Post by farcry11 on Mar 16, 2014 3:05:24 GMT
Charlie looked around. He'd parked his rental hovercar by the apartment building, and had promptly walked to the door and pressed the buzzer.
"It's me," he spoke shortly and curtly in to the buzzer.
The door opened within moments. He stepped through, then up multiple flights of stairs. Down a dark hallway, fourth door on the right, they had said. This place was all but abandoned. He slammed his fist once on the door. It opened.
"They're here?", he asked.
"Yeah, Mr. Sinclair. All four. Come on, we shouldn't take long with this.", Danny said. One of his New London connections. He led Charlie in to the apartment. The place was empty, but for a single table in the middle of what might have been a living room once. Four men were on their knees in front of it, hands and feet bound with thick cables. They stared at Charlie as he entered, fear plain in their eyes. One was muttering something, maybe praying. Charlie looked at them, one at a time, and then spoke in a soft voice.
"Which one of you killed Dean? Speak up."
As he spoke, he rolled up the sleeves of his dress shirt slowly. On the table were three items: A chain, a machete, and some wirecutters. He touched each of them gently, walking around the table, before restating his question in the same, calm tone he had used before.
"Which one of you did it? If you tell me, it'll be easier for you."
He picked up the chain and stepped in front of the men, swinging it back and forth. All the men started to speak at once, gesturing at each other with their heads. Cowards, he thought- filthy cowards.
"So it was all of you... That makes this easier, then."
He lashed out with the chain, his natural strength combined with the metal. The links tore through the head of the first man, making a ruin of his jaw. The coward made a choking noise, blood spewing out of what was left of his mouth, before slumping forward. One of the other men screamed. Another began to cry. The final one remained silent.
Charlie dropped the chain, then picked up the machete.
"Did you think you would get away with it?! Huh?!" He was screaming now, letting them see his rage. "You killed my fucking brother!"
He swung the machete at the second man's stomach, spilling his intestines on the floor, before swinging the machete downwards and burying it between the man's eyes. He left it there, retrieving the wirecutters and moving back to the third man.
"You messed with the wrong fucking guy! Let me fucking show you!", he roared, plunging the cutters in to one of the man's eyes. He held his victim by the hair with his other hand, gouging out one eye and then the other. He toned out the screams as best he could, slicing the man's throat when he finished with his eyes. Dropping the cutters, he turned to the last man. The man wasn't saying anything- wasn't crying, or screaming, or begging. Charlie stared at him, gritting his teeth.
"You... You can go. Go and tell them what happened."
He turned, and strode out, his nice shirt, pants and shoes splattered liberally with blood. He wasn't a man to be messed with, and certain people had drawn his ire... But while he carried out his vengeance, made those people pay for what they had done to his little brother... He would need financing.
He was getting a job, and he knew exactly where.
"It's me," he spoke shortly and curtly in to the buzzer.
The door opened within moments. He stepped through, then up multiple flights of stairs. Down a dark hallway, fourth door on the right, they had said. This place was all but abandoned. He slammed his fist once on the door. It opened.
"They're here?", he asked.
"Yeah, Mr. Sinclair. All four. Come on, we shouldn't take long with this.", Danny said. One of his New London connections. He led Charlie in to the apartment. The place was empty, but for a single table in the middle of what might have been a living room once. Four men were on their knees in front of it, hands and feet bound with thick cables. They stared at Charlie as he entered, fear plain in their eyes. One was muttering something, maybe praying. Charlie looked at them, one at a time, and then spoke in a soft voice.
"Which one of you killed Dean? Speak up."
As he spoke, he rolled up the sleeves of his dress shirt slowly. On the table were three items: A chain, a machete, and some wirecutters. He touched each of them gently, walking around the table, before restating his question in the same, calm tone he had used before.
"Which one of you did it? If you tell me, it'll be easier for you."
He picked up the chain and stepped in front of the men, swinging it back and forth. All the men started to speak at once, gesturing at each other with their heads. Cowards, he thought- filthy cowards.
"So it was all of you... That makes this easier, then."
He lashed out with the chain, his natural strength combined with the metal. The links tore through the head of the first man, making a ruin of his jaw. The coward made a choking noise, blood spewing out of what was left of his mouth, before slumping forward. One of the other men screamed. Another began to cry. The final one remained silent.
Charlie dropped the chain, then picked up the machete.
"Did you think you would get away with it?! Huh?!" He was screaming now, letting them see his rage. "You killed my fucking brother!"
He swung the machete at the second man's stomach, spilling his intestines on the floor, before swinging the machete downwards and burying it between the man's eyes. He left it there, retrieving the wirecutters and moving back to the third man.
"You messed with the wrong fucking guy! Let me fucking show you!", he roared, plunging the cutters in to one of the man's eyes. He held his victim by the hair with his other hand, gouging out one eye and then the other. He toned out the screams as best he could, slicing the man's throat when he finished with his eyes. Dropping the cutters, he turned to the last man. The man wasn't saying anything- wasn't crying, or screaming, or begging. Charlie stared at him, gritting his teeth.
"You... You can go. Go and tell them what happened."
He turned, and strode out, his nice shirt, pants and shoes splattered liberally with blood. He wasn't a man to be messed with, and certain people had drawn his ire... But while he carried out his vengeance, made those people pay for what they had done to his little brother... He would need financing.
He was getting a job, and he knew exactly where.