This is the introduction to my new story. The story revolves around Emile Macedonicus in Post-Apoc Mexico. When a greater powers steals from him what he holds dearest, he doesn't wish for revenge, but for power.



Two Years Prior...

I didn't know someone could scream so loud; until I heard her cries. I felt her emotional pain as I stood in the small crowd and watched her burn. Burned alive, tied to a post, her wrists bleeding from the right ropes keeping her in her place. Joanne, oh sweet Joanne: I stood and watched while your world burned, and mine fell apart.

Her screams weakened to a small cry, until it finally dispersed into nothing. The crowd surrounding the post grew quiet, I looked at the people behind me, each on of them was staring at the same thing. A man walked through the crowd, and stood directly in front of the still burning body of the woman I loved, and just feet from me.. He was dressed in poor looking clothing; a big jacket, white ski mask, and a black gas mask just over his mouth. His jeans were once blue, but were now stained black with dirt and grime.

He raised his pistol, and shot one round into the air as a celebration of sorts. “The woman is dead!” he yelled, “Purged from society, and sent to her rightful place in Hell!” The crowed cheered, the man continued, “To all of you thieves, to all of you murderers, to everyone who has conspired... Let this be a lesson! Do not mess with us. The good guys always prevail. Always!”

I felt the small device squeeze tighter around my right fist. The Advanced Power Fist was small, like a tight glove. Wires connected different parts of the glove, and lit up blue when it was powered on. My fist clenched tight, and I glared at the man in front of me. His name was Riley Jaramillo, and he ran the place. Riley paced back and forth, looking at his trophy; Joanne.

“Riley!” I yelled, getting his attention.

Riley twisted his neck, and looked directly at me. “Senior? What's the problem?”

Using the switch on my left hand, I turned the APF on, and it lit up a bright blue. “You're my problem Jaramillo!” I jumped forward, and knocked Riley to the ground. I pulled back my right shoulder, ready to smash in his face on the spot. “I'll kill you!”

I tried to punch forward, but something kept my hand from staying back. I looked to my right, and saw a large man dressed in black power armor holding onto my arm. He grunted, and pushed the center of my arm, while pulling on my wrist. There was a spine chilling crunch, and blood spattered everywhere.

The bone was jutting out of my arm, spiky at the end. I started to breath hard, harder and harder. The large guy kicked me in the side, and pushed me off of Riley. I reached for my arm, touched the bone, then instantly retracted and started to scream as loud as my lungs would let me.

The big guy put his foot over my broken arm, and put his weight on it. He bent over, and but his face just inches from mine. A gun appeared in his left hand, then was pressed against my temple. He sneered, and said, “Give me a reason..."

“Off of him, Jorge. He can suffer for what he did.” Riley interrupted, gently pushing the brute Jorge off of me. “Yes, sir.” he replied.

Jaramillo looked at me, and started to speak, "You're a brave one, young man. I say that out of pity, and not respect. Jorge, will you kindly?"

The brute grabbed my good arm, and forced me to stand up. I squealed in pain, as my right arm just hung; barely connected to the rest of me. Tears came from my eyes, but not from the pain. I was standing just inches from Joanne's burnt body. Her blackened face still had a look of pain on it.

"Come on!" Jorge shouted, as he pulled me closer to him. I stumbled, and used my shoulder to wipe a tear from my cheek.

My name is Emile Macedonicus, and I have a motive.

This is really good, I like where this story is going. It's the morning over here and this brightened my mood up so thanks Comedian, write more soon

I like how your story starts and the direction it takes. Look forward to reading more and to learning more about the society in your story.

Since I haventplayed 2nd Assassin's Creed..
this will all be a surprise for me.. yay! :woot:

Great write too

Future Imperfect

"Does he have a name?" Riley Jaramillo asked a dark, underweight man sitting behind a desk. The man's name was Abelardo, and he was the one who kept track of who entered and left the small government's jail cells.

"His name is Emile. Besides his name, the only other thing we know about him is that he comes from San Crist?bal Ecatepec de Morelos. The only reason we know that is that thing he had on his hand ? the powe glove, or whatever. It's got a family seal on it, that comes straight from the city." Abelardo replied.

"So, is he a Macedonicus? That family of losers is centered in de Morelos." Riley said.

"You know of the family? How is that, we never get word here in the city."

"Like I said; it's a family of losers. It's my job to keep track of the winners and loser, rich and poor. What room are you keeping Emile in? I'd like to have a word with him."

"He hasn't been moved from interrogation, since he won't talk and all. So, he's in room b-13. Just down the hall and--"

"I know where it is, thank you Abelardo." Riley turned to his right, in the small circular shaped room. He made his way to a large reinforced steel door, and opened it with ease. He walked through, and down the hallway.

___

I sat limp, and poor postured in a cruel wooden chair. The room was dark, supremely dark. The only real light was from underneath the steel door. The rest of the room was kept lit by a weak candle sitting on a desk in the corner. In the other three corners, I could see lit cigars and cigarettes. There was a man in front of me, just staring.

"Can I please have medical attention? I beg of you... Please... Medicine, gauze, anything" I begged and pleaded.

"You can leave as soon as we're gone with you, Macedonicus. Just answer our question."

"I answered your damn questions, you pig!"

The door flew open, and flooded the room with light. I couldn't make out the people trying to talk to me, because the light was blinding at first. I just heard the familiar voice of Riley fill the room with a stern sound to it. He was yelling, but not too loudly. Just to show he was boss of them all.

"Babieca, Cayetano, Elisoe ? get of the room. I'd like to have a private chat with Emile, here. Oh! And we're civilized here, not animals. Bring this man some medicine, and something for his arm. Keep the door open, I like to see the people I talk to."

The four in the room all listened, and ran through the door without question. I heard some Spanish being yelled back in forth outside, telling someone to bring me a doctor. Riley paced in front of me, with hands behind his back. He took his right hand, and held it out to me.

"I'd like to apologize for those buffoons, Emile. You clearly know me, seeing as you wanted to kill me back there. But, I don't know you, Emile. Please, tell me who you are. And, tell me why I'm such an enemy to you." Riley said to me.

"You killed her... What did she ever do to you?" I replied weakly. I felt someone touch my arm, and I jerked to the side. Someone small and fragile was looking up at me in fear. He was knelt over, and in a white coat with thick glasses. He looked away, and he continued to examine my arm.

"Joanne? The American woman? Emile, surely you know of the laws of Mexico City. No Americans are permitted through the borders. None, no matter how special they may be. If they're caught, they are killed. It's not my fault you were involved with this woman, Emile. You know of her, and you didn't report it? You broke the law, my friend."

I ignored him, and just stared at the ground.

"Jorge?! Get in here. This man is useless to me. Burn him; kill him just like the girl. Actually, have you cleaned up the site yet? You can burn him with the already charred corpse of his lover." Riley said, as the large brute Jorge walked through the door.

Jorge pushed the doctor onto his back, and grabbed me by the broke arm. He forced me up, and I could hear something rip. I felt it even more, and shook in pain; holding back the yell.

"I'll have him dead by--"

Something happened. There's was crash, some yells, and piercing white light coming from something. A truck?

Two men jumped out the pack of the pickup, and rushed over to me. One smiled a yellow, toothy smile, and said, "Emile! How did you get yourself into this mess? Come on, get up, we've got to-" he stopped, "Oh my, Emile... I'm so sorry."

The realization hit me. I couldn't feel my arm. I looked over to my broken arm. It was... Across the room. With my good arm, I reached over and felt the stub that was connected to my torso. I lost all my breath, and was silent.

"No time to waste," My brother said, "Father wants you home, we've been looking for you all day. Come on, I'll help you in the truck."

Tiny chapter, seeing if I can spark some interest.


Two Years Later...

I looked in the mirror, and said “She's still alive, and my arm's still there.” Daily routine, wishful thinking. A prosthetic is never the same, even when it comes straight from Rob-Co. The latest technology gives me complete control, but I still couldn't feel. It took time getting used to it; it was damn near impossible to pick something up with out feeling.

Riley was still alive. So was Jorge, but just barely at first. That day, I lost my arm, my brother drove a truck through three walls before he reached my cell. It was an act of God. I say that because it was one terrible truck. He hit Jorge head on, but somehow I got out of the way. My arm left with Jorge, and was the only thing uncovered when the thick dust and rubble covered everything.

They threw me in the back. I cried like a baby the whole way home...


“Hello, Emile, how's your arm?” My brother said, the one who saved me. He was sitting across our dining room table. I was sitting at the very end, just like my father used to.

“I don't know Sal, it's still gone. Probably rotted, and in the ground. Maybe Riley kept it as a trophy? Maybe Jorge keeps it as a reminder of revenge? I just don't know, Sal.”

“Don't get pissy, Emile. You just miss Abraam.”

“Why didn't you ever call him dad, Sal?”

“Because he married an English woman. He broke the law, Emile.”

“He broke the Mexico City law, not our law.”

“You act like we own this city, Emile.”

“We don't,” I replied, “I own this city, Sal.”

My brother paused, then changed the subject. “Do you know what's funny? I was your savior, and-”

“Yeah. Sal. We all know what your name means...”

Abraam, my dad, died the same day he sent my brother out to get me from the City. He was an old, old man, and it was just his time. The reason he wanted me was to give me his power, which of course made my brother infinitely jealous of me. My brother was older, but he didn't love our dad. Our family thrives of love, because we're not a fighting family. But, we're not people of the law. My family is a family of thieves, that runs San Crist?bal Ecatepec de Morelos.

“Emile, do you ever want... Y'know? Revenge?”

“Revenge? No, Sal, never. Riley was a man of power. That's all I want; to be a man of power like Jaramillo.”

“But what do you do from there? Kill him? Send men after his? You are a man of power, Emile.”

“No... Not yet I'm not.”