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| Thirst For Vengeance Comes With A Price | Started by: Vincent_Vencetti on Feb 02, '24 05:23 |
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In the gritty streets of New York City during the height of the Great Depression, young Giovanni Rossi's life took a dark turn when tragedy struck his family. Giovanni, just a boy of eight, watched in horror as his father, a small-time shopkeeper, was mercilessly gunned down in a mob-related hit. The sound of gunfire echoed in his ears as he crouched behind a barrel, his heart pounding with fear and fury. But amidst the chaos, Giovanni's life was spared, a cruel twist of fate that would shape his destiny in ways he could never have imagined. As Giovanni grew up in the harsh reality of 1930s New York, the memory of his father's murder burned like a scar on his soul, fueling a simmering rage that smoldered beneath the surface. With each passing day, his resolve to seek vengeance grew stronger, his dreams haunted by visions of the faceless monster who had torn his family apart. In the aftermath of his father's death, Giovanni's mother struggled to make ends meet, her grief weighing heavy on her weary shoulders. But Giovanni, fueled by a burning desire for justice, turned to the streets for solace, finding refuge and guidance in the company of local gangsters and mobsters who ruled the city with an iron fist. As the years passed and the shadows of the Great Depression gave way to the booming post-war economy of the 1950s, Giovanni transformed from a lost boy into a hardened young man, his once innocent eyes now hardened with determination and resolve. He rose through the ranks of the criminal underworld with ruthless efficiency, his ambition matched only by his thirst for revenge. It wasn't long before Giovanni discovered the identity of his father's killer—a ruthless mob enforcer known only as "The Butcher." With his newfound power and influence, Giovanni plotted his revenge, biding his time until the moment was right to strike. And so, on a cold winter's night in 1955, Giovanni found himself face to face with The Butcher in a dimly lit alleyway, the echoes of their footsteps mingling with the icy wind. The Butcher's eyes widened in recognition as he beheld the grown man standing before him, a silent testament to the passage of time and the weight of his sins. Giovanni's hand tightened around the grip of his gun, his heart pounding in his chest as he stared into the eyes of his father's killer. "You took everything from me," he growled, his voice thick with pent-up rage. "My father, my childhood, my very soul. But tonight, the debt will be repaid." The Butcher sneered, a cruel twist of his lips as he regarded Giovanni with contempt. "You think you can intimidate me, boy?" he scoffed, his voice dripping with arrogance. "You're nothing but a punk with a chip on his shoulder. You'll never be able to touch me." But Giovanni's resolve was unshakeable, his eyes burning with a fire that had been smoldering for decades. "I may be a lot of things," he admitted, his voice low and dangerous. "But I'm not afraid of you. Not anymore." With that, Giovanni raised his gun, the weight of his father's memory heavy in his hand. And as the echoes of gunfire rang out in the stillness of the night, Giovanni knew that justice had finally been served, his father's spirit finally able to rest in peace. As Giovanni turned to leave the alleyway, a sudden shot rang out, piercing the silence of the night. Pain seared through Giovanni's chest as he stumbled backwards, his vision swimming as he struggled to stay on his feet. And as darkness closed in around him, he knew that his quest for vengeance had come at a price far higher than he could have ever imagined. Through the haze of pain, Giovanni's eyes searched desperately for his attacker, but all he saw was a shadowy figure looming over him—a figure he recognized all too well. "Tony..." Giovanni gasped, his voice barely a whisper as he locked eyes with the man who had once been his closest friend. Tony, Giovanni's childhood friend turned traitor, sneered down at him with a cold, remorseless gaze. "You should've known better than to cross me, Gio," he spat, his voice laced with venom. "You may have taken out The Butcher, but you forgot about me." As the truth dawned on Giovanni, a sense of bitter betrayal washed over him, mingling with the pain of his wounds. Tony, his childhood friend, had been working with The Butcher all along, luring Giovanni into a trap with promises of revenge. But as Giovanni's lifeblood ebbed away in the cold embrace of the alleyway, he knew that his legacy would live on—a testament to the cost of vengeance and the ruthless betrayal that lurked in the shadows of the criminal underworld. And as darkness claimed him at last, Giovanni whispered a final prayer for his father's soul, knowing that he had paid the ultimate price for his thirst for revenge. |
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Felson was walking Max and carrying the book Computer Machinery and Intelligence by Alan Turing. He stopped by a street corner where a story was being relayed. It didn't seem to be from the original author, but a reprising of the tale. But something was fishy. It may have just been the influence of the book he was reading, but to Felson it seemed a little... Artificially Intelligent. Max was let loose to do his business, the book was tossed on the ground and Felson began erecting a sign. One done, he sparked up a joint, stood back and took a gander..
"Me too, Diogenes. Me too." |
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| Reply by: Felson at Feb 02, '24 17:43 | |
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The sun has set on this cold winter night, a man who casts no shadows approaches the sign that was erected today. He reaches into his overcoat, pulling out a gold cigarette holder case and loosens one out. He pulls a match and after two failed attempts to light he finally gets a spark, he looks longingly at the flame, and ponders about a time before mistrust wasn't a first thought. This man has traveled far and wide, he has witnessed empires rose and fall, has heard countless tales from both the Victor and the loser and such has heard different tales. This man knows that any story is just a retelling of another from a time long since past. He drops the cigarette, snuffs it with the heel of his well worn boots, and if boots could tell a story they would tell one so vast and grand it would be on the verge of unbelievable. But alas, this is never to be. The man turns and searches, as this is all the man knows. He thirsts for stories and a man thirsts for water in the desert. He will find the story, the tale, the epic, the novel, the novella, the script, the song and the poem. Always searching, always searching. |
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| Reply by: Vincent_Vencetti at Feb 02, '24 18:06 | |
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Enough time had passed that Max had befriended a squirrel and another robot looking fiend had started spouting poetry. Was it the same Intelligence that would soon take over the world? Maybe the weed was playing tricks on Felson, but he felt it in his bones. All the evidence pointed to a future run by robots and if somebody didn't do something, maybe they'd start by taking over this whole damn country first. The Prime button man dashed off towards a phone booth. Arriving with a skid, Felson noticed someone was already in the booth and possibly in a heated conversation. Their hands were flailing about as they fumed down the receiver. He banged on the side. "Hey, open the fuck up! The world depends on it!" "Fuck you buddy! I'm busy here!" If he were any Al, but not the AI in question, the AI that punched a man's organs into dust and even the Al that liked a bit of cheese with a morning toke, he'd just shoot the guy. But he was different. He was a lover, not a fighter, but definitely a fucker. So he fucked off to find a tree. A caped crusader bolted back in costume. He was wearing grey tights, some green short shorts and a red vest. His eyes were covered by a black mask. "Fuc yeah boiiiiiii!" In rabid fashion the vigilante started handing out flyers. "The end is near! We're being taken over!" He slapped a flyer into the chest of an elderly lady, who was hobbling along the sidewalk with a walker. She almost coughed out her denches. The flyer showed AI Generated evidence. "STAY CALM, WENCH! STAY CALM! FUCBOY'S HERE! BUT RUN, RUN FOR YOUR LIFE!" FucBoy pointed at another lucky citizen. He held his finger out there a little while, staring at his soon to be fan as the caped crusader's nose and left eye twitched. Then he bolted towards him, kicking up dirt as he legged it. Noticing, the face of the spritely but elderly gentleman lit up. His walker clanged along as fast as the pensioner could make it move. He turned his head every other second, his eyes bulged more and more as FucBoy neared. At full pace, FucBoy tackled the great-grandfather through a shop front window, leaving his cane on the sidewalk unscathed. FucBoy peeled himself off gramps, slapped a flyer against the old man's chest and stood up. Shattered glass crumpled underfoot as the saviour stepped back out through the broken window. The civilian groaned, unable to move. This flyer also showed AI Generated evidence. "Fuc. Yes. You're welcome." Other pensioners were trying their best to scatter from the area. It must've been senior citizens day, or tight ass Friday as they liked to call it, the elderly out and about with pockets full from their weekly government eat a dick payment. Their lack of activity kind of resembled the majority of HQs around here, FucBoy thought, then dashed off to win more hearts over. The flyers being handed out were showing the percentage of the world to be controlled by AI at some point. But not that AI, not the one pimping babies and slapping hoes, or the other one making hearts melt, Felson's specifically. The one that, if not handled, would piss in the faces of those actually not being controlled by this artificial, human-like uprising. Hopefully it wasn't a sign of times to come. But if it were, FucBoy was on the case and he'd do his FucBoy best to save these decrepit old codgers from themselves. |
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| Reply by: Felson at Feb 03, '24 01:16 | |
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