Author Topic: Papa Paradox: The story of a Ganster, Merchant, and Mechanized Man.  (Read 5089 times)

Offline Papa Paradox

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A lantern hung over his head, it rocked back and forth, a wind stimulating the sway. It illuminated the pitch darkness of the dingy damp room; an incessant drip can be heard from one of the decrepit pipes over head.  He struggled to maintain consciousness, the flare and movement of the light complimenting the haziness in which he resided. His hands were tied behind his back, his legs were tied to the legs of the chair; which had been bolted to the ground. He was seated it the centre of the room, his head hung, it felt as if weighted with lead. His muscles were exerted from resisting capture, and although his mind could barely form coherent thoughts, he knew the reason he was here:

Annabel Pennyworth.

The daughter of the billionaire, merchant, philanthropist Edgar Pennyworth.

Edgar had contracted Paradox to save his daughter, knowing full well of his battle hardened history as a gang leader and how it served him for fighting off raiders in the trading company. Edgar was the founder of The Dandy Lions Trading Company – Paradox a gangster his followers called Papa. They were an unruly combination, but so long as Papa P continued to excel at his job, Edgar wouldn’t be bothered. But now it was much more than that to Edgar, with his daughter in danger, his rage transcended human anger – a wayward glance from him could’ve prematurely put a man in his grave. He sought out Papa and told him what had happened, Papa agreed to help knowing full well he was the only one who would be able to track her down. 

Many months later, after talking to the entirety of his connections in the Anvala underworld, he still came up empty. Paradox was slowly losing hope, it started to become a more and more abstract concept... Hope, it deteriorated into this effervescent, fleeting, emotion that seemed tragically out of reach.  This is when the Gods saw fit to give the smallest glimpse of that beautiful emotion. Edgar sent for Paradox, once there, Edgar was sitting in his office face in hands weeping. As Paradox approached the table he saw a black letter, it devoured the light that dared strike its evil silhouette. “Read it, Paradox for I am to petrified to even imagine what they have done to her...  What Edgar interpreted as a death warrant Paradox saw as hope. Paradox rushed to pick it up, he unsealed the red wax that was imprisoning the truth, he read aloud:

Death can come in many ways

Mercy in few

Let us test the truth

And see if the mighty Edgars dismay

Can withstand his daughter being flay’d

The Abyss hast a ransom wrought

Pay or your efforts will have been for naught.

She had been kidnapped for ransom, by an organization known to very few as ‘The Abyss.’ They were given that name because anyone who has gone in search of them has simply disappeared, fallen into the Abyss. Only one man has stared into the face of the Abyss and dared to reach into it... Paradox. At the bottom of the page were a few details a drop-off zone, a time, and a golden number: Three Billion. Under the advisement of Paradox, Edgar was going to pay. It was Paradox’s job to tail who ever picked up the money, he could never have thought up the journey that ensued.

It was the day of the drop off and it was one of the few days Paradox left his top hat behind, his hair was short, brown, and slicked back. He loaded his faithful carbine rifle, Brunhilda, Valkyrie for the dead famous in northern mythos, he felt shame having to hide her underneath his long duster. He holstered his volcanic pistol, knife, lit a cigar and was off.

Upon arriving at the drop off location it was ten minutes until the drop, he immediately sought higher ground. The plaza he was in the center of the market district and was the only thing separating the garden district and the Council from the slums that derived from their opulence. He found his way to an open rooftop looking down on the park bench where the drop was instructed to happen. His heart pounded in his chest as he saw Edgars associate approached the bench with two rucksacks, dropping them off. Many hours past and a greater number of people, until something interesting happened... a street urchin approached the bags and opened one, his eyes glowed when his eyes looked upon what was inside. He then looked up, checking over his shoulders, then his eyes met with someone or something’s eyes. His gaze was locked by whatever was past the building obscuring Paradox’s view, it’s like he stared into the eyes of the devil himself. The urchin ran off faster than any man running for his life, there was a cold desperation in that run. Paradox rushed to see what was down the ominous crevasse between the two buildings; Nothing.

He waited longer, until night fell, lanterns were the only things illuminating the plaza. Paradox started to hear a faint buzzing in the distance, as the noise got closer it became the distinguishable sound of engines. A squid was flying over head, slowly coming to halt above the plaza, it dropped a rope and two men quickly descended the rope to retrieve the bags. They wore long flowing cloaks, hood up with a mask emitting a red glow. They then scaled the rope back up to the squid with bags in tow. Paradox was panicking this was them, this was his only chance. The squids destination, in some form of divine intervention was in the direction of Paradox. The squid left the rope dangling from its hull, Paradox realizing this as it was turning started climbing a solid pipe that ran up the taller building. From the roof of the previous building he began his ascent; he made it midway before the squid started its engines, it rapidly approached Paradox and in a split second of stupidity or possibly faith he pushed off from the wall and grasped at air, and coincidence had placed the rope there for his desperate hands. Swinging from the rope he started his second grand ascension, his resolve being tested by the buildings and various obstacles on his way up, he only hit a couple.

Now only a few feet away from the top, he grappled the ledge for dear life, hanging precariously over the left balloon, the crew of three obliviously scattered around the ship. One was piloting on the left most of the ship, the other two congregated around the hull, playing cards and guarding the loot. This was observed by Paradox before he lifted himself completely over the edge, once he managed to hoist himself up, he pulled out Brunhilda. He cocked the rifle and put the first two in the hull down: First one, stairs, Headshot, Second one, chair, Headshot. The exposed inners of the hull area not providing any cover except the naked chassis that surrounded them. Before the third one turned around, Paradox descended on him with the butt of his rifle, knocking him unconscious. He flew the squid above a fairly large body of water, he used this as an opportunity to dispose of the first two bodies. He then brought up the chair to the top deck and fastened the third unconscious robed man to it. He removed the mask to find a quite normal visage, no monster, no uncatchable ghost, a real tangible man.

It was dawn when the man finally awoke, to the silhouette of Paradox against the newly risen sun, “Welcome back to the world of the living, though you may not be here long.” The man straining to see anything responded, “Flak off, I come from an order that has power and reach beyond your comprehension.” Papa Paradox not taking kindly to the belittling insults toward his mental comprehension took his blade and quickly placed it under his kneecap, the man let out a controlled yell, his willpower not yet broken. “Do you know what I did before I was a humble Trader?” Papa inquired. “No, and I couldn’t give a flyin’ flak!” the man said through his teeth, spitting on Paradox’s duster. Papa let out a sigh, while removing his coat and lighting a cigar he decided to educate the man, “I was the chief intelligence officer for my gang, if I wanted to know something, I found it out.” With those foreboding words Papa cut the rope restraining his left foot and torqued  his calve snapping the blade beneath his kneecap and lodging it further in, the man let out a scream so surreal it couldn’t have been made by anything human. “Tell me where she is, I’m just getting started.” The man started sobbing and begging for his life, “Warehouse 19, SHE’S IN WAREHOUSE 19!” Papa dragged his chair to the side of the squid where he threw the man on his back, kneeling beside him gripping his cheeks “Thanks, and tell your little friends, if they ever flak with my employer or myself I’ll kill them, their friends, hell even people they passed on the street... then I’ll kill everyone who shows up to the funeral.” The man was shaking, Papa Paradox took one last puff of his stogie and put it out in the poor bastards eye, then kicked the chair into the water.

Papa one man crewed a squid burning moonshine, flying as quickly as he could to Dandy Lion headquarters. Once there he informed Edgar what had happened, Edgar had the a large part of the Council in his pocket at the time and had the entirety of the Anvala security force descend upon the warehouse, Paradox orchestrated the operation and with a flurry of bullets assaulted the warehouse, it was a choreographed ballet and a hectic maelstrom. With grace and elegance Brunhilda felled foes one by one, as a squad and Papa slowly made their way to one of the back offices in the warehouse. Once there the plowed the door down and there she was, the ragged figure of:

Annabel Pennyworth

He came back to consciousness, the dripping sound never ceasing, it was like the ticking of a clock foreshadowing an imminent demise. He knew the Abyss came back for their retribution, he laughs to himself

Whatever they’re going to do to me it couldn’t be as bad as what I did to that man... Could it?

The door creaked open after the rattling and clicking of the door lock ceased. A man emerged from the monolith of white light, a mechanized chuckle could be heard, a respirator from the mask produced the effect. “So you gasbags finally found me, eh?” Papa said in a husky voice. The comment was met with a strike to head... Back to sleep

He awoke on a table, limbs restrained, blinded by the artificial light hanging above his head that illuminated his mostly naked body. The same man that knocked him out had come into vision, “Hello Paradox, how nice it is to meet again,” he removed his mask showing his missing left eye. “Tonight, I administer justice, with a strong dose of revenge.” He presented four thin yellow rubber tubes and began to tie them around each limb, above elbow and above knee. “Tourniquets, well I guess I’m flakin’ in for it you gasbag ‘oreson,” Papa said nervous laughter in full effect. “And this... This is adrenaline,” the man said showing off a needle, “Wouldn’t want you to pass out on me.” Papa starts laughing, “I wouldn’t flakin’ dream of it,” he winks at him. The man pulls out a hacksaw and begins to start cutting, the serrated edges of the saw catching on every pass. Back and forth. When the saw finally hit the bone time slowed even further, the sound of the serrated edges making that infamous woodcutting noise. It began, the purest form of pain so indescribable that he didn’t even manage to scream, it transcended human pain thresholds, each millisecond passing in what seemed to be aeons. Sweat rushed down his face like a waterfall. Finally his brain had hit the limit, adrenaline or not, his brain shut down and he passed out.

He awakened in a carriage, outside the Pennyworth manor, it was a torrential downpour, his limbless husk was tossed outside, his face scraping along the pavement, he heard screaming and blacked out again.
He awoke from his nightmare, a recollection of past events, how many times do I need to relive this, he thought. He took off his sheets and sat up, his brass limbs glinted into his eyes, he reached up with his hand to block it. The decompression of hydraulics, clanking, clicking, and ticking of gears are the symphony which accompanies the gift of his movement. A gift from the early Edgar Pennyworth, and now from the late Edgar Pennyworth... his legacy The Dandy Lions Trading Company.

After Thoughts: This is what happens when Yiski makes a character developement day and my over zealous ass writes four pages. Jeez, didn't think I had it in me, it's pretty sub-par but I figured I'd throw it on here anyway no point in wasting all this effort. Feel free to post critiques or just generally shit on it below.

Offline Yiski

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Re: Papa Paradox: The story of a Ganster, Merchant, and Mechanized Man.
« Reply #1 on: March 11, 2013, 12:14:33 pm »
Damn, I better be careful for what I wish for in the future, but I also like it. :)

Offline RearAdmiralZill

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Re: Papa Paradox: The story of a Ganster, Merchant, and Mechanized Man.
« Reply #2 on: March 12, 2013, 10:40:49 am »
Bravo there PapaP. I honestly cringed at the sawing lol.

Offline Sgt. Spoon

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Re: Papa Paradox: The story of a Ganster, Merchant, and Mechanized Man.
« Reply #3 on: March 12, 2013, 06:41:04 pm »
woah, that's a freaky torture method