if I said I didn’t enjoy putting a round through someone who deserved it.

Her voice just grew more frantic, startling a bum curled up under a doorway before he settled back into his bed of old newspapers and what might’ve been a dead pigeon.

“Does every criminal in this city deserve that? Would you shoot a purse-snatcher as easily as a rapist? Maybe the justice system should deal with them, I mean, that’s what it’s there…”

Hah, the government capable of properly dealing with crime...the ignorance of youth, poor girl.

Still, he didn’t run her off. Midnight Fox’s soft footsteps followed his own for the whole night as she pleaded her case, telling stories of how she stopped a couple of Frat Boys from stealing a car and how now they were actually going to college, and how she was the reason Big Kev had spent the last two months walking with a limp (though he didn’t know what that had to do with guns, as he hadn’t heard anything about Big Kev not still being a sadistic, cold-hearted prick). If the scum were always a step ahead or lying low, and they never poked their heads out. It was just him and the wide-eyed (he assumed, under her mask) girl with her naïve, idealistic beliefs. And something on his lips, for no more than half a second… a feeling he hadn’t felt since…




But that was last night. Tonight, tonight City Sweeper was alone and off the streets. Instead he loomed over them from the rooftop of a well-weathered inner city apartment building. More like a damned commie tenement, he thought. This part of Ravenholme was knee-deep in the cesspool of its villainy, yet it’d been oddly quiet for the last week. Too quiet, save a couple of parking violations and one incident of public urination (the man was drunk enough that he still managed to piss himself when the Sweeper came up behind him.)

It’d been too long, something was happening tonight. Or so the City Sweeper’s gut told him, but neither police radio (“borrowed” out of the car of a cop he was positive to be corrupt) nor binoculars showed any signs his gut was right.

“*This is patrol car 115, requesting back-up for an eighty-two niner on Castlerock.*”

Eight-two niner on Castlerock… code for a “donut run at Dudley’s Donuts”. He sighed.

Then, a scream pierced the night.

It came from behind, no more than a block away. A second shriek let out, along with a sharp shatter of glass. City Sweeper wasted no time: he gathered up his rifle and rappelled down from the roof to the alley below. Quickly and quietly he crept, heading slightly downhill through the alleyway. A street drew closer at the alley’s end, along with the signs of trouble: a lone car (a rusted heap of a station wagon), standing awkwardly by the sidewalk with a pair of its tires slashed. The Sweeper emerged from the alley, observing the shattered driver-side window… and a huge gash across the windshield. Small, crimson dots of blood trickled and trailed from the car, to the sidewalk, and through the door.

The City Sweeper eased up on it, muffled cries and a loud crash coming from inside. He paused briefly, listening…

“We know you’ve been holding out, old man. Tax evasion makes me sick…”

“Please, Magni, we don’t have any money to spare. Too many customers are too scared to-“

A sickening metallic sound and agonized cry cut the voice off.

“Blood or money, old man, blood or money. The Nightmares will have their cut.”

The City Sweeper edged the door open… amongst over-turned tables and shattered ketchup bottles, an old man laid on the floor, blood dripping from a wound across his arm as a younger man and woman huddled by him in the corner. Towering over them, an opposing figured in black, red dripping from one of his wicked blades. The Sweeper’s rifle raised as he carefully aimed…

And the door swung close, creaking… and creaking… loud, long, and obnoxiously. Magni spun around, eyeing the man aiming the gun at him.



http://i32.photobucket.com/albums/d12/JodoKastTRL/Magni.jpg



“And who might you be?”

“I’m the guy with the gun. Know who that makes you?” Sweeper thought he could see a smirk under the mask.

“Magni, enforcer for the Nightmares.”

“Wrong. You’re the man who’s about to get shot.”

Magni charged ahead, right into the gunfire from City Sweeper. But I had to have hit him, he thought as one of the blades came crashing down, the rifle blocking its blow as Magni sliced down. Whirling like a madman, Magni pressed the assault, even catching City Sweeper across the arm as he dove over the bar with the edge of a blade. The City Sweeper raised his rifle over the bar, unloading a fully-automatic spread, sending Magni scrambling for cover behind one of the nearby tables. Condiments and cheap linoleum and vinyl took to the air as the bullet storm rained down. The woman screamed hysterically… causing just enough of a distraction: Magni lept over his cover and over the bar, his blades crashing down on City Sweeper’s rifle with enough force to send it skittering across the tile floor and sprawling the Sweeper out on the floor. Magni was on him in an instant. His blades came down, the Sweeper catching one wrist and wriggling his head out of the way of the other. The ridiculous black crap he’s wearing must be some kinda body armor… probably thinks that’ll save him. It won't. The blade came down again, nearly shaving one side of the City Sweeper’s face.

The City Sweeper had enough of this crap. His raised one foot rudely, striking Magni between the legs, then caught him in the belly, monkey flipping the man in black overhead.

“I just kicked you in the balls,” the City Sweeper rose, pulling his bowie knife from over his shoulder, “Now I’m gonna cut them off and feed em' to you, punk.” He charged ahead, slicing at Magni as he stumbled to his feet, catching him across the chest and forearm, cutting through his queer body armor and sending a fine spray of blood across the diner. Magni, however, struck back, his axe-like blades cutting through the air… one catching City Sweeper painfully in the hip. Even the Sweeper couldn’t help but grunt in pain, but managed to catch Magni with a backhand across the face before Magni could capitalize.

Sweeper rolled backwards, pulling his rifle back up off the ground. He raised it again, ready to fire…

“Go ahead, try me,” Magni held the blade precariously close to the young woman’s throat, a single red drop trickling down towards her chest, “Either you can fire through her to get to me, or I’ll slit her throat.”

The City Sweeper paused… and lowered his rifle. Again, he thought he could see that sadistic smirk under the mask. Let’s see you smile now, scumbag.

“Throat it i-“ Magni stopped midsentence as he tried to understand the object City Sweeper flung underhand from his waist. The City Sweeper ducked behind the bar, just long enough to not be caught in the sonic stun grenade’s blast. The woman fell from Magni’s clutches, just as disoriented as the lunatic who had threatened her life. Magni himself stumbled backwards, dropping his blades as his arms flailed about looking to grab anything that could keep him on his feet.

But it didn’t matter.

The City Sweeper reloaded and unloaded, a full spray of gunfire ripping through the air and catching Magni square in the chest. The last round penetrated his ridiculous armor, sending a geyser of blood out of both sides of his shoulder as his pirouetted through the air, crashing through the door and to the pavement below. The City Sweeper stalked ahead, keeping his rifle up until he had a clean shot at Magni’s skull.

Magni was helpless, defeated… but still a sadistic son of a bitch. He had to die, he was criminal scum... but a voice whispered to him, “What makes you any better than they are?”

His finger slid off the trigger. Instead of a bullet, Magni’s skull only had to contend with the butt-end of the rifle driving his head back into the pavement, knocking him out cold. Inside, he could hear the young man’s quivering voice as he called the police. He’s not going anywhere… we’ll try it her way tonight.

The City Sweeper slunk off into the night, never giving the people in the diner a chance to thank him. From the shadows he watched, a swarm of cop cars racing by down the empty streets of Ravenholme… and a swarm of cops, the look of surprise on their faces as Magni lay wrapped up like a birthday gift on the sidewalk.