[a / b / c / d / e / f / g / gif / h / hr / k / m / o / p / r / s / t / u / v / vg / w / wg] [i / ic] [r9k] [cm / hm / y] [3 / adv / an / cgl / ck / co / diy / fa / fit / hc / int / jp / lit / mlp / mu / n / po / pol / sci / soc / sp / tg / toy / trv / tv / vp / x] [rs] [status / ? / @] [Settings] [Home]
Settings   Home
/tg/ - Traditional Games

File: film_noir7.jpg (16 KB, 400x272)
16 KB
>So then this dame walks into my office...
...and I'm thinking, this broad ain't what she seems...
Something something red dress.
something something red...shit
Also gams.
She clearly had a dick.
I sit down, cradling the tumbler in my hand and taking a snuff from the cigarrette in the other.
She was a calligraphy enthusiast with a slight overbite and hair the color of strained peaches.
>Her dick was like my hangover: throbbing and ready to explode.
Let's see. Legs that never end... Fiery eyes, lips like... um.
So I knew this broad was trouble the moment I laid eyes on her... but then trouble is my game or something.
File: What The Fuck.png (167 KB, 800x264)
167 KB
167 KB PNG
File: tracerbullet.jpg (43 KB, 960x800)
43 KB
>I keep two magnums in my desk. One's a gun, and I keep it loaded. The other's a bottle, and it keeps ME loaded.
File: ch9002061.gif (23 KB, 600x191)
23 KB
Bill got this
Explode. Damn. Takes me back to my days in the war.... when you could get french 'hore for less than a few dollars. Hard times, hard to crawl my way out more gutters full of filth than I could remember.
...she had the type of legs that even a father would love...
File: tracer.jpg (547 KB, 696x1730)
547 KB
547 KB JPG
File: tracer (2).jpg (512 KB, 700x1460)
512 KB
512 KB JPG
File: tracer_haircut.gif (212 KB, 612x1924)
212 KB
212 KB GIF
And the final one
>/tg/ in charge of stories
She was the kind of same you write similes about.
Was that a Thrilling Adventure Hour reference? Because if so, I love you.
It's a rather good story so far. We got a mysterious dame in a red dress promising trouble and danger. A reluctant antihero with flashbacks to the war. A dick like a hangover.
All we need now is the job she offers us and the rest will write itself.
>Open thread with potential
>See this post
>close thread
File: CIA questioning.png (97 KB, 292x209)
97 KB
Mystery lady, I'm Detective Agency.
"I need a good dick," she said with lips as red as her dress.
"It looks like you've already got one," I quipped and motioned against her throbbing boner with my piece. And by piece, I mean the one in my hand, not my trousers.
"Dick as in detective," she responded. "I thought I had the right man for the job."
I step out of my office and tell the dame I had a door, she didn't need to walk into my office

ba dum tish
She leans in, vulgar-like.
"Please.." She whispers huskily. "It's my partner. I fear they've been taken, screwed by those men from chinatown. They went off muttering about a debt. Oh dear, I can't stand it, I've never been this long without them." She lets out a forced sob, pulls a satin kerchief from her package, the one under her arm.
"I'm not the right man, who is in this world.

But I'm an acceptable substitute."
"I might be the private dick you need, depends on what you want and what you got to offer."
She stared at me deeply with sultry eyes: "I need a man."
"Surely a fine dame like you could get youself a husband for such needs."
"No," she replied with a certain annoyance, "I need you to find a man, a certain man, his name is John Connor. There's only one like him."
From her tone I could tell that this job would be trouble. But then, trouble is what I do.
"I'm sorry ma'am, but I've forgotten Chinatown."
Some John Doe husband spirited away by the chinamen. Classic sob story, heard it before, hundreds of times.Didn't believe a word the dame said. But then again, I don't get paid to believe, I get paid for results.
This dame promised plenty of trouble and plenty of reward. I'd rather just have only one of those, but this is a double or nothing game.
"I don't work cheap lady, but if the money is good then the results will be good. So, is the money good?"
"Only the best." And she shot her wad across my desk. I picked up the slab of bills and thumbed over them briskly. It was good, real good.
"Lady, looks like you got yourself a Dick."
I was worried this was getting serious and boring, thanks for getting it back on track.
I ran my hands accross her wad. It was thick all right, the biggest I'd ever touched. Felt good in my hands.
"There's more where that came from." She purred in a seductive tone.
"I'll be your Dick all right, but I gotta know what I'm up against. If this is about chinatown I guess the Mercenary is involved somehow? The masked man?"
"Bane?", sshe asks, her voice like silk in an expensive bordello.

"My John loved the cocks." I raised an eyebrow. "He would often fall on the ring by the dock in the evenings." Cockfighting, I should have known. No wonder he was in deep with the chinamen, they were always looking for some fresh ass they could bend over and lay into.
"Aye" I muttered under my breath.
If I was going to do this job I needed to know if I would be taking on the most ferocious gangster in the nation. When dealing with big guys like that you need to go into the job with a cool head and a masterplan. If not the job will crash and burn... with no survivors.
There better be fedora jokes coming up.
So I stepped outside, waving to the dame dismissevly, the raindrops on the sidewalk like pins on hardwood to my hangover.
I got up, putting my piece in my pocket along with what remained of her wad after I had wiped some of it off into my desk drawer. Picking my coat from the stand by the door, I slung it over my shoulder and roughly fixed my cap to my brow.
"Best stay low, 'mam' whilst I look into things. God keep you safe."

She craned her neck. "I don't believe, but thank you."
I gave a half smile and tipped my fedora in her direction.
"Be seeing you later then, miss."
Cockfighting, Chinamen, The Mercenary, some tool named John Connor. The case stunk worse than my underwear after taconight, but I would do anything to see that lady shoot another load of wad accross my desk.
The raindrops kept pounding my Fedora harder than a monday-hangover and I figured that I would have to seek shelter. Probably somewhere with decent company, a drink and the possibility of a good lead. Failing that I would have to make do with the drink.
Thrusting myself into The Old Girl, I sat myself down at the bar. The air smelt foul, the spilt juices of men and women alike coated the floor of the bar making my boot stick to the floor.

Across the way, two girls were eating something brown from a cup and, in the corner, a bear was eating up some faggots. What a waste, I always did love fresh pork from the homecountry.
"Barman, give me two fingers fast from where the sun don't shine." He threw me a drink and I knocked it back. Damn. I hated Seattle but at least they made good Bourbon.
I down my drink in seconds.Nothing new for me. "Want another?" "Yeah." "On the rocks?" "Only if the rocks are made of whiskey." I knew this was gonna be a long day. Barkeep slides me a drink across the counter. "On the house." he says. This ain't my first time at this joint, and he knew that well. "So what're ya in for, Jack?" the barkeep said. "I'm lookin' for a guy." he then bursts out laughing. I don't. "John Connor. Chinamen. Cockfights. A masked mobster. Ring any bells?" "Not sure, maybe if I had something to clean them with..." He held out his hand. I reach deep in my pants and pull out the one thing any woman wants from a man. I slap it right in his hand, he grips tight. Sometimes if you want somethin bad enough, you gotta do some greain' up. Thats something this Jack knows all too well.
He slips the cash in his pocket. "Well, I have been hearing something about cockfights in an old warehouse. Lucky you, this warehouse is right in Chinatown." "Perfect, where at?" "Right at the corner of chink and chong!" he says, with his annoying laughter. I grab him by the collar. "Quit the schtick, Mick. Out with it." "Jeez, you need a sense of humor, pal." "I'm not your pal, buddy. Now where's the warehouse?" "O-off Jefferson avenue! Across from a food market!" he stuttered. I let him down. "Thanks." I say before I walk right out the door
>...and has massive tits.
Getting to Jefferson avenue should not have presented much of a problem, but then, problems have a way of finding me.
I noticed them quickly, two goons following me, chinamen by the looks of it. Seemed my snoopin' had attracted some attention of the undesired kind earlier than anticipated.
Not the first time I’ve had two Orientals all to myself in an alleyway, nor the first time I’ve ended up feeling rather dissatisfied with the experience.
The thugs jump me and start pounding away at my ass without asking for my consent. They snatch away my piece before they begin on the laborious process of extracting the remains of my last meal from my stomach. I resist as well as I can but my resistance only seems to embolden them. As I lay there waiting for the final blow one of them leans down and ask:
“Tell me about Connor, where does he hide?” Didn’t expect them to have questions for me and nor did I have answers for them, not that I would give them anyway. That would be signing my own death warrant.
“A lot of loyalty for a hired dick!” he shouts as he points my own piece at my face.
“Or perhaps he’s wondering why you would beat a man before asking him questions?” That voice, like smooth silk on wet pavement, I was ready for anything but that voice…
BEst thread in /tg/ right now.
File: Mona[1].jpg (9 KB, 232x200)
9 KB
Hey, uh, Max, you're doing it again, can you stop talking to yourself for like five minutes?
File: Dixon_Hill[1].jpg (817 KB, 1440x1080)
817 KB
817 KB JPG
>Computer resume Program
File: Gurney.jpg (44 KB, 1280x720)
44 KB
...And then:
Jiang Al-Ghul. The woman that broke my heart, my spine, my spirit as well as several other bodily parts, including my dick. And I would let her do it again in a heartbeat, she was that kind of dame. Her eyes promised velvet and roses with an undercurrent of crazy, the kind of crazy you don’t stick your dick in if you value it. The woman that had made me break the no dick in crazy rule. The most dangerous woman in Chinatown. If you loved cocks you would have to go to her, those that gambled on cockfighting in Chinatown without her permission would soon find themselves without their cock, the feathered one as well as the other one. And of all the alleys in Chinatown she had to come walking down mine. While she presented my best shot at tracking down Connor a part of me wished that the Chinaman holding a gun to my head would put a bullet through my head and save me the heartbreak.
“Huh, wuzzat?” I tried to tip my fedora at her but the amount of broken ribs in my chest persuaded me otherwise. “Babe, mind calling of your goons before me reminiscence about old times? I fear that their participation might not be what we both have in mind.”
File: patrick stewart.jpg (12 KB, 480x360)
12 KB

She tried to cover up but it was too late. I'd seen everything.
>Hey, remember that time when we were on that set, but it was like a show in a show thing, and I had this funny line? Wasn't that... funny?
File: professor x.jpg (24 KB, 300x400)
24 KB

I thought it was funny.
She smashed her boot heel down on my throat, memories of old times came flooding back instantly. I knew this dame was trouble but the very scent of her drove me into a euphoria that even my fedora could not produce. Her heel dug into my throat and threatened to choke me, the pavement rubbed into my face and gently caressed my cheek. I could taste the city of the pavement, the people living in it, their loves, their desires, their suffering. The sweat of the pavement reminded me of what this city was and what it would give me if I let it have its way with me. But I had no intention of…
“Max, focus! Internal dialogue later.”
Her words made me snap out of it, I squinted up at her, putting on my most defiant face.
“I know about the fine dame in the red dress, I know about the job she offered you, I know about the wad she rubbed in your face. I will give you one chance, drop this case and walk away.” She clearly knew more than I had gambled on, when faced with such a predicament I figured playing nice would be a waste of time.
“If I solve this case will you cry?”
“It would be extremely traumatizing.”
“You’re a big girl” I quipped nonchalantly.
File: 1381858055894.gif (21 KB, 350x350)
21 KB
File: 1.jpg (84 KB, 440x660)
84 KB

A dame to...pilfer?
That dame looks old.
File: 1393442676928.gif (445 KB, 448x361)
445 KB
445 KB GIF
Legs forever.
File: 1.jpg (79 KB, 610x903)
79 KB
Holy fuck, you don't know Eva Green. God have mercy.
"For you." She quiped back with a smile, emphasised with press on my cheek from her boot.
File: 1408791466834.jpg (61 KB, 526x545)
61 KB
I knew it was coming, but it didn't make it any easier not to spit water over my keyboard.
The dame was as loco as I remembered. However, this little incident had given me the final clue to the puzzle. Firstly, the lady in red had told me all about how much John loved the cock and the gambling that comes with it. His disappearance would probably be linked to gambling debts, guys like John always goes for the biggest, juiciest cock without considering the aspect of endurance. Secondly, these angry Chinamen gave me hard evidence of John being on the loose and alive with a major debt unsettled.
A gambler like John only got one way of taking care of his debts, more gambling.
All evidence pointed in the direction of Connor making his appearance at tonight’s cockfighting tournament, and the key to a ringside seat was right above me with her heel on my throat. If I could play my cards right I could locate John this very evening and net that big, fat paycheck. Problem being, I was all out of cards to play.
So maybe I just had to rely on the luck of the draw.

"Feeling jealous are we? Some new honey comes in and you can't pooh or bear it?" It was a fish, but i've spend enough time with twats to know that I was a master baiter.
Suddenly it hit me, like the fist of a raging god.
Cards, dicks and chinamen..
In this rat-nest of a city, cards meant Dr Dick. Rumours had it that he used to be a mathematician or something, before he set up his own card club called the Black Lotus at the western docks and soon came do dominate the city's underground gambling circles. He had been draining suckers dry of cash for decades, and they loved it.
The only fly in Dr Dick's ointment was the chinamen, who had tried to get a piece of his pie through counterfeiting. The D had retaliated hard, but the chinamen were cunning.

I hated dealing with gangsters, but it seemed like I had no choice. Br Dick hated the chinamen, and he had more eyes in the underworld than I had stains on my underwear. It was time to make a visit to the Black Lotus.
underrated post
/tg/, if this doesn't get a proper ending eventually, this marriage is over. Because this is great.
She finally released me from the sweet embrace of her stiletto-like heel. The pavement kisses me goodbye as I’m finally able to lift my head a few inches above it.
“Your persistence was always your best and your worst quality Max. Never knew when to give up.”
When a lady starts rambling I figure its best to let them go on, and with a voice like that I wouldn’t be able to bring myself to interrupt her anyhow.
“I’ve seen your mystery lady in red, a real eye turner. You probably believed that sob story she gave you. Take my advice, give her John Connor and your life will be forfeit. When you finally come to your senses and decide to play for the wining team come find me. Jimmy Wang, Wang Fire, let’s go.”
And with that the lady that broke my heart and shat on it strolls of with her two goons. I stay on the ground, relishing not having anyone currently attempting to mangle me. I light a cigarette and finally manage to extinguish the last remains of her perfume in my nostrils.
Dr Dick, I should have known. Only that fiendish monster would be able to mastermind a plot like this. I struggle to my feet, savoring the pain in my chest, the pain that reminds me that I’m still alive, that there’s still a heart beating within this old ribcage. Time to see the good doctor. Also, I figured a den of sin and villainy like The Black Lotus would have some decent whisky. And I could really need a drink right now.

It would still be rough though, hard to take the D unscathed but it was worth a shot.

After a few minutes I had struggled to my feet and loped to the side of the road. I stuck out rod, hoping for cab. I had dropped my old truncheon as the fight kicked off which was pretty rough.
Stepping out the cab, I spewed some milk at the driver. "Thanks."

The air was thick and greasy around the black lotus, the thick fug of poppies permeated the air. I walked up noting the large black men of african descent.

"I'm here for D" With a curt set of nods, I was led inside.
The room was plush, cushions and flops all over the place as wasters lay back chasing the dragon with their long pipes. At the back, overlooking it all was Dr Dick.

He looked like a man out of time, a king or sultan atop his throne amongst his garden of debauchery. As I approached, a thick smile spread across the only one-eyed monster and a hearty rumble emitted from his prestigious girth.

"You are a brave man to return, Max"
I'm now imagining a mix between Richard Garfield and Jabba the Hutt. It's beautiful.
"Brave isn't the word I'd use, doctor. But I need to talk with a bigshot, and you're the biggest one there is."

By the look of his over-sized face, the good doctor was trying to figure out if I had just complimented or insulted him. So I decided to keep going while I was still ahead.

"I'm looking for John Connor. He'd better come with me if he wants to live."
“Connor you say? I know that man. He got an unhealthy obsession with cocks, don’t make sense when you consider that fiiine dame he calls his wife. Owes the Tongs quite a lot of money from what I’ve heard.” He leant forward and gave me a rather intrigued look. “But Max, why should I help you after the stunt you pulled on me?”
The big D knew what he was talking about, he had obviously been expecting me like a catholic priest expects a supple young quire boy. Luckily I was born protestant, no way I would let him bugger me this easy.
“Word on the street is the Tongs not being on your friendly list big D. Would be in your interest to make sure they don’t get their noodly hands on him, right?”
“Might be, might be. Still, I don’t hand out information for free. Sooo, what do you have to offer?” He leant back on his throne, striking a lewd pose, his eyes holding promises of things to come. I had my trump card, my connection with Jiang Al-Ghul and through her The Mercenary. The question being, was this the time to play it?”
File: zbObq.png (732 KB, 621x625)
732 KB
732 KB PNG
>this thread
"I know where he's gonna be sure as sunrise, but I need you to slip me in there. If i can get him out then it put Ms Al-Ghul's nose considerably out a joint."

"Hrm, perhaps but would I presume that that is for me and not some continuation of your inescapable crush on the delectable Jiang. The Good Doctor still remembers when you staggered in here, cat whipped and begging for the grace of Allah."
I winced at the memory, he always did enjoy bringing that up, the big fat bastard.

"Look see, I paid my dues for that one. If the chinaman looks bad then The Mercenary might skip out, ready for someone else to pick him up.

"Hohoho, a palpable opportunity it seems." A young artist hands Dr D an elegantly backed card which he squints at hungrily. Another emission of laughter and he casts it into the flames. The black flower crinkles in the flames.

"Very well, I will aid your little endeavour, but you best be wary; it is said that he owes a considerable amount of money to the chinaman for all the deals they have done for him. And I have heard that the games workshop is very angry that he continues to play unhindered."

"So do not fail me in this task" He licks his flabby lips with his roiling tongue. "Because The Dick gets what the Dick wants."
File: Wallenquist.jpg (190 KB, 1243x657)
190 KB
190 KB JPG
I walked out of the smoker's office faster than a rabbit fucking his mate. That man was not afraid to break outside of metaphors, something I knew all too well.
He had told me where to find Connor, but he knew I wouldn't like it. I can still see the smile on his face when he told me, tormenting my soul.
Cold storage. Warehouse. Other side of town. Figures, far away from the eyesight of those slants. Kinda funny how hard you have to hide from those beady, narrow eyes...
There is a famous club next door to it. Maybe I'll go get myself a drink there first. I just might learn something. Something worth putting my ass on the line more than it is already.
As I entered a taxi I reflected upon my chances. The cabby took me for the quiet type and left me to my musings like a Spanish prostitute at the siesta.

I was sure Dr Dick would double-cross me the moment I stopped being useful to him, after what I did he wouldn’t let me get away again. I also knew he would expect me to seeking a double-cross to pull on him, a correct estimate. He would also probably expect me to be expecting a double cross. Getting away from his greasy paws would be hard but I had wiggled myself out of his hands once and would hopefully do it again. Jiang would be a tougher case, she knew me better than my own shadow knows French bordellos and to boot she was a solid 10 on the crazy scale. When it comes to revenge few can measure up to a woman that’s a solid 10. And even if I survived her I would still have to consider The Mercenary, the mysterious man that had single handedly decimated the CIA if the stories were to be believed. I didn’t count myself a religious man but even fairy tales got some basis of truth. But at the end of this awaited the woman in red and that big fat paycheck that I needed and I would crawl through…

“Sir, hate to interrupt your internal monologue but we’ve arrived.”

So we had. I let the cabby have a taste of my wad and got out of the cab. Time to get into character.
I left the cab.

The night was dark and the cold was biting. In front of me was the warehouse where I would find myself a John. It was quiet out here but I knew that soon I would be entering the hubbub of a back street gambling ring, the cries of excitement, the moans of pain and the sound of cock on cock.

The warehouse was fairly non-descript, bleak and in poor form like the rest of the city's suburbs, unlike the richer areas, few here could afford the same luxury of adornment and graven images. Nevertheless, here and there, money was still king.
File: Niang Al-Ghul.jpg (51 KB, 500x575)
51 KB
As I entered the hornets’ nest I finally understood the extent of the danger I had placed myself in. Surrounding me on all sides were greasy Italians, dirt poor Irish and more beady eyed Chinamen than in all of the orient. Luckily they paid no attention to me. Their attention was on the center of the arena where two majestic cocks were grinding against each other.

A bookie smelling worse than my landlady on her period approached me. “You like cocks mister?”

“Love ‘em. But not right now, got a chicken to pluck and no time to waste.”

“Never were one to waste time ey?” a voice like fine wine on cheese murmurs behind me.

Spinning around I saw her. Niang Al-Ghul, the infamous evil twin sister of Jiang Al-Ghul. Where Jiang was one 100% crazy like only a woman can be this one was 100% evil. She was supposed to have died in that plane crash but it seems the Gotham Gazette failed at their fact checking ‘cause here she was, standing mere inches away from my face. She smelled better than a prostitute doused in whisky and her eyes promised nothing but pain and suffering of the kind you gladly endure.

“Didn’t know my sister had forgiven you for that stunt you pulled Max.”

“Didn’t know you were still alive, much less back in town babe.” I quipped, stalling for time while the gears in my head tried their best to get turning. A shot of scotch right now would have greased those gears well but there’s never a shot around when you need one. “Still working for the masked man? The Mercenary?”

I had barely finished the sentence before a new voice piped up right behind me: “Speak of the devil and he shall appear.” I had heard that voice once before and there were no mistaking it.

“Shit.” I let out. This was not looking up.
did someone archive it ? We need to see how this "Dick Case" ends...
Dear Lord...
Dear God, someone continue this.
A giant of a man towered over me, his eyes steel, his posture a statement and his scent a promise of pure rage. The Mercenary, a man even Dr Dick wouldn’t dare challenge openly, a man born into darkness, molded by darkness. Behind me Niang chuckled darkly. This case just kept getting worse all the time.

Finding myself between a rock and a hard place I figured there was only one way out, keep talking.

“You’re a big guy!” I declared loudly, an act more out of desperation than logic. I needed to distract them, anything that would give me the opportunity of evading their attention long enough for locating Connor and getting out in one, non-suplexed piece.
"For You"
“For you.” Niang muttered into my ear.

My throat went dry and the words wouldn’t come. My tongue, the fastest one in the game as Jiang had once described it, had went on strike like some filthy union now that I needed it the most.

“Now, let’s not stand on formality here.” the giant growled in a voice made up of equal parts danger and eloquence. “You will be fighting next, your opponent awaits you.”

“Fighting?” I managed to stutter out, feeling more confused than a Slavic immigrant fresh of the boat.

“Yes, while cocks provide quite a bit of entertainment we sometime need a display with a more… disciplinary effect.”

A couple of thugs grabbed hold of me with hands made out of iron. Their breath smelled like the whisky I so desperately crawed, for a second I considered licking their lips just for that little taste but abandoned the idea. I struggled as they drew me towards the arena. Around me the crowd had turned their attention towards us and started chanting something that certainly did not promise pleasant things.

“You’re pure evil!” I screamed at the gangster.

“I am necessary evil.” was the sole reply. Niang’s smirk grew into a monstrous sneer. Someday I had to figure out if it was her or Jiang’s heart I had broken. You can’t tell those cunning Chinamen apart, especially when they’re identical twins.

The thugs launched me into the arena and I landed heavily on a carpet of sawdust, blood and broken dreams. My bruised ribs screamed for relief but there was no time for rest. I could make out another figure standing at the far end of the arena and I suddenly understood.

“John Connor I presume?”
It's on suptg now.
It all came together, then and there. The fat D, the dame with the huge wad, Jiang's boot in my face, Connor's fist waiting to leave a new indentation in place of the heel-mark. It was never about Connor, it had always been about one thing: the score the Chinamen had left unsettled. The score with me.

Jiang hadn't been trying to throw me off the scent, she had been trying to warn me out of a trap the only way she could: by beating the ever-loving shit out of me. It was either a psychological disorder or she didn't want the other chinamen to know she wanted to rescue me, or both. Bitch was crazy.

"John Connor, Sarah, whatever you want to call me," the dame in the red dress answers, cracking her knuckles from her position across the ring. "Not that it matters. The future, your future, can't be changed. You shouldn't have broken Niang's heart, or possibly Jiang's. It's still not clear."

Probably Connor really did have a gambling debt a mile long and bone-deep, probably the Chinamen had put her up to this to get that debt forgiven. She'd shoved that fat wad into my face knowing I'd come sniffing through the dirt and grime after it no matter what. And here I was, solitary dick in a raging cockfight. Niang laughed, so much like her sister it hurt. Hurt like the vicious beating I was about to receive.

"No future but what we make," I tell her, tipping my fedora.
File: thicken.jpg (74 KB, 438x483)
74 KB
I had allowed them to play me like the tool I was and now I was paying the price of my greed. I should have stayed out of Chinatown regardless of the amount of wad rubbed in my face.

On a platform high above the rest The Mercenary made a single hand gesture, bellowing: “First round! FIGHT!” At that command the crowd went wild, money trading hands at an alarming rate. A gambling event like this wouldn’t come twice a year and as the main event I couldn’t help to feel flattered. Flattery mixed with white hot rage that is.

The beating Jiang had delivered unto me earlier meant that I would have stood little chance even against a cock. And this lady was no mere bird. Well, she was a bird alright, a fine bird, and from our earlier meeting in my office I had been given the clue that she did in fact have a cock. But she was more than the sum of those two parts and

“Max! Less monologue, more fighting!” Jiang called out the moment before a fist introduced my nose to unknown forms of geometry and pain.
Some music for the thread:
File: Only God forgives..jpg (30 KB, 620x387)
30 KB

She came in hard, red dress billowing. Damn, She was fast!

She swung right with a hook that I barely dodged, following up with one from the left and finally a haymaker from the other. I blocked the left but the haymaker sent me staggering. I lashed out but I didn't feel a connection.

That's when I felt it, that icy grip that touches your heart, that clutching icy grip that spreads through you chest; Fear.

I ain't shame to admit I flailed, I needed space otherwise it would be over this moment. Fortunately, she jumped back lightly on feet and I managed to slip of my jacket before she was on me.

She came back dancing and thrumbed my chest like a prize boxer, in my condition I wasn't one for fighting. But I wasn't going down. And it wasn't going to be nice or clean.

Stepping back, I spun my fedora over her face, it wasn't much but wasn't meant to be. I crossed with my left which she batted away easily but the seconds misdirection was enough, my real target was lower.

With my recovering right, I straight punched her to the dick, proper cockfighting, and let me tell you, a red dress ain't much protection.

Then I send her reeling with a hook to the chops.
File: knifefight.jpg (32 KB, 400x300)
32 KB
“Ah, you fight like a younger man,” The Mercenary taunted “nothing held back!” Pleasure upon every syllable of the words. But I knew better than to be distracted, not while I had the upper hand.

I threw everything I had at Sarah, not letting her regain her footing for a second. My fists gradually growing more and more tainted with her blood. Blood as red as her dress, dress increasingly colored by that very blood.

“Admirable, but mistaken.” he gloated as Sarah drove her knee into my privates, sending me staggering. For a brief second we both paused to pant as a couple after a ferocious round of coitus, both of us hurting more than a Irishman deprived of his alcohol.

Niang, or Jiang perhaps, drew a knife from the inside of her coat. “Let’s make this more… engaging.” She purred before throwing the blade into the ring. It landed right between us. Our eyes locking like those of a cobra and that animal Indians make fight cobras. Both of us lunging for the knife at once.
Fists and revelations had been hitting me all fight. While she was reeling on expensive heels, my mind was reeling like a fly fisherman who just hooked Nessie.

What was I supposed to do? This was no cockfight; it was a public execution. With the D breathing down Chinatown's neck like an alpha walrus with no sense of personal space after the Mercenary's contract, Niang had taken steps to prove Chinatown still had the gumption to make good on its threats and keep him employed. It was the perfect scheme: either wash out an old debt with Connor, or rub out an old grudge all over my corpse. Whoever wins, they win, and the Mercenary stays where he is. Plus it sounds like they'll be making a mad profit on bets.

So what, do I kill Connor? She paid me to find her, and I did it. I did my job. But I'm still her dick, right? I only had a split second to decide, the knife gleaming between us.
Don't do it, the world is worth fighting for :_;

Better days too... When you could treat a woman for what she was:

A fuckpig.

Now we can legally allow them on our imageboards, where they can even pretend to be male... Disgusting.
>A fuckpig.

This baby-faced maroon just spilled more about his private life than he'd care to admit.
We struggled over the knife, back and forth. The dame might look delicate but her skin seemingly covered iron cables. But those iron cables aren’t up to the contest. I twist the knife out of her struggling hands, she lunges for my eyes with her long red nails. Desperate now.

“Max!” Jiang calls out, I pay no attention to her. The only thing in the world is me and Sarah.

As I drive the knife into Sarah’s gut she freezes instantly, a tear in her eye and a word on her lips. I pull her close, her perfume in my nostrils and her last words in my ear: “I’m… sorry for everything You… you were meant to be my dick. I… only wanted….” I hug her closely, a flood of grief filling my every cell, this wasn’t meant to go like this.

In the far background I hear someone scream about the coppers. The crowd goes wild, wilder than before. Makes sense I suppose, Dr Dick set us up for a bloodbath and then tips of the police, potentially riding him of some of his fiercest enemies as well as pleasing his dear friend the Mayor. The screams and chaos takes on an all-consuming nature, The Mercenary roaring above all others, but I don’t care. I hug my mystery lady in red as her last breath whispers in my ears. Soon the noise quiet down and I notice uniformed figures surrounding me, hesitant to move in, like a frat boy with his first prostitute. I don’t mind them, she’s still hugging me and I’m not letting her down again, not letting her down again.

Sarah, my mystery lady was named Sarah.
I do wonder if this was what OP had in mind when he started this thread.
I can't imagine that a sprawling short detective story is what he had it mind, but I'm glad it turned out this way.
File: i love you guys.jpg (62 KB, 725x291)
62 KB
Keep in mind that if someone want to write a Good End to replace my Bad End then feel free to do so.
Film noir shouldn't really have Good Ends, though.
Is this the end, then, for our intrepid hero? Taking the fall for the Chinese and big D while his mystery employer ends up so much refuse to be cleaned off the streets of Chinatown? Pretty appropriate for Film Noir, I guess.
File: sin city prison.jpg (255 KB, 1280x800)
255 KB
255 KB JPG
I (who have contributed a fair bit) think its a appropriate, good end for a film noir. Lot like Marv's end.

If there was a sequel (hint hint), you could have it after him getting off (because who is gonna stand witness that they were at an illegal knife fight between enforced combatants), or having him sprung by The Man, or someone big, to do a job or after having done his time.

Or of course we can tell a new story.
>Is this the end, then, for our intrepid hero?
Doesn’t have to be. A good private dick always manages to get back on his feet just in time for the sequel.

>Taking the fall for the Chinese and big D
Not sure if he can end up convicted for anything. He was forced to fight by the gangsters with plenty of witnesses, and the ending doesn’t specify whether or not the Chinese get away or not.

>his mystery employer ends up so much refuse to be cleaned off the streets of Chinatown?
She… she might have survived. People have survived stab wounds before, they can do it again right? Like, returning in the sequel, like a ghost straight of the past or something. Yeah, I’m pretty much in denial.

Also, what's Max's full name?
I vote for Max Overdrive.

>Hold on, I think they made a sequel. Let me spool up the projector here...


So there I was, handcuffed like a common criminal, staring down the barrel-like nose of Harvey Bullock, a cop so crooked you couldn't frame him for murder. (Like a picture? It'd be crooked? That was an iffy one.) There wasn't a payroll this guy wasn't on. I wouldn't be surprised if he got kickbacks from the damn girl scouts.

Also, we hated each other.

He ruffled through a few sheets of paper, grinning like a bull in a China shop with a penchant for smashing a large number of breakable objects.

"Maxwell Serius Overdrive. I got you cold, you sonofabitch, with the murder weapon in your hand. Anything you wanna say?"
File: Old Projector.jpg (170 KB, 1767x1087)
170 KB
170 KB JPG
>Forgot muh picture.
Yes, in some respects, we should canonise this. So name for our erstwhile protagonist or a series name would be great.
>If there was a sequel (hint hint), you could have it after him getting off (because who is gonna stand witness that they were at an illegal knife fight between enforced combatants)
As another contributor I agree with this

>Or of course we can tell a new story
That would be great, but I must regrettably decline my contribution as sleeping time draws near. If another story gets started and the thread is still around tomorrow I will join in then.
As great as this is, I miss the dick jokes.
Considering the amount of dick puns present in the story, why not name our hero
Johnny Cockrane
Dick jokes did make occasional appearances (especially the term cock) but I understand what you mean.
Good name. Max has been used repeatedly already though. But I guess it could be passed off as a nickname. Still, my vote goes for either Max Overdrive or Maxwell Serius Overdrive
Sounds good, although he got called Maxwell more a few times in the series.

Whilst I like Overdrive as a protagonist name its a bit too pulp or 90's but Serius is a total take.
They were still there, dick jokes and tg humor were a running motif of the story, its just that, probably appropriately, people started writing more verbosely with each post in effort to finish it.

Certainly though, if this is to become a more common theme, all the stories could start the same; a open beginning line and noir picture that gets continued with plenty of fitting jokes.
"Yeah... is the girl alright? The one with the red dress. She's... all I ever cared about. Only reason I took this case..."
"Don't know bub. Looks like you did a real number on her. Be surprised if she makes it out of this one unscathed."
His words hit me. Hit me hard. Harder than a diamond codpiece. Harder than a man who's been single for a month is after waking up in the morning. His words hit real hard, and slapped me all over the face. Just before he thrusted his huge throbbing spite down my throat and forced me to choke on them, something only I can describe as a miracle. At least it was a miracle to an average dick like me.
File: Judge Dredd Trifecta 0023.jpg (546 KB, 1092x1523)
546 KB
546 KB JPG
As the anon that suggested Max Overdrive I feel morally obligated to mention that the name miiight be shared by a character in 2000AD.

He pushes forward a sheet of paper and a black pen. Pre-written confession. The girl, animal cruelty, illicit gambling, jaywalking, the whole racket. Doubtless that the tongs are backing this, certainly gets them out of the poke.
"Just save us all some time and sign the paper, will ya?"

I sit there, glaring at him. Hate bubbles up from my seat, raw and ragged. The hurt is real. I've been fucked good and proper, by the Chinamen, Niang and by Big Dr Dick.

"Why don't you shove it up your ass, probably pretty easy after all those noodles have been up there making you feed me this like a damn puppet."

He wangs me across the face but I'm numb to it. Sarah's parting gift. Then the screaming begins. I ain't going down for this not while there's holes to be punched by this old Dick.

I stare him down hard.

"Get me a bone. I'd like my call."
Did anyone else like this movie, because every review seems pretty negative.
Not as good as the first one. But I rather enjoyed it.
I loved the first one, but I haven't seen the new one. But you are right, the reviews say its largely the same but not done quite so well.
"You want a bone? You got bigger fish to worry about than your phone call, bub. Fish the size of BUSINESS sharks. Let's see, illegal gambling, the contraband I found in your shithole office when I had the place raided after we picked you up, and, oh yeah... MURDER IN THE FIRST DEGREE." He got down real close in my face, spittle flying like Fat Tuesday fireworks. "Max I cannot tell you how long I've been waiting to see you fry, you self-righteous little shit."

He screams a little more at me, brings in a buddy to help scream at me. So many assholes in my face. But he can't do a thing - they bring me the rotary and watch, fuming, while I dial the numbers. Familiar numbers, numbers I haven't rung in a long time. After the fifth one clicks back Bullock gets this look on his face like he saw someone else eating his cake.

The call doesn't have far to go. Elsewhere in the building, my old friend's phone rings: the commissioner.
Funny thing about crooked cops is that they usually ain't known for their stiff spines. Bullock was no exception.

He wasn't stupid, though. He knew that I was between a rock and a hard place and there was only one person that could get me out of it.

I hated it. I hated that I'd been played as rough as a masochist playing the skin-flute, and I hated that I KNEW that I was about to walk right back into it.

Bullock reaches to grab me by the collar. I bare my teeth like a rabid dog. He gets the message.

I hesitate when the bone's in my hand. I just need one finger to make it sing, that's it.

...damnit. Well, on the plus side, I get to hear that silky voice again. Hell, to be honest, this whole thing was probably her idea to begin with.

I dial a number I hadn't dialed since long, long before I got into this Connor business.

Each time it rings I regret it a bit more.
"Why the fuck did you call me, Max?"

The commissioner isn't happy to talk to me. I can't really blame her, to be honest. We didn't exactly split up on happy terms. It was the kind of thing where a man loses half of everything he owns.

"Diana, you know me. I didn't-"

"That's Ms. Everday to you."

All business, huh? That's fine. If that's how she wants to play it, that just makes it easier on me.

"Ms. Everday, sorry. Look, you want the short version? I can give you Niang Al-Ghul. Conspiracy, tresspassing, gambling, murder."

"And why, exactly, should I trust someone under suspicion for murder, Mr. Overdrive?"

"Damnit Diana, you KNOW I wouldn't just murder someone like that!"

Time for the sucker punch. I felt like shit for it, but I wasn't going to go down for murder like this.

"Please... I need your help, Diana."

Just had to cross my fingers and hope that years of bitterness hadn't choked out all the love my ex-wife had.
Bullock finally left me alone to stew for a bit, hopefully I wouldn’t have to stay in this chair for the night.
Sitting there handcuffed to a chair I could not help remember last Tuesday evening, taco tuesday, and that Mexican madam, but more importantly, I could not avoid thinking about recent events. While I hated to admit it Bullock’s skepticism was not unfounded. The mob using an elaborate scheme to lure me into their den for a gladiatorial contest when a bullet in my sleep would produce far more reliable results. No cop would believe such a story.
And with the mighty Dr D and the Mayor breathing down his neck trying to force the result they desired, and the tongs using every tool at their disposal to force the result they wanted… Dr Dick could hurt the tongs badly here and the tongs wouldn’t let that happen as long as they had breath left in their yellow little lungs. The truth would never come into play here, I could tell that much.

More distressing, I knew too much for my own good. Both the Big D and the tongs would want me out of the picture the moment I stopped being useful to their ends. This card game was a game with stakes too high for my liking, but then I have always have had a penchant for keeping my poker face up while forcing a checkmate at the last second before anyone get to score their Yahtzee.

I felt far more tired and broken than can be healthy for you, my entire body screamed like a Italian prostitute with a brand new STP and a customer refusing to pay. And even worse, I hadn’t had a drink for hours, if this kept going on I would risk having to face sobriety. And that was a danger I feared more than Niang and Jiang challenging me to a game of Turkish polo. I hate that game.
File: talia.jpg (67 KB, 387x600)
67 KB
Interesting note: When I first wrote Jiang Al-Ghul it was meant to be Niang. It’s a rather old fashioned term for lady (娘) and I figured it would sound good. Then I misspelled it and wrote Jiang, not really a problem given that Jiang (蒋) is a fairly common name. Ran with it for a while before I got the idea of giving the name Niang to another character, an evil twin sister was the first thing that popped to mind. I regret nothing.
And now you know!
Silence of the grave on the other end. Glad Bullock left the room, I couldn't stand that snigger.

"My... help, Max?" She called me Max, that had to be a good sign. That voice was syrupy sweet and smooth, like a velvet glove dropped into a molasses churner during a candy factory tour by a six-year old boy (sorry mom).

"Okay, Mr. Overdrive. You'll have my help. But as of right now, you work for ME. You're MY dick, through and through, I own every inch of your ass in every possible sense. You want off the hook for these charges? Then you're going undercover, Mr. Overdrive, and when this is over you'll help me hang out Niang AND Jiang to dry." Oh, she'd noticed I left out that one.


"Not what you're thinking. Think you'll look good in a prison uniform, Mr. Overdrive?"
oh shit, this is gonna be good
File: 1382458323373.jpg (53 KB, 604x602)
53 KB
I'm hyped.

Went to post this, only to find it was already posted.
>You're MY dick, through and through, I own every inch of your ass in every possible sense

I love this thread so much, and I feel genuinely honoured by having contributed to this story at an early stage.
File: 1379939208838.png (141 KB, 650x650)
141 KB
141 KB PNG
This is relevant to my interests.
This story is good, and you should all feel good.
Me too, I feel we've really made something fun. I have to sleep now but if things are still alive later then I'm happy to return and write some more with you guys.
They say stripes are slimming. Which is good, because my fat ass needed to lose a few pounds anyway.

The job, "should I choose to accept it" (as if I had a choice) was to go undercover as a snitch for Diana. I have to get in good with the chinks in the clink with me, get one or two to corraborate the story, and bam! I'm out, and the Al Ghul twins are in.

Oh, and the whole time I have to dodge Jiang (Niang? I always mix the two up. Probably half the reason I got a divorce) and her goons, Dr. Dick trying to keep me quiet, and anything the Mercenary sends after me.

And all without any whiskey.

Man, do I hate my life sometimes.
...yeah I'm kind of out of ideas. Someone needs to take over from here.
I completely forgot I posted this thread, I went to bed almost immediately after posting. You guys took it about five thousand times farther than I was expecting, and I've still gotta finish reading the whole thing.

Major props to you guys. If dropping an overused trope in the middle of nowhere winds up fueling something that everyone enjoys, I couldn't be happier.
Sometimes, /tg/ surprises you in a good way. It's very, very rare, but it happens.
And why should I be able to get in good with the clink chinks?

The yellow bastard who kept the Chinese comfortable while they paid their debt to society was a man named Wang Lai - Al Ghul's man on the inside. He had a penchant for gambling, a penchant for violence, and a penchant for violent knife fights - and the one that landed him among our city's finest was a knife fight he lost, to an expert fighter who left him scarred and got away scott free. That's right. The lady in red. Sarah Connor.

Way I saw it, that means Wang owed me a hard debt, and I meant to collect. Hard. Of course there had to be something big going down in Chinatown - the head-butting with Dr. D, hiring a stone-cold killer like the Mercenary, now carrying out execution-by-knife-fight? I was sure there was more to the Sarah Connor chronicles than any of us had seen, sure Diana expected me to find out what the Chinese were revving up for, and sure that there would be almost no liquor in prison.


"And Mr. Overdrive," she told me, all candy and lollipops again. "Detective Bullock will be your liason to me. He'll be working as a guard. You're welcome."

Dial tone. I should've just called a lawyer. Her divorce lawyer, maybe. Guy was damn good.
At this point, I had no choice. Either pretend to be behind bars, or actually be behind bars. Ordinarily , I'd say I'm too old to pretend, but this isn't an ordinary situation. I had to play the man on the inside. The mole. The spy. Nerving as hell, I ask for a drink just to take the edge off. They said no. Maybe I need to start eating my steak without sauce. No use thinking about it; because if I screwed this up, I'd never have another steak in my life.
It has some parts that are beyond good. But it's just not the first one. See it for Ms. Green and Mr. Levitt. JGL's story was possibly better than Clive Owen's from the first.
Aw, man, this is fucking amazing. I'd never seen this side of Calvin, it's great.
File: 1363039526958.jpg (81 KB, 359x391)
81 KB
>tipping my fedora

If this thread isn't archived yet, it should be.
It is.
They direct me to my cell. "You'll be sharing your cell with Big Bob." as they let me in. I took one look at this 'Bob'. Rather big fella. Thank god he's not a chinaman. That's what I told myself at first. God help me how wrong I was
"They call me Big Bob."
"Really? I thought they called you tiny."
He ignored my joke.
"Ready for your cockmeat sandwich?"
"Quite frankly, I've had enough cocks for today pal."
I thought about how to manhandle him. In prison, like everywhere else, you found three kinds of people: Pussies, assholes, and the occasional dick. Now, I certainly was no pussy, but I also couldn't let him know of my dick business. Therefore, I decided to be an ass and kept my hole shut.

He grunted and grabbed me with those strong arms that crave for their father's attention, then snap his neck.

I realized then that I had made a mistake. Sometimes, an asshole was only one inch away from being a pussy.

Then he started to pound me.
... instantly take her hostage and call cops. She's guilty of whatever she wanted to hire me for
The first blow sent me flying through the cell onto my dirty, solid bed. I pushed myself up and spat my favourite mixture into his face. Wet with a little bit of blood.

Other people turned into pussies, but under my skin-deep and penetrated asshole cover, there was one of the hardest dicks in this goddamn city waiting to strike at any opportunity.

I rushed towards him, ducking under a slow punch, and hit his solarplexus with the force of a thousand suns.
"Should have listened to your gut", I said as he folded. I rammed my elbow into his back and my knee into his face, fucking him far beyond his pain tolerance.

"Today, Big Bob", I said, pulling down my pants, "there's a new cock in town."
Eh, who needs to be an ass when the dicks round here are so limp? After making sure he knew the size and shape of the situation, I surveyed the prison landscape.

Yeah, just like it always was. The chinks on the one side, the black on the other and the whites stuck in between them. Like being between a rock and something hard. I run a hand through a head of hair as greasy as a lawyer's handshake and start to plan out how I'll get a hand in the chink's pocket.

Maybe Bobby B can help me there, he seems to get his hands all over. I turn back to him and smack him in the face a few times to remind him who's on top here and then pop the question.

Thread theme:
I turn back to big Bob, lying in the cell turning a new shade of purple whilst blood runs down him like ink.

I take him by the scruff of the neck, I take him hard.
"Lis'sen to me you sunnvabitch and lis'sen good. If you don't want another piece of me entering your face very soon then you better give me the lowdown on what's happening in this joint."

It ain't pretty but whilst I'm a Dick on the inside I gotta be a proper dick in here.
“Take it easy pal, I ain’t your enemy in here. Proper dicks like us gotta stick together in the joint right. I was just messing with you, you know that right?” He squirmed beneath my hands like an Indonesian prostitute squirming beneath a Japanese sumo’s girth. He would talk all right.

“The chingchongs all take order from the tongs. They got their own secret hierarchy and rituals and everything. They leave us alone as long as we leave them alone, which is nearly all of the time.”

“The irish all look to some thug named Statham while the Scandinavians take their orders from a beast named Dolph. The Italians follow from some greaseball named D’Amato. But the whitey you gotta look out for in here would be Ivan the Merciful, so named because he has mutilated anyone trying to call him something else, the slavs all obey his commands. That monster got ambitions all right, want to take charge of this joint.”

“The negroes keep to themselves, most of the time, they don’t have one clear leader that I know off, but someone whisper something about a man named The Panther pulling the strings amongst them.”

“The guards should be your biggest worry. They all either take money from the mobs or pay them money. Not a decent one amongst them. You step out of line and they will break you. First your body, then your spirit. The warden is some tool named Bill Wilson, he thinks he’s in charge here but we all know the gangs and the mob hold the real power.”

It was worse than I thought. A few of those scumbags were perps that I had put away myself, and doubtlessly there would be more. They'd be queuing up to screw me, Big Bob could make a fortunate pimping tickets.
How did you post this then?
girls have avocados in their butts?
Yes, it's why they shit guacamole instead of feces. Didn't you know?

Well fuck you to bitch.
This wasn't good. Not only are the scumbags I locked up gonna be out to get me, but the guards that works for the mobs aren't just gonna sit around twiddlin their dicks. More importantly though, if all the pigs in this blanket were working for the mob, I questioned how reliable this Bullock is. He goes for the kill, I'll give him that, but I could always tell he was out to get me. Why? That I feel I'll never know...

I took a moment to reflect and concluded that right now there was nothing I could do about my predicament. Tomorrow I would have to deal with that scumbag Wang Lai. If I played my cards right he would tell me all I needed to hear without incident and this job could be wrapped up rather quickly. Then it would be straight out of this hole and back to life in the city. With hookers, blackjack and all the whisky my liver could handle and then some more. Just thinking about it made my mouth water.

I hadn’t had a drink in an ungodly long time and I was fast approaching complete sobriety. When that hit I doubted I would be able to function properly anymore. As a detective I’d always played it fast and loose. And it was the alcohol that kept me loose and quick. Couldn’t be helped I guess.

I crawled into my bunk and pulled the covers over my head, mumbling a warning to my cellmate that if he tried any more funny business I wouldn’t leave him with enough fingers to pick his nose. The sheet smelled of sweat, hatred and the hopes of caged animals. But they would do their job well enough. My cellmate followed my example and disappeared beneath his covers, took him less than a minute to start snoring like a train driven by sawmill. If I had been in a more energetic mood I would have thrown one of my shoes at him, luckily for my shoe collection I was not. The only thing my body desired was sleep and I gave it willingly.

“Diana, I’ll be your dick alright.”
File: prison+jail+cell.jpg (11 KB, 300x200)
11 KB
The sound of metal upon metal, more precisely a key upon a lock jolted me awake. Apparently being allowed to sleep was not on the prison curriculum. Right outside my cell I could vaguely make out two figures. The one brutally penetrating the poor innocent lock with his thick, massive key looked like a guard, at least he was wearing their uniform. The one behind I could not make out no matter how much I squinted. The nighttime lighting in this shithole left something to be desired. Sweat upon my brow and a heart beating faster than a black boxer informed me that I was definitely not pleased at the prospect of what might be in store for me.

A nighttime visitor it seems, whoever this is it can’t be good.
File: Sally of the Wasteland.jpg (128 KB, 726x525)
128 KB
128 KB JPG
I find it fascinating that it was this post that gave our daring hero his name.
File: Hi babe!.jpg (735 KB, 2048x1440)
735 KB
735 KB JPG
She stepped into the cell and into the light. For a moment I taught it was Niang that had come to finish me of but upon closer inspection I saw it was Jiang. the Crazy in her eyes gave her away, I might not be able to tell Chinamen apart but I can always spot the crazy in a woman’s eyes. I’m good with dames like that. The guard pulls back like a valet, giving us privacy.

She was wearing a dark green gown of the kind Chinese wear. The kind that shows a bit more of the ankles than most people find modest, but then I’m not most people. Upon seeing her my neck started hurting that place her heel had dug into last time but I relaxed a bit when I noticed she was wearing soft, silk shoes this time around.

“Max” she whispers in a tone that send my heart jumping and my gun pumping. Jiang, the only women I’ve ever truly loved. Well, with exception of Sarah, of and Diana. And a bit of Niang. And Claire. Marie too, sweet Marie. And that Mexican lady that came around at taco night. God I loved her... But only Jiang had broken my heart so thoroughly that the doctor insisted on declaring me dead from a broken heart. And when I finally got over her she reappears and tricks me into a death match against the woman of my dreams. And now, sensing her sweet scent once again I can’t deny I would let her do it again in a heartbeat.

She extends her left hand towards me. It’s a bottle of Bourdon, my mouth waters.

“That’s a big bottle.”

“For you” she replies. “A peace offering of sorts.”

I snatch the bottle out of her hands and hug it tightly. It’s smooth, cold surface feels like Christmas in my hands. Why did I ever break up with this woman? Then I notice the piece in her hands, a 38 caliber.

“Jiang baby, what’s that for?”

She looks down and seems to register the piece for the first time. “Oh! I… can’t quite remember. It’s there for a reason though, I’m pretty sure. Just… give me a second. I’ll remember in a bit.”
File: Noir.jpg (20 KB, 600x400)
20 KB
>this prison smells
>my ribs hurt
>my cellmate creeps me out
>I wish I was home in my office getting drunk with a side of lung cancer
File: sincitydame1.jpg (365 KB, 1296x730)
365 KB
365 KB JPG
A minute went by while she tried to remember what she brought the gun for. Then another minute. A third. A fourth. The sweat upon my brow slowly turned into a flood not unlike that between the legs of a menstruating woman. My cellmate grunted in his sleep, breaking the silence. Jiang reacted instantly, placing six shots in his chest. The shots rang out throughout the prison like thunderclaps, followed by a barrage of shouts from those woken up by the cold blooded murder that had just taken place right before my eyes.

“I finally remembered.” she stated in a tone too relaxed for my liking. “I was informed that this 长鼻子 tried to… touch you.”

Her voice took on a clear undercurrent of rage. “As I told you earlier, I’m the only one that gets to pound your ass. Remember that Max, you’re MY dick. Bird, nest, eggs and all, and never forget that Max.”

“You were informed this very night that he made a move against me, and you came right over too kill him?”

“Why Max, when you frame it like that you make it sound weird. Just a friendly visit, one former lover to another.”

“Visiting hours are 12 – 4 babe.”

“True, but I felt that I wanted to see your new shack. I actually feel a little bit bad about you getting framed and all but you asked for it Max.”

I could vaguely pick out the sound of blood dripping down onto the floor. “You do know that it is against prison rules to murder sleeping people right? You might get into trouble for this babe.”

“I would have to disagree with that Max. The right amount of money to the right person and you can do pretty much anything you want in this city. Sweet dream darling.” And with that she turned around and walked out, my eyes following her swaying hips until she disappeared from sight. The shouting from confused prisoners and the barking from guards kept escalating. I hugged my precious Bourdon tightly and crawled under my sheet.

File: pulp_comics_sin_city.jpg (350 KB, 1103x798)
350 KB
350 KB JPG
Sleepy time for me.

Hopefully this thread will be a bit more lively tomorrow, granted it’s still around off course.

I'm getting awfully drunk right now but I'll write at least one new part.
Go for it. The alcohol might prove beneficial to writing a character that’s perpetually drunk.
File: garnnøste.jpg (51 KB, 444x366)
51 KB
I woke up with the worst feeling a man can endure. My throat was raw, my body was aching. I knew I was sober. I cringed like a new prostitute during her first session of anal sex with a black guy. I just couldn't take it.

Slowly, I struggled to get out of my bunk and went for the first breakfast in prison. Like every first time, I knew it would hurt a lot and I would regret it afterwards. Nevertheless, I left the cell and lurched towards the food.

I looked around in the canteen. Prison canteens are like the last year of college. You really don't want to go there, but you have to fight your way through so all the other assholes won't get a better place.


The sound alone was enough to make me reconsider my options, but I needed the food like a nympho needed the dick. Hot, kind of lawful, and with no remorse.

There I was, almost at the front of the queue. Then I felt the cold touch of steel in my back.
I looked around, hoping to find something in the environment to use to my advantage. Just as I suspected. All prisons in America are absolutely coated with semen. I jumped out of my sandals, using the splooge to run across the walls like Spider-Man. This is it. This is how I become free.

[Advertise on 4chan]

Delete Post: [File Only] Style:
[a / b / c / d / e / f / g / gif / h / hr / k / m / o / p / r / s / t / u / v / vg / vr / w / wg] [i / ic] [r9k] [s4s] [cm / hm / lgbt / y] [3 / adv / an / asp / biz / cgl / ck / co / diy / fa / fit / gd / hc / int / jp / lit / mlp / mu / n / out / po / pol / sci / soc / sp / tg / toy / trv / tv / vp / wsg / x] [Settings] [Home]
[Disable Mobile View / Use Desktop Site]

[Enable Mobile View / Use Mobile Site]

All trademarks and copyrights on this page are owned by their respective parties. Images uploaded are the responsibility of the Poster. Comments are owned by the Poster.