NationStates Jolt Archive

Sehnsucht für das Glück

vig·i·lan·te: n. (1) One who takes or advocates the taking of law enforcement into one's own hands.

This is another of my famous RP stories but rather than chronicle the course of my Empire, the struggles in Kaliningrad, or the timeline of Force Falcon, it focuses on a different element. The focus here is on a vigilante, the most notorious and wanted criminal in the entirity of the Empire of Layarteb.

You'll notice that the title is in German. Yes I am fully aware that it is no propper. It is not written as "Die Sehnsucht nach dem Glück" because I wanted it to be a phrase rather than a complete sentence. Also, please don't ask me what the translation is if you do not know it. I want to maintain and air of mystery about it. Just know that it means something dark...

Lastly, before you read please do not pass any judgement that this will be a pathetic post. If you must have a reference, please go to to the list below and you will see the abilities of me to tell a story. I am a writer.
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Legend
All text in red type is top secret classified. It is unknown to the normal reader and even anyone else other than those present in the text. All are loyal to the government so please none of that, "We had spies" nonsense because I'm going to ignore it.

Italic text is text that is speech. It is italic to differentiate from normal text.

Italic underlined text is thought.

Small, green text is documents, communications, etc.

Bold, small, green text in quote form is used to mean something that isn't in the document.

Small, dark red test is documents, communicatiosn, etc. that is top secret classified. It is considered the same as red text.

Blue text is just a minor announcement.

Bold, blue text is a service announcement meant in OOC form
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Notes

This will be updated on an irregular basis. Pictures may be included with horrible images of death but I will try to keep away from that and keep it PG-13. If there is ever something that violates NS rules (and no nothing illegal will be had here) please inform me and I'll take care of it. An example is in Part II (of the Layartebian Chronicles) with the test subjects. I could not find any images on the internet of what it would look like to be exposed to something like Ebola and even if I did they would be horrible images so in the interest of stomachs and decency I have just put in a small comment. Swearing will be curbed and if anything you will see the first letter and asteriks at least so you know the word they are saying. If you are offended don't read! Simple as that. Lastly, in the area of sexual explicity, I will NOT deviate away from PG-13 (1980s PG-13, not 2004 PG-13 which is almost soft core porn). I understand the number of minors here and will certainly, without a shadow of a doubt, respect that.
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Other Role-Playing Stories

Down with the Sickness (http://forums.jolt.co.uk/showthread.php?t=432254)
Isla del Enfermo (Earth II) (http://forums.jolt.co.uk/showthread.php?t=398102)
La Guerra que no Hombre Debe Saber (http://forums.jolt.co.uk/showthread.php?t=434657)
Ride the Lightning (http://forums.jolt.co.uk/showthread.php?t=448866)
Sehnsucht für das Glück (http://forums2.jolt.co.uk/showthread.php?t=386920)
Tale of the Time: Ancient Secrets Found in Yucatán... (http://forums.jolt.co.uk/showthread.php?t=409829)
The Forsaken Island (http://forums.jolt.co.uk/showthread.php?t=442286)
The Kingdom of Forgotten Warriors (Earth II) (http://forums2.jolt.co.uk/showthread.php?t=380343)
The Knight of Dark Chaos (http://forums2.jolt.co.uk/showthread.php?t=384906)
The Layartebian Chronicles (http://forums2.jolt.co.uk/showthread.php?t=384916)
The Praetorian Project (http://forums2.jolt.co.uk/showthread.php?t=450228)

Table of Contents


Part I: The Twilight Zone (Page 1)
Part II: Colorblind
Part III: Twisted Metal


Our Vigilante
http://www.theforsakenoutlaw.com/Graphics/Nation-States/Role-Playing/Sehnsucht%20Fur%20Das%20Gluck/vigilante.jpg

Characters


Vigilante: Referred to by many names, he is our main character, a vigilante killer who rapes and pillages the humanity of the Empire of Layarteb.

Organizations


Force Falcon: The most elite and top secret Black Ops unit in the Imperial Layartebian Military. This unit and its members do not exist.

Part I: The Twilight Zone

"He is the one who even our most powerful leaders fear. He has not one name but hundreds, of which I know only very few. If you hear the Vigilante, the Forsaken Outlaw, the Unforgiven, the Outlaw Torn, the Outlaw, or the Spectre, know it is he whom I discuss. He's a man who knows no fear nor home. I've seen him but not his face, nobody has. He wears a long, black, leather trench coat. Underneath he wears a robe, its hood covering his face in darkness. They say he wears body armor, kevlar but more advanced. God knows how many weapons he carries with him but he has a ton in there.

"He hunts down the lawless but not the law of Layarteb no. He hunts for the law of humanity. Those that pursue the misgivings of humanity he punishes. The seven deadly sins are not religious. These are the seven deadly sins against humanity. Do you know what they are? No huh?

"Pride is excessive belief in one's own abilities, that interferes with the individual's recognition of the grace of God. It has been called the sin from which all others arise. Pride is also known as Vanity.

"Envy is the desire for others' traits, status, abilities, or situation.

"Gluttony is an inordinate desire to consume more than that which one requires.

"Lust is an inordinate craving for the pleasures of the body.

"Anger is manifested in the individual who spurns love and opts instead for fury. It is also known as Wrath.

"Greed is the desire for material wealth or gain, ignoring the realm of the spiritual. It is also called Avarice or Covetousness.

"Sloth is the avoidance of physical or spiritual work.

"Those are they. But wipe that look off your face. He only comes after those that are evil, pure evil. Those who cast humanity into garbage and destroy the possibility of goodness are punished, removed, and annihilated. He's skilled, very skilled. He's probably ex-military, maybe even still in the military, a Black soldiers. You know those don't you? The ones that don't exist but harm. The ones who creep through our cities and our towns, who arrest those plotting against us and against the government. Oh they're there. I have connections. One of them says that there are six Black Ops units, with over one hundred and seventy-five thousand soldiers to them. They're in the mountains, their bases I mean. They hunt and kill without mercy and without forgiveness. Like he whom I discuss. This man, this vigilante, he hunts and kills for the fun of it. My guess is that he has very little respect for human life and just is cleansing the Earth of those who contribute only to the demise of our species. I've seen him. I looked into the darkness of his face and I saw all of hell. Hell rides with him!" The drunken man pulled at the collar of the man next to him, fear in his eyes. "Mister you need to understand me. He's coming back for me. He said it. He said I was next."

"Calm yourself old man and take your hands off of me now!" The young gentlemen said, his eyes open and bold. "Remove your hands if you'd like to keep them."

"Sorry. Sorry. But he's coming for me."

"Old man he's not coming for everyone. Stop telling that damn story." The bartender said, noticing the previous situation. "And stop grabbing my customers."

"Sorry barkeep. Can I get another whiskey?"

"You've had too much already. You're done for the night."

"Night? It's four in the afternoon."

"Precisely." The bartender returned to what he was doing.

"He's coming back for me. You have to protect me."

"Old man I don't have to do anything but leave and get away from your crazy, drunk ass. Go to AA or something will you."

"Nobody believes me. Nobody." The young man put down his tip and left. He had stopped in for a quick shot of whiskey after a particularly difficult day at work. Now he was going back home for supper and a quiet night with his wife and daughter.

*************************
The apartment was quiet and dull. The air was stale and hazy, filled with cigarette smoke that the vigilante blew. He was sitting straight yet relaxed in an arm chair, across the room from a man who sweat with fear. He studdered when he spoke and sat in another armchair, the living room being their setting. The vigilante sat without a flinch and was calm, the darkness of his hood shielding his eyes and his face. Across him, the man studdered and faltered over his own words.

"So wha wha what is this a a ab about?"

"Mister Rockworth I told you already. You owe me payment for services rendered."

"Servi services?"

"Perhaps I'll need to be clearer. Two months ago you requested the services from one Mister Horrus. Correct?"

"I did."

"Mister Horrus referred to me."

"He di did?"

"Yes he did. Now it is time for my payment."

"I I..."

"You what. You owe five thousand, five-hundred. I will take that in cash."

"But I..."

"You have a safe behind your head. Time is of the essence Mister Rockworth. Can we be quick about this?" The vigilante blew another cloud of smoke into the air.

"Al alright." The scared Mr. Rockworth stood up and pulled the painting forward, revealing a wall safe. He entered the combination, right two turns to seventeen, left one full turn to thirty-six, right to forty-seven. The safe clicked open and as he reached into it, the Vigilante stopped him.

"That'll be fine. If you will please sit down."

"I tho..."

"Sit down please."

"O okay." Mr. Rockworth sat down. "What's going on?"

"I am to deliver a message to you. Does the name Stephanie mean anything to you?"

"Sh sh should it?"

"She was seven. Do you remember now?"

"I I..." Mr. Rockwell began to weep. "I was only fourteen."

"You committed a horrible crime. You killed her. You raped her. You violated her dead body. You weren't given any punishment. You weren't even caught. She sends a message from the dead Mister Rockwell. She wants to know if it was worth it. She wants to know if you will know how hell is..." At that moment, the Vigilante drew his pistol, a Colt M1911A2, a forty-five caliber pistol with seven rounds loaded. He unlocked the safety and raised it.

Mr. Rockwell struggled to his feet, crying, his hand out saying "STOP!" "No. Sir. Please. Do..." The Vigilante pulled the trigger and the hollow point bullet tore into the left lung of Mr. Rockwell, putting him on the ground, bleeding and unable to breathe. The Vigilante remained as he was, blowing another cloud of smoke into the air as the man slowly suffocated to death. He managed to get back off the floor, sitting on it still, his back against the armchair. "It wasn't my fault." The wound seared with pain.

"Mister Rockwell it is time to stop making excuses. You have done your deed and I have mine. Now you will suffer, slowly, like she. Do you know that after you raped her, when you suffocated her, it took her minutes to die, not seconds like you thought, but minutes. You too will feel the same pain as she but still you are getting off lucky."

"You can't do this."

"But I did."

"Who are you?"

"I am a messenger. Nothing more. Nothing less."

"Messenger of God?"

"There is no God..." The Vigilante smiled though it could not be seen. He looked at the man, bleeding and wheezing on the ground. "Now do you see the actions that you have caused?"

"I see only crime."

"My crime. Your crime. I am not bound to the same laws as you. I am bound to no law except the law of humanity. You have broken that law, now you must be punished."

"You'll get yours. You will." Mr. Rockwell wheezed and coughed, tears running down his face. It hurt too much to move yet too much to sit so uncomfortably.

"I've already got mine..." The Vigilante removed his hood enough to reveal his face. Horror swept the eyes of Mr. Rockworth and he expired, his heart ceasing to function anymore. The Vigilante returned his hood and stood up. He reholstered his pistol and walked to the safe. Inside he pulled out ten thousand dollars and a small pill container. He opened it and looked inside, smiling under his hood. My elixir. He put the pills in his pocket with the cash. The rest of the materials in the safe were a few documents, nothing of interest. He closed the safe and returned the painting. He had finished his cigarette and he dropped it onto the floor, into the pool of blood. Then he turned around and left as if he were a normal tenant.

Outside his car was waiting, a 1970 Chevrolet Chevelle SS 454 LS6. It was black, a true muscle car. The 454 cubic inch engine put out 450 horsepower at 5,600 RPMs and the car had a top speed of 130 miles per hour, able to do a quarter mile is just under fourteen seconds. Weighing just over 3,300 lb. the car was beautiful. The Vigilante stepped in, the car still vintage and classic. He started the engine and put it into gear, driving away so as to not arouse suspicion.

OOC: Very interesting, my friend. Let me know if I can get involved with this one or not.

Thanks NG.

BUMP for readers...

Part II: Colorblind

The Vigilante came to a halt in parking space #666, fitting. This was one of his residences, a beat up, run down, unmanaged apartment building in Layarteb City. He had many homes, this one his first and most dear. He had backed in and now stepped out, locked the car, and set his alarm. A camera he had installed himself watched the spot and the car, recording everything on video. He also had a remote dart gun installed just under the camera, loaded with sixteen tranquilizer darts, aimed by an infrared laser dot that only he could see when the camera was in IR mode. He could aim and shoot from his apartment. He took care of his car, a vintage classic, and if anything were to happen to it he would make the person(s) feel very stupid they stole or did anything to his car, which was worth in excess of $120,000.

http://www.theforsakenoutlaw.com/Graphics/Nation-States/Role-Playing/Sehnsucht%20Fur%20Das%20Gluck/chevelle.jpg

He ascended the half rotten stairs from the below-grade parking garage. The first floor had three elevators, two of which were usually broken and the third was more or less a flip of the coin. If it worked it was another flip of the coin, those two sides being life or death. The Vigilante never seemed to care if it worked or not but when it did, he used it without thought. This time, it was working. He ascended it to the thirteenth floor and got out, going to his apartment, apartment number #666. It was irony in true form.

His apartment was mildly clean, not immaculate but not a pigsty. He hadn't been there in two months and whatever was left when he last was there was as such. He closed the door behind him and put his trench coat on the couch. His gun was still warm, the barrel hot to the touch. He put it down as well, still retaining the three knives he carried on him. "It's time for some dinner." He looked in the refrigerator. There wasn't much in the way of food. Then he looked into the freezer. "Perhaps another time." He went into his bedroom and took the pills that he stole from the latest victim. "My exilir. Soothe and heal me." He popped two and fell into bed, leaving the reality around him and entering the world of his own warped mind. The two tablets of PCP that he had taken were the strongest yet. That was his drug of choice, the 1950s anesthetic. It threw him into a delusional, hallucination-ridden world that he usually was in for at least eight to twelve hours. This dose would put him out for twelve hours easy.

*************************
In the bar, the old man was sobering up, forced to drink club sodas. It was the mental necessity to have a drink in his hand more than anything. He was watching the television, sitting in the same place he had been, though quiet since he had been cut off. Then the television flashed a mysterious news story.


BREAKING NEWS

The Layartebian News Network correspondent, Shepherd Smith, sat at his usual place. "This just in. In Layarteb City, a man was brutally murdered and robbed the police say. It happened less than an hour ago in the eastern side of the city and the killer is believed to be at large within a sixty mile radius. Police ask for your help in catching this man, who is wanted for a multitude of murders across our great Empire.

http://www.theforsakenoutlaw.com/Graphics/Nation-States/Role-Playing/Sehnsucht%20Fur%20Das%20Gluck/sketch.jpg

"If you have any information as to the whereabouts of this killer or any information at all or if you have seen him, please call this number immediately. 718-225-HELP. Enter profile code #456-2289. Thank you."

The television returned to the normal programming. The old man snapped to, he was only eight blocks from the murder. Apparently the sirens he had heard were going to this place. "That's him. The Vigilante. He's here. I'm next!"

"Old man go home. It's late!"

"It's before seven!"

"Go home old man. Leave my bar now before I call the police on you."

"Ingrate. I will but know that you are condemning a man to death."

"I condemn no one. Leave!" The bar was quiet around the actual bar area, the old man getting up and leaving, stumbling his way out. "If I see you in here again I'm throwing you out before you order a single drink!"

"Aye the next time you see me I'll be on the TV and you'll be asked to find my killer!" The old man stumbled home, a good half mile south of the bar. He wept as he climbed the two flights of stairs to his apartment, his bitch of a wife waiting to yell at him for being drunk.

"At the bar again! I hope you die tonight from drinking too much!"

"Yeah I drink because you're alive."

"So then divorce me!"

"It's cheaper to drink myself into oblivion."

"It's not like you have anything anyway! Your daughter called earlier. She's pregnant. You hear that? A grandchild. Maybe you'll straighten up!"

"Maybe I wil..." He passed out onto the bed and was sound asleep.

*************************
The Vigilante awoke to the sound of the telephone ringing. Groggy, he picked it up. "Hello."

"You have struck again."

"He was on the list."

"He was. There is a new target on the list."

"Who and where?"

"Is your laptop charged?"

"Yes but it is off."

"Turn it on..."

"I'm doing that." The groggy Vigilante opened up his laptop, his reflection showing in the dark screen. He pushed power and the laptop came on instantly, booting up, the usual process. "Give me ninety seconds."

"Very well. Standard procedures."

"Yes." He let it boot up and then opened a special program, a secure encryption program. His username was "vigilante" and his password, a staggering twenty-characters, "yourhateiswhatineed!" He entered them and the program came online. "Ready. Send it."

"Very well. Transfer in progress." Some lights flashed on the program and a status indicator began the slow move to the right. He was receiving sixty-six megabytes of information, transferring at a rate of 1.1 megabytes per second. It would take a minute, give or take, for the contents of the file to be downloaded, another six to decrypt and sort it. All in all we was looking at a seven minute process. He dared not hang up the phone. He needed to confirm that it decrypted correctly.

The seven minutes were slow, as usual, and he watched the status indicators on the screen as they flew past, decrypting the file and sorting it appropriately. When they were up he scrolled to the very bottom of the last file. He saw the watermark, the very last character that would have loaded. "Everything is fine."

"Time frame is two weeks."

"Yes." The phone connection was closed and the Vigilante moved throughout the files, all six of them. Two were background information, another was a police report, another was a few pictures, and the last two were whereabouts reports. The subject was one Peter Sozzi, an investment banker in Falcon City. He was married, a wife and three children, six, ten, and thirteen, all girls. He had been arrested in his college years in connection with a brutal murder at a frat party but no evidence was able to be substantiated against him. He was released six days later after spending sixty-six hours in interrogation. The victim of the murder was another college sophomore, who was one of the few good people on the campus. He was murdered by Mr. Sozzi and left for dead behind a water treatment plant some sixty-six miles away. He lied there for six days before his body was found. The college sophomore had been beaten and bled to death.

The Vigilante smirked at the assignment. The dead shall walk one day with those who have killed them. Then they shall come to a ravine and look into the vast, red abyss. "Hereth lies the sun," they shall say to their killers who will acknowledge. Then let it be that they shall cast their killers into the fiery depths of torture as the Underworld comes to the surface. They shall exalt his name and praise on high. He shalt be called, "Hades." The Vigilante recited the passage once more in his head and prepared. He took his shotgun, a sawed off Remington 870. He carried enough shells with him to keep the magazine fully stocked and have enough for another full reload. He also took his Colt M1911 with two extra clips, just incase. His car was waiting for him in the basement and he entered it, shaking the pills and thinking to himself, You shall wait until I am victorious once again.

OOC Tag, very nice stuff, very nice indeed.

OOC Tag, very nice stuff, very nice indeed.

Thank you. If you like this one, check out some of the other ones like the Kingdom, Knights, and Chronicles, in the main, first post.

:: Bump ::

This is beautiful, man. Keep up the good work.

Tag

This is beautiful, man. Keep up the good work.

Tag

Update soon...

Part III: Twisted Metal

The Vigilante checked the gasoline gauge on his car. Hmm, three quarters of a tank. That should be enough. It was one hundred and ninety miles to Falcon City and he would need more than a full tank to get there. He got a mere fifteen miles per gallon on the highway doing fifty-five and with a car like that, nothing short of eighty was acceptible. He'd need to fill up once and possibly a second time, depending on how fast he went. He started the car and let it warm up, his radio off for the time being. Time for something decent. He turned on the radio to the classic rock station of the city, FM 104.3. He was hoping for music but he caught a commerical right away, something that was frequent for radio stations. Sometimes it seemed like there was nothing but commericals or bad music on but thats how it went. He got lucky; music played. About time something good came on. He opened the glove compartment and put the pill bottle inside, the PCP hidden from sight.

The engine roared and the entire parking garage shook with the fury and the power of the Chevelle SS. "Hear that?" He asked the air around him. "Death awaits." He backed out of the space and proceeded out of the garage. He turned up the street and headed out of the city, northward, to the interstate, which would take him all the way to Falcon City. He would find a motel, a sleezy one, outside of the city, along the highway, something inconspicuous, a place that wouldn't ask questions. He roared onto the highway and quickly sped up to 75, ignoring traffic and weaving in and out of the lanes as much as he could. A specialized radar/laser detector showed a full 360° circle around his car for a full two miles. It cost him almost §1,000 but it was worth it, guaranteed 100% of the time against any type of police radar dectector, including aircraft. He didn't need to be pulled over, especially not with what he was carrying. He would arise suspicion the second he was seen by a cop so he needed to stay off the radar, so to speak.

"Warning. Laser. Ahead. 015. One point three." The system was working. It detected a laser beam at 15°, one point three miles ahead of him. He slowed down to 55 and got into the middle lane, right behind a truck. As he went past the police car, which was well hidden, he watched as the detector illuminated to show that he was being targetted. It was tough to get an actual line on him, since the large truck in front of him would obscure most of his signature. When he was free and clear, he pushed it up to 95 and zoomed eastward, into Connecticut, trying to get to Falcon City as fast as humanly possible. It was 0200 when he pulled into the abandoned but not inoperable rest stop alongside I-95. He needed gas and he would fill his tank using cash. The clerk was so frightened by his overwhelming appearance he almost didn't take the money. The Vigilante wasn't about to steal gas from him so he pushed the money on the guy, §60, letting him keep the change.

The clerk was without words and when the Vigilante pulled away, the clerk convinced himself that he was just dreaming. He had been awake for 18 hours already so it had to be that, it had to be, after all, a guy of that stature surely couldn't exist. The Vigilante did and he was almost all the way to Falcon City by the time the clerk realized it wasn't a dream. There was nothing he could do though, he had no information other than the fearful image his mind conjured. Checking a shoddy, old roadmap, the Vigilante found a small motel about 16 miles outside of the city. It was a real slimbucket. The sign had one of its five letters working and there were two cars parked inside the lot. White trash residents. He thought to himself as he pulled in and parked the car. He stepped out of it and locked the door, stowing his pills in his pocket along with his weapons. He walked inside the main office and found the clerk, sleeping by the desk. Rotten food and filth cluttered the office. Two chairs, obviously for waiting, looked as if they hadn't been cleaned in months. A toliet to the right was overflowing with dirty water and flies buzzed around the lid. What a dump! He slammed his fist on the counter and the clerk snapped to, words escaping him also. "I'd like a room."

"Who? What?"

"I would like a room. Please."

"Yeah. Sure." The clerk said with suspicion. "Number 8. Cash only. §28 a night."

"Here's §280. §168 for 6 nights and the rest to show that I was never here. Got it?"

Frightened, the clerk took the money. "Got it." The Vigilante took the key and disappeared into the night. The clerk went back to sleep, trying to shake the encounter. The room was a pigsty. It was obvious that the motel had no cleaning staff except for probably the owner and whomever worked there. The bed was a wreck, though the sheets were on correctly. The kitchen was run down, the bathroom almost falling apart. The television had rabbit ears and was black and white. The overhead lights didn't work well and flickered on and off throughout the course of their being on. A chair in the corner of the room, next to a small minifridge had three giant holes in it. Stuffing was coming out of them.

"Only white trash." He said to himself, outloud, as he fell into the bed. He put his laptop down and pulled off his jacket. He booted up the laptop and downloaded the necessary information from his satellite modem. He had full building plans of where the subject lived. Mr. Sozzi lived in a lavish penthouse on the top of a very expensive apartment building. The rent in a one bedroom apartment for a month, including utilities was around §2,400. It was very expensive and very well kept. He would use the rear service entrance to climb to the top of the penthouse, where he would go to work. He would do this as soon as the night fell again, until then, it was about sleep. He crawled underneath the sheets and slept throughout the course of the day. The curtains kept the sun out and the remoteness of the location kept the cops and anyone else away and kept his car safe. Overhead, the gray clouds of a storm kept the sun from getting too bright.

When the evening sun turned into an evening moon, the Vigilante awoke. He stretched and looked outside. "Night." He pulled his leather coat on and strode out to his car, started it up, and put it into neutral. He was going to take care of this Sozzi guy and then to get as much money as he could over the course of the next five days.