I was in a storybook recently, Robinhood Gang 2, in which my character, Max Washman (http://www.youngwriterssociety.com/topic59997.html) ran away. I like the character, and I want to tell those Storybookers what's happening to him after leaving. Besides, I joined in the second chapter of RHG, so this can help me to bring him back for a third chapter (if it gets that far). If you're not a Robinhood Gang storybooker, I would reccomend you read the Robinhood Gang 2 storybook up to when I left. With that, enjoy!
A while back, I ran away from a life. That life was the life of a heroic criminal. It was a life that turned from action and killing, what I loved, into a life of drama and boredom, what I despise. I drove away, looking for something more, and today, I found it.
I drove the highways with an autopilot on in my car, playing my guitar as the car practically drove itself straight down the road. Some people thought it was cool, and there was even an article written in the Rolling Stone magazine about me, nicknaming me "Driver Down", after the Van Halen album Diver Down. It wasn't the biggest article, and I wasn't by any means famous, but it was a bit cool, especially since they didn’t actually ask me anything, they just wrote it off of what they could tell from looking at me.
I like to say that I'm pretty much under control over my ego, but when, like now, when there's a sign in the middle of Nevada that says "Please Stop By, Driver Down", I just have to see what they want. I pulled over right next to the sign, and next thing I knew, bullets were shooting right at my car. I ducked down and tried to find a gun in my car, but I forgot one, for no reason whatsoever. Maybe I didn't think I'd be shot at.
I just stayed down, and hoped for the best. All that I actually got was a baseball bat to the face.
***
I woke up and looked around. I wasn't in my car anymore, and instead, I was in what felt like an oversized janitor's closet. It was dark, smelled of chemicals, and underground. I was tied up to a chair in the center of the room, with some of the toughest knots I'd ever felt. I wasn't getting out of here easily. Who the hell wanted me here?
As I heard somebody close a door ahead of me, I discovered who this mystery person was, and even he was still a mystery to me. He wore a large top hat over some long, curly, black hair. He had black leather pants and a black leather jacket over a red and blue t-shirt, and had a bunch of scars on his face. This guy looked like a musician named Slash...a man who OD'd about ten years ago.
I think my jaw was broken, but it was numb, like somebody tried doing surgery on it. I couldn't say a word, but I tried making noise. The man in the top hat just ignored it. He was preparing himself to say something.
"Sorry to take you by surprise, but we prefer to fake the deaths of our newest workers", he said. I tried speaking again, but even I couldn't understand the sound coming out of my mouth.
"Allow me to introduce myself", he said, "My name is Slash the Second, but you can just call me SS. And yes, I'm really the son of that guitarist Slash. Biologically, anyways. He donated sperm one day, and somebody ended up getting it. I can play the guitar, but it's not my passion. That little life love is your, ain't it?".
This guy was just being all talk and making no sense. Was I supposed to know who he was? Either way, he just kept going.
"We know who you used to be. You're name's Max Washman, and you used to be a musician. You changed your face and facial hair after disappearing to Spain, and only were recently found again by the Rolling Stone article. We recognized you, and we remembered your past. We pulled some strings, we know you killed that girl you liked and her family".
It was around now when I tried to get up out of the chair. Yes, I killed Joan those many years ago, but I was still pissed off every day about it to myself. And somebody else knew and was rubbing it in? I felt strong enough to break his neck with my mind. Unfortunately, I'm not actually that strong in the least.
"Easy now", SS calmly spoke, "You weren't caught by a government, and since that article came out, do you know what's happening? The government of Spain and the US are looking for you. If you want to stay out of jail, I'd stick with us. We could use you, and frankly, you don't have much of a choice. Thanks to our gunfire at your car, you're presumed dead, and we can keep you that way".
How could I go argue with that? I suppose it all made sense, and SS was far too confident to be bluffing. My mouth started gaining back it's feeling, so I tried to speak.
"Dephens", I spat out, "Who'sh we?"
"Just a little club called The Paradise Killers", answered SS, "but I'll tell you about it later. Get some rest, we'll get talking tomorrow". SS pulled out a knife and cut the ropes off. I didn't struggle.
"You got a bed over there, bathroom's over there, mini kitchen's over there, and we'll come down for you when we need you. Stay down until we call you", said SS, pointing around at each of the things he named. He left the room and closed the door on his way out. I walked over to the bed and started trying to go to sleep. I didn't know what I was supposed to expect, but I did have one little thought in my head; it still was more exciting than the Gang. Then again, I wouldn't be in this situation in the first place if I hadn't left. Whatever. I was tired, and the day would start tomorrow. The confusion was killing me, but the lack of sleep was even more.
***
I woke up to a gunshot from the door, which hit the ceiling above my head. A bit of stone dust fell down onto my face. I spat out what got in my mouth and sat up right. The person who fired the gun wasn’t SS. He had a military green trench coat on, and had tattoos painted all over his bald head and face. I did not want to fuck with this guy, especially when he put his pistol back into his trench coat, among a larger amount of guns. It was surprisingly well organized, but still frightening, nonetheless.
“You could just say ‘wake up’, you know”, I said to him, wiping more ceiling dust from my face. He grunted and signaled with his arm to follow him. I got up and went up the stairs, and I didn’t expect to see what I did.
It was a giant warehouse. I mean huge. I was just on an empty highway earlier at my car, and didn’t see a thing like this. What was weirder was that it was empty, for the most part…there were some maps and headshot photos on the walls, and a few gun racks, but there was nothing in the entire center of this place. It was like a giant school gymnasium, but for…
I started putting the pieces together in my head. Guys threatening me and faking my death, many a gun around, pictures of faces and places, and from what SS told me earlier, they were called the Paradise Killers. Killers! These guys were murderers, but who the hell were they killing?
I walked up to the wall to take a look, and they looked like average people. A blonde teenager, some old guy in a suit, a couple of doctors…actually, a lot of doctors. A few of the maps had some papers taped up next to some spots with schedules, which I’d assume were of these people.
“Whaddya think?”, cockily asked a voice from across the warehouse. It was SS.
“Are you guys killing these people?”, I asked. That was much stupider of a question than I thought.
“Glad to see your jaw’s fine, King here hit you pretty hard”, SS said, ignoring my question. He was right, it felt perfectly fine. I looked at who SS was pointing to; it was trench coat guy. He grunted and walked out of the warehouse.
“Does he talk?”, I asked. I was a little curious, actually. He seemed to just want to talk with guns and a baseball bat, as it seemed.
“Mute, actually”
“No shit?”
“Not a one”
I felt a little sorry for the guy, but then I remembered that I had a few more concerns than a tattoo covered lunatic.
“Are you going to answer my first question?”
“Oh relax, why don’t you”, SS said, “There’s no rush”
SS walked up to the wall I was looking at and he ripped one of the pictures and schedules off the wall. He ripped them up and left the shreds on the ground.
“We do that when it’s done”, he said, “It’s a little tradition”
“When what’s done?!?”
“When they’re dead”, he answered. I think I understood a lot, just why…so, why not directly ask it?
“Why are you killing these people?”
“Why not?”
Wow…that’s one of the weirdest things I’d ever heard. At least the people I killed out of anger had a reason to die. These guys were just straight up Serial Killers, murdering for the fun of it. At least, that’s what it seemed like.
“So that’s why you want me in this group? So I can help you kill a bunch of random people?”
“Two things”, SS said, lifting two fingers, “We don’t want you, we’re making you. We can kill you, no question, and it wouldn’t matter to us. Second, they aren’t random. They’re villains, idiots, prisoners, masterminds, all hiding behind a fiction of niceness”
“What the hell are you talking about?”
“It’s called a silver lining. There’s a reason for anybody to be killed, as nice as they seem, and wherever they are. We just try and write down that silver lining and we do what needs to be done. It’s called justice, and I’m pretty sure it’s something you believe in, Mr. Kill-his-girlfriend-and-his-family”
I didn’t over-react. I don’t think that he knew about the Gang at all, but he was lucky then. I almost did agree with him, I was a provider of justice at all costs. I stole from the rich with the gang…what’s wrong with killing some villains that aren’t rich?
Then again, I’m not a serial killer. Was I? Was SS really getting to me? All of a sudden, as these thoughts came into my head, all these concerns, I just instantly got a splitting headache. I mean a ridiculously splitting one. It felt like my brain was breaking through my skull I grabbed the top of my head and got on my knees it was so strong. It started fading for a moment, and I felt the back of my neck, and there…there was a Band-Aid.
“Why’s there a band-aid on me?” I asked SS. He gave a little laugh and a smile.
“Oh, that’s just from a syringe we used to fill you up with a little chemical concoction. It helps you do what you want”
“What do you mean ‘do what I want’?”
“Forces your brain to not stress itself. You get a headache whenever you stress out. Don’t worry, you’ll forget about it in a week. You learn to avoid the pain, and eventually, you become completely fearless. It helps when you’re killing people”
“You’re fucking sick”
“Sick with genius”, he remarked. I got back on my feet and felt my head feeling better. He seriously injected a Serial Killer formula into my head? I was a little curious if he’d used it before on anybody else…what if King was normal before? What if he was a pet shop owner before he became a weapon holding psycho?
I stopped asking myself hypothetical questions after another headache started warming up. I looked over at SS to see he was checking out all of the pictures on the wall. He looked indecisively at a bunch of them, and then he snapped at one that he seemed satisfied with. He pulled it off the wall, as well as a few other pieces of paper. He signaled me to come over to him. He pointed at the map on the wall.
“This person can be your first”, said SS, “She’s a stage manager for NBC in New York. It’s pretty urban, so if you find a good hiding spot, you can take her down and have pretty low worry on getting caught”
“Why?”
“What?”
“Why am I killing her? What ‘silver lining’ is there?” I asked, making air quotes with my fingers on the words ‘silver lining’.
“According to these, she’s also renting out a second apartment, and just kicked the poor guy out”
I could’ve asked what the reason for kicking him out was, but those headaches…I think I was actually afraid of them. They hurt like hell, and if those didn’t kill me, SS or King probably would. I looked at the gun rack and pulled out two weapons; an amazing camouflage painted sniper rifle, and the largest pistol I could see. It was pretty damn big, and the bullets matched. I grabbed a few clips for each weapon from the side of the rack, and started walking to the outside. SS followed me to the door, and before I opened the door, I remembered that they shot my car into scrap.
“How do I get there?”, I asked. He smirked and opened the door for me, and there was a parking lot with about 50 different cars in it, each one more amazing than the last. Some recreations of old famous cars, like a Dolorean and what looked like a Ghostbusters van, a few Hondas and Fords.
“Can I paint them?”, I asked. SS grabbed a can of spray paint from the ground and threw it to me; it was a dark blue paint. I looked at his feet and saw a bunch more, and I sprayed the Ghostbusters van jet blue throughout (except for the windows, of course). I put the guns in the back, and I got in the drivers seat to find the keys in the ignition.
“What happens if I don’t kill her?”, I asked.
“Death from a headache. You’ll stress your mind too much if you deny doing something that anybody else has asked of you. You need to listen to your heart and your head, and act upon it. That mental freedom’s why I call us the Paradise Killers; we’re all doing what’s right, and we’re doing it without any imaginary rules blocking us. We do whatever the hell we want, we're completely free, and we’re happy about it. Now get driving”
I began driving. Maybe it was the Serial Killer serum, but SS was making quite a bit of sense to me. But was I really not free before? It was weird…maybe that Gang actually straightened me out into some sort of square who’s stuck living by the rules.
New York was a day or two or three. I had no guitar, so I just turned on the radio. This was going to be a pretty boring ride. About an hour in, I looked in the glove compartment, and I found something most people dreamed of; it was filled with $20 bills. I checked other slots in the car, and it was filled with money! I didn’t care about where it came from, the car was packed full with cash! Nobody would pass this up!
***
I parked as close as I could to the address this victim worked in. I looked at one of the files, and it said her name was “Elizabeth Laemon”, and that she usually entered the building every day three minutes from now.
I started wondering how I was supposed to kill this person. SS said that it was a good idea to find a hiding place, but I don’t know if that was possible. The building had a flow of people going in and out at all times, not to mention security right at the front door. If anything, the safest place was in my car, observing the building.
So that’s what I decided to do. I went into the back of the van and grabbed the sniper rifle, and a little blanket that was also in the back. I aimed it towards the door, and looked down the scope, waiting. Nobody around seemed to glance at me, or at the van. Then again, the windows were all tinted, I think. They probably couldn’t see me if they wanted to.
Three minutes is a long time to be waiting and looking through a small little magnifying glass. My eyes started to hurt about half way through. I took my eyes away for a second and put it back. I didn’t think that the exact second I took my eyes away, the girl would be there. She almost walked in, when I shot the gun out of surprise and missed. Everybody on the street looked around, curious on where it came from. They still didn’t manage to see me, and the gun didn’t smoke. I may not have killed her, but I bought myself a few extra seconds. She didn’t move an inch.
I steadied the gun, aimed, and pulled on the trigger, and it was a perfect headshot. The street crowd started gathering around her bleeding body, and I drove away. Nobody seemed to see me. It felt bizarrely refreshing killing somebody. The fact was that the job to kill somebody is very satisfying to complete.
I didn’t like it one bit, but I was actually turning into a serial killer, and I didn’t have a single problem I could think of. Everything was perfect. Those bastards managed to make me into a killing machine, and I liked it. As distressed as I was to be in this sort of state of mind, I had no questions, no worries, nothing going on in my head other than getting back to the Paradise Killer HQ. So I just drove, pumping the music on the radio.
***
I pulled up in the parking lot after my two day drive, and couldn’t help but notice that there were even more cars around the lot than when I took my pick. Where did they get these cars, anyways? Some of them were some pretty expensive pieces of machinery.
I walked in the door, and I got scared to death to see about fifty people in the warehouse room. What was freakier was that they were clapping at me…was this because I killed some woman? I just kept walking, trying to pretend they weren’t there. SS walked out from the crowd, looking like he was about to give me a hug. He got a few feet away from me when he put his hands back in his pockets.
“Welcome to the Paradise Killers!”, he said, “How do you feel?”
“Pretty good, asshole”, I told him. Despite just calling him an asshole, SS was still very cheery.
“Good going on the kill. You’re one of the fastest killers we’ve found in a while. Even faster than Epps over there”
I looked around at the crowd. He was pointing to somebody, but I couldn’t be certain exactly who. Wait, hold on, were all these guys paradise killers? They stopped clapping after long enough, and just looked at me and SS.
“Alright, here’s the rest of the rules…”, he said. I think he forgot my name.
“Max-“
“Max, right, I knew that. Alright, so for the rules; You can’t stick around in this place for more than a week, you can’t be gone for more than three weeks, and rule breakers are put up on the death walls. Oh, and try and have some fun when you kill, would ya? You might be faster than Epps, but Epps also manages to hide the body, have a little fun with the murder. It keeps things interesting, don’t you think?”
I remained speechless. I was a bit freaked to hear I was happily accepted into a gang of rich serial killers. Who wouldn’t be?
“Oh, and we all got you something to have a little fun with while you’re here”, SS added. The crowd started splitting in half, to reveal a circular stage in the center of the room with an amplifier and an electric guitar, and some expensive ones at that. It was jet blue, just like the painted van.
“Wanna play for your peers?”, asked SS.
“Just one question first”
“Sure thing”
“Where’d you guys get all the money?”
“We’re technically a charity”
“Really?”
“Well, to them, we’re just ‘mentally challenged homeless people’, but there's this gang that steals and gives money to us, thinking we're innocent homeless people. We got them feeding us, getting us mileage, and supplying us with weapons”
SS couldn’t be talking about the Fishers, could he? I mean it was cool…but it was wrong. I still sort of believed in the gang's morals, and they were being taken advantage of. It was worrisome. Yet I didn’t care…it was free money, who was I to complain.
It took me to get on stage to notice that there was a second amp and guitar, but the other guitar was orange and pretty old. I turned around and noticed SS walking on stage with me. He picked up the guitar.
“You start”, he said. Holy shit…I was about to jam with the son of Slash.
I did as he suggested…I started playing, and then SS started playing. The only drum beat we had was the serial killers clapping. It felt amazing.
(http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LlutFN7AyIQ&feature=related)
***
The sun was setting outside, and most of the killers had left. Some of them were off to kill people, some of them just wanted an early sleep, and eventually it was just me and SS in the quiet warehouse. Now was as good a time as any to ask SS the one thing that I had on my mind.
“SS…I have one more question…you’re the biological and seemingly spiritual son of Slash, one of the greatest rock legends in the world…why are you leading this murderer gang?”
“I don’t like you calling us a gang. Just say we’re PK’s”
“Alright…why are you leading these PK’s?”
“Cause it’s fun…it’s exciting…it’s active…it’s different…it’s relaxing…I do it because I want to. What other reason does there need to be?”
I have no regrets when I say that I truly respected SS right now more than anybody else I’d ever met. He was right…and I was happy as hell. I was a Paradise Killer now, and nothing else, and the mental freedom was true, real, and satisfying. I think I was going to like it here.
