SPB: Noir

[Kromax]

I'm trying out this new story me and Shackles have been brainstorming, please give me some feedback.

Chapter 1
Withdrawal

Click click click, the keys dented with each tap on the computer's text, conversations and complaints filled the lobby of the bank, men, women and children lined informally, awaiting their turn at the teller. The citizens falling into different nationalities and regions, the pitches of different accents lining the chatter, the tellers especially angry having to work on a highly respected holiday in memorial the birthday of the city's founder.

Three men walked casually into the room, all dressed in very exotic outfits, one of them, a average sized man, wore a dark trench coat, goggles around his neck, and an odd, cylinder shaped backpack, his white hair reflecting the dull sunbeams of the outside. He glanced to the man to his right, a somewhat tall, trim man, sporting a large Afro black and a goatee, he shrugged comfortably in his blue jeans and red tank-top, he also sported a backpack, with this one resembling a more formal shape. The final man needed no introduction, due to his average attire, short brown hair, and blue jeans, his entire persona wrecked of normal. the only note-worthy feature was his odd amount of sweat beading down his body. His face reached an odd hue of red, he didn't even look up to his two accomplices.

The average man nervously walked towards the front of the line, trembling while gripping the gun strapped to his back, the woman and child waiting, now cut off by the man, were a bit distracted with each other, allowing him to sneak ahead with no effort.

"May I help you?" the bank teller asked, not once looking away from her computer screen (She was very determined to win a game of Minesweeper.) Without a word, the man removed the gun from his back and shot the teller between the eyes, in one fluid motion, he threw the gun into the head of the woman behind him, and ducked down. The gunshot distilled the room, all of them staring at the man crouching in fear, though, with the exception of the afro'ed man, the remaining spectators would soon lose sight all together. The coated man shot his arms forward, and clenched his fists, from his wrists, an sickly red ooze shot out, smearing on people and walls, the flesh of men and women alike sizzled and deteriorated into the air, the walls seemed to melt like ice, but with no water displaced on the floor. The crimson goo destroyed and faded almost instantly, killing nearly everyone in the lobby, melting walls, and then leaving no traces of it's existences. The nervous man now was in-cased in trauma, with the two other surviving men shrugging it off and heading towards the backroom, the afro'ed man stepped over mutilated bodies and grabbed the other by the arm, while the goggled man heading back.

"Umm.. w-why do you guys need me?" the man finally stated,
"Hmm, good question," The goggled man said, "Will, why do we need him?"

Will smirked, "A scapegoat, Shackles, we'll give him a tank of 'red', blind him, mute him, make him deaf, and make it so if he moves, the canister explodes, killin' witnesses."

"I..I didn't think you'd tell me." The man quickly realized that warning to his death was no better than the dying itself, he was quickly met with knives in his eyes. He tried to scream in pain, but the shock, and his tongue being melted off by Shackles, stopped his pleas. His ears were amputated next, and he was gagged and bound to the chemical canister, full of the red ooze that quickly knocked down a large crowd in moments. The hallway was set perfectly for the crime, the room he sat in had one entrance, which was blocked by himself, even a trying to move him out of the way could trigger this trap once activated, luckily the duo would be far gone by then, Shackles even wanted to remotely activated. They planted small explosive devices which Will had loaded up around the structure, making sure the areas only skimmed by the chemical blast would still be injured. They ran into one problem, although they expected the entire main staff to be out on the lobby, one worker was in the back room fixing some server issues, not a problem, however, Will quickly moved in for a neck-snap, due to low upper body strength however, this ended with a struggle and the workers head against the wall. A quick walk into the back room, and the two were staring down a large bank vault, on an average vault this would mean the end of their trek, but unfortunately, this one was made to hold armed guards to stop further advancement to the cash.

Will casually tossed a small hand-held explosive in his hand, and grabbed another from his backpack with his other, he started mounting each on the great vault door, Shackles, on the other hand, started sticking small pellets of the corrosive chemical around the vault, after taking a few steps back, the two took out a small controller in unison, Shackles clicked the button first, melting the door frame, and allowing the metal circle to sit in place. Pistol rounds whipped through the ringed hole. After taking some cover, Will activated his own special effect, the metal door flew back from the blast, the weight of the gate redacted much of a jump, but it did casually flattened two terrified guards.

Shackles dash from cover, tightening the valve on his forearm, he ran into the room, took aim, and killed 3 guards with an equal amount of shots. Making sure not to his any of the structural pillars lining the main pathway of the room. Will followed in, pistol drawn, and shot down the remaining guards. The rest of the operation was child's play, Shackles sprayed the last vault door with a very uncontrolled spurt, only damaging tiny bits of money.

The endgame sight was glorious, assorted bills, gems, and minerals, all lined perfectly, with walls of safe deposit boxes lining the scene. Shackles emptied his backpack, and started loaded it with the spoils of victory, "Man, this was worth the payout on the explosives." Shackles spilled out as his eyes glinted with greed, but Will had his mind off in the walls, more precisely, BOX # 325, He took a almost microscopic explosive, one of his own special design, and placed it on the lock, he detonated it with ease, Shackles was not even alerted by the blast, too fixated on how much of the acid he could for mate with the cash he makes. Will recovered a very average looking folder from the newly opened box, and slid it casually into his backpack, then went on to Shackles and his looting.

The two finished the plunder, and started to make for their escape, they were certain the authorities would be waiting, so some demolition work, Will readied some explosives, and planted them onto a small patch of wall not dominated by lock boxes, they knew it led into a small clothing shop closed for the holiday, a perfect get away for if they could do it quietly. Will did something that at this point was so worn that he grew bored. They slipped through the new hole in the wall, Shackles grabbed a new trench-coat, and they waltzed out of the structure. Shackles pulled out a remote, wired to a trap yet not readied, instead of waiting for the mouse to fall into the trap, he decided he would make the trap explode. Click click click, the two looked down, and the bank collapsed.

The word as you know is gone, shot in the head and left in a shallow grave, in it's place, is this. Located in a shady land resembling your own, sits a large island on the world's crown, surrounded by the vast, unending ocean, while half of this isolated world lives in wealth, the other half has fallen to the state where murder is fine as long as you do it creatively, children on one side of the town are gifted with wealth to buy a small home. The others have to go on a thieving spree daily for food.

There are no powers, but that doesn't push these psychopaths back, they adapt to normality, and make it surreal, they turn a normal society where they would fail, and take it over. Creating their own powers, whether it be mental supremacy, or a mastery over fire.

The city breaks into four major regions, Rich, Banking, Industrial, and the Slums, the former are the darkened ideals of wealth, with the greatest business man at least having 20 on his kill-count. The latter control their own world, with petty gangs fighting for victory over each other, and the larger fighting for control of the districts. The battles are in a state of slowing, until now.

[Kromax]

I know this isn't necessarily Noir, but I like the name and yeah.
More to come

Chapter 2
Through The Doorway

The rolling plains around the coast laid still, the cliff side overlooked the water in a state of calm, the winds were dulled. The entire landscape had been void of life, in the middle of it all, was a small farm, only a barn, a house, and a field for crops resided there, an average house in the country if anything. If one looked beyond the old Oak door, however, Under the wine cellar, and deep within the dirty tunnels. Lay an entire landscape of darkness, underneath the already dark asylum of life above. The Cavern, a chamber poorly light by a huge network of lighting, resembled a small district of the over-world. Each day a new argument brews and ends in murder. Serial killers thrive off of their mental deficiencies, and the concept of god resides in the ruler of the greatest gang in power. The landscape didn't span far, but it did have many notable features, it has four main intersecting linear streets, with buildings for small gangs and guilds and stores, smaller roads and alleys ran through the main structure then the grand reveal, after one would wander through the streets and end in the other side, they would find a great monument of power, 4 large buildings stood at a great size, two to the left, and two to the right, each one belonging to the largest gangs in this underworld. in the center laid a large decaying warehouse, with the painting graying to a point of bleak, 4 large pillars stood in front of the complex, each with an insignia representing the current gangs ruling the building.

Shackles walked down the sidewalk quietly, trying to keep himself incognito, he had recently spurred trouble with local gangs after "accidentally" taking off a few people's limbs in the tension of combat. Will waited for him on the upcoming alley turn-off, the two nodded to each and shook the opposite's hand. They strolled down the street towards the their own gang's hall, The Barracks, tonight, the two will be drinking in solace, under the banner of The Grim Army of Brawl, after passing through the checkpoint to verify their membership, a stroll through the admissions hall, the two arrived at a bar clad in forest camo and the militaristic beat of a snare drum.

Average gangsters were donning the apparel of modern Highlander soldiers, forest camo fatigues, a bullet proof vest, and a Damage Opposition Cranium Apparel (DOCA), or as it should be referred, a helmet, the only variation was the insignias being of the army, a red shield with the initials G.A.B on it. Nearly all of them were beyond the point of waking up feeling a little under the weather.
Although mostly empty, one man sat at the bar, his tanned skin was odd for a man who spent most of his time underground. His hair was average, messy, and a black tone. He stroked his goatee and flexed his toned muscles as the two tried to spot out his apparel, his clothing consisted of a a over-all blue theme, dark blue jacket, dark blue jeans, even his shoes had a mix of dark blue and black. He also had bullets lining his body, a necklace consisting of 9mm beads and a 50. caliber pendent, bracelets, rings, and so on, he had incorporated munitions of different shapes and sizes.
To his left, Shackles took a seat, to the right, Will pulled up a stool, "Two bottles of Highland's Brew and a refill for my friend here." The bartender had responded to Will's request at high speed.
The man was very in cased in the design of a Inglorian pistol that shown an odd new munition, "How goes the plunder?" The Gunsmith said.
"Well not much has changed, but we have a shit load of money." Shackles said in a humorous tone.

Gunsmith smirked, and their drinks arrived, he raised his glass next to his mouth, he started to speak in a motivation tone, "The war effort has fallen into some hard times, the old Grim would be mind numb of what she deals with now in the terms of funding and bureaucracy, but let us not diminish the success today with the problems of other activities. Tell me, how much did you make?"
Will started in, "Not sure entirely of the mineral to cash ratio, but were estimating around 20k, we also picked up some weaponry blueprints for you."
"Astounding! That could easily help us get the smaller rebel gangs outside our control to stop shooting us in the streets, Markus will be dismayed to here his bribes for mercenaries was outbid." Gunsmith wore a loose expression of joy, many banks had been robbed, even a very recent heist had snagged them 10,000 brawlios, but 20k? He hadn't seen a hold-up that well since him and Grim were lowly agents of the precursor gangs of the modern age of pseudo-government.
The three continued to discuss recent events, the tension between the entirety of the 4 leading gangs, the ongoing war between The Grim Army of Brawl and Markus' Club of Murder, and simple banter between friends, the group all had a similarity in that they all bared the traits of a psychopath, yet still remain the mellow types and even have normal social skills
"So are the detectives on us again in the slums?" Shackles inquired.
"I would wish to deny, but alas, we are on the cliff side of federal investigations throughout our safe houses, Christopher is a damned idiot, but his damn vigilante he employs is a sleuth, helps him get all his work done with some of our best sentries mistaking his looming specter as mere shading." Gunsmith took another gulp of his ale.
"Vigilantes, isn't that what were doing, just a step forward, we fight crime, the crimes of this damn government, you hear Balto decided to get his own radio station, one show, one discussion, and then the only song is "The King Goes Ruling," damn propaganda, he spends most of his time trying to say we're 'the youth who have altered from the course of success, and wish to force themselves to power." Will's rants always left him parched for a sip of booze.
Shackles intervened, "I speak here knowing you two didn't have opportunities in the upper class, but understand this, every brawlio you spend or make is funneled into their steamed shit, kept at a toasty 70 degrees Fahrenheit. The system eats you alive, and it slowly stacks up, for every bit of change you spend, you spend double next time. If it wasn't for the research grant I would be in lowly gang trying to brew corrosive chems in a meth lab that uses napalm to make crack."
Will continued after a few sips, "We were cheated!, I spent my 10th birthday blowing out a fire that took my friend Earl's legs off. While these banker kids got a new golden pilot and platinum jet-ski. I didn't even get a chance to be a suicidal teller!"
Gunsmith mused, "At least you didn't come from Inglorn, I once met an aristocratic man who thought labor was used to teach the mentally handicap motor skills."

The three were soon lost in drunken talk and debate.

********************
The skyline of the city's business district was impressive, multiple skyscrapers that matched the largest buildings in other, poorer cities. The symbol of the city's wealth resided in the main tower in the center of town, it was a building that could only be described as a sky-breaker, reached above the cloud-line, it's construction seemed almost impossible, years of effort and entire families were spent up and broken to complete this feat on construction, people who can honestly say they spent a few minutes on the roof said they lungs felt a lack of oxygen, and the air there stung and numbed the throat.
Atop the 200th floor, the floor only a topped by the roof, was an office, it was very cramped, with papers and folders scattered around, and dark, with only two low power light-bulbs shining down on the room, the night time shade only diminished light further. A small desk sat in the back, with a seat within it. Upon the seat sat a man, garbed in attire that a wealthy business man would find out of his price range, the hair on his skull was thick and brown, a beard that was thick yet tamed from an unkempt status. Slicked back hair gave his entire bodily aspect of government an extended enforcer.
The man looked down at the new laws he was asked to pass, mostly formalities, he can just go to court one day and say yay or nay, the paperwork was mostly for the idiots who considered the state a democracy. From the PA device on his desk a *bzzt* sounded through, following was the raspy voice of a middle aged lady with a smoking problem "Mr. Balto, your 8 o'clock is here."
"Send them in."
The doorknob creaked eerily as an elegant figure slipped through the door-crack. Her long blond hair coated half her body, with the back-hair reaching down to her hips, her trench-coat (A commonality in fashion in this region) covered her entire body, and a bowler's cap, with a ruby red rose above the brim sat, shaded most of her face, she slipped into the chair mirroring Balto's own seat, the two sat in quiet, exchanging almost non-existing gestures of greetings. Balto broke the tension.
"The charges upon you are fully dropped the moment that damn William is put in my grip or put down, and those stolen plans are back in my hands."
A vile smirk appeared on the woman's face, "I've encountered Will, he doesn't fall prey to romantic gestures as much as the low lives of the Club of Murder, he won't go easily."
Balto cut in, "Then you're going back to solitary confinement, Ruby."
Ruby continued, agitated, "Anyways, I have attracted the attention of Markus and his higher goons, they think I'm useful and untrustworthy, a bad trade-off, but if I gain some trust, I could strike a deal for the capture of Will, and then you get me a VISA and get me to Highland, no questions asked."
Balto hesitated, "Eh..Highland is pretty high security these days with the war and all, I can get you to DMZ check-mark 1, just outside the border with transfer papers completely wiped clean." Balto typed a few words on his computer, feigning an action of readying her papers.
Ruby pondered the deal, check-marks were notorious for both their entrapment's to stop runaways with promises of escape and the criminal pour-out if executed correctly, but the other options were freedom in a hellhole or no freedom in a worse one.
"I'll take it, get me an escort driver out to the farmland, and none of your own personal men, you know exactly who I want for this."
Balto sighed, and clicked a button on his PA device, "Get me Chip."

************************

The trio broke from their drunken stagger in a barracks completely torn apart, deep inside the complex they were encased inside of, Gunsmith hung from the ceiling by chains with phallic images scrawled onto his cheeks, Will, still conscious, had his head dug into the toilet bowl, expelling vomit at a nearly unstopped pace. Shackles had been hit the worse, his urge to over-use chemical mixtures in all forms carried over into his own special brand of alcoholism, he lay in the beaten up bed, his hair slicked back by something I can only pray is grease, his eyes barely cracked open.
A red light above the door started to flash vibrantly, the contrast of brightness shook Gunsmith awake and made Shackles gag from the shock. Gunsmith pondered the situation, and quickly un-did the buckles on the chains holding him up, having him fall 6 feet to the ground, which felt like freefall for the depth perception lacking drunk.
Will returned to the room, confused, "Red alert, shit what did we do last night?"
Still in pain, Gunsmith groaned from the floor and spouted, "We only have one color in here, Grim just wants to meet with us, you've gotten most of the brew outta you, tell her I'll be there once I get a shower."
Shackles moaned and shouted, "Go-od, turn that damn thing off!" Will smashed it with his fist as he headed out the door, Shackles drifted back to slumber.
Gunsmith interrupted it with a slap to the face, "Come on, get suited up, thou be late to no concert of Grim's mind." Gunsmith's poetic speech never faulted, even in a state of hangover.
Shackles pulled himself to his feet and headed for the door, outside the entire hall seemed to be loaded with the drunkard aura his friends currently felt, the whole gang had reason to celebrate, Grim promised when the robbery was complete, the funds would be used to turn the tide of the war.
Gunsmith had already gone and got Grim to excuse their excessing celebration, and at the end of the long hallways for housing, lay a large, circular room, coated in militaristic decor and aura. This room had seen many dark days, the fall of a government, a failed coup, a successful coup, two more failures, and then finally, Grim's rise to leadership. Since then it has been isolated from combat and now only is used to create combat, where all of Grims secrets of strategy are held.
"You maggots don't know how to do me good, but damn, you can waste yourselves!" A thick chuckle rose up from Grim's chest.
Shackles sat down in a chair, around the circular table, he drifted off to a slumber, while unimportant discussion filled the room. By the time he woke, Will sat next to him nudging his shoulder. He scanned the room, and 8 other leaders sat around him, he sat mirroring Grim, in the chair closest to the exit, clockwise around him sat Himself, Will, Rageblood, General Spleencarver, Ghost, Grim, Gunsmith, Malcolm Fry and Gunner, with the exception of Shackles, Ghost, Grim, Gunsmith and Will, they all wore military dress uniforms. The council was built out of the greatest soldiers the underworld has seen, most of them coming from the leaders of the gangs that Grim used to gain power, although they had the great power a man could find within the army, only a woman could rule it.
Grim stood up, and glanced around the room judgmentally, an itching feeling of suspense filled the chamber, she took her time, and pondered her words, "We won, we have won this war, for we do not judge victory by time, only by it's existence, Markus has no support, we control The Union Of The People, and The Tribes Of The Islanders are in no way read to fight. We have funds, he has fools, we have guns, he has a coalition of the most brilliant blah blah blahs, we have an army, he has a club. The war only lasted this long because he, like so many other cowards, hired the ones with no honor to defend his own fears. So yes, tomorrow, we storm his base, today, we win."
Applause filled the room, very little from the council, she allowed the troops to look in on her speeches (And by that I mean forces) and she even has a laugh-track if it's not working out. Will was skeptical, "So, how do we do this?"
"Markus hasn't got a merc to his name now,we're making his mercenaries double agents through the power of cash, and because he was foolish enough to let neutrals into his mist, they will be his downfall respectively."
Gunsmith intervened, "He still has a fighting force, all of which are psychological killers, and those men are not prepared for the terrifying things they can do to them."
Shackles jumped in, "I fought one of those guys before, they didn't do much, just a weird magic trick."
Will argued, "You're a man who has seen much, these troops are sane, something like that would put them to their knees screaming." He made a quick pause, forgetting that the soldiers may be able to hear him.
The rest of the men had been following the debate to the letter, but not Ghost, he had an emotionless gaze towards Grim, his red tinted goggles hid his eyes, but he still felt the dead stare in his eyes, Shackles interrupted the argument to take note, "I'm sorry, but, Ghost, do you have an idea?"
Ghost gave no new facial expression, he didn't even break his stare, but he began "I can easily divert the attention of the madmen, I won't slip any farther down a pit that I'm already at the bottom of."
The room pondered the thought, Ghost was not a well liked man, everyone here was insane, but Ghost had exceeded that word, he had reached a mentality that could stare into your soul and make you cry. However, the plan used this insanity, and turned his faults into a special skill.
Grim made the decision, "Very well, Ghost, you go into their base, and once I get the word from you that you got their attention, the mercs go on a killing spree."
Ghost quickly switched to a smug tone, "Well alright then, you shoggoths gonna get some sleep in or are you just going to sit there like vagabonds?" He then walked out of the room, head held high.
The room was left with a jumbled feeling of shock and displeasure. "So...We done here?" Shackles was very confused why he was even there in the first place.
Grim shrugged, "Fine, you're dismissed."
After all of the men had left the room, Grim pulled out a box of Cigars, kicked her feet up, and let out a boast, "I got more soldiers than I know what to do with!"

[Gront]

I just got around to reading this, and I have to say, right off the bat, I love the story. It's deep, it's different, and most importantly it's entertaining. I also like the world, and the idea that Brawlers are sort of inherently drawn to surreality.

Most of my problems with the story lie with your grammar and such. You tend to mix your tenses around; stick with past tense or present tense, but don't alternate between the two. Also, your vocabulary is clearly pretty good, but you seem to be so concerned with adding high-level, cool-sounding words to your stuff that it really just comes off sounding weird. Try reading your story out loud to yourself, then change any parts that sound funny. To a certain extent, you want to write like you talk (unless you generally sound like a retard when you talk). This way, your story will generally have a lot better flow to it.

[Kromax]

Thanks a lot for the criticism, it's really cool man

When it comes to grammar, if you mean the narration containing high level wording, I'll fix that, but if you mean dialogue, I was trying to change it and make certain people sound more sophisticated like Gunsmith sounded more poetic and Ghost sounded more like more like a poetic douche.


I'm also trying to get Grim to edit grammar for me since Shackles has been addicted to Pokemon and isn't helping with that anymore.