Hello all! Wow, my first story! Please R&R, I'd really like to know if any way to improve my writing. Um...yeah, terrified as hell putting up my stuff on here, I've worked on this story for some time, it's pretty long. It gets slow in some parts and starts out slow, but hepefully it's entertaining and picks up the pace. I don't really have any expectations yet, I just want to reactions (other than my own). Um a few things people are picky about. I feelI should mention: this story goes into religion some, and thereis some content people might be offended by. At which pointI'd like to mention that you are reading fan fiction about a game set inhell and...well...like theDaVinci Code this is a work of FICTION.(Probably not the best example but the only thingI could thing of...) That and there are a lot of cross overs, a couple of origional characters, and um...well there's Dante and Vergil...hopefully it ties together nicely.
Setting: two years after DMC 1, Seven years after The Bouncer, a year after SH4 and BloodRayne 2. (; oh geez) In a nameless city by the coast somewhere...
Quick note:Idon't own DMC or it's franchise-only the stuff that comes outta my head, namely the story and OC's. So credit were it goes, yay for DMC games. Um...aside from that...story rated M for action, course language, booze and cigs (though I don't endorse either), torture, pain, suffering, suggestive adultish themes, and creepy sadistic cults with vampire hench men. (; here's hopingI covered everything thing...)
Whew, thanks for taking the time to read this, enjoy!
"She's all yours boss," the young buck said warily. He was sporting a black eye and held a cigarette in a shaking hand. He nodded his head towards the perp in the other room.
The girl was sitting in the other room, patiently waiting. He could see her through the one way mirror, was puffing on a cancer stick. It was her fifth one that night. The glaring small over head light made her skin look wan and unhealthy, highlighting the dark bags under her yellow eyes. Her black hair was short, shaggy and spiked, grown longer in the front to frame her face, only one eye visible behind a sheet of bangs. She claimed her name was Lauren Star, but that was nearly impossible to prove as she had no criminal file to cross reference with and no identifying credentials on her. It was impossible to believe, but she had no file at all, none within the city's data banks and an even wider search had yielded little. It was as if she didn't exist, a living ghost in the technical world. Where such people even possible in this modern age?
Detective Brant was to interview the girl-hrm, one could hardly call her a girl. She had left that neighborhood several shirt sizes ago. She'd been picked up by a police cruiser while walking downtown on the pretense of illegal prostitution. What had started as bad cop crap ended with five men down and another seven in the ER and the arrested woman in the next room. The news reporters were already swarming the station ready to get the latest scoop on the developing story. His superiors where trying to hush the idea of wide spread corruption on the city's PD and they were doing a horrible job of it too.
Brant himself would've never believed it if he hadn't seen her with his own eyes. She was a knock out, and dressed to kill, as if it were Halloween and not for money. Brant privately hoped the men in the hospital were there for quite a while. He came from a long line of honorable and distinguished police officers, and planned on ending his career the way he started it, as a strait arrow. Brant was a man bound by his scriptures, never once had he partaken of any shady dealings, a rarity in the growing corruption that polluted the buracracy of the city government.
No doubt, his experience in dealing with homicide perps and their victims alike gave him an edge in a case like this. Most likely this was the reason he'd been chosen to interview the woman. Violence barely fazed him any more, and considering the photos taken of the men in the ER, the woman was well versed in handing it out. In either case, she was currently handcuffed to the metal table, both hand and feet. It was already eleven and he had a feeling it was going to be another long night. Clearing his throat, Brant entered the room.
"Good evening, Ms. Star," he took his seat at the table. The metal chair made a horrific scrapping sound as he pulled it back. "My name is Detective Brant." He set the small file down on the table and opened it. The young woman watched him with a bored stare. He looked up at her from the pile of papers with in his folder, might as well start with the basics, was she high or insane?Was there any factor that could contribute to her being out of her goddamning mind and almost inhumanly strong? She'd broken a grown man's jaw with her bare hands. For his sake, he hoped so.
"Do you understand why you're here?" The girl snorted.
"Because I popped your men a couple," she replied. She ground out the cigarette butt in the ashtray and reached for another from the crumpled pack that lay on the metal table.
"You did more than that, from the sound of it," he said patiently. He had a feeling he could rule out illegal drugs. She seemed lucid enough.
"Not my fault they couldn't keep their filthy hands to themselves," she said coolly. And that ruled out insanity, not that there had been much support for that theory to begin with.
"Yes, I'd like to hear your side of the story," Brant shifted. "It's procedure. If your story checks out we have situation that needs attention here. However, before we begin I'm required to ask you if you understand your rights," Brant loosened his tie and leaned back.
"Psssh. Yeah I know my rights," the girl waved her hand carelessly. "Freedom till death or maiming. So, I actually get to say something?" She started to light her cig.
"Yes, it's procedure. Are you sure you don't want a lawyer present?"
"So this is like, going to be used in court?" She still hadn't been able to light her cig yet. The handcuffs wouldn't allow her to do it. Brant leaned over the table and lit it for her, using his own lighter. He wondered how she'd gotten the previous five lit…. The stupid young buck had had direct orders to stay out of the room. Brant made a note of it on his waiting notepad.
"Perhaps. Are you sure you understand your rights?" he asked her annoyed. Kids these days, no respect.
"No problma, man," she replied. She sucked in and the tip of the cigarette glowed orange. "So, where do I start?" She leaned back and regarded the detective before her. Brant felt uneasy in her gaze for a moment. He pushed the discomfort away.
"The beginning if you please," he replied. He set a tape recorder in the center of the table and flicked it on.
"Hell, you want the beginning? That's a long story. I hope you have more tapes with you," the woman shifted slightly in her chair and cleared her throat. She uncrossed and re-cross her black and white striped thigh highs. The leather mini skirt rode up a little, showing the straps that held up the tights. Hell, her combat boots alone nearly rose to the base of her knees. Brant quickly shifted his attention back to her face. She looked up at the light, as if pondering.
"Well, it all started when I met Virgil about three or four years ago." Her voice was raspy as she spoke. As if considering things unseen she sucked on her cigarette again, always looking at the overhead light. Brant waited for a moment before he interrupted.
"Pardon?" Brant asked. The girl looked at him annoyed.
"Don't interrupt," she stared at him, her gold eyes boring into Brant's hazel ones. "It's not polite. In any case," she flashed him a smile, it lit up her face, "there is a point to it all." Was she on drugs, Brant wondered. Perhaps he shouldn't have dismissed the possibility so soon.
"Miss Star I need to know about the events of tonight, not your life story."
"Don't flatter yourself. I'm telling you exactly what you need to know, the events that led up to tonight," she eyed him, irritated. "Quite interrupting." Brant eyed the woman.
"As you wish, however, if this is a wild goose chase, you can expect the full penalty from the law, accompanied with a psychiatric evaluation Miss Star," Brant told her. He eyed the clock on the wall. Ten minutes had passed; it was going to be a long night alright.
"Whatever. Anyways, as I was saying it all started when I met Virgil Sparda, three or four years ago…I was walking home that night."