Prey

[Account Disabled]

Alright, so basically I wanted to start writing again so I checked through my multiple files of dropped stories and decided to use one in my "Ideas" file. This story is about hitmen, no supernatural powers, no awesome technology(yet), magic is a no, etc., just the basic things within human limits. I don't know what kinds of things people look for in these types of stories since I'm used to supernatural battle, comedy, romance, mystery, etc. so I'm here to ask people what I can do to improve the story, what I can add, and just for basic help.

I just started today, stopped mid-way to play an MMO, I procrastinate when there's no real goal, so I'll put it here, please review it m_ _m:
Prey

Target 1 – Just Another Day
*Running in fear of his life is a man wearing a suit, his tie loosened and his top buttons undone, he just runs, following
close behind is a man wearing a fedora and holding a gun*

Man: Pant, pant, pant. He’s gonna kill me, he’s gonna kill me!

*He reaches a dead end in an alley*

Fedora Man: Nowhere to run now.

Man: Hyaa! Don’t kill me! I have a wife and kids!

Fedora Man: Think about them before you get on somebody’s blacklist.

*Fedora man walks forward and puts the gun’s barrel to the man’s forehead*

Man: Hii! Why’re you doing this!? Don’t you have a heart!?

Fedora Man: Hearts are for those who have cushy jobs.

Man: Then what are you!?

Fedora Man: ...

*Without a sound he pulls the trigger, BANG, the man slides down the wall and hits the floor lightly*

Fedora Man: Isn’t it obvious? I’m a hitman.

*He hides his gun in his jacket and puts a cigarette in his mouth, he walks back out of the alley*

Hitman: I guess I’ll head to the bar now then.

*He walks on the sidewalk with the rest of society, not a drop of guilt or remorse show on his face*



*A beer mug slams down on the counter of a bar*

Hitman: Man that was a good beer!

Bartender: A good beer? Over half of that was orange juice.

Hitman: I can’t be getting drunk now, I might have a job offer appear.

Bartender: Yeah, yeah, just don’t forget to pay.

Hitman: Don’t worry, I’ve got plenty of cash.

Bartender: You and everyone else in this bar.

*Everyone in the bar fashions huge scars on their bodies, weapons slightly showing while they move, their muscles
show their strength*

Bartender: You don’t look like a single one of these guys, you’re likely to get into a fight here.

Hitman: Well it is a bar, not like drunk people are always peaceful and tell you they love you.

*The hitman pulls a wad of cash out of his pocket and puts it on the counter for the bartender*

Hitman: That was some good orange juice.

Bartender: Sigh. If you make it back here alive then be sure not to have blood stains on your clothes.

Hitman: Huh?

*The hitman checks his clothes and a bloodstain lies on his chest*

Hitman: Ahh, crap. This suit is expensive too.

Drunk 1: Want me to give ya a few tips on how to stop the blood from splatterin’?

Drunk 2: Like hell you know a thing, last time you had a job you were covered in guts.

Drunk 3: That’s nothing! My last job was to take out a small gang that was growing, by the end of it I was soaked in
blood and I got this little souvenir.

*The drunk points at his arm, a large scar occupies half of it, the entire bar is now filled with conversations of killing a
bloodshed, yet accompanying the stories of death is laughter*

Hitman: This is a messed up place barkeep.

Bartender: But it sure pays well.

Hitman: It does, it does.

*The hitman stands up and walks towards the door*

Bartender: Leaving already?

Hitman: I need to get this suit dry cleaned before the blood dries.

*As he tried to walk out of the bar he runs into a large man wearing a black suit and shades, another identical man
follows and in between in a short wrinkly old man holding a jewelled cane*

Hitman: Ah, excuse me.

*The whole bar suddenly goes silent*

Old Man: Ara, ara, leaving so soon? I’ve come here with a job.

Hitman: I’m actually in a rush, I need to get this jacket clean befo-

Old Man: Sit down.

*The hitman is thrown into a chair by one of the large men*

Hitman: Oof.

It's not much and I'll work on it after school tomorrow, after hearing an earful of not getting my homework done, getting low on a test due to not studying, and more stuff I don't care about in school.

I'm asking the older audience here what they like to see in mature stories that have to do with hitmen.

[Fallen Kite]

Mature?  :secret:  :laughing11:

The idea with a hitman is cool, but I have trouble myself to see how it'll progress (especially since I don't know what the man will do to him)

[Monsterful]

It's very catchy, makes you want to keep reading, you are getting an edge of yourself again, I can see that (though I dont originally know the extent of your writing skills).

[Account Disabled]

It's very catchy, makes you want to keep reading, you are getting an edge of yourself again, I can see that (though I dont originally know the extent of your writing skills).

Really? I always figured I was all round and blunt without an edge Well thanks for the kind words, I'll try to write some more, I finished the first chapter last night but was too tired to post it, it'll be up in about...2 minutes.

[Account Disabled]

Bartender: ...

*The old man walks in front of the two large men with a wide grin*

Old Man: My, my ,my, who shall I choose for the job?

*The old man scans the faces of the men around the bar*

Old Man: Ah, but of course I should inform you of this job’s details.

*Acting as if he merely forgot his car keys, or that his missed a spot when shaving, he informs everyone of the
information in which is most crucial for survival in their line of work*

Old Man: You will be hunting an organization of hitmen, much like yourselves, though these hitmen work together and
are more like a mafia if anything.

Drunk 1: I’ll take up that job!

Drunk 2: Oh, I wanna do this one too!

Drunk 3: Don’t leave me Outta this!

*Hands of all the bar occupants shoot up and wave, half filled with beer mug, though one hand stays down, the main
hitman of the story stays silent, his fedora covering his face*

Old Man: My, my, what is this? There is someone unwilling to take a job here?

*The old man looks directly at the hitman her previously had thrown into a chair*

Old Man: I am a very wealthy man, this job would pay quite a sum.

Hitman: ...

*He stands up, still hiding his face, he looms over the old man, who in comparison is only as tall as a bush, one of the
large men behind the old man step forward*

Old Man: Now wait a second here, he won’t hurt me.

*The large man continues moving forward*

Old Man: Uh? I said wai-

*The large man falls flat on his stomach, a large gash is seen in his back, now soaked in blood his suit is in tatters*

Large Man 2: Ugh!

*The second large man also falls forward*

Old Man: What!?

*Standing in the doorway are two cloaked people each holding a blade soaked in blood*

Old Man: A-ah! It’s them! Wh-whoever wants the job, protect me now!

*Everyone in the bar stands up and readies their weapons, about to move to the doorway and two mysterious people
but are interrupted by a sound all too familiar to them, BANG*

Hitman: Tch, guess I’ll have to buy a new suit.

*Holding a gun with its barrel still smoking is the blood stained hitman, putting a cigarette in his mouth for the second
time now, he lights it and takes a deep breath and exhales*

Hitman: Haah. Old man, I’m taking this job.

Starting off with a literal bang, this story begins with three counted deaths, two bullets shot, and one angry hitman.

Hitman: Now who the hell are the two bastards that got more blood on my suit!?

*Now with blood splatters on his jacket from the two fallen men, this hitman shows now mercy in his eyes, not a single
shred of his humanity shows*

This starts off at the end of the other post, after "Oof".

[Monsterful]

You can tell he's pretty cocky about his clothes isn't he? xD

[Account Disabled]

Mah, not so cocky as over sensitive, he's a suit maniac who gets all pissed if his suit is in the littlest way, flawed.

[Berdrek]

very interesting story from the tittle i get that later on in the story this guy becomes so good at killing people he becomes a prey? yes?

[Tzefa]

So basically its a hitman who has Obessive compulsive disorder 

[Account Disabled]

Shh, he's not obsessed, just a little over sensitive, and before you start judging at least let me finish chapter 2.

[Account Disabled]

Sorry for double-posting, but I finally decided to write the second chapter and I noticed that my main character has this habit of profane language, nothing like F***, or anything too bad, but a lot of the damn, bastards, etc. Is that okay to have or should I change his style of speech?

[Fallen Kite]

Eh'? I have nothing against those words :3

[Monsterful]

Perhaps you can drop the rate of how often he says "bad" words, if he's over sensitive about his clothes adding the bad words trait would make him an impatient (possibly short-tempered) man, whereas if his speech is different it would make him more of a serious kind of man (the kind that give a S***, just dont me with me kind).

[Account Disabled]

But that's just it, if he were too serious he'd seem like all the other hitmen and wouldn't stand out much unless I emphasized on epic scenes with him being dramatically cool. I figured I'd make him oversensitive about his suit to give him an interesting trait, but since I haven't written any more than one chapter, it does seem like he's impatient. I'll clear things up in the chapters to come.

Oh, and I'm not going to get him to use them all the time, he won't need much need for those words...I think.

[Account Disabled]

Target Two – A Hitman’s Pride
Hitman: So then!? Who the hell are you two!?

*The angered hitman walks towards the two cloaked figures, stepping on the two dead bodyguards in front of him
without a second thought*

Cloaked Figure 1: We have no business with you, freelance hitman.

Cloaked Figure 2: We only want that man’s head.

*the second cloaked figure points towards the old man with her blade*

Hitman: I’m not asking you what your here for idiots, I’m asking you who the hell you are!

Cloaked Figure 1: Sigh. Hitmen never learn.

Cloaked Figure 2: It’s only their nature Gerald.

Gerald: You would think such a lower life form would evolve after all these years though, wouldn’t you Francine?

Francine: Scum is scum, Gerald, even if you put a nice suit on it.

*The hitman sparkles and smiles*

Hitman: You really think it’s nice~? It cost me quite a bit and-

*His expression returns to being angered yet again*

Hitman: You were the ones who ruined it (even more)!

*A twinkle in Gerald’s eye, a menacing smirk appears, he turns to Francine*

Gerald: My~, what are you saying dear Francine, that suit is so hideous that even a dead bear would refuse to wear it.

Francine: I guess you’re right Gerald, that suit it tasteless, just look at the inseam.

*Hitman twitches, his rage no longer contained, BANG, the hitman shoots but the two assassins split up*

Gerald: What an impatient thing.

Francine: He doesn’t even know his place.

Gerald: Shall we teach him then, dear Francine?

Francine: Let’s, Gerald.

*The two assassins hold up their blades and aim their attention to the hitman*

Hitman: I’ll be sure you bury you after I’m done,  I’m sure worms love dirt like you two!

*The hitman runs towards the two with his gun, closing in for a point-blank shot*

Gerald: Did you just...

*Gerald and Francine slip past the hitman with their blades*

Francine: ...call us dirt?

*The two swing their blades at the back of the hitman’s neck, he ducks but his jacket is cut as it was held up from the
wind*

Hitman: ...

Gerald: Oh dear Francine, it seems that we’ve ruined the man’s suit.

Francine: Oh my, oh my~.

*The half of the jacket cut off falls to the ground, the hitman stares at it for a few moments and then takes off the rest
of his jacket*

Hitman: Are you two religious?

Gerald: Religious?

Francine: Why would killers believe in anything but money?

Hitman: Well said...but if you two aren’t religious, then I won’t have to give you any time to pray before I slaughter
you.

*The hitman raises his head, his eyes as demonic as Lucifer’s*

Francine: Oh no~, scary~.

*Francine fidgets while still emphasizing the sarcasm in her words*

Hitman: Die!

*The hitman raises his gun, but before he could even aim Gerald knocks it out of his hands and Francine follows up by
slashing at the hitman, the hitman moves back, but is too slow, he receives a shallow cut on his chest*

Hitman: Kuh...

Francine: Oh dear, Gerald, I seem to have ruined his suit even more.

Gerald: It is no matter now Francine, for we will buy him a new suit to wear.

Francine: My~, how nice of you Gerald.

Gerald: Yes, well corpses can’t be in tattered clothes now, can they?

Old Man: H-he’s losing!

*The old man in the bar panics, he then looks at the other hitmen*

Old Man: Y-you! All of you! If you can take care of these people  then I’ll pay each and every one of you!

Drunk 1: ...

Drunk 2: Glug.

*The hitmen, drunk or not, simply drink their beer and watch the fight as if it were a sport on television*

Old Man: Why aren’t you moving!? Don’t you want money!?

*A large scarred man approaches the old man and puts his hand on his shoulder*

Old Man: Hiii!

Scarred Man: Don’t worry, I’m not going to hurt you.

*The fight continues without the old man’s notice*

Scarred Man: I just want to tell you something before you make a fool of yourself.

Old Man: ...

*The old man listens to the scarred man’s words as he has no other options left*

Scarred Man: The hitmen here work alone, never with a partner. Sure we may be friends in the bar, but when it comes
to business we couldn’t care less about each other, and we sure as hell wouldn’t get in each other’s fights.

Old Man: But I’ll pay you!

Scarred Man: It isn’t about pay old guy, it’s about pride.

Old Man: Pride!? What pride is there in letting each other die!?

Scarred Man: That guy out there fighting wouldn’t accept our help either old man.

Old Man: What pride is there in dying!?

Scarred Man: Sigh. I thought you were some old crab in a shady business, but it seems like you’re just a rich man who
hasn’t seen the true workings of the shadows. It’s just pride, and that’s the best explanation I can give you.

Old Man: What pride is there in this!?

*The old man shows worry, he shows fear, but not for his life, not for himself, but for the hitman outside fighting for
him*

Old Man: What kind of pride does it take to be so heartless!?

Hitman: The pride of a hitman!

*The stands back up, now covered in cuts*

Gerald: What nonsense are you yelling? Hitmen don’t have pride, they kill their targets no matter what method.

Francine: What deluded people these are.

Old Man: Y-you don’t have to fight anymore young man, you’ve done enough, I’ll pay you, just don’t throw away your
life!

Hitman: Haha, old man, you trying to protect me? I thought I was hired to do so for you.

Old Man: More meaningless deaths will only add weight to the burden on this old man.

Hitman: It isn’t meaningless, it’s for pride.

Gerald: Shall we finish this then, dear Francine?

Francine: We shall Gerald.

*The two assassins run over to the hitman, covered in shallow cuts, with their blades*

Hitman: I guess playtime is over, this was a good way to get the alcohol out of my bloodstream.

*The hitman pulls a second gun out, hidden in his pant leg, near his ankle, he aims it at the two assassins*

Francine: He had a second gun!?

Gerald: Worry not, dear Francine, for even if he had a thousand guns, it would make no difference!

Hitman: That’s right, you don’t have to worry about the gun.

Gerald: What?

*The continue running, now only metres away from the hitman*

Hitman: It’s the bullets that kill you.

*BANG! Flawlessly the hitman pulls the trigger and both of the assassins fall to the ground with a thud and holes in
their foreheads*

Old Man: So simple...why didn’t you do that before!?

*The old man frustrated and slightly irritated by this simple finish*

Old Man: Why couldn’t you just shoot them before!?

Hitman: Since you hired me I guess I’ll tell you, look at their blades.

*The old man looks at the assassins blades, but quickly turns away*

Old Man: Ack, the glare!

*An intense reflection of the sun’s light shines off of the blades*

Hitman: That’s right, those two idiots kept blinding me with that stupid glare.

Old Man: Then how did you get them just then?

Hitman: Look at their blades again old man, you’re losing you ability to see, aren’t you?

Old Man: I can see just fine!

*The looks at the entire blade this time, minding the glare*

Old Man: ! The blades are covered in blood!

*The blades lying on the ground lay almost completely soaked in blood*

Hitman: So, I’ve finished taking care of two unexpected targets on the job, so I think I deserve a bonus.

Old Man: O-of course, what would you like?

*The hitman grins and he puts his hands to his mouth like a megaphone*

Hitman: 10 free rounds of drinks on me!

*Loud cheers go up in the bar, everyone begins to laugh and joke again*

Drunk 1: Cheers to the buyer!

Drunk 2: Ahaha, nice thinking in covering those idiots’ blades in blood!

Drunk 3: Same thing I would’ve thought up!

Drunk 2: In your dreams!

*Jokes are heard and laughter follows*

Old Man: How can these people laugh so easily after what just happened?

Bartender: This is a bar specifically for hitmen, heartless killers, if a job is finished and a person is killed, they celebrate.

Hitman: You don’t have to worry about this stuff old man, you just have to pay me after I finish up this job. Oh, and
don’t forget about the drinks.

Old Man: Oh, yes, right.

Bartender: It’s already paid for.

Old Man: Huh?

Hitman: When did that happen?

Bartender: When you paid me too much.

Hitman: That wasn’t a roll of ones?

Bartender: it was hundreds.

Hitman: WHAAAAAAAAAAAAAAT!? That was all I had!

Bartender: Too bad, no refunds.

*The hitman falls to his knees*

Hitman: Ugh...

Old Man: Are you alright? Were you hurt after all?

*The hitman looks up at the old man with serious eyes*

Hitman: I’m finishing up this job old man, without any losses.

*The old man speechless from the sound of the hitman’s determination, he stands still, but the hitman’s mood changes
quickly.*

Hitman: But first a drink.

Bartender: Did you get cut to rid of the alcohol in your blood?

Hitman: Yeah, but now I need more alcohol in my veins to replace the lost blood.

Bartender: What the hell kind of alternative to blood is that?

Hitman: A hitman’s alternative.

Bartender: You crazy idiot.

Sitting at the bar is a slightly injured hitman who is seeing flying spots and colours as he drinks his diluted alcohol
mixed with orange juice. Though he shows a mask of a carefree man, his mind stays with this job, determined to catch
and kill his prey.

Hitman: I need some more orange beer!

*Raising his glass*

Bartender: Such a thing doesn’t exist.

Hitman: Just fill my glass half way.

*The hitman takes off his hat and pulls out an orange juice can*

Hitman: It’s a little warm, but it’ll do.

Bartender: The warmth is what you’re considering here...

Chapter 2 of Prey. I thought I'd do this instead of study for my math mid-term tomorrow, I feel like it was a good choice. So it's a little longer than the first chapter, and a few more questions may arise about the characters, but they will be answered in chapters to come, in due time my dear friends, in due time.

And yeah, the hitman doesn't have a name (yet), and is still very odd, but hitmen don't play by the rules.