“Sad?” The chief investigator gave the rookie an exasperated look. “I think it’s fuckin’ tragic. And what’s worse is that it happens so goddamned often.” Though reluctant, he turned back to the scene of the crime, shaking his head. “Fuckin' gangsters.”
“You think they borrowed money but couldn’t pay it back in time?”
Investigator Murry took a long puff of his cigarette and then lowered it to his waist again. “As far as I see it. This is one of the most impoverished districts in Manhattan, after all.”
A grim-faced coroner approached his superior, “Sir, the ballistics analysis is complete.”
“And the verdict?”
“Special-issued Desert Viper, Class A.” The young coroner shook his head sadly. “Those are special-issue weapons in the possession of only the government’s highest agents. If I’m not mistaken, the NSA is currently the only agency that issues them, and only to their more distinguished squad—”
“You’re suggesting that the NSA is responsible for these cold-blooded murders?”
“I didn’t suggest that, sir.” The coroner stammered. “The weapons could have fallen into the wrong hands in any number of ways. I mean, they could have been obtained somehow on the black market or from a fallen agent or—any number of ways.”
Murry breathed in the bittersweet venom of his cigarette again as he further thought into the situation. “Good work coroner. Write up a report and have it on my desk by tomorrow morning.” The coroner nodded and wandered out of sight.
“You think it was by folly that I allowed you such an opportunity?”
Her gaze became less intense at this. “Bullshit. This had nothing to do with you.” She refused to lower the Desert Viper, Class A.
“Ha, then we agree already. Absolutely nothing to do with me.” He paused. “But with my father, yes?”
Her eyes intensified again. “You knew? You knew the whole fucking time?” Rage filled her body so quickly that she very nearly pulled the trigger. “And you still trusted me?”
“Trusted you? Oh, heavens no. When I discovered your past, I knew from the start that it would culminate to this. I knew you would try to kill me at some point or another. Frankly, I’m surprised you’ve waited as long as you have. There have been many opportunities, indeed.”
How he could be so flippant about his own death confused her and, most of all, made her want to cry. It was just barely that she held back her tears. “You want to die?”
“Shouldn’t every villainous bastard?” He searched her eyes, which looked more troubled by the second. “I had no part in your parents’ deaths, but I know that you want to kill me, all the same. That’s fair enough. Still, I suppose you should have more reason than just that. You’re obviously struggling with this.”
The detective’s aid looked slowly, uncertainly at his superior. “Sir?”
“Five murders. One week. Same goddamned weapon. ” Murry spoke to himself, confirming aloud the situation. “If this ain’t the work of the devil then I don’t know what is.”
Murry’s mind was lost in the darkness of that hellish room. Through the black veil, he could barely see the outlines of a dead man and woman. Their blood ran like a crimson river, nearly reaching to where he stood some ten feet away.
“What about the girl, sir?”
After another puff of his cigarette, Murry sighed and released the smoke slowly through his pursed lips. He turned away from the bloody scene and looked out through the window of the apartment and at the streets below. In one of the police cars parked next to the curb, there was a young girl with long, red hair and with horror-filled eyes. The detective recalled that her hands, her face, and her clothes were stained red. The first officers to the scene found her sobbing and clinging to her lifeless mother.
Murry shook his head free of the disturbing thoughts and finally said, “We’ll have to contact child services.”
“Sir?”
“What is it, rookie?”
The untried detective shifted uncomfortably in place, deterring his eyes away from the chief. “Never mind, sir.”
Finally, she shed a tear. For a moment, she was crying over her parents, her world a spinning torrent of blood. “I killed the men who murdered my parents. But it wasn’t enough. It didn’t bring them back.” Her voice quavered.
“Yes, of course. You wanted to get to the source. You wanted to strike the very heart of The Divine. My father.”
“Yes! God, you don’t know what I went through just to find his name!”
“And by then, he was already dead. Am I right?”
She slowly nodded. The weight of the gun was beginning to tire her arm. “But you’re the next best thing. And you’re despicable just like him.”
“I suppose I am.” The first sign of emotion escaped him through a subtle sigh. “And yet you still hesitate to pull that trigger?”
She closed her eyes for just a moment to let the tears fall. It was ample opportunity for him to take the weapon away. He remained completely still. She whispered, tear drops on her lips, “I love you.”
“Killing the ones you love is never easy.”
Murry continued to look down at the street below, ignoring the baffled passersby as he further contemplated the recent murders. Could this—he wondered—be the work of The Divine? He could hardly think of the name of this new and already notorious crime organization without clenching his teeth in anger.
It was the manner of this new organization that made them so formidable. Their operations had very little to do with terror or brute force. On the contrary, The Divine seized their keep via infiltration, temptation, and promises of sex, power, drugs, money—whatever their clients desired. They would quickly become the bane of every law enforcer in New York. At least, to those who had not already been swayed.
“Let me tell you about my father.” He paused to take in a deep breath and to recall the story. “He was once a military man who, after serving his time, became a simple businessman. He had a very simple dream; he only wanted to provide for his family. His wife. His little girl. His ungrateful son.
“But he could not. His shop—not unlike many others at the time—was robbed by some thugs trying to get by and he was beaten and left for dead. I remember that he was visited in the hospital by a man in a long overcoat. The man was impressed with my father’s heartiness and offered him a chance, after he would recover, to find the men that had nearly destroyed his dream and, ultimately, kill them. He also promised my dad endless riches if he chose this path of revenge.
“Ah, what a very enticing offer for a poor man who had nearly lost everything. And what choice did he have if he was to provide for his family? He found the men and he murdered them—but he didn’t stop there, as you know. With his quick wits and survival skills he worked his way through the ranks of the underworld, becoming richer and more powerful than God himself.
“For ten years, I never even saw my father. We—my mother and sister and I—lived out in the country, hidden from the world. Occasionally we’d have checks delivered to us, always more than enough to get by. But my mother only used what was necessary to live. She didn’t want to spoil us.”
She interrupted, more confused than ever. “What is the point of this?”
“The point, yes.” He looked pensively over at a picture on his wall of the modest cabin that he called home for so many years. “Eventually, the NSA tracked us and knew that if they ever wanted to locate my father—by then the most powerful and elusive crime lord in our nation’s history—they would find him through us.
“They told me the horrible things that my father had done, the things that my mother had hidden from us for so many years. I was so disgusted to know the truth that I didn’t hesitate to join them. I wanted nothing more than to kill that bastard of a man for the things he had done.
“I betrayed his trust and met him in a remote location. I was fully wired, fully loaded, fully prepared to kill him.”
The implication was jarring to her. “You killed your own father?”
“In a sense, yes. You see, he told me everything about his criminal life. He confided in me every last detail. He said he deserved to die, and by God I agreed with him.”
“You yourself didn’t kill him?” She was growing impatient.
“He told me to pull the trigger, but I couldn’t. My father—the most notorious criminal in the world!—actually cried and begged God for forgiveness. He cried and he apologized for the man he had become.” He paused. “But in my hesitation, the NSA agents appeared and finished the job. I was seventeen when my father was killed right in front of me.”
She was so awestruck by all of this that she nearly lowered her weapon. But she thought better of it, shaking her head. “You’re so full of shit. You want me to believe that you’re so Goddamned noble, and yet here you are, the same man as your father.”
“I wanted to use what he told me and take apart the empire that he had created. Ha. Power certainly does corrupt, as they say. A few of those NSA agents killed my father to take over his empire, not for justice or righteousness or whatever good reason to take down a villain. Those who did have some sense of morality about what should be done with my father’s empire were ‘tragically’ killed in the operation. Of course, crossing the NSA would have meant certain death for me as well.”
Murry had worked primarily with the profiling division of the NYPD for several years. He knew that the type of people involved with The Divine and many criminal organizations before it usually had something starkly obvious in common. Supposing it was not just a simple matter of power-hungriness, the members almost always had an irreversibly troubled childhood. In Murry’s experience, these people either chose to fight or join the law in their later years.
He looked out through the window again, down at the police car below. After one final, deep breath from his cigarette, he sighed heavily and slowly released the smoke from his lips. “That girl,” he suddenly spoke, startling his rookie companion, “she’ll try to get her revenge one day. You know this, don’t you?”
His eyes locked once more with hers. “Do you still love me, knowing now the fuller extent of my depravity?”
She trembled, her eyes again welling up with tears. “Did you even have a choice? This life?”
“Does anybody? Surely, when our wits are about us and there is nothing at stake, but what about those desperate times when there only seems to be one choice?” He turned his back to her, not even looking over his shoulder. “If you feel that you must kill me, then I suppose there is no other choice.”
She felt cold. So many others had died in her quest to find and kill this man, and she had very little qualms about their deaths. This was different. There was always something in his eyes, something in his embrace, and something in the way he kissed her. This man was sincere.
Finally, she dropped her weapon. After all she had been through just to make it to this point, she simply could not bring herself to kill this poor man. And what good would it do? Someone else would rise to take his spot. Her parents would never come back. More than ever, she would have no place to belong.
“I can’t.” She fell to her knees, sobbing, “I can’t do it.”
In an instant he whirled around and aimed his Colt directly at her forehead. Her face showed absolute horror. His face was forever calm. “Do you see what a monster I am? I feel nothing.” He whispered to himself with such sincere remorse, “I feel nothing.”
The sound of the gunfire was deafening.
“Sir?”
“Or—God forbid—she’ll die tryin’.” Murry turned away from the window and headed for the door of the apartment. His partner followed. “Come on, rookie, this place sickens me.”
Comments: Firstly, you write with a super smooth, clean style that is easily accessible- this story was easy and fun to read. All the pieces fit together neatly and I didn’t have to spend time scratching my head, wondering what went where. However, I really didn’t like not getting information about the relationships you alluded to- why does the girl love the guy? Was she a member of the “NSA’s most elite team”? Why did she have that gun, then? You clearly have the skill and capability to help answer these questions, but you leave them hanging and distract the reader- this story would be much better if it were ~750 words longer.
Adherence to Prompt: 5
Spelling and Grammar: 4
Characterization: 5.5
Plot and Structure: 7
Style: 9
Creativity: 6
Total: 36.5
Good story. A little uneven at times and I was left trying to figure out what happened and who some of the characters were. But it's a good first effort. Now the challenge is to take this story and make it something more. something better.
Scores:
Adherance to Prompt: 4. I like the concept of the crime scene told in two time-frames - one from the cop investigating the scene and one from the people involved in the scene itself. Plus you keep us guessing all the way to the end about how it all played out. you lose a point however, because even at the end, we don't find out what happened or even why. The story needed more resolution.
Spelling and Grammar: 3. Pretty good overall, but you sometimes use the wrong words or use words incorrectly (DETERRING his eyes, I knew from the start it would culminate TO this).
Characterization: 4. The girl is somewhat tragic, but I don't see her as a tragic hero. Perhaps the crime boss is a tragic hero, but he's really no hero at all. He is simply looking for redemption (as was his father). Plus, we never get a full picture of how and/or why they came to be the people they are. We're left with a lot more questions than answers at the end. Why did she love him? Why did he and his father fall so hard from the straight and narrow? Why are we supposed to care about these people. Develop these two characters (and the detective) some more to give your story more emotional impact.
Plot and Structure: 5. The story is well-told for the most part. The different time frames play off each other well and you do a great job of not gving out too much information too early. However, there are problems. We end up not knowing why she killed him (or even if she killed him). If the girl down at the squad cards needs child services, was she the killer? If so, how did she get such a specialized gun? When you leave us readers with all these questions, we tend to get frustrated. You need to find some way to answer them.
Style: 6. Overall, your writing is solid, but you are missing on some important, basic points; especially Point of View (POV). Your POV keeps slipping. Look at the second scene and watch how we jump from her head to his head as they think things about each other. Then, later, the cop is looking at the girl by the squad car from somewhere up above but somehow can see her horror-filled eyes. This is what I'm talking about, your POV character getting information he or she shouldn't be able to get (from inside someone else's head or from so far away they can't see it). These jarring P.O.V problems dropped me out of the story as I tried to figure out how it all worked and who was telling the story.
Creativity: 7. I liked your slant on the basic two time-frames story. A mystery told from both the investigator's perspective and from the perpetrator's perspective is a lot of fun. However, you leave too many knots untied up. This is first and foremost a mystery story and all mystery stories conclude with the investigator finding out who the bad guy was. Here even the readers don't know who did what at the end.
Total: 29.
Keep it up, though. I see some great promise in your writing.
Will
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“Sad?” The chief investigator gave the rookie an exasperated look. “I think it’s fuckin’ tragic. And what’s worse is that it happens so goddamned often.” Though reluctant, he turned back to the scene of the crime, shaking his head. “Fuckin' gangsters.”
“You think they borrowed money but couldn’t pay it back in time?”
Investigator Murry took a long puff of his cigarette and then lowered it to his waist again. “As far as I see it. This is one of the most impoverished districts in Manhattan, after all.”
A grim-faced coroner approached his superior, “Sir, the ballistics analysis is complete.”
“And the verdict?”
“Special-issued Desert Viper, Class A.” The young coroner shook his head sadly. “Those are special-issue weapons in the possession of only the government’s highest agents. If I’m not mistaken, the NSA is currently the only agency that issues them, and only to their more distinguished squad—”
“You’re suggesting that the NSA is responsible for these cold-blooded murders?”
“I didn’t suggest that, sir.” The coroner stammered. “The weapons could have fallen into the wrong hands in any number of ways. I mean, they could have been obtained somehow on the black market or from a fallen agent or—any number of ways.”
Murry breathed in the bittersweet venom of his cigarette again as he further thought into the situation. “Good work coroner. Write up a report and have it on my desk by tomorrow morning.” The coroner nodded and wandered out of sight.
“You think it was by folly that I allowed you such an opportunity?”
Her gaze became less intense at this. “Bullshit. This had nothing to do with you.” She refused to lower the Desert Viper, Class A.
“Ha, then we agree already. Absolutely nothing to do with me.” He paused. “But with my father, yes?”
Her eyes intensified again. “You knew? You knew the whole fucking time?” Rage filled her body so quickly that she very nearly pulled the trigger. “And you still trusted me?”
“Trusted you? Oh, heavens no. When I discovered your past, I knew from the start that it would culminate to this. I knew you would try to kill me at some point or another. Frankly, I’m surprised you’ve waited as long as you have. There have been many opportunities, indeed.”
How he could be so flippant about his own death confused her and, most of all, made her want to cry. It was just barely that she held back her tears. “You want to die?”
“Shouldn’t every villainous bastard?” He searched her eyes, which looked more troubled by the second. “I had no part in your parents’ deaths, but I know that you want to kill me, all the same. That’s fair enough. Still, I suppose you should have more reason than just that. You’re obviously struggling with this.”
The detective’s aid looked slowly, uncertainly at his superior. “Sir?”
“Five murders. One week. Same goddamned weapon. ” Murry spoke to himself, confirming aloud the situation. “If this ain’t the work of the devil then I don’t know what is.”
Murry’s mind was lost in the darkness of that hellish room. Through the black veil, he could barely see the outlines of a dead man and woman. Their blood ran like a crimson river, nearly reaching to where he stood some ten feet away.
“What about the girl, sir?”
After another puff of his cigarette, Murry sighed and released the smoke slowly through his pursed lips. He turned away from the bloody scene and looked out through the window of the apartment and at the streets below. In one of the police cars parked next to the curb, there was a young girl with long, red hair and with horror-filled eyes. The detective recalled that her hands, her face, and her clothes were stained red. The first officers to the scene found her sobbing and clinging to her lifeless mother.
Murry shook his head free of the disturbing thoughts and finally said, “We’ll have to contact child services.”
“Sir?”
“What is it, rookie?”
The untried detective shifted uncomfortably in place, deterring his eyes away from the chief. “Never mind, sir.”
Finally, she shed a tear. For a moment, she was crying over her parents, her world a spinning torrent of blood. “I killed the men who murdered my parents. But it wasn’t enough. It didn’t bring them back.” Her voice quavered.
“Yes, of course. You wanted to get to the source. You wanted to strike the very heart of The Divine. My father.”
“Yes! God, you don’t know what I went through just to find his name!”
“And by then, he was already dead. Am I right?”
She slowly nodded. The weight of the gun was beginning to tire her arm. “But you’re the next best thing. And you’re despicable just like him.”
“I suppose I am.” The first sign of emotion escaped him through a subtle sigh. “And yet you still hesitate to pull that trigger?”
She closed her eyes for just a moment to let the tears fall. It was ample opportunity for him to take the weapon away. He remained completely still. She whispered, tear drops on her lips, “I love you.”
“Killing the ones you love is never easy.”
Murry continued to look down at the street below, ignoring the baffled passersby as he further contemplated the recent murders. Could this—he wondered—be the work of The Divine? He could hardly think of the name of this new and already notorious crime organization without clenching his teeth in anger.
It was the manner of this new organization that made them so formidable. Their operations had very little to do with terror or brute force. On the contrary, The Divine seized their keep via infiltration, temptation, and promises of sex, power, drugs, money—whatever their clients desired. They would quickly become the bane of every law enforcer in New York. At least, to those who had not already been swayed.
“Let me tell you about my father.” He paused to take in a deep breath and to recall the story. “He was once a military man who, after serving his time, became a simple businessman. He had a very simple dream; he only wanted to provide for his family. His wife. His little girl. His ungrateful son.
“But he could not. His shop—not unlike many others at the time—was robbed by some thugs trying to get by and he was beaten and left for dead. I remember that he was visited in the hospital by a man in a long overcoat. The man was impressed with my father’s heartiness and offered him a chance, after he would recover, to find the men that had nearly destroyed his dream and, ultimately, kill them. He also promised my dad endless riches if he chose this path of revenge.
“Ah, what a very enticing offer for a poor man who had nearly lost everything. And what choice did he have if he was to provide for his family? He found the men and he murdered them—but he didn’t stop there, as you know. With his quick wits and survival skills he worked his way through the ranks of the underworld, becoming richer and more powerful than God himself.
“For ten years, I never even saw my father. We—my mother and sister and I—lived out in the country, hidden from the world. Occasionally we’d have checks delivered to us, always more than enough to get by. But my mother only used what was necessary to live. She didn’t want to spoil us.”
She interrupted, more confused than ever. “What is the point of this?”
“The point, yes.” He looked pensively over at a picture on his wall of the modest cabin that he called home for so many years. “Eventually, the NSA tracked us and knew that if they ever wanted to locate my father—by then the most powerful and elusive crime lord in our nation’s history—they would find him through us.
“They told me the horrible things that my father had done, the things that my mother had hidden from us for so many years. I was so disgusted to know the truth that I didn’t hesitate to join them. I wanted nothing more than to kill that bastard of a man for the things he had done.
“I betrayed his trust and met him in a remote location. I was fully wired, fully loaded, fully prepared to kill him.”
The implication was jarring to her. “You killed your own father?”
“In a sense, yes. You see, he told me everything about his criminal life. He confided in me every last detail. He said he deserved to die, and by God I agreed with him.”
“You yourself didn’t kill him?” She was growing impatient.
“He told me to pull the trigger, but I couldn’t. My father—the most notorious criminal in the world!—actually cried and begged God for forgiveness. He cried and he apologized for the man he had become.” He paused. “But in my hesitation, the NSA agents appeared and finished the job. I was seventeen when my father was killed right in front of me.”
She was so awestruck by all of this that she nearly lowered her weapon. But she thought better of it, shaking her head. “You’re so full of shit. You want me to believe that you’re so Goddamned noble, and yet here you are, the same man as your father.”
“I wanted to use what he told me and take apart the empire that he had created. Ha. Power certainly does corrupt, as they say. A few of those NSA agents killed my father to take over his empire, not for justice or righteousness or whatever good reason to take down a villain. Those who did have some sense of morality about what should be done with my father’s empire were ‘tragically’ killed in the operation. Of course, crossing the NSA would have meant certain death for me as well.”
Murry had worked primarily with the profiling division of the NYPD for several years. He knew that the type of people involved with The Divine and many criminal organizations before it usually had something starkly obvious in common. Supposing it was not just a simple matter of power-hungriness, the members almost always had an irreversibly troubled childhood. In Murry’s experience, these people either chose to fight or join the law in their later years.
He looked out through the window again, down at the police car below. After one final, deep breath from his cigarette, he sighed heavily and slowly released the smoke from his lips. “That girl,” he suddenly spoke, startling his rookie companion, “she’ll try to get her revenge one day. You know this, don’t you?”
His eyes locked once more with hers. “Do you still love me, knowing now the fuller extent of my depravity?”
She trembled, her eyes again welling up with tears. “Did you even have a choice? This life?”
“Does anybody? Surely, when our wits are about us and there is nothing at stake, but what about those desperate times when there only seems to be one choice?” He turned his back to her, not even looking over his shoulder. “If you feel that you must kill me, then I suppose there is no other choice.”
She felt cold. So many others had died in her quest to find and kill this man, and she had very little qualms about their deaths. This was different. There was always something in his eyes, something in his embrace, and something in the way he kissed her. This man was sincere.
Finally, she dropped her weapon. After all she had been through just to make it to this point, she simply could not bring herself to kill this poor man. And what good would it do? Someone else would rise to take his spot. Her parents would never come back. More than ever, she would have no place to belong.
“I can’t.” She fell to her knees, sobbing, “I can’t do it.”
In an instant he whirled around and aimed his Colt directly at her forehead. Her face showed absolute horror. His face was forever calm. “Do you see what a monster I am? I feel nothing.” He whispered to himself with such sincere remorse, “I feel nothing.”
The sound of the gunfire was deafening.
“Sir?”
“Or—God forbid—she’ll die tryin’.” Murry turned away from the window and headed for the door of the apartment. His partner followed. “Come on, rookie, this place sickens me.”
My Captain Sisay Duel Commander Primer
Duel Commander Mega-Thread
Comments: Firstly, you write with a super smooth, clean style that is easily accessible- this story was easy and fun to read. All the pieces fit together neatly and I didn’t have to spend time scratching my head, wondering what went where. However, I really didn’t like not getting information about the relationships you alluded to- why does the girl love the guy? Was she a member of the “NSA’s most elite team”? Why did she have that gun, then? You clearly have the skill and capability to help answer these questions, but you leave them hanging and distract the reader- this story would be much better if it were ~750 words longer.
Adherence to Prompt: 5
Spelling and Grammar: 4
Characterization: 5.5
Plot and Structure: 7
Style: 9
Creativity: 6
Total: 36.5
Scores:
Adherance to Prompt: 4. I like the concept of the crime scene told in two time-frames - one from the cop investigating the scene and one from the people involved in the scene itself. Plus you keep us guessing all the way to the end about how it all played out. you lose a point however, because even at the end, we don't find out what happened or even why. The story needed more resolution.
Spelling and Grammar: 3. Pretty good overall, but you sometimes use the wrong words or use words incorrectly (DETERRING his eyes, I knew from the start it would culminate TO this).
Characterization: 4. The girl is somewhat tragic, but I don't see her as a tragic hero. Perhaps the crime boss is a tragic hero, but he's really no hero at all. He is simply looking for redemption (as was his father). Plus, we never get a full picture of how and/or why they came to be the people they are. We're left with a lot more questions than answers at the end. Why did she love him? Why did he and his father fall so hard from the straight and narrow? Why are we supposed to care about these people. Develop these two characters (and the detective) some more to give your story more emotional impact.
Plot and Structure: 5. The story is well-told for the most part. The different time frames play off each other well and you do a great job of not gving out too much information too early. However, there are problems. We end up not knowing why she killed him (or even if she killed him). If the girl down at the squad cards needs child services, was she the killer? If so, how did she get such a specialized gun? When you leave us readers with all these questions, we tend to get frustrated. You need to find some way to answer them.
Style: 6. Overall, your writing is solid, but you are missing on some important, basic points; especially Point of View (POV). Your POV keeps slipping. Look at the second scene and watch how we jump from her head to his head as they think things about each other. Then, later, the cop is looking at the girl by the squad car from somewhere up above but somehow can see her horror-filled eyes. This is what I'm talking about, your POV character getting information he or she shouldn't be able to get (from inside someone else's head or from so far away they can't see it). These jarring P.O.V problems dropped me out of the story as I tried to figure out how it all worked and who was telling the story.
Creativity: 7. I liked your slant on the basic two time-frames story. A mystery told from both the investigator's perspective and from the perpetrator's perspective is a lot of fun. However, you leave too many knots untied up. This is first and foremost a mystery story and all mystery stories conclude with the investigator finding out who the bad guy was. Here even the readers don't know who did what at the end.
Total: 29.
Keep it up, though. I see some great promise in your writing.
Will