Crime vs Cruelty: Part 4 (+ 1 to 3)

[Penguin40 1,714]

Part 1

 

Starilen, Central Europe. 2026.

 

“What are you up to?” somebody asked.

 

“Nothing anyone would care about,” another man replied.

 

“Why are you doing this, why?”

 

“I just do what I think is right. And I will do whatever I see as right to give them their rights.”

 

“Who are you?”

 

“That’s the last question you should ever ask. Who cares who I am, when they know my objective? And that will be your last question.”

 

And he forced a knife covered with blood, into the other’s stomach. The victim yelped.

 

The assassin got out a pistol, and shot the victim’s chest fifty three times before the pistol was empty. Soon the whole body was covered with blood and unrecognizable.

 

He found a handkerchief, wiped the pistol and knife clean of fingerprints, burnt the handkerchief, and threw its ashes away.

 

Elsewhere

 

It was a pretty large building the murderer was now in. An important government building.

 

The murderer was in a small room, with four guns, two knives, and two fingerprint cleaners. The room was meant to hold documents, and that was why the murderer - no, rebel - was here. 

 

He looked at one document, a detailed map of some place. He left of the room, set nicely in an abandoned corner of the building. Nobody noticed him - he had everyone distracted; he didn’t want any bodies lying around.

 

Nobody knew him as the murderer of James Relion, a major government official concerned with law enforcement. His murder had created a power vacuum in the supposedly invincible, cruel government. A small leak can sink a great ship, after all.

 

He sneaked out into a washroom, and noticed two guards and a man somewhere in a corner in a secret room he knew of. He set a camera drone in a good place where it could see and hear everything without being seen.

 

He got in a position to listen the conversation carefully.

 

“All the money you want will be given. How’s ten, hundred million dollars? Just let me out and do the job. Torment them, as the leader has said. DO IT, or you know we will torture you beyond your imagination,” the man begged.

 

“The loyalties of the police force are to law and justice, not to the government!” the guards shouted in unison.

 

“You want to suffer a fate worse than death? Fine then!” the man replied with a demonic laugh, before unholstering a gun.

 

The rebel kicked open the entrance to the room, stole the official’s gun and fired a sedative on him, before stabbing him thirteen times in succession. Next, he got out his own gun, equipped on it a silencer, and shot the official seven times on the head. The room’s floor was bloodied.

 

The guards tried to flee, but were stopped. “Hey, where are you going? I’m not going to kill you, you’re just following the true law. I am here to bring about a revolution against whoever is cruel. LET THE WORLD KNOW THAT I AM HERE TO DESTROY CRUELTY!” the rebel now shouted in an infuriated voice.

 

“Wait, what, what? So you’re out to stop all this cruelty and corruption?” one guard asked.

 

“You are right,” the rebel replied. “But… I will have to murder lots of people.”

 

The rebel pointed a gun at the guards. “One of you is a spy or a traitor who supports the government. Admit and I might leave you alive. Else… I'll do the job myself, and I won't hesitate to get my hands dirty. 

 

Scene cuts to black.

 

There was a shot.

 

“Wrong man.”

 

“Hey, I don’t care anyway.”

 

Another shot.

 

 

Part 2

 

We see a scene opening.

The rebel had killed only one of the two guards, the other shot was to kill a second official who was coming up. 

“Farewell, very important member of the terrorists. Bye!” he laughed. Then he shot the official another four times, before cleaning the mess that his shots had created.

Central Official Road. 

The rebel was walking along the pedestrian path on the unusually almost empty road that connected a number of major government buildings. He turned right when the intersection came, before noticing that somebody had eyes on him.

He made his way into a building. A man came up behind him, with two knives and a gun hidden. He too went in, and promptly fell down. 

The rebel had knocked him unconscious with a barrel, and then he dragged him into a room nearby, seating him on a chair. He then awoke him with water.

“Oh, hello, Tom. I hear you were stalking me? Sorry, you were unsuccessful,” the rebel taunted him. 

“How could you do this, br…” the stalker said, but was interrupted. 

“I should ask you that. How could YOU aid those corrupt, cruel terrorists and officials that plague the government? I thought my family was infallible, invincible to any attempts of getting them on the dark side! Well. You’re nobody to me. NOBODY!” the rebel replied.

“John.. War...to..n… don’t… do..this.. for.. m..my..sake..,” the stalker uttered, with great difficulty. The water he was woken up with was poisoned. 

“You’re way too late. Sorry, I had to do this, Tom Not-A-Warton. Bye!” the rebel, John Warton, smirked. He shot Tom about twenty times on the head, spilling blood all over, and killing him. 

However, just before he made all the shots, the dead man’s hand hit the trigger of a gun he had set below the table. The shell hit John’s right leg, injuring it.

“Ouch, you cruel man, did you really have to cause yet another injury before dying.. ouch,” he uttered.

He limped out in the building - a local government office building where data was registered. He knew there was an ally of his working in the building, and thus went to a very specific office. 

“Hello!” he greeted.

“Ah, hello! How’re you? Wait, why are you limping? Medic! Come here!” the man in the office, named Daniel Thomas, replied.

“Tom stalked me. I had to defend myself, so I took him in the private room, and killed him. But his hand hit the trigger of a gun, injuring me," Warton answered.

The medic came in, and quickly healed the wound. Then the official said, “Wait, did you say Tom Warton?” 

“Yes. And I killed him. I don’t care. But there’s a few more of the terrorists working here, need to get them.”

He handed the man a list. 

“But these men are like invincible, what with countless assassination attempts failed, excellent defense, whatnot! Even trying to touch one of them would expose you! I tell you, don’t go for them yourself. Don’t.”

“There’s always a first.”

And he walked out the office. 

He walked right, then reached a small door with a warning label. He ensured nobody saw him, then walked in. He went to another office on the right, where there was a meeting going on. Every one of them was in his long blacklist of targets. 

He stood outside the door, and slightly opened the door such that nobody heard or saw it. He prepared his gun and knives, and shot six bullets, one at each target. Then he opened the door fully, and threw all his knives on the living targets. Two of them, however, missed the knives, but all others were dead.

“Who are you?” they said.

“Your death.”

“Well, then we will be your death.”

“Who are you, may I ask?”

“Government officials.”

“Indeed you are. But the name of government official is merely a disguise, and not who you are.”

He shot six more bullets, three at each target. They promptly fell down, dead.

A few people came behind him in the room.

“Game’s up. You are dead. Arrest him!”

“So you thought,” Warton replied. He let his hands out for the police to handcuff him, and they took him with them, and in a car. 

Half an hour later, they reached their destination, the police station. They went to take their prisoner - but he wasn’t there.

“YOU INCOMPETENT MEN! You’re all fired. Enjoy,” a policeman, enraged at the other men’s failure, barked. 

Underground, Starilen Data Registration Agency Processing headquarters. 

John was looking at a few papers on a small table in a massive headquarters of the entire terrorist group, located just underground of the headquarters of the Starilen Data Registration Agency. These papers were coded letters to certain people, or had data stored in the SDRA’s deep archives.

This terrorist headquarters looked in fact like another big office of the agency below the main headquarters, as it was designed with falsified SDRA logos, stamps, etc. 

He read a letter: 

“Hello. If you are reading this, you know that Operation Control Part IV is nearly done. We are in optimum proximity to assassinate the President and assume power. Then we can restructure the whole government and start exerting power on Europe. We have also been working well on our secondary goal to create fear in the people. The Cruel Agents have, at the time of writing this letter, tortured, kidnapped, and abused more than fourteen thousand people, and successfully seduced about 39% of those people into obeying us and working in our interests. The others are currently being processed, or have been killed by the agents. We will soon seize power, and once we do, the world will never be the same.”

We see the scene cut the black.

A gunshot.

Papers fallen on the ground.

t b c. 

 

 

 

 

Part 3

 

Warton took the gunshot, a bullet which hit his back. Blood was the only sight on the area which the bullet hit, and as he fell, he dropped the papers in his hands onto the ground.

A number of people ran after him, including he who bore the sin of the gunshot. Sensing that he would not die, they - who all belonged to the terrorist group - raced after Warton to ensure he does die at the hands of their bloodthirsty daggers, for the shot that he took was the last the group had.

But he dropped down a small drone with the last of his strength, a nanobot that jumped to his back and quickly healed him to the point of letting him fight.

He jumped up, seized a gun from his pockets and gunned down every man in sight except one, who missed or blocked every shot.

Warton quickly got out a dagger of his own and went to battle. But his opponent was a swift one, and he would never be hit. Warton then ducked and dropped down, and took his chance to shoot him in the stomach. And that is what he did.

The man fell dead, and Warton walked out, cleaning the blood and leaving the bodies there. 

A thought struck him. He knew that the group had plans to murder the President and take control. In his mind, he placed the pieces of the puzzle together. And he knew.

Starilen - a man-made island and a property of a famed infrastructure company of the same name in Britain, was a gateway to power in Europe. The island had proper government - company officials and other men. And it was the capital of a number of manmade islands. Thus, the terrorists must be company men. But why would a President belonging to the same company, be unaware?

The answer struck him. The whole company must have been a huge conspiracy, or at least the islands must have been. The said President was kept unaware to prevent him being a problem. And now, once his assassination took place, nothing would stop Starilen Infrastructure Tech from taking Europe under control.

He walked back in, took the papers, and jumped into the car. He drove to a house, one that appeared rather modest for a ruler, and rang the bell. The door opened, and he went in.

A man greeted him, and he was evidently the President.

“Hello. What brings you here?” the man said.

“Important matters, Your Honour. That concern the state, and even your life. I am John Warton, a British, um, investigator, you can call me,” the uninvited guest replied.

“What do you mean?”

Warton handed the papers to him.

“Everything was a lie. The company was a conspiracy to take control of Britain and then Europe. I have confirmed, however, that when Starilen started to thrive, the company ditched the plans and focused on the prosperity of their most important property, the islands of Starilen that are under control of Britain, but are known partly as a nation in itself. But some men remained who kept to the island’s purpose. They formed the SDRA, and used it as a cover for their cruelty. They are the ones who will come to assassinate you.”

“Thank you for your valuable information, I will act immediately. I am aware you were the one behind a number of assassinations and murders of officials recently, but I can see you are on a mission to protect the islands. You can continue on your mission, but do contact British authorities. We will need help.” the man replied back.

Warton quickly noticed a demonic twinkle in the man’s eyes, and then it was not him speaking, but his dagger. The President fell to death, succumbing to the dagger. But there was one lie - the man killed was in disguise.

Warton was horrified. Was the real President already murdered? Or, is he a captive in the hands of the cruel terrorists that plague the area?

He quickly examined the man’s clothing, and found a single blank paper. Then he realized its information was guarded by fingerprint and eye scan, and he pressed the paper onto the thumb on the fallen man, and opened his eyes for the paper to see, for it did not care whether the eyes were dead or alive.

“.---- --... -.... --..-- ... - .-. . . - -.-. ...-- --..-- -. --- .-. - .... .-.. .- -. -.. .-.-.” was the result.

He immediately translated through a decryptor he had with him, leading to the text “176, Street C3, Northland”.

This revelation was nowhere near pleasant, because it was the address to his primary Starilen home, as well as that of his murdered wife. And whoever had placed the President in his house, had plans to frame him. Unless, it wasn’t the President.

He left behind a man to act as the President, and Warton disguised himself as the man he killed at the house.
 

176, Street C3, Northland, Starilen Central Island

In about fifteen minutes, he was at the door of the designated location. He knew that going through the main entrance would be foolish, but he also realized that the terrorists may already have planned to greet him; and that in a rather unfavorable way.

Therefore, under the disguise of one of the terrorists, he went right through the front door, and came inside the house. He immediately met another of the men, saying to him, “Why are you here? You were supposed to be disguised as the President!”

“Don’t worry, I left a man behind. But I’d recommend you to get the President away, because Warton’s coming for us. We could set up a trap for him, leaving somebody else here. I heard his wife was alive, for one,” Warton answered.

“Indeed she is. We could leave her here and set a trap for Warton, while we force the President to side with us. Warton is the only obstacle in our path, and him dead would mean our victory. By the way, the army is ready to act in Britain, so once Warton is down, we conquer the world.”

“Nice plan. But I’m afraid you won’t be able to execute it,” he replied back, stabbing the man dead, and silencing him. Nobody saw or heard him as he hid the body and cleaned the blood.

He went forward and saw an entrance to a hidden room upstairs. He went in, and upon reaching the place, saw a large room with a short end, just small enough to perfectly hold within it a bulletproof glass cell with various robotic arms. It was a torture cell.

He saw a person, unconscious, lying on the floor of the cell.

A few men quickly ran into the room, catching Warton there. He was locked in, with the previous prisoner moved elsewhere in the room.

A gunshot was to be heard. A demonic laugh. And a cheer.

 

t b c.

 

 

 

“Is it done?”

 

“Yes. Control V, begin.”

 

“Good. Investigate the murder.”

 

“Um, what? Didn’t we-”

 

“I said investigate.”

 

A beep replaced the human voice.

 

Somewhere else. Time unknown.

 

“Daniel, listen carefully.”

 

“What the - is that you? The entire island’s been on red alert after your assassination for the last week or so, and then you just appear on call and tell me to listen?”

 

Warton stopped for a second. What would he say? He couldn’t possibly say he wanted the conversation to be listened to by them. He struggled to think properly. Maybe it was the sedative?

 

“Listen. Find the President. Kill him before SDRA does. Understood?””

 

“I’m a lawyer, not an assassin.”

 

“Oh, sorry. Actually, wait: fabricate evidence that frames the SDRA for my murder. Especially that guy - what was his name? Ah, Jason Viceroy. Frame him. Also, find the President.”

 

“Uh, okay. Understood.”

 

“Good.”

 

Warton touched a button on the phone’s screen, and ended the call.

 

He stared at the papers that lay scattered on the metallic desk before him, lost in thought. What was this conspiracy? What were their intentions, motives, plans? What would they do next? He had a comically large blacklist of targets, but his newfound knowledge of the terrorists and their conspiracies, and their connections to Starilen, cut nearly every name from that list. Some of those he had killed were innocent.

 

In particular, the name of James Relion flashed in his mind. He was the first target, and once a good friend. John had killed him because he believed him to be a corrupt traitor. Now he regretted it. He decided his next move - he would revisit his house.

 

He stood up, and only now did he notice a person, clothed in black, face covered by a hood, sitting opposite to him. He barely stopped himself from screaming at this sight. Did someone use his own tactics to get the better of him?

 

“Who are you?”

 

The question which his targets once asked, now he found himself asking it from his mystery guest.

 

“My dear psychopath,” his guest addressed him.

 

Who calls a person a dear psychopath?

 

“Yes?”

 

“I have a request,” he said, handing him a paper.

 

Warton took the paper, and looked at it.

 

“No, don’t read it. Not just yet,” the guest continued, taking the paper back and tucking it deep within Warton’s pile of papers.

 

“Uh, okay,” Warton said, slightly unnerved. What was this? He continued by asking once again, “Who are you?”

 

“My identity is unimportant, like yours. We are both just objectives personified. We are identified by what we seek, not by name.”

 

So he had met his match.

 

“Are you a conspiracist?”

 

“Why would I be? Anyways. I should go.”

 

The mystery guest walked out of the house, and Warton was left with questions. How would he answer them?

 

He stood up and left the house, intending to pay a visit to James Relion's residence.

 

t b c.

[Quarks 2,255]

Aprooved: that part should have been far more impactful than it felt

 

Edets: 

Big surprise: I only slightly changed some grammar here and there and maybe a couple things of word choice. One thing to keep working is building tension and then capitalizing on it. For example, when you wrote "Some of those he had killed were innocent."that part should have been far more impactful than it felt, you built up the reveal really well, but the payoff wasn't quite where it could have been. Perhaps something along the lines of "Slowly, a realization came to him, some of the people he killed where innocent, many of them were innocent, his friend James was innocent". I just came up with that on the fly, but I think it kept your brilliant tension going until the big reveal. Other than that, great job my friend, I get to nitpick on small things with you now.

 

PS, all reporters write text-walls :D

[Pyre 3,485]

 

 

Edets: 

Oooof.

[thethiefofvictory 339]

Agreed with bry.

Edited August 3, 2018 by thethiefofvictory

[Cpt.JackHammer 1,473]

Nice story pinky

[ChandlerBing 138]

 

Welcome back !  :wub:

[Viking4s 10,791]

The penguin is back :)

[thethiefofvictory 339]

The penguin is back :)

You do realize you just posted four months after posting, and you could just as well have told me at Discord... anyways thanks!

[Person_Random 4,991]

How did Quarks approve this?