R
Razilin
Guest
Original poster
AUGUST 14, 2016
PATTAYA, THAILAND
Settled on the coast of Thailand, Pattaya was renowned for its wild nightlife, perhaps equal to Bangkok in frivolities. And with wildness came crime.
The warehouse set near the docks was much like all the others, save that it was now the meeting grounds between local and foreign gang-lords. For weeks, they've been wheedling and dealing with one another, trying to push for the best deals for their own faction. It was weeks of heady discussion: who gets what cut of the drug profits, who controls which territories for racketeering, where can the prostitution rings set up shop. Really, it was like any other business meeting, save for the commodities in question.
There were a half-dozen crime bosses in attendance. With each bringing their own cadre of bodyguards, the body count was close to thirty milling about the warehouse.
None of them saw the burly, short shadow skulking around the edge of the light radiating from the overhead light-bulbs. They didn't hear the whisper-soft creak of the figure's battered leather jacket or the ghostly steps of his well-worn work boots. They didn't notice when the figure carefully pried open a fusebox on the wall with a flipper knife or when he started taking off the paneling, exposing the precious wiring within.
They did notice when the lights suddenly went out. Guns sprang to ready hands. But in the darkness, that wasn't going to help them.
A soda can rolled into their midst. But what was held within wasn't liquid. It was a mixture of sugar and tree stump remover, cooked into a putty-like paste, with a wick sticking out of it...and the wick was lit. It was the only light in the dismal room. Thirty sets of eyes went to it.
The resulting explosion ended with confusion and chaos. Aluminum shrapnel from the can lodged into the flesh of two gangsters, while the others began panicking.
But they were distracted. And that was the point.
The shadowy figure emerged like a ferocious lion, striking with fist, foot, elbow, and knee, never staying in a single spot for more than a second or two. He constantly darted from one gangster to the next, blasting them with a furious combination of blows hard enough to crack bone. He was a whirlwind of pain, striking at ribs, knees, legs, and faces. The warehouse was suddenly filled with screams of pain and rapport of gunfire.
But it was too dark to see clearly and their assailant was simply too fast. The beatdown continued unabated.
In minutes, twenty-nine gangsters lay sprawled on the floor in various states of consciousness...and every one of them bloodied and shattered. The last was a minor crime boss that dragged himself away from the burly figure stalking toward him. His broken leg sent fire up his spine, but the criminal ignored it in his panic and desperation to escape.
His assailant simply stepped on the shattered leg, eliciting a fresh scream of agony and terror.
"Shut up," the burly man ordered coldly. A strong hand reached down to grab the crime boss by the neck, dragging him outside into the fading afternoon sunlight. Now, the crime boss could see his attacker's features.
He was a short man, thick with muscle, with a haggard and road-weary face that was all craggy, hard lines and rough beard. He looked to be of Asian descent, with unkempt black hair, tanned skin, and piercing, cold brown eyes. He was dressed simply in a grimy wifebeater and flannel shirt underneath a trail-worn leather jacket. He smelled of soil and sweat, an earthy aroma. To all appearances, he looked like any other blue-collar worker. But no mere man fought the way he just did. There was just too much fury, too much technique, too much ferocity.
The crime boss suddenly fixated on the only distinguishing feature on the man's jacket: a patch on the shoulder in the form of a skull.
The crime boss suddenly wanted his mother.
"Y-you're real...."
The short man allowed himself a small grin that only made him seem more feral. "Oh? Heard of me, have you?"
"A wanderer," the crime boss sputtered out, "a wanderer who fights and kills like a demon. You look for trouble. You hate criminals and killers and take them out yourself. The Skullman."
The short man frowned. "Skullman, Bonehead, Mr. Skull...tch. I never liked any of those nicknames everyone keeps giving me," he said. He grabbed his victim by the neck again and began to squeeze.
"But you, I know you. Martin Foley. Fresh out of New York to set up a sex ring in Thailand." The Skullman squeezed even harder. "People like you disgust me. All those people in that warehouse are trash. And I'm here to take you all out."
He pointed. Foley followed his finger. There were several cakes of the same putty-like material stuck onto various parts of the warehouse. "There's more inside. You people were too busy with your backdoor deals to notice me putting some homemade solid state rocket fuel on the support struts." He showed Foley a plain cigarette lighter. "Very soon, all of your friends are going to die. Five crime lords dead in an afternoon. I wonder how quickly the rest of the gangs in town will last?"
"Please don't hurt me!" Foley cried desperately.
"Oh, I'm not killing you, Foley," the Skullman promised. "You? You're going to tell everyone else about me. That I'm in town. And everyone else better behave."
"Anything you want!"
The Skullman released his victim, allowing him to crumple to the concrete. The scent of urine suddenly emanated from between Foley's legs. The Skullman walked over to the warehouse, the lighter burning with an open flame in his hand. He tossed it inside before walking back to Foley.
"I might take you up on that offer, Mr. Foley," he said. "I'm looking for someone...."
Foley watched in mystified horror as the warehouse exploded and its fiery ceiling collapsed on twenty-nine men within. Then he looked up into the Skullman's cold eyes. The scent of feces joined that of urine.
"A-anything you want...."
---
AUGUST 14, 2016
PATTAYA, THAILAND
Sam "the Skullman" Ebayan strode into the grimy hostel with the same ghostly silence that he employed with every step. He doffed his coat on the flea-ridden mattress and slumped into a nearby rickety chair. The nightstand next to it had a half-empty bottle of cheap scotch that he immediately brought to his lips.
His accommodations were just the way he liked them: cheap, forgettable, and run by staff that wouldn't remember his name or face when he left. He'd been wandering the world for half his life and learned a long time ago that the true secrets of invisibility lay in patience and misdirection.
He possessed few things in this life: the clothes on his back, the flipper knife in his pocket, and a single weather-beaten backpack of extra clothes and supplies. Everything else he found, stole, or made along the way. His was a simple life, but each day he was able to do something to leave the world just a little bit better than when he found it.
Tonight, he single-handedly destabilized the city's criminal underworld with nothing more than an empty soda can and a few inexpensive items he stole out a janitor's closet.
And now he had a lead on his latest hunt.
He'd been hearing tales for the last few weeks about a man buying up women from sex rings...only for them to quickly be found dead afterward. Streetwalkers, the homeless, and other persons of ill-repute talked loosely on the streets about the newcomer's horrific activities. Every one of the slain women had an unrecognizable mark - a brand - on what remained of their flesh.
Though Sam took down the six crime bosses to land a real blow on the underworld, his secondary objective was to gain information on this latest monster. Monsters, after all, knew about other monsters.
He wasn't disappointed. Martin Foley gave him the brander's last known location.
It was a good place to start.
Sam looked to the bottle in his hand. Empty.
Good.
He had a few uses for an empty liquor bottle....
---
AUGUST 14, 2016
TOKYO, JAPAN
Hello, everyone! My name is Uzuki Chiaki!
The young girl hastily darted around her room, packing things into her backpack with all the fluster of someone who routinely woke up late. Which she did. Again.
"Uuuaa!! I'm gonna be so late! Aaaah!"
I'm fourteen years old and I like math and singing. In fact, that's what I do for a living.
The girl was halfway to the door when she skidded to a halt. "Oh, crap! I almost forgot!" She ran back to her nightstand to retrieve a cute pink cellphone, which she tucked into the pocket of her skirt.
I started working as an idol singer about a year ago after a talent scout saw how well I could sing. I'm known as 'Magical Musume Melody.' Its been really exciting since then, though a little hectic.
"Bye Kaasaan!" Chiaki yelled as she burst through the front door. A military Jeep waited outside.
In addition to singing, my manager has me doing some anime voicework, concerts, dancing, and touring. In the last six months, I got to go to Germany, the USA, England, and China! Isn't that awesome?
A tall American soldier disembarked the Jeep and saluted her with a kindly smile. "Ms. Uzuki. My unit is here to escort you to the Naval base. We're all looking forward to your concert, ma'am."
Chiaki returned the smile cutely and bowed. "Thank you, sir! I'm in your care!"
But I sometimes miss when I was just normal girl. I don't get to hang out with my friends as much, especially my best friend Hikaru-kun! He's in the same class as me, but I'm just a little bit older. I wish I was taller, though. I'm still really short.
Chiaki pushed her cheek against the Jeep's window as she marveled at the Naval base grounds. "Whoa! This is so cool! You all live here?"
"That's right," the soldier said calmly. "We're actually conducting research here. Nothing you need to worry about, ma'am. Its all quite safe. And thank you again, on behalf of the men, for performing this concert for us."
"Not a problem! I like making people happy, and if my singing can do that, then I'm all for it."
Her earnestness made the soldier smile.
So today's big event is a USO concert at a Naval base. Turns out I've gotten really popular in the last few months. I'm known all over the world. I didn't think I'd be that big a celebrity. Its all kind of scary, sometimes. But fun! At least Hikaru-kun will be there, too. He's been a big support.
Chiaki stepped out of the Jeep; the soldier stood at her side. "Ms. Uzuki," he said grandly, "welcome to Naval Air Facility Kouma."
Anyway, I've got to get ready for this concert. Wish me luck!
-Chiaki
PATTAYA, THAILAND
Settled on the coast of Thailand, Pattaya was renowned for its wild nightlife, perhaps equal to Bangkok in frivolities. And with wildness came crime.
The warehouse set near the docks was much like all the others, save that it was now the meeting grounds between local and foreign gang-lords. For weeks, they've been wheedling and dealing with one another, trying to push for the best deals for their own faction. It was weeks of heady discussion: who gets what cut of the drug profits, who controls which territories for racketeering, where can the prostitution rings set up shop. Really, it was like any other business meeting, save for the commodities in question.
There were a half-dozen crime bosses in attendance. With each bringing their own cadre of bodyguards, the body count was close to thirty milling about the warehouse.
None of them saw the burly, short shadow skulking around the edge of the light radiating from the overhead light-bulbs. They didn't hear the whisper-soft creak of the figure's battered leather jacket or the ghostly steps of his well-worn work boots. They didn't notice when the figure carefully pried open a fusebox on the wall with a flipper knife or when he started taking off the paneling, exposing the precious wiring within.
They did notice when the lights suddenly went out. Guns sprang to ready hands. But in the darkness, that wasn't going to help them.
A soda can rolled into their midst. But what was held within wasn't liquid. It was a mixture of sugar and tree stump remover, cooked into a putty-like paste, with a wick sticking out of it...and the wick was lit. It was the only light in the dismal room. Thirty sets of eyes went to it.
The resulting explosion ended with confusion and chaos. Aluminum shrapnel from the can lodged into the flesh of two gangsters, while the others began panicking.
But they were distracted. And that was the point.
The shadowy figure emerged like a ferocious lion, striking with fist, foot, elbow, and knee, never staying in a single spot for more than a second or two. He constantly darted from one gangster to the next, blasting them with a furious combination of blows hard enough to crack bone. He was a whirlwind of pain, striking at ribs, knees, legs, and faces. The warehouse was suddenly filled with screams of pain and rapport of gunfire.
But it was too dark to see clearly and their assailant was simply too fast. The beatdown continued unabated.
In minutes, twenty-nine gangsters lay sprawled on the floor in various states of consciousness...and every one of them bloodied and shattered. The last was a minor crime boss that dragged himself away from the burly figure stalking toward him. His broken leg sent fire up his spine, but the criminal ignored it in his panic and desperation to escape.
His assailant simply stepped on the shattered leg, eliciting a fresh scream of agony and terror.
"Shut up," the burly man ordered coldly. A strong hand reached down to grab the crime boss by the neck, dragging him outside into the fading afternoon sunlight. Now, the crime boss could see his attacker's features.
He was a short man, thick with muscle, with a haggard and road-weary face that was all craggy, hard lines and rough beard. He looked to be of Asian descent, with unkempt black hair, tanned skin, and piercing, cold brown eyes. He was dressed simply in a grimy wifebeater and flannel shirt underneath a trail-worn leather jacket. He smelled of soil and sweat, an earthy aroma. To all appearances, he looked like any other blue-collar worker. But no mere man fought the way he just did. There was just too much fury, too much technique, too much ferocity.
The crime boss suddenly fixated on the only distinguishing feature on the man's jacket: a patch on the shoulder in the form of a skull.
The crime boss suddenly wanted his mother.
"Y-you're real...."
The short man allowed himself a small grin that only made him seem more feral. "Oh? Heard of me, have you?"
"A wanderer," the crime boss sputtered out, "a wanderer who fights and kills like a demon. You look for trouble. You hate criminals and killers and take them out yourself. The Skullman."
The short man frowned. "Skullman, Bonehead, Mr. Skull...tch. I never liked any of those nicknames everyone keeps giving me," he said. He grabbed his victim by the neck again and began to squeeze.
"But you, I know you. Martin Foley. Fresh out of New York to set up a sex ring in Thailand." The Skullman squeezed even harder. "People like you disgust me. All those people in that warehouse are trash. And I'm here to take you all out."
He pointed. Foley followed his finger. There were several cakes of the same putty-like material stuck onto various parts of the warehouse. "There's more inside. You people were too busy with your backdoor deals to notice me putting some homemade solid state rocket fuel on the support struts." He showed Foley a plain cigarette lighter. "Very soon, all of your friends are going to die. Five crime lords dead in an afternoon. I wonder how quickly the rest of the gangs in town will last?"
"Please don't hurt me!" Foley cried desperately.
"Oh, I'm not killing you, Foley," the Skullman promised. "You? You're going to tell everyone else about me. That I'm in town. And everyone else better behave."
"Anything you want!"
The Skullman released his victim, allowing him to crumple to the concrete. The scent of urine suddenly emanated from between Foley's legs. The Skullman walked over to the warehouse, the lighter burning with an open flame in his hand. He tossed it inside before walking back to Foley.
"I might take you up on that offer, Mr. Foley," he said. "I'm looking for someone...."
Foley watched in mystified horror as the warehouse exploded and its fiery ceiling collapsed on twenty-nine men within. Then he looked up into the Skullman's cold eyes. The scent of feces joined that of urine.
"A-anything you want...."
---
AUGUST 14, 2016
PATTAYA, THAILAND
Sam "the Skullman" Ebayan strode into the grimy hostel with the same ghostly silence that he employed with every step. He doffed his coat on the flea-ridden mattress and slumped into a nearby rickety chair. The nightstand next to it had a half-empty bottle of cheap scotch that he immediately brought to his lips.
His accommodations were just the way he liked them: cheap, forgettable, and run by staff that wouldn't remember his name or face when he left. He'd been wandering the world for half his life and learned a long time ago that the true secrets of invisibility lay in patience and misdirection.
He possessed few things in this life: the clothes on his back, the flipper knife in his pocket, and a single weather-beaten backpack of extra clothes and supplies. Everything else he found, stole, or made along the way. His was a simple life, but each day he was able to do something to leave the world just a little bit better than when he found it.
Tonight, he single-handedly destabilized the city's criminal underworld with nothing more than an empty soda can and a few inexpensive items he stole out a janitor's closet.
And now he had a lead on his latest hunt.
He'd been hearing tales for the last few weeks about a man buying up women from sex rings...only for them to quickly be found dead afterward. Streetwalkers, the homeless, and other persons of ill-repute talked loosely on the streets about the newcomer's horrific activities. Every one of the slain women had an unrecognizable mark - a brand - on what remained of their flesh.
Though Sam took down the six crime bosses to land a real blow on the underworld, his secondary objective was to gain information on this latest monster. Monsters, after all, knew about other monsters.
He wasn't disappointed. Martin Foley gave him the brander's last known location.
It was a good place to start.
Sam looked to the bottle in his hand. Empty.
Good.
He had a few uses for an empty liquor bottle....
---
AUGUST 14, 2016
TOKYO, JAPAN
Hello, everyone! My name is Uzuki Chiaki!
The young girl hastily darted around her room, packing things into her backpack with all the fluster of someone who routinely woke up late. Which she did. Again.
"Uuuaa!! I'm gonna be so late! Aaaah!"
I'm fourteen years old and I like math and singing. In fact, that's what I do for a living.
The girl was halfway to the door when she skidded to a halt. "Oh, crap! I almost forgot!" She ran back to her nightstand to retrieve a cute pink cellphone, which she tucked into the pocket of her skirt.
I started working as an idol singer about a year ago after a talent scout saw how well I could sing. I'm known as 'Magical Musume Melody.' Its been really exciting since then, though a little hectic.
"Bye Kaasaan!" Chiaki yelled as she burst through the front door. A military Jeep waited outside.
In addition to singing, my manager has me doing some anime voicework, concerts, dancing, and touring. In the last six months, I got to go to Germany, the USA, England, and China! Isn't that awesome?
A tall American soldier disembarked the Jeep and saluted her with a kindly smile. "Ms. Uzuki. My unit is here to escort you to the Naval base. We're all looking forward to your concert, ma'am."
Chiaki returned the smile cutely and bowed. "Thank you, sir! I'm in your care!"
But I sometimes miss when I was just normal girl. I don't get to hang out with my friends as much, especially my best friend Hikaru-kun! He's in the same class as me, but I'm just a little bit older. I wish I was taller, though. I'm still really short.
Chiaki pushed her cheek against the Jeep's window as she marveled at the Naval base grounds. "Whoa! This is so cool! You all live here?"
"That's right," the soldier said calmly. "We're actually conducting research here. Nothing you need to worry about, ma'am. Its all quite safe. And thank you again, on behalf of the men, for performing this concert for us."
"Not a problem! I like making people happy, and if my singing can do that, then I'm all for it."
Her earnestness made the soldier smile.
So today's big event is a USO concert at a Naval base. Turns out I've gotten really popular in the last few months. I'm known all over the world. I didn't think I'd be that big a celebrity. Its all kind of scary, sometimes. But fun! At least Hikaru-kun will be there, too. He's been a big support.
Chiaki stepped out of the Jeep; the soldier stood at her side. "Ms. Uzuki," he said grandly, "welcome to Naval Air Facility Kouma."
Anyway, I've got to get ready for this concert. Wish me luck!
-Chiaki
