IMPORTANT DISCLAIMER AND WARNING: The following RP here is a 2-player RP between Main Nation Ministry and Infected Mushroom. There is no OOC to use. What's important though is that this RP will contain a lot of mature content that people might find not suitable. Keep in mind, that planning for this RP was in development way before any coincidental events that has taken place this year, though some events have provided some inspiration for some content. Seriously.
The following sequel RP is meant to be more extreme than the original Nemesis RP. Such material and themes that the RP will be including will be murder and deaths of all ages, racism, skinheads, Neo-Nazis, violence from and towards animals, incest, gang violence, abuse of all kinds (though the most heavy and extreme versions of it will be implicit), heavy drug use, despair, human trafficking, prostitution, serial killers, senseless violence, misogyny, misandry, misanthropism, homophobia, police brutality and corruption, human rights violations, crimes against humanity, and blood and gore.
As such, the following can be toned down, upon mention or TG from an admin or moderator.
Viewer discretion is advised.
Somewhere in a quiet movie theater, several people were sitting down on the red seats, as the lights were still dim. Sitting with their snacks of popcorn, candy and soft drinks. Some were confused, while others were interested. Someone from the booth set the projector up and now the silver screen was playing some trailers to some random movies that the audiences was bound to forget. Some commercial to some energy drink. A sequel to a blockbuster action flick. Some random forgottable comedy. Along with the oscar bait.
"So you checked Rotten Tomatoes or Imdb for this? How were the scores?" someone whispered in the audience, as they were bored of the trailers. "They called it trash, but the audience scores were different."
"Figures."
The screen then switched to a pre-show detailing the rules of the theater and what to do. It was almost like a classical late 70s cinema sideshow with an upbeat beat that showed what and what not to do. "Welcome to the theater! Please sit back and look at the following rules. Silence your cell phones. Please be quiet during the movie. Be respectful. Do not masturbate in the theater. All emergency exits are lit up in case of a fire or other emergency. Bathrooms are available 24/7. It's not too late to get refreshments, so make yourself comfortable. Now, without further ado.."
"Our Feature Presentation".
Darkness. The screen was lit. The opening credits were displayed, but the words seemed wrong. What kind of film was this? Then, the film started to play-play-play-play-play-play........
"Action."
“Man is the cruelest animal.”
― Friedrich Nietzsche
...
"How many times have there been a revival of darkness in this world? How many people throughout history must document and tally up the events and atrocities that happen in the world? There is a horrible legacy that is bound to follow from such examples and only inspire imitators or even successors to be the spark that sends many through the hell that we people wish to avoid. What baffles me is the causes to such events from the mundane to the obvious. Then, there is evil that doesn't need a spark. It's cast into this world as a bad seed. Planted to grow something horrible for us to fear."
"Now, I ask you this. What if I told you that the pain that the evil inflicts onto the weak and targeted only spreads their corruption. Birthing another vile substance in this mortal realm. Evil has its intentions. The eight sins, the collection of wounds, the injustice and slights to collect, the pressures of society, the fear, the sadism and poison in their heads, along with the anxieties of modern life. The human environment is a cesspool for all sorts of undesirable actions and behaviors."
"As I conclude another case of my time in the FBI. I was motivated again today when I received a tip from multiple sources on information of a violent prison riot and massacre of many. These sources is why I shall be heading to Starkweather, Maryland to investigate the possible crimes that has been manipulated to be out of reach of the government system of justice. This is Agent Gamble, closing audio tape #10 of the Maryland files."
ACT I
Chapter 1: The Scum of Starkweather
Throughout The City
What place do you want to go to when you grow up? Unless you already live in the place of the dreams or even were born there, you're lucky. People would tell you that they are unable to move away from where they grow up, either for the reasons that they couldn't afford it, or that it's a connection to them that's overwhelming. There was a nice and horrible place in dearest Maryland in the United States of America that many people wanted to leave behind and go somewhere with some peace and some fulfillment. I give you a hint. It isn't Baltimore.
Starkweather, Maryland.
How many drug addicts, rapists, murderers, scumbags, thugs, gangsters, pimps and whores live in Starkweather? There isn't an estimate, but there was enough where some of the sanest people can still the scum and shit on the ground. All you need to know that life in Starkweather was like the East Coast version of Detriot. Though it's hard to tell people which was worse. But what's the main reason that the whole city is like this? There's an answer, but it wasn't pleasant. Somewhere in a 35 floor building, almost as tall as the other hotels and commercial work building was the Olympus Tower. At the top of the building, having 3 floors reserved to himself like the sociopathic prick that he is was Dolan Schaeffer.
Dolan was an interesting fellow. Did some people knew that he was a monster? That under the guise of a philanthropist, who doesn't know what is wrong with the city and state, is actually a power-hungry leader of a human trafficking ring? Did they uncover the suspected ties to the white supremacist group that he secretly funded money to? What about the fact that his best bodyguard is on the FBI list for blowing up that African-American church? They didn't know and if they did, they will be "gone". Gone is a funny word to describe it, but the word has some horrible meanings to it.
Dolan Schaeffer was a crafty man on his own word. For someone who was over 45, he still looked great. He was rich with a fortune of 25 million stashed in his savings and some offshore accounts somewhere in a royal bank in Europe. One day when he was still an adult, he was a nobody. Then a year or two after that, he became the leader of the Deimos Trafficking League, who would be the kings that would control over Starkweather, turning the whole freaking city as part of the criminal empire. Was this illegal? Of course. But why wasn't anyone going to do anything, even if they knew? That was an easy question. A corrupt democracy? Washington D.C was on the border of Maryland and Virginia. Schaeffer knew which people to convince, bribe, blackmail, or threaten to get his way.
You have the mayor of Starkweather, which was easy as hell, since all you got to do is show him a woman in leather and he'll become a yesman. Prostitutes, including some of Schaeffer's "product" that he "imports" were a good way to convince some of those in city council with ease.
Then, you got the governor of Maryland involved. "Oh! I'm so sorry to hear that your boy Havilland Jr. has been such a spoilsport, Mr. Governor!" Dolan said to the Governor, upon presenting some incriminating photos of the Governor Havilland engaging in some violent behavior with a girlfriend who didn't survive in bed. Somehow the kid managed to shove a hot curling iron into her throat for some reason. "Your boy has been quite the radical incel lately. You know I happen to know a famous tabloid reporter working with the big newspapers. It would be a terrible shame if the copies I have had been ended up in some opportunist like me and them." Blackmail was the brute force for the governor. As long as there wasn't a peep, the pictures wouldn't be leaked in any way.
Lastly, there was Congress. You ever watched the movie Mr Smith Goes to Washington? Sadly, fiction tends to create reality. Now, this was the result. Several senators of Maryland and the East Coast in Congress were in on Schaeffer's misadventures being a drug and human trafficking murdering piece of shit. With all the bribery and excuses to be more of a piece of shit, they were in on it. A bit ironic, when Schaeffer managed to bribe both major parties to assist him in keeping people's mouths shut with fishing wire.
Where was Schaeffer now? He was in a personal theater in his building at the penthouse. He was with a hotshot young banker that he invited over, as they were watching a classic movie of "The Godfather". He wasn't into gangster movies a lot, but his guest Ivan Murphy was a fan of the movie. So Schaeffer gotten a digital copy to be played in his private theater. Schaeffer was wearing his usual. A nice gray suit, pants, shoes. His hair was brown. Surprisingly for his age, though he knew some of the best beauty and hair products to help prevent the hair from greying. Both of them were watching a scene where there was a bowl of oranges. Murphy joked about the oranges, being a bit of a know-it-all film snob. "So the oranges are supposed to represent death. All of the characters who interacted with the oranges all died. It's good symbolism and foreshadowing." Murphy talked to Schaeffer, as he tapped a bit on the arm of the recliner he was sitting on. "Hey! Cool ring, by the way! Where did you get it from?"
"I got it from an auction back in Los Angeles. This was supposed to be a piece of jewelry that O.J Simpson had with it, but I figured why not wear it for a couple of months." Schaeffer said, as Murphy was looking at the ring with interest. One of Schaeffer's hobbies besides the violence and the trafficking was collecting antiques. Rare ones he can get his hands on by any means necessary.
"Oh shit! How much is it? Is it 1 million?"
"I try to get it to 1 million, but you know how crazy the Simpson stuff sells. I don't have room everywhere in my penthouse."
"You're made out of cash, man! Come on, I know stocks and some other financial self-help guru bullshit!"
"I need to see how my business associates are doing at the moment. I say we finish watching our movie." Dolan said, which was another phrase of saying "Shut the fuck up, you smug jackass." He could have his bodyguard John Nibert and Nibert's higher up Derek Sirri be at his penthouse to "kindly" tell Murphy not to make Schaeffer seem like a fool, but they were busy with their own activities. Activities of murdering a mixed-race family in the neighborhood with some brass knuckles and a submachine gun, but to Dolan this was completely normal.
"By the way, Schaeffer. What car do you drive? You got a nice sports car?" Murphy asked Schaeffer, much to his annoyance. "A Mustang? Why do you ask?" "Well, I got myself a nice coupe for my condo garage! Expensive car, really."
Oh, good. Now, I know what to call Mazus..
"Sounds nice, Murphy. You know I was planning on heading down to City Hall today. Wanted to discuss some simple fundraisers towards the church and the people that have been getting diabetes lately. I tell you what. After the movie, I can show you around my pad and you can understand what it means to me right here in Starkweather.."
At the Starkweather Saint Judas Church, Bubba Sheep and some of his fellow bikers of the Oppressors were on their motorbikes, parked across the street from the church, as even though it was a slow day, Bubba had his men wait until the youth choir was leaving. Little kids in their white robes and fancy conservative suits were going down the stone steps, as the Oppressors stood out from the crowds that were doing Sunday service. Bubba, dressed in a leather biker jacket that showed the gang's symbol on the back, where he had a bandana over his hair, showing a black and white image of the Pale Rider. He got off his bike, as he had his men follow.
Inside the old church made from wood of trees that served its purpose and having stained glass windows that gave the church a Gothic vibe, some parishioners were still at the pews. A bit of a bad decision to stand behind for last minute prayers. Even when the Oppressors are doing some "protection" for the church. A young rookie priest, who was unaware of the Father's recurring days with the Oppressors, approached the group of bikers, as Bubba grinned with his handlebar mustache over his mouth. His eyes obscured with his avaitor glasses, but there was a sense that Bubba wanted to destroy the church or watch it collapse. If Bubba had a fetish for anything that wasn't related to women, it was symphorophilia.
"Excuse me, gentlemen! I ask that you do not smoke in the church!" the priest said, having one of the bikers put out the cigarette in their mouths. "Where's Schawb?" Bubba said, as he came for the protection money. "I beg your pardon? I don't know what you want with our Father, but I ask that you must leave! You are disrupting some of our fellow parishioners prayers."
"Where's Father Schawb, huh? Is his dick too short to meet with us? He's afraid to hand in his dues?"
"The Father of this church has no dues to gentlemen like you-" the priest was about to escort them out, but Bubba suddenly grabbed the priest by his collar and forced him over to where a large crucifix of Jesus nailed to his cross was. "Where the fuck is Schawb? Huh!" Bubba wanted an answer, but he got none. He threw the priest against the crucifix, where it shook and didn't topple. "Tell the Father that if we don't get any money soon for his protection, we're going to trash his place! You hear me, you little pipsquack?!"
The priest immediately nodded in fear, but Bubba wasn't having it. "Someone get me a freaking cigarette. I need to give my autograph in some burns for pastor boy here!" Bubba said, as some parishioners were rushing out, where some other bikers were imtimidating others. "Please! I will tell him! I don't want any trouble! I'm only here to help the children!" the priest pleaded, though Bubba burned his cheek with the burning end of a plain white cigarette. "That's right! We better get the money, or we'll burn down the church! Come on, boys!" Bubba said, taking a drag of some toxic nicotine, before he flicked the cigarette at the priest. "Time to leave.." Bubba said, as they left the church, where the priest and the other parishioners were trying to process the damage that was nearly done.
The bus was heading down to Chinatown where Zheng Wheatly lived. He had a hand on one of the poles to keep himself standing, as the bus was making the turn into the bus stop of Chinatown. Zheng adjusted his jacket, as the bus doors opened. Zheng had spent a couple of years in America, but it wasn't unlike his birth country of China. For Zheng, he wanted the American dream. He didn't need to go through Angel Island. Only a plane and some valuables with his family. However, the transition wasn't easy. He ended up being employed by the wrong type of people, who had the right paychecks, but used his skills for something he kept a secret from his family. Being an ex-military man, he wasn't back in the army. He was a mercenary who had to go outside of the state lines for business trips in transporting "shipment".
It was a bit of a warm day, but he still wore a dark grey jacket. The streets of Chinatown had the lustrous colors of red and brown. The year of the goat was this current year, even if it was getting late in the year. Asian immigrants passed through the streets, where some buildings inspired by the traditional pagodas and market streets were the environment for the many immigrants who lived here. As Zheng walked down a market street, he recognized a courier for Ning Wilde. A small package was in the courier's hands, though he knew it had to be stolen. At some stalls, some hawkers and vendors had all sorts of knick-knacks that people could buy. As Zheng walked near a stall, he noticed a pile of board games and other Amerigames that were within.
It was going to be another while, before he had go on another business trip. He needed to make it last. "Excuse me, sir. I would like to have a game, if possible?" Zheng politely said to the vendor, where they started to take advantage of Zheng. "What game would you like?" Zheng spied the stacks of games. His daughter and grandmother would enjoy something simple. Even among the whole game enthusiast's collection that Zheng saw, he recognized a game that was common and was back in his country. "May I have the Monopoly game?"
"That will be 30 dollars."
"30? Why not 20?"
"Want it to be 25 then?"
"...Fine. It better not be used." Zheng said, handing the vendor the money. His family should enjoy this.
Guilherme Lupton was driving in his jeep with some of the other gang members, as they were taking a trip to the bar for a drink. Things have been rather tense lately, since the turf war in Lupton's district was reaching a nasty turn. "Where is this bar again? I think this is Cumberworth's place." Lupton said, as the streets around he was driving was something he was starting to recognize. "Boss, the bar is just through the intersection. Heard the drinks are cheap and service is good." Mateo explained to him in the passenger seat, though Lupton was weary. Just as the car was about to pull into the intersection, Lupton accidently cut off a car belonging to a pissed Aussie, which Lupton learnt the hard way, when the car swerved immediately next to the jeep, where the driver started yelling at Lupton. "You're trying to fucking pop out my taillight, you goddamn shitslinger?!" the driver yelled, but Lupton could hear the heavy accent. Lupton kept his cool by ignoring him, even if the damn Aussie tried to spit at him, before driving off.
"I don't understand why people are so mad these days." Mateo started a conversation, as Lupton continued driving. "Maybe it's due to the state being late on the checks?" Santiago joked, though another member Leonardo doubted it. "What ever happened to life before last year? Stuff was tolerable, now it's like the city has a beef with everyone." "Starkweather isn't the best city to be. That's why I had the thought of moving the gang upstate." Lupton explained, as he was driving. "To where? Philadelphia?" Mateo asked. "Maybe in New York. Bloods wouldn't have a problem with us, than those skinheads at the zoo."
"Look, it's just been a stressful day after the news. I need a beer." Santiago told everyone, as they arrived at the bar.
The Odyssey Bar was a seedy place, but they tried to make it look fancy, even if the interior was dark as a nightclub. The ceiling was covered in a purple velvet that was probably cheap. At least, the drinks were good and the bartender knows how to make a drink for once. But the bathrooms are something to watch out for. Covered in graffiti, where a junkie or two might be inside a stall, getting their kicks from needles of dope. As Lupton and his men were sitting at the end of the bar near the window, Leonardo recognized someone who was near the bartender, talking with a glass of expensive red wine. "Shit! Boss! Look..!" Leonardo whispered to Lupton, where he saw a problem. "That's Vinnie Pabari! What's he doing here?"
Vinnie Pabari. Lupton knows him from the League that Schaeffer runs. He wasn't just some mercenary. He was one of the League's drug traffickers. A mean one at that. Lupton knows that him and the gang had worse to worry about, but Pabari gets a bit excited in getting the chance to kill some people every now and then. Was it due to his former job as a prison executioner was where he was enjoying the violence. The botched mixture of chemicals in the lethal injections might have been his work. It was easy to know where Pabari was. He was the only man with the suit and tie on. Everyone else was dressed in whatever they had as clothes. "Boss...! It's Cumberworth!" Mateo immediately pointed to the window, where Lupton looked.
There was a blonde woman walking to her apartment, as she was heading up the stairs to the door. However, tailing her was Lindor Cumberworth. It was hard to tell at first, due to the overcoat, but it was to conceal the "necklace" of ring fingers that Cumberworth wore like a crazed bastard. He was Starkweather's most infamous extortionist. You say no to him and he tear your finger off and make you a new asshole. Yet, Lupton was "friends" with Cumberworth. "Is that woman even a part of the district?" Mateo asked, where Cumberworth followed the woman into the apartment. By now, she could have been cornered by Cumberworth in the elevator. Made sure the elevator doors couldn't be opened. Had a knife, just to get her to scream, when no one can hear her. "Woman probably owes him money. Unless he's a serial killer suddenly. That white shit has a tendency to turn people's heads to mush." Santiago said, as there was a deathly silence from outside.
"Shame, that woman looked fine." Lupton thought, until he felt a presence and a concealed gasp from one of his men behind him. "You guys are window shopping?"
Pabari was directly behind them, where Lupton tensed up, but made sure that he gotten a bottle of beer before he had a chat with Pabari. "You're buying wine here? Why not at a fancy upscale restaurant?" Lupton said, where he could already see the gun that was hidden in Pabari's suit. Lupton had a gun in the back pocket of his pants, but Pabari had the military training to take them out. Plus, the stampede is too easy to get overwhelmed by when shots go off. "Please. I'm here in polite society and company. Shouldn't you guys be?"
"Well.." Lupton looked to see his men eyeing Vinnie and keeping silent. "We are not in the need for any drugs. We just want a drink."
"Happy hour?"
"Any happy hour is good for us. Drinks are cheap."
"Wine here is still good."
"Why are you on break? I thought you were with Pearson? Where is that emotionally-detached bastard, anyways?"
"A job. But it's none of your concerns, unless you want me to tell Pearson that it should be."
"No. I'm just wondering why you're on break. This isn't the best district to be at. This is near our turf." Lupton gave a passive-aggressive threat to shoo off Pabari. The jeep had bulletproof windows. They could drive back to their turf, if Pabari wanted to tail them. "Right, I think I should still finish my glass of wine, first. I should be given some more respect, though. Good day, gentlemen." Pabari said, before he returned to the end of the bar. "Boss, what should we do. Doesn't Pearson know Nibert?" Mateo said, concerned. "Nibert is the least of our concerns. We just need to stick out of their way for a while. If they strike, we have to defend."
Timothy Harrelson was on the phone with his brother George Harrelson, as Timothy was driving over to the clinic to pick up Rick Pearson, as he had a bit of a slip-up a day after. The Harrelson had their own fair share of infamy, but it had to do with the brother George. You see Timothy had another job, than George. Timothy worked as a doctor at one of the hospitals in Starkweather, which was every parent's dream come true for their kid. But for George...he became trash. Literal trash. He still lived in the same apartment with his mother, who he was caring for. Timothy was well-dressed. Had a girlfriend who he was planning to marry soon. Looked handsome of blond hair and blue eyes in a fancy suit. George was filthy and making ends meet with whatever criminal money he had on him. He would wear clothes so old and would mainly wear trash bags when he was with the gang of violent bums that worshipped him. Then, there was his "relationship" he had with his mother, which Timothy knew he needed to distance himself away from George.
Dolan, however, saw George as a valuable asset. Timothy did things neat. George managed to wow Dolan's expectations. Was that why Timothy saw George as the Abel, while Timothy was the Cain for Dolan? As such, Timothy was discussing some important information about an incoming job that he needed to do for Dolan, where he entrusted George to assist him with the job. "I need you to obtain plans of the Starkweather Museum of History and Fine Art. Dolan wants a specific painting, so I need to convince a guy who is behind on some debts to disable the alarms." Timothy explained to George, however it appeared George was busy with something as his apartment was blasting the song "The Acid Queen" by the Who in the background. "I would need to see if some of my friends would be interested in spying near the museum. I don't have a computer to look up a map." George's words spoke to Timothy, as he sounded almost rasp. Almost monstrous, like someone poured honey into a gaping wound. "Have one of them steal a pamphlet or something! I need to organize something at the end of next week, or Dolan is going to get naggy with me."
"I have MOMMY to try care of, Timothy. I got to make sure that MOMMY is still well. Remember?"
"Just get it done with someone. Ok?"
"Ok-dokey, Timmy! I see if I can-" The phone call was interrupted with a doorbell. It was clear that George was near the front door of his apartment when it happened. "I have to answer it. Bye-bye!"
The phone call ended. George hung up. To Timothy, George was like a deranged child that broke his mind before he had the chance to grow up. Where the scars ran deep for George. Timothy didn't want to think about it. He was coming up to the clinic. He could already recognize Rick Pearson. Rick Pearson. The head mercenary that controls the other hired guns and is the Deimos Trafficking League drug department of the organization. If John Nibert had a bit of a fan favorite on what people he wanted to be with, it was a tie between George Harrelson and Rick Pearson. He liked to have a calling card to his work in killing. For some of his kills, if he knew that some of the work would be easy, he brought a meat tenderizer in his hands. The mallet kind. Large as a hammer, but heavy enough to crack a skull open with ease. If he needed to make sure that his work was really done, he would get a blade. A nice knife or something thinner and longer. Where he would chop off a hand or two and send it to his employers Dolan and Nibert. Were the reasons for this, due to his rough upbringing? Would his real parents take better care of him, than the alcoholic grandmother who whisked him away. What happened to Life Now? Life Now was an organization that Pearson worked with for a cause that was simple. Anti-abortion, as political as it sounded, didn't seem like an issue for Life Now. Unfortunately, the group had an interest in the radicalized. What better weapon of radicalization was the power of fire and some pipe bombs on the sides. The arson attack at an abortion clinic, that led some dead was the end of Life Now. Even if Pearson was one of the people that helped burn down that clinic, he got off scot free and ended up in the grasps of the League.
Today, Pearson was getting out of another type of clinic. A physical therapist for a wrist that he thought might have been strained. He recognized Timothy's car and waited until it pulled over where he got inside. "You got some guns?" Pearson asked, as Timothy was now driving to the address of where their guy was supposed to be. "There's a gun I hid under the seat. We just need to convince some guy that works at the museum to switch off the alarms at night. We can't kill them."
"We been getting boring jobs lately. The hell is special about this painting?"
"Schaeffer said, it's from some Dutch artist that is supposed to be getting some recognition for an art show in Los Angeles. Price is going to raise as a result."
"I sell drugs. Not paintings. Some of the designer drug shit that's supposed to be given a test batch or two has been delayed for more months."
"The fuck are you making in that lab that you overseeing?"
"It's not meth. Nor is it heroin."
"LSD?"
"It's supposed to have some ingredients from the drug like that, but there isn't a drug of it we could give it, yet."
"I guess you're a wizard then."
"I don't make drugs, Tim. I sell them."
After a while, the two pulled up in front of an apartment building near a bookmaker's shop. "What does the guy look like?" "We're after two guys. Guy lives with his mixed twin. They going to look alike, so help me get the other twin and throw them all in the living room, so we can work this out." Timothy said, getting out of the car, as they hid their pistols behind their coats. Entering the front door of the apartment, they headed up the stairs where Timothy checked the address. "104. Hide the gun!" Timothy gave a knock at the door, where he could see some footsteps heading to the door. "I kick down the door for you." The door opened where a man peeked through the door, since it was still locked with a chain lock, as the man on the other side gave a simple reply. "Hello?"
Timothy replied with delivering a heavy kick to the door, where it managed to break the chain lock, also. Damn thing was flimsy. Guy was sent back, also. Harrelson and Pearson entered the room with their guns drawn, as Timothy started to interrogate the poor sap. "Where the fuck is your brother, huh? Lockie, where is he?!" Timothy kept the gun pointed at the twin, as the three heard a loud sound at the bathroom of the apartment. "Tim, get the guy! I take care of this asshole!" Rick said, as Timothy started to bolt to the back of the apartment, where he kicked down the bathroom door to see Lockie going through the window that led to the fire escape. "Get the fuck back here, you motherfucker!" Timothy had to go through the window, also as Lockie was sliding down the fire escape ladder. Lockie jumped off from the ladder, but as he was bolting down an alley, Lockie's foot went on top of a glass bottle on its side, as he slipped and tumbled down, crushing the bottle, where his arm was covered in glass shards. Some of them were sticking into his arm.
Timothy caught up with him, where he kicked the back of his shin, as he forced him up and threw him against the wall. Lockie tried to scream, but Timothy forced his gun into his mouth. "Listen here, asswipe! You work at the Starkweather Museum of History and Fine Art, right? Nod, if this is true!" Lockie immediately nodded, where Timothy stated the following. "Now you look here. Next Friday, you're going to turn off the alarms of where you work. You are to not make a fucking sound to anyone about this conversation, or I make sure to have you and your brother in the dumpsters, if you squeal! Can you do something like that? I have a bullet in my gun and several many in my clip to prove it."
Lockie was trying to plead, which Timothy knew he got the message across. However, just as he forced Lockie off from the wall, Timothy suddenly realized that someone was watching...
"The fuck?" Timothy let the words slip, as a man looking like a deer in the headlights as Timothy realized that the guy might squeal before Lockie did. The man looked like a wannabe boxer. Muscular, but this guy looked like the real tough guy. Dressed like some farmer wearing fancy clothes. "Hey! Hey man, I just want to talk with you quick." Timothy tried to act like there was a misunderstanding to the guy, but the man suddenly took off. "Hey! Shit! Don't fucking move!" Timothy yelled at Lockie, as he started to chase after the witness. The man ran down the alley that led back to the street where the front of the apartments was, where he immediately got his car keys to unlock his white car from a distance. Clicking twice on the button, the doors were unlocked, as the man immediately opened the door to the driver's seat as he started to turn his keys into the ignition. Problem for Timothy was that the car had a ready-to-start engine. Showed that the car was well looked after. The man started the ignition, where he put the stick at drive. "Hey! Come the hell back! I just want to talk!" Timothy went all passive-aggressive, as the car shifted forward where Timothy slammed his fist into the passenger side window. Didn't bust the whole window, but a large crack was visible. Guy in the driver's seat knew how to get the hell out of there. The speed of the car accelerated, as Timothy grabbed onto the side of the car as it was heading down the road, where Timothy ended up getting his legs dragged on the tarmac, as he had to let go where he tumbled.
Timothy took a look at the white car, as it sped away fast. Car ran a red light, just to get the hell away from Timothy. Timothy saw the license plate, so that was something to say to Pearson. All Timothy did was sit on the road, until a car from behind him honked their horn. "I'm trying to drive, dipshit!" the clueless driver yelled at Timothy, where Timothy showed the driver his gun and dented the driver's side with a kick. "You want a piece of shit, because I put a bullet into your head!" Timothy vented, where he knew the driver got the point. However, Schaeffer was going to get pissed that a witness was on the loose. He tried to think the best of it. Be honest to Schaeffer and he can see if someone from the police department tried to file a report. If so, Schaeffer is most likely going to send a corrupt cop to silence the witness.
Pearson exited the building, where Timothy was in not such a good mood. "The fuck happened?"
"Some guy saw it."
"Saw what? Who?"
"I was just trying to intimidate the guy! Where's Lockie?"
"He's with his brother. Went back in to play a hero, but I ripped a tooth out from both of them to really convince them."
"We have a problem we need to tell Schaeffer. Some bastard saw me. Had to have been a better or someone. I tell him when we're driving to that meeting at the farmlands."
"It's just one guy. We will kill the bastard, don't worry. Come on. I think you have a skid mark or two on your ass." Pearson said, as the two ended up back in their own car.
Glenn Marsh
Glenn Marsh tried to relax himself. He was tense. Still tense. He never had a problem with people in Starkweather. What he was doing wasn't illegal. Illict looking, but he had his reasons. He has been coming out from the backdoor to head to his car every time he went to the bookmaker, so he can walk down to the liquor store to buy some canned beer for back home. This time, however, some thug with a gun looked like he wanted to give him a piece of his mind for seeing some other lowlife get roughhoused. Blaring from his car radio was a song from Metallica of the song Welcome Home. A bit of a Metallica fan, he was. He knew a good radio channel. As he was driving, he was heading out of the city limits to head to Gladstone that wasn't far from Starkweather. When he got to a stop sign, he flipped over his phone to see a voicemail from one of the farmhands who helped out around the Marsh's farm. As a woman with pink hair who was jogging past Glenn's car, Glenn had his phone play the voicemail for Dale.
"Hey Mr. Marsh. It's me, Dale. I know you're busy in the city, but I needed to let you know that we might need a mechanic for one of the tractors. Stick controls ain't helping like they should. Listen, we're finishing up work on the crops. Harvest will be fine, but we end our shift when you arrive. Hope today was still a good day. I see if the boys from the community union would be interested in what you hear from the meeting you're doing tonight. See ya."
Glenn Marsh and some other farmers had a problem in Gladstone, due to one fancy cat from Starkweather. This fancy cat or a polite term was some millionaire wanted a chunk of land for a building he had been feasting his eyes on. Land was good, but it was only good for farming. This millionaire wanted to make a pig farm and slaughterhouse on the land, claiming that it was a part of the city's needs. The site was directly in between several other farms, where the main problem came from the fact that by having the pig farm and slaughterhouse among the farms, it would end up decreasing the value of all the properties nearby, forcing the owners to sell. Damn building will cause environmental waste that makes the whole cozy lifestyle of Gladstone to be ruined. That was why Marsh was a keen, if not, top supporter of the community union, which wanted to oppose the construction of the slaughterhouse.
As he was away from the buildings and urban jungle of Starkweather, he was now passing by crops in acres as he ended up in Gladstone. He was starting to see his farm in the distance. He saw Dale and Steven near the crops, tending to them. Glenn acted cool, as he pulled up in front of the house, as he parked the car. "Howdy Dale. Howdy Steven. Making the crops look good before the city folk come?" Glenn asked Dale and Steven. "Crops are looking mighty fine for the harvest later! Think this will be enough for this year?"
"Corn looks good enough to feed the school. I got the voicemail on the tractor. I get it fixed up with help from the mechanic. You best be heading home to your wives."
"Hey, Mr Marsh. Your window is busted. Something slammed into it." Steven said, who grew up as an African-American in the South. "Some car opened their door and slammed into it hard. I get it fixed. You two take care!"
Dave and Stevens left, as Glenn opened the screen door to his home and used his house keys to unlock the door. The Marsh residence and farm was part of the family of his wife Emily. When he moved in with her, he made sure the farm was still good so they could put it to good use. Glenn was more of a city boy back in Baltimore, but he was tired of city life in his early 20's, which led to him meeting Emily. You see people thought that Glenn once served in the army, due to his build. However, he actually was originally a boxer in Baltimore. Glenn "The Tank" Piggs. He didn't retire from being a boxer. He quit his career, since the fights were being more rigged. A lot of people were letting Glenn give them a beating and some started demanding that Glenn start taking falls. He didn't want to piss off the wrong types of people. As a result, he quit. However, he has been attending the bookmakers lately to see what was up in the fights. As he opened the door, the family dog Otis, who was a large friendly hound, ended up greeting its owner. "Easy boy! I got to check the mail!" Glenn said, as he checked the mail that was through the mail slot. The mailbox accidently broke due to some termites, which caused a bit of a scare, but Glenn had the mailman deliver his mail through the mail slot. It was just Glenn and the dog in the house. Emily and the kids were still at the school. Glenn checked his silver watch that was a gift from his wife. 2:30. They might start coming home in a while, until Emily has errands to do.
Glenn looked over the envelopes. Water and heating bill. Dog grooming. Plumbing. Baby shower for one of the people in the community. Harvest info. Glenn took interest in that last part, since they were doing a picnic, which was one of Emily's favorite things to do as a hobby. Day of the harvest would be good to have a BBQ and a thing of beer. Glenn checked to make sure the dog still had food, where he got himself a cup of water to drink. There was a post-it note on to have the meat thaw in the sink for dinner. Glenn did just that, as he took a lot at the crayon drawings on the fridge from Annie and Marston. There was a bit of a copy of a grocery list on what was needed. Sugar, dog biscuits, focaccia (to make dinner new), butter, toothbrushs (Annie's toothbrush was flushed down the toilet by accident), and printer paper.
There was still the paper from yesterday, but Glenn already looked at it. It was only World News nonsense from China and how it could affect the election next year. Glenn didn't have a chance to look more into the candidates. After a while, he went to the living room, where he saw family pictures of all sorts. There was Emily at church with Glenn. A picture of Otis as a puppy. Pictures of the kids. Glenn went into the living room, which had a large TV and a working VHS player. Was Glenn still old-school with VHS? Of course? Why not? He still had his Haunt of Fear comic books in his bedroom bookshelf, also. Emily didn't see a problem with that. There was tons of VHS tapes in a drawer near the TV. A lot of it was direct-to-video stuff that Glenn loved. From low budget horror films that Glenn made sure that the kids didn't see the covers of to not traumatize them and some poorly-dubbed Hong Kong kung-fu flicks. For some variety, there was a VHS that was a documentary of World War 2 and reruns of a show called American Gothic back in the 90s. Glenn could be in the living room until the family came home to watch a cooking show, but Glenn wanted to stroll around the house quick, before he had a chance to head up to his office.
There was a bit of a lounge area in another room. A large hearth connected to a brick by brick chimney was below a mantlepiece that had a slew of both Glenn and Emily Marsh. Some of them together. Some during a vacation. There was a good picture of Glenn in the woods. There was a large wedding photo that had both Glenn in a groom outfit and his bride Emily looking young. There was a bookcase nearby. None of the kids touched the books, though some of it was friendly for them. There was two books on how to draw. A nice Italian cookbook from New York that Glenn got that knows how to whip up a good themed steak and some cookies. A psychology and a calculus book. The Wednesday Wars by Gary D. Schmidt. A bible for when church had to be closed. There was a copy of Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone. There was even a book about the Naples Dioscurides. Glenn noticed the golf club in the corner of the room that was meant to be a present from his brother Chet, who lived more up a couple states. Glenn didn't want to do golf, but he had no idea on how to get rid of it.
Bedrooms were upstairs with his office. As Glenn went up the stairs, he opened the door to his office, as he started to check his computer for some emails. There was a bit of an urgent one from the title alone. "GARY GONE ROGUE" the email screamed at Glenn, as he clicked it open to see what was it was about. "Not good.." Gary was a part of the community union to go against the slaughterhouse, but it looks like Gary was apparently paid off and now was trying to convince people to let the construction happen. Someone from the company was paying people off, but Glenn didn't have the confirmation to know if it was true. It could explain why Whitman, who was strongly favoriting the construction also with his spoiled family, was also trying to push the construction. The meeting was supposed to happen tonight.
As Glenn was working in his office, he heard a car pull into the driveway. Ah, it must be Emily and the kids! Glenn started to head downstairs to tell her about tonight. She wouldn't mind, would she?
