Subject: [FANFIC] Welcome to Liberty City
Date: 29 Jun 2002 18:16:32 -0700
From: mikewongisgod@hotmail.com (RayCav)
Newsgroups: alt.startrek.vs.starwars




Chapter One

Breakthrough

Lt. Hit-Man could not believe it. He didn't come all the way to the
Sol system for kriffing nothing. He didn't fight through hordes of
Starfleet ships just for this. He tried to remember the sequence of
events that occured before.

Let's see...kill Federation redshirts...check. Destroy hordes of
Starfleet pussy ships...check. Get to Sol system to really bring the
smack down on the UFP...check. Cause massive destruction
everywhere...check. Get sucked up in mysterious wormhole that I didn't
notice until last minute....

Lt. Hit-Man thought about that last thing. He didn't recall it being
on his "to-do" list.

A firey streak of light blazed above the night sky above Libery City.
Very few people bothered to notice it; if the Police don't notice a
drive-by without it occuring in front of them, what are the chances
people care about an astrological event? The only ones who truly cared
were those at the Plantearium. Through its powerful telescope a lone
scientist could make out a few details which set it apart from
anything he's seen before. It didn't look like a meteor at all, but
looked like a man-made craft. He kept careful note of its unusual
configuration and its array of what appeared to be some form of solar
or radiation panel. He also kept careful note of its tragectory. He
knew that this discovery would be important, and he would have to be
the first one on the scene.

Lt. Hit-Man stood there looking back at the totalled Fearmeister.
Fucking shit, he thought. He was now stranded here, wherever that
would be. He suddenly noticed a pair of flashing lights approaching.
He decided to duck for cover. Looking on, he noticed two cars, both
with flashing lights and in an interesting black-and-while paint
scheme. He could decern the letters "LCPD" on them. Further on, he
noticed a pair of larger vehicles in similar configuration. They
appeared to be some sort of prisoner restraining vehicle, similar to
repulsorlift ones Hit-Man had seen in the Corporate Sector. In
addition, he saw several vehicles that were similar to this larger
type, except they appeared to be green, with brown tarp covers. Hordes
of heavily armed men spewed forth from these green monstrosities and
swarmed the smoking remains of the Fearmeister. Hit-Man had
immediately recognised these men as soldiers from Earth's distant
past. He thought back to the wormhole, and decided that it must have
thrown him centuries back in time. He dicided that the best thing to
do right now would be to blend in. He took of his Stormtrooper armor
and put on some more civilian clothes he just happened to have rescued
from the back of the Fearmeister. Taking this valuable armor along
with his precious E-11, he followed along an old road. Somewhere along
the way he encountered a vehicle. The old man in the equally old
Esperanto stopped just in time to avoid hitting Hit-Man, honking his
horn wildly and shouting off obscenities. Hit-Man, with his elite
Stormtrooper training taking over and seeing no witnesses around,
simply walked around, opened the Esperanto's side door and booted the
old gizer out. He slammed the pedal all the way to the floor, leaving
his carjacking victim in the dust. He gave a smirk smile at his
handiwork, then adjusted the mirror, noticing his cybernetic implants.
He decided he would need to do something about that if he were to fit
in. Or maybe not. He wondered about giving the populace of Ancient
Earth a few lessons in true terror. In the meantime, he wondered about
what he would have to do in order to survive. He saw a sign that read
"Liberty City 40 Mi". As good a place as any, he thought to himself.
In the meantime, he was getting awfully bored, and turned the radio
on, turning the dial until he came to a station called Chatterbox. At
that moment it was on commercial....

"Hey all, this is 8-Ball here. Need anything? Guns? Ammo? Explosives?
Connections? I'm your guy to see! Just drop by 8-Ball's auto yard in
Portland, and I'll give you all you need!"

Hit-Man thought for a moment, as the radio returned to Laslow arguing
over some idiot about being naked. This "8-Ball" guy sounded just like
his type. He would have to make sure to pay him a visit....


Chapter Two

8-Ball in Corner Pocket

The sight that beheld Lt. Hit-Man left much to be desired. All he
could see were endless rows of dilapitated buildings and apartments,
and various industrial facilities. The streets were lined with hobos,
bums, and gangbangers. And prostitutes. Hit-Man was relieved at the
sight of something he might enjoy.

He wound the wheel of the Esperanto, taking the tight corner with
something other than grace. He stopped by an old crippled gizer. This
town certainly has no shortage of older folk. Hit-Man asked him for
directions to 8-Ball's place. At first the old man refused, instead
retreating back into a paranoid, almost drug-induced state. No problem
for Hit-Man. Suddenly the old man assumed an arrested state, as if his
mind was hijacked by a force he did not understand. Hit-Man began to
slowly probe his mind with the Dark Side of the Force, but to no
avail. The old man was weak minded; too weak minded, unfortunately.
Only gibberish and the overwhelming sense of drug use filled Hit-Man's
mind. The only useful information that he was able to extract was a
single mysterious work: "SPANK". Hit-Man decided that this man has
served his worth. He released his grip on the Force, and the old man
fell on the hard cement. The strain of being Force-probed was too much
for this old gizer, and he was dead. Blood streamed from his ears. As
Hit-Man drove away in his usual callous fashion, he noticed in his
rear-view mirror the equal feeling of contempt local civilians had for
the deceased. Nobody seemed to have noticed a thing, no cops or
paramedics. The only ones who truly cared were busy searching the
corpse for any valuables. Hit-Man thought this as most peculuier, but
then found himself staring at a prostitute, and once again decided
that this was his kind of town.

Hit-Man had finally found someone willing to cooperate, and he didn't
even have to use the Force. The guy standing on the sidewalk was
dressed in a black suit in a very professional manner. He spoke with a
heavy, almost stereotypical Italian accent and carried a shotgun.
Hit-Man had a feeling he would like this guy.

"8-Ball? Yeah, I know 'em. Just go two blocks down that way, and look
for the big sign. You can't miss!"

8-Ball hurried to put his jacket on and walked as fast as he could to
answer the knocking at the door. He had a feeling he would meet an
interesting new customer today....

"8-Ball, you are under arrest. Put your hands behind your back. You
have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can be used against
you in a court of law."

"Wha, wha, what the fuck did I do, officer?" 8-Ball tried to resist
against the two heavy male cops who were now twisting his arms into
painful positions behind his back.

"You are under arrest for the possession of illegal firearms and
conspiring with a suspected crime boss. You are to assist the
investigation against Salvatore Leone with full compliance...."

Suddenly, the cops dropped everything. They stood there, perfectly
frozen.

"What the fuck is going on? What kind of weird shit is this? Am I on
SPANK or something? Is this some sort of bad dream?"

"This isn't a bad dream" replied a voice from nowhere. The cops then
started convulsing, reaching for their own throats as if being
asphixiated by an invisible force. After a few short seconds, the two
cops fell into the dirt with a heavy thud. Both were dead.

"Woah, I don't like the looks of this shit!" 8-Ball now started to run
back inside. The door shut mysteriously before he could enter.

"You don't want to run from me. Especially after all the time I've
spent looking for you."

"You from Salvatore? Look, I have nothing to do with that evidence,
they didn't even indite you yet!"

"I wasn't sent by Salvatore. Or the cops. I just want some things."

"Like what?"

"Weapons. Ammo. And most importantly, connections."

"Oh, you want a job, eh? I can get you one of those. Just come with
me."

8-Ball began thinking to himself. If he gets this guy to work for
Salvatore, maybe he can forgive him of that trail of evidence he
accidentally left.

Lt. Hit-Man thought to himself as well. Perfect. Looks like I'll have
this 8-Ball in my Pocket soon enough.


Chapter Three

All in the Family

The rusty old Esperanto pulled up along side three shiny new
tricked-out Sentinels. Further in the lot were two massive black
Maibatsu Monstrosities flanking a limo. Lt. Hit-Man could tell this
guy had taste in automobiles.

Hit-Man and 8-Ball were greeted by a heafty Italian man flanked by
suits with shotguns. Hit-Man instinctively kept his hand on his trusty
E-11. In his line of work, Hit-Man knew not everyone could be trusted.

8-Ball was the first to speak. "Salvatore, I have a new guy who is
interested in working with you."

Salvatore Leone tried to size Hit-Man up, but was frightened by his
cybernetic implants. "Good Lord, the guy's a freak!"

One of the suits commented, "Hey bozo, the Star Trek convention was
last week!"

Hit-Man was confused, yet he somehow was enraged by the mentioning of
this "Star Trek." The Force raged through Hit-Man and at the suit, who
now tried despirately to grasp for air. The others were frigthened,
and one instinctively grabbed for his shotgun, but was prevented from
doing so. His hand merely floated in midair, and there wasn't a thing
he could do about it.

8-Ball continued talking. "This guy's amazing! I was about to be
busted by some cops, and this guy came from nowhere and killed them
with some funky shit! I don't know how, all I know is he killed them,
with his mind I guess! And he said he's looking for a job, and I
decided you could use another employee."

Salvatore, now seeing the true power of Lt. Hit-Man, was
flabbergasted. "Well, it seems as if this guy can knock a few heads!"
With those words, the first suit suddenly found himself breathing
again. "Hey, if you can do stuff like that for me, you're hired!"

Lt. Hit-Man was pleased. He knew he would enjoy being here after all.

"Just one small thing," snapped Salvatore, "you've just been welcomed
into the family. And like all families, family members need to earn
their trust. I've got a friend of mine, name's Luigi. He owns a strip
club and runs the prostitution ring. Do small jobs for him, then we'll
have you do the big stuff."

Salvatore could see that Hit-Man was very pleased. He naturally
returned this effluence of pleasure in his facial guestures.


Chapter 4

No Need to Get Misty Over Me

"So, you're the new guy, eh?" Luigi took one good look at Lt. Hit-Man.
He began thinking.

Man, this guy is a frea - good Lord help me breathe!

Suddenly Luigi found himself breathing again.

"Yeah, Salvatore told me something was up about you. Just remember,
I'm the one in charge, so don't get any ideas, ok? And also, remember
you still need to earn the family trust. You don't do that by
strangling your boss!"

Luigi continued, "Speaking of which, I need you to do a little errand
for me. Think of it as a trust-builder. There's this prostitute, her
name's Misty and she's a favorite of Salvatore's son. She picked up
something from this one slime-ball and she's over at Sweeny General
Hospital. I need you to pick her up and drop her off at her apartment.
Oh, and since you're new, here's a little gift. It'll help you find
yourself around."

Luigi threw a Sumo Industries PDA to Hit-Man. Hit-Man heard of these
things from various radio ads. The data screen lit up, showing a
complete map of the city and markers to key locations, including the
hospital and Misty's apartment. It also had a display showing recieved
messages and e-mails. Both indicated that Hit-Man had none.

"Oh, and one more thing. Just remember - keep your eyes on the road,
keep your hands on the wheel, and keep both off Misty!"

We'll see about that, bitch, thought Hit-Man. 


The rusty Esperanto pulled along side the Sweeny General Hospital
entrance way. Hit-Man stepped out and began looking for any sign of
Misty. Infact, a sign of her, or rather a note, was the only thing he
was able to find of her.

"This is Mike Forelli. You think you can mess with me, you little
punk? This oughta teach you a real good lesson. If you want to see
your girlfriend again, I want $50,000, placed right in front of the
warehouse outside the docks, all in small bills. Otherwise, you'll
need to bring a spatchula if you want to get a piece from your
girlfriend again!"

Hit-Man crumpled up the bill in his cybernetic arm. "My first kriffing
job and all ready some motherfucker has to ruin my day. Boy, I wanna
kill something, and fast!"

Drawing his trusty E-11, Hit-Man reentered the Esperanto and sped
away.

Chapter 5

The Mess Mike Made

The only movement Misty could make was within her vocal cords as she
attempted to make muffled sounds. She was surrounded by about a dozen
guards, all armed with shotguns. Mike Forelli was determined to have
Joey Leone pay for his misdeeds.

The figures within the warehouse dotted about at an agonzingly slow
pace, unaware that they were being watched. With his Stormtrooper
helmet donned on, Hit-Man could see each individual with perfect
clarity through the courigated sheetmetal. Hit-Man's mind danced with
images of carnage - and of the fun he will have.

"I tell you, that jerk Forelli doesn't pay me enough to do this shit
for him. If he wants to have this stupid hooker be guarded for him, he
better do it...."

The conversation was interrupted when a bolt of red lightning entered
the hired suit's head and caused it to expand at an alarming rate.
Bits of blood, cooked flesh and skull were spattered and smeared all
over the warehouse.

"Oh shit, what the fuck is...."

Another suit's head exploded. The headless corpse fell over like a
sack of cement, and a smell remenescent of bar-bee-que permeated the
air.

"Like shooting Hutts in a Rancor pit!" Hit-Man said to himself,
hunched over his E-11.

"Must be a sniper! Those fucking Leone's have no fucking idea of the
shit they just got themselves in! Kill the hostage! Kill her now!"

A suit responded immediately and aimed his shotgun straight at Misty.

"I don't think so."

"Huh? Who the fucking hell said that?"

The voice in the suit's mind started once agian, "Your worst
nightmare."

Suddenly the suit lost all control of his bodily functions. He found
himself aiming the shotgun not at Misty but at his comrades. Shots
rang from inside the warehouse, and amist the confusion Hit-Man
effortlessly picked off several more with his E-11. Several seconds
later, only the suit under Hit-Man's direct control was left standing.
Deciding to have a little fun, Hit-Man used the Force to rearrange his
internal organs.

"What...the...fuck. It feels like I'm shitting out my spleen!"

As it would turn out, the suit was correct. His spinal cord soon
followed, and the numb body fell over, not quite alive, but not quite
dead either.

Misty looked about the scene with a look of fear she never thought was
possible before. Suddenly, a figure entered from the dusty light from
the warehouse's main doors. She naturally feared for her life, and
worried about the new set of panties she decided to wear today. This
fear permeated the Force, and Hit-Man could sense it with ease. He
decided that having a prostitute scared shitless was not a good thing,
and thus used the Force to wipe her mind of recent events. From the
horror of what had occured that day in the warehouse, emerged a
satisfied Lt. Hit-Man and a totally oblivous Misty. Still dazed by the
lingering effects of the Force, Hit-Man had to partially assist her in
getting into the Esperanto. It was then when Hit-Man noticed the
monsterous size of her breasts. He knew whatever disease she might
have been recently cured of wouldn't effect him, thanks to the Force,
and he also knew it would be impossible for anyone to notice.

Hit-Man had ensured that Luigi would have his goods returned that day.
Even if they were used. Greatly used, infact.

Chapter 6

Don't Spank Hit-Man's Bitch Up

When Luigi stepped outside into the dark alley way behind the Sex Club
Seven, he was greeted by an ominous-looking Lt. Hit-Man.

"Hey, not too hard, eh? Nothing like a simple drive to earn the family
trust!"

This fuckwad is obviously oblivious to the shit I've just been
through, thought Hit-Man.

"Anyway, I have another job for you. I know it's early, but I think
its time to prove you can handle a real job."

Just then the TV grabbed Luigi's attention.

"Yesterday, a mysterious gunman killed several men thought to be
employed by the Forelli brothers, a rival Scillian crime family to the
notorious Leones. Only one survivor was left in a brain-dead
condition. Witnesses claim to have seen the gunman walk out with a yet
unidentified woman. Police have yet to release any further
information. This is Brooke Fairweather for Love Media News."

Luigi turned to Hit-Man. "You know anything about it?"

"Hell no." replied Hit-Man.

"Well, I guess Misty would've remembered if you were involved at all.
Anyway, there's this Diablo whose spreading this new drug around
called SPANK."

Hit-Man thought back to the old man he killed once he entered the
city. The only piece of information concerned that one word. Now he
could directly connect the drug to its destructive effects.

"This bastard is spreading SPANK to all my girls, and they can't put
out if they're doped up! I want you to find him, and take him out! And
take his car too! I want compensation!"

"You'll get it." was Hit-Man's only reply.

The fog hardly ever lifted itself off from the dock. Hidden behind
this veil of fog, a Diablo stood in front of his tricked-out Stallion
and peddled his drugs to two prostitutes.

"Hey, gimme some of that shit!"

"Now now, girls. You know it will cost you."

One of the doped up hookers flung her vinyl blazer away and unhooked
her bra. "How's this for payment?"

"Hey, I'm not complaining, but I need to see some hard cash!"

"Just come with me and I'll show you something else hard!" said the
other hooker.

After several minutes of "negotiation," the two prostitutes managed to
walk away with their daily requirement of SPANK. From a distance,
Hit-Man tried to feel their minds. He sensed the same confusion he did
when he probed the mind of the old gizer. However, now that he was
more familiar with it, he could also sense another element. An element
he wasn't sure of...yet. Hit-Man decided that the true nature of this
"SPANK" must be known, but there were other things to do right now. He
walked up the the SPANK dealer.

"Hey, this is El-Burro of the Diablos. Anything I can do you for?" the
man spoke with a vierd Latin accent. The man appeared to be very thin,
and things overall seemed out of place.

Hit-Man began to probe his mind. Immediately he idenfied this man as
an imposter.

"You are not El-Burro of the Diablos. You work for the Columbian
Cartel."

"I am not El-Burro of the Diablos. I work for the Columbian Cartel."

"You will stop trying to be someone you're not. You will not try and
spark a war between the Leone family and the Diablos."

"I will stop trying to be someone I'm not. I will not try and spark a
war between the Leone family and the Diablos."

"You're not interested in selling me drugs."

"I am not interested in selling you drugs."

"You want to rethink your life."

"I want to rethink my life."

"After some careful thought, you have decided that your life is worth
shit and you will jump in the ocean, making no attempt to swim
whatsoever."

"After some careful thought, I have decided that my life is worth shit
and I will jump in the ocean, making no attempt to swim whatsoever."
With that parting thought, the Cartel imposter drowned himself.

Hit-Man felt the wind blow through his hair and metallic scalp as he
drove the tricked-up Stallion to its new owner. He knew that he would
enjoy driving this car.


Chapter 7

Off-Time

Lt. Hit-Man threw the keys to Luigi. "Here's your compensation."

"Nice job, there! Here's a little something back for your trouble!"

Luigi threw a wad of cash back to Hit-Man.

"I don't got another job for you in a while, and you deserve a break
anyway. There's a warehouse just around the corner or so. You're PDA
will tell you where it's at. Consider it your home away from home for
now. It's out of the way, so no one will bother you, and the cops
don't know about it. It's even got a garage for personal vehicles."

Hit-Man looked around. "Hey, I just remembered I left my Esperanto
behind at the docks. Mind springing for a cab so I can pick it up?"

Luigi turned back to face him. "Don't bother, it's probably stolen by
now. But hey, nobody says you can't do the same thing around here!
Just be careful as to who you carjack!"

Hit-Man gave a wide smile. He was already very fond of this town. 

 "General, come take a look here!" The sceintist pointed to various
electonics as he was working on dismantling the Fearmesiter.

"Interesting. I'll tell the boys upstairs about this."

"No need to bother." A man in a blue suit walked into the room.

"What the? Who the hell are you?!" the general demanded."

"CIA. We're taking over this operation."

"I have strict authority from the...!"

"Frankly, your authority means shit to me."

"Look here, you bastard! I don't know who the hell you think you are.
This is strictly a military operation! Area 51 is under our control!
You guys go back and stick to your boogey-man conspiracy making and
mind control mumbo-jumbo!"

"I'm afraid you've lost your grasp on the situation." The man pulled
out a gun and shot the general.

"Hey! You can't do that!" exclaimed the scientist. He looked as if he
was going to give another retort, when his mouth opened to drool
blood. Minor sparks shot out of the Fearmesiter's electronics as they
were stained red.


"Mr. President...there have been some, technical problems regarding
the latest aquisition at Area 51."

"Such as?"

 "For one thing, there have been some major security leaks. And the
Army simply isn't up to the task with handling alien technology."

"I know you've been suggesting for years that Area 51 be transferred
to CIA control, but...."

"Area 51 is in the best interest of national security. National
security simply is our business."

The President thought about it. "Ok, as of this moment, I am
transferring all control of Area 51 to the CIA. This includes any and
all related technology as well."

"Excellent. I promise you, you and the nation won't be sorry."

The man in the blue suit turned and walked towards his Sentinel, with
a satisfied look on his face.

It was a cold day in Portland, and the man decided it was a good thing
he had his trenchcoat on. He also felt good about being inside his
Manana. Sure, it was an older vehicle, but it got him from point A to
point B without trouble. And it was the only vehicle he could get from
Captial Used Autos, the only car dealership in town. The man was
reflecting on how contempt he was, until he nearly ran over a
half-man, half-robot, giving him the finger. He honked his horn
wildly, but before he knew it he was drug out on his ass, and sat in
the middle of the cold street. The cyborg merely laughed maniacally.

Hit-Man looked behind at the sight that beheld him in his rear-view
mirror. He saw the poor man, looking down, with his knees together.
The man looked very depressed, and appeared to be almost crying.
Hit-Man couldn't believe what he was feeling at that moment. Hit-Man
decided to end the poor man's misery.

The man on the street continued to cry. Just then, he had an epiphany.
He suddenly felt as if his spirit would be lifted, as if his luck was
about to change, as if his misery was about to end....

The man's head struck the bumper of his former Manana at a high speed.
Even Hit-Man could hear the crack of bone, and as he backed up over
the body, he could see the tire tracks, drawing lines of red on the
street. He stopped the car and inspected the man's body, lifeless and
broken. He dug through the man's pockets and found $150. He decided
that he made a fair amount of change today as he sped away to his
hideout.

Chapter 8

Funtime

Being a cyborg deeply entrenced in the Dark Side of the Force, Hit-Man
was in little need of rest. He decided that he would have some fun
instead, but needed a heavy vehicle. That Manana simply wasn't big
enough.

Passing by on the street, Hit-Man spotted just the thing. A Mule
proudly displaying the logo of Yo-Mama's had just stopped on the
street light. Hit-Man quickly booted the driver out. This time,
however, the driver was more willing to hang onto his ride. He opened
the driver's side door and attempted to boot Hit-Man out likewise.
Before he could do, however, he could feel his larynx slowly collapse.

"You think that's the only thing I could do?" said a laughing Hit-Man.
The former driver, who was gasping at his throat, now switched to
gasping at his pelvis.

"Ahhh..yuhhhh..ugghahh...my...balls!"

Suddenly a loud popping noise could be heard, followed by a crush. The
man lay dead in the middle of the steet, his throat collapsed, and
blood oozing from his pants. Hit-Man recovered his wallet, dug out the
cash and credit cards, and threw it on the limp body. Speeding away,
Hit-Man knew this city had just gotten a taste of what he was capable
of.

Pedestrians routinely crowded the sidewalks of Liberty City. Various
persons of equally diverse backgrounds felt free to walk anywhere and
everywhere, despite the infamous crime that made Liberty City famous.
The sidewalks in front of the police station and Sweeny General
Hosipital were no exception. All of a sudden, a Mule defiantly began
running over hordes of people, right in front of the police. The
sidewalk was now soaked in a roaring river of pure blood. Almost
immediately, a police officer began shouting, "Halt, police!" The only
response that he got was the black squeal of tires and Hit-Man added
him to his list of "runaway" victims.

At that moment, Hit-Man noticed his Sumo Industries PDA flashing.
Apparently, it was intercepting police radio reports, and was now
displaying Hit-Man's wanted level.

"Cool!" thought Hit-Man. "Let's see how far I can take this baby
today!"

The Mule sped into the St. Mark's district, hoping to loose the
police. In the meantime, every pedestrian Hit-Man saw was given a
chance to become personally aquainted with what the underside of his
tires look like. As he ran over more and more people, Hit-Man saw his
warning level slowly climb up to three. The clamour of police chimes
was now joined by the hum of overhead heliocopters.

"All right! Let's see who else I can bring!"

Suddenly Hit-Man was met by a roadblock of police Enforcer-type heavy
restraining vehicles. He ran directly into one of them, smashing his
Mule into it. The resulting force killed the two officers who were
inside the recieving Enforcer. However, this meant that Hit-Man's ride
was over.

"LCPD! Put your hands in the air!"

Lt. Hit-Man stepped out of the vehicle and calmly put his hands behind
his head. The police and SWAT members slowly and cautiously approached
Hit-Man, with cuffs and guns at equal ready.

A few moments later, they began reaching for their throats.

As the law enforcement men struggled for breath, Hit-Man calmly walked
past them. "I'm bored, looks like you win guys" he said as he returned
back to his hide-out.



Chapter 9

A Call to Cars

When Hit-Man returned to his hideaway, his PDA started beeping wildly.
It indicated a payphone near the apartment complex at Hepburn Heights.

"This is El Burro of the Diablos. I heard about how you revealed that
one Cartel imposter. Nice job. But if you really want to prove
yourself, get a fast set of wheels and get to the school at once. You
win, then we'll see about work."

Outside the school, three nice and shiny Cheetas were lined up, ready
to race. El Burro himself was there overseeing the starting line. He
couldn't contain his laughter when a rusty old Manana pulled up next
to the three racing machines.

"You call that a set of wheels? I wouldn't use it to haul issues of
last month's 'Donkey Licks Liberty City' to the dump!"

Hit-Man merely gave a calm reply. "It's not the car, it's the driver."

El Burro burst out laughing some more. "You'll have to be one hell of
a driver to prove that!"

Mere moments later, El Burro signalled the start of the race. The
three Cheetas launched from the starting line, leaving Hit-Man behind
in the dust. The wheels of the Manana spun, sending smoke and the
smell of burnt rubber into the air. Hit-Man raced down the streets
into the Portland Docks district, but he was still far behind his
competitors. If this were under normal circumstances, Hit-Man would
have lost the race before it even began. But there is no such thing as
a normal circumstance - as long as Hit-Man was around.

The leader cruised around the various streets, cornering each tight
turn with percision. Other cars and pedestrians dodged out of his way,
for his only care was winning the race. Suddenly, his left front tire
blew. Loosing control, his car skidded across, breaking through a
chain link fence and hitting the dock hard, sending his prized machine
cartwheeling into the river. The racer behind him smiled a wicked
smile as he saw his former comrade's car slowly sink into the sea,
with no trace of its driver. It only meant that he was in the lead,
with that much less competition.

To his surprise, however, he found his steering wheel unresponsive.
Then, to his astonishment, his steering wheel broke off alltogether.
Unable to do a thing about it, the Cheeta maintained a straight and
steady course, straight into a police cruiser.

The last driver looked on as his former comrade was slammed onto the
hood of the broken police cruiser, his hands cuffed behind him. For
good measure, the cops slammed him repeatedly onto the hood, until his
nostrils started bleeding.

"How do you like 'dem apples, punk?"

"Hey, I didn't mean it, my steering wheel broke?"

"You won't be needing any steering wheels where you're going! I'm
gonna make sure you're gonna stay for a long time too!"

The last driver merely snickered as he sped off. Confident Hit-Man was
still far behind, he assured himself that he had this in the bag. Then
his thoughts went blank.

He struggled to maintain control, then he struggled to finish out the
simplest of thoughts. His eye lids became heavy, his head laid back on
the seat, and his ears started to bleed heavily. He never got the
chance to realise he was suffering a Force-induced stroke in his
brain. His car started weaving in and out of the lanes, until it
flipped itself on a hill. The Cheeta came to a screaching halt as
sparks flew from its roof. Seconds later, it erupted into a massive
fireball, its driver making no attempt to get out whatsoever.

Hit-Man merrily cruised along in his dopey Manana, taking in the full
view of his handiwork as he passed by. At his own leasurly pace, he
reaced the last checkpoint, as first - and only - driver.

"It looks like I seriously underestimated your driving ability" said
El Burro. "Anyone who can win a race in that is worth ten times his
weight in laundred money. I'll be sure to have a job ready for you the
next time we meet."

El Burro disappeared back into the underbelly of Portland, but not
before tossing a sizeable wad of money to Hit-Man. Hit-Man gunned his
engine, eager for yet more job opportunities.

Chapter 10

Going out with a Thermo-nuclear Bang

Joey Leone drew himself from under his latest project, distracted by
the beam of light that cut through the darkness of his shop. From the
doorway stood two figures. One leaned on the door sill, looking on
with the meanacing glow of his eyes. The other figure raced straight
at Joey.

"Joey! I'm glad to see you!"

"Misty! How's my favorite girl? Did Luigi treat you all right?"

"Yeah, and we got this new guy too, look!" Misty pointed straight at
Hit-Man.

"I see. Hey, I gotta job for you!" Joey motioned on for Hit-Man to
come closer.

"There's this jerk, his name's Mike 'Lips' Forelli."

Hit-Man's face grew visible with rage, which Joey was able to pick up
on easily.

"Oh, so you have a beef with this guy too?"

"You can say that."

"Then you'll have no problem sending him sky-high. He's stuffing his
face at Marco's Bistro. Steal his Idaho, and go down to 8-Ball's. You
know 8-Ball, right?"

Hit-Man nodded.

"Have 8-Ball rig up a bomb to his car. Then put it back, get the hell
out, and watch the fireworks."

Hit-Man smiled, for he had something better in store. "Don't worry.
You'll see fireworks. A hell of a lotta fireworks!"

"Well just hurry up because he won't be eating all day!"


Marco's Bistro was placed in an unassuming corner near the docks. From
this high vantage point, an astounding vista can be had of the entire
bay as far as the eye can see. This was the primary reason as to why
the Bistro was such an incredably popular place. Mike "Lips" Forelli
sat on the upper balcony, chowing down on a place load of linguini.
His cheeks filled with pasta and sauce in a most disgusting manner, as
other patrons surrounding him turned their faces away in disgust.
Forelli merely continued on, totally oblivoius to the scene he was
creating. Although not nearly as powerful as the Leones, Lips Forelli
was still a force to be reckoned with, and there was not a sole in
that Bistro brave enough to confront him.

Down below, on the Bistro's parking lot, Hit-Man pulled up next to
Lips Forelli's Idaho.

"You'd figure a powerful bastard like him could afford a better car
than this pimpmobile," he said to himself. Using the Force, he cracked
the car's lock with ease. With equal ease he could have started the
car with no problem, and driven it to 8-Ball's - but that was far from
his intention. Hit-Man wanted to assure that Forelli would go out with
the biggest bang possible. From his pocket he took out a thermal
detonator, and set it to max yeild. He then casually tossed it inside
the car, and sped as madly as he could.

Wiping the grease and sauce away from his face, Lips Forelli walked
slowly and cumbersomly down the steps. He held his stomach, and began
wising that perhaps he shouldn't have eaten as much. With much effort,
he finally made his way to the bottom of the stairs, and to the
parking lot. Quickly thumbing through his keys, he opened the door to
his car, totally unaware that it had been broken into, and totally
unaware of the package that lay in the back seat. His gut spilling out
in front of him, and rubbing against the steering wheel, he shoved the
key into the ignition.

Hit-Man sat comfortably on a bench in Belleview Park on Staunton
Island. His view was fixed at the direction of Marco's Bistro back in
Portland. Suddenly, a flash blinded the vision of all but himself, and
a massive fireball engulfed several blocks surrounding the now former
Bistro. As the fireball shrunk back into nothingness, as flames licked
into the air, and as all available fire units in the entire city raced
to the scene, Hit-Man gave a wide, wicked smile.


Chapter 11

The Results

The highly charred remains of Marco's Bistro barely stood in the
background as HAZMAT crews blanketed the area. Streets were cornered
off and blocked with heavy trucks and miles of tape. Nearly every
single cop in all of Liberty City was called to the scene, leaving the
rest of the city ripe for a massive crime spree. They joined in with
the National Guard and other federal agents trying to block the masses
of curious and stupid people unaware of the potential heath risks of
merely being in this area.

A ripple in the crowd formed as people moved aside, then moved back
into their postions, like a giant zipper in the human sea. A blue
Sentinel pulled up along side one of the HAZMAT trucks, and a
mysterious man wearing a matching suit emerged from the vehicle. A
person in a bio protection suit ran up to him.

"Sir, the results match. Whatever the hell he did, he certainly did
it."

While she was talking to him, he pulled out a PDA and scanned the
scene with it.

"As you can see, Mr. President, this entity, and we do believe it to
be a single entity, is capable of all this destruction. Clearly, he
represents a major threat to national security."

The president looked both dumbfounded and worried. "Is there any way
to deal with this threat, and still keep it under wraps?"

The man nodded. "Just leave it to me."


Hit-Man picked up the pay phone. "This is Marty Chonks. I heard you
get results. I run the Bitchin' Dog Food Factory just around the
corner. The bank says I owe them money. They're sendin' someone to
collect. I want you to pick them up, and maybe I can pursuade them to
change their minds. The car's out back."

Minutes later, Hit-Man had already delivered the bank representive to
Chonks. "He's in the factory. Just step inside and he'll see you."

The man had been looking into Hit-Man's face during the entire trip.
Never before had he seen such a hideous machination. Strangely,
Hit-Man didn't mind such thoughts from this pathetic excuse for
sentient life; he rather enjoyed the fear and torment this guy was
going through just by looking into his face. As the man scrambled out
of the car, tripping on the door, he gave a maniaical laugh, which
made the man run inside the factory with haste. Little did he know
that he was merely speeding his own demise.

Hit-Man grabbed his E-11 and turned the inhanced imaging on. He could
see through the factory walls with perfect clarity. Chonks had just
given the representive a good whack with a baseball bat and had tossed
him in the food grinder. As blood and meat swished and swirled around
inside the massive vat in a most violent display, Hit-Man gave one of
his signature smiles.

"A new flavor of the month" Hit-Man said to himself.

Chonks then stepped out of the factory. His trench coat was covered in
blood, chuncks of meat, and a most sickening red foam. Of course,
Hit-Man enjoyed it.

"All right, now go to 8-Balls and get this car crushed. Come back and
I'll have another job for you."


Hit-Man picked up the pay phone once again. "All right, I have another
job for you. I hired some thieves to break into my apartment so I can
collect on insurance. But now they want in on the cut, and are
threatening to squeal! I'm running low on cars at the moment so you'll
have to use my Sentinel. Pick up the thieves, bring them here, then go
to the Pay 'n Spray. They'll clean out all the evidence for you. Then
drop the car off at the factory. I'll have another job for you when
you return."

"You from Marty? That bitch ain't payin' us enough to do this shit for
him! Just drop us off at his place, and we'll make him see our side of
things!"

As the two men entered the car, they noticed Hit-Man's face.

"Oh my fucking God! What kinda shit is....gah, uhhhh, gaag!"

Hit-Man made sure they recieved just enough air supply to survive the
short trip. Once within the factory walls, he came to a full stop and
allowed the two men to exit. Once outside, the two men ran for their
lives, and Hit-Man noticed a foul smell from the back.

"Looks like the Pay 'n Spray guys will have their work cut out for
them." Hit-Man then donned his helmet and turned the NBC filtration
systems on.


The pay phone started to ring yet again. Hit-Man answered. "This is
Chonks again. My wife's been asking for more money and all she's ever
been is a large hole in my pocket. She has a large life insurance
policy too. Bring her here. She's at the nail salon. Once I deal with
her, dump the car in the ocean."

"Oh, you from Marty? Tell him to hurry up, I still need to get my hair
done!"

Hit-Man took one good look at her. Not bad looking, blonde but
obviously dyed, fake breasts, and an outfit to put even the trashiest
hooker to shame. Hit-Man was never known to have discriminate taste
towards women however. "A fuck's a fuck" he thought to himself, and
decided that Chonks will have to wait with this one.

Hit-Man pulled into the factory and let Mrs. Chonks out. He had used
the Force to calm her mind; although he didn't mind screaming and
scratching, he did mind a terrified vitcim using her own panties as a
rest facility. Speaking of which, the absent minded Mrs. Chonks had
left her panties in the back seat of the capacious Esperanto, and was
now struggling to keep her skirt down to avoid revealing her anatomy,
as if her skirt would prevent Hit-Man from seeing though anyway. She
entered Marty's office, and Hit-Man could hear a series of screams
from her, quite unlike the kind she had voluntarily gave him minutes
earlier. In his typical fashion, Hit-Man decided that the current
screams she had been making were more enjoyable anyway. At least he
had her panties to remember her by, he decided.

The day was unusually sunny as the lone man sat on the wharf, fishing
rod in hand. He loved to fish, and he loved to sit by the dockside
even more. He looked up at the sun, and felt the rays hit his cheeks.
He could feel the sea breeze blow in his hair, a sedate calm
overcoming his will. This alone was worth it, he decided. He didn't
care if he didn't catch any fish that day, and he didn't care if any
fish he caught were unedible due to the river's pollution anyway. The
only reason why he was here was to enjoy the serene calm of the river,
by the dockside.

The man's calm, serene vision was interrupted when his ears tried to
transmit the message of a "WHACK!" to his brain. Mere microseconds
later, his skull split open and his brain got an opportunity to become
aquainted first-hand with the sound's source. The man's body got
caught on the bumper of the Esperanto, and he was being dragged with
it as the car lept over the dock and crashed hard into the waves.
Almost immediately, a swarm of fish began to gather as blood made its
way to the surface.

Hit-Man looked on at the edge of the wharf. "Kinda ironic, isn't it?
The fisherman becomes the fish bait." He wiped away a false tear from
his face. "It's stuff like that that makes you think."


Chapter 12

Chonks and Chunks

The taxi came to a screeching halt just in front of the double doors.
The doors of the taxi flung wide open and out stepped three hookers,
the last bunch needed to be delivered. As they strutted their stuff
towards the school's gym, they all blew kisses at the driver. Hit-Man
figured that Luigi wouldn't mind the delievered good to be tested
first, especially since the Force would ensure he wouldn't know about
it in the first place. As soon as those prostitutes took their first
footstep on the gym floor, they lost all memory of their "sessions"
with Hit-Man.

Luigi stood waiting just outside the Sex Club Seven. Just seconds
before he would have actually had suspected of such, Hit-Man came to a
swearving halt just in front of him.

"Nice job with the Police Ball gig! Here's your money!" Hit-Man caught
the wad of cash in mid-air.

Just then Luigi turned back around, almost as if he just remembered
something. "You know, that was the last job that I really needed you
for. You're already working for Joey, right? If you need anything
else, come to him. Consider your time with me as finished. But don't
get all teary-eyed about it, you're moving up in the family now!"

However, Hit-Man wanted to take care of one last small thing before
proceeding with the family business.

Marty Chonk's voice crackled through the reciever. "I'm in big
trouble. Turns out my wife was seeing some guy I owe money to! Bring
him to the factory and I'll try to pursuade him to my side of things."

"You sent by that creep Chonks? Yeah, just drop me off at his place,
and I'll show him a real business lession!"

Hit-Man knew the real truth to his words, however.

"Yeah, I know you wanna off Marty."

"What the? How the fucking hell did you know about that?"

A voice rang inside his head. "I know everything."

The man began to shiver. "What the fuck do you want?"

The voice in his head began to speak once again. "I want in on the
deal. Gimmie half onwnership. I wanna be your partner."

The man began to worry, but saw the futility of resisting immediately.
"Uh, sure, pal, you got yourself a deal!"

The honk of a horn signalled the gate to open. A few agnonizing
seconds passed before the gate fully opened, and the Stallion blasted
off from a standstill, spinning out of control before neatly stopping
just parallel to a brick wall. From the passenger's door stepped out a
man with a Liberty City Cocks jacket and a shotgun.

"Hey Marty! Time to discuss business!"

"Hey, I don't got the money with me right now, but just step into my
office...."

"None of that shit this time, Marty! I'm taking over the business!"

A shotgun rang in the air, as Marty Chonks fell to the cold concrete.

The man gave a smirk smile and was very self-satisfied as he casually
strode off towards the gate. However, a large figure blocked his way.

"I've changed my mind. I decided that full ownership is far more
preferable."

The pang of an E-11 penetrated the air. The smell of cooked meat soon
followed, as the headless body fell over backwards, lumping like a bag
of cement.

"What goes around, comes around" thought Hit-Man. He contemplated the
ownership of his new factory. Of course, he had other commitments too.

Joey spoke underneath a car he was working on. "There's these new guys
coming into town. They're from Columbia, or Colorado, I don't know
where exactly. Anyway, they've been spreading SPANK around everywhere.
There's this guy named "Chunky" Lee Chong, he runs a noodle stand
front for the Triads. He also has ties to the Cartel, so I want you to
take him out."

Chunky let his gut rest on the stand's counter. He let out a heavy
sigh as he watched his gut heave with every breath. By all means he
presented a wide target profile, and he had plenty of enemies.
Nonetheless, he didn't feel vulnerable at all; there were Triads all
over the place, guns and bats at the ready. If any punk Mafia man
tried to do something, it would mean not only an instant gang war, but
a heavy and one-sided street battle in favor of the Triads as well.

His last thoughts dwelled on this fact. Hit-Man found it rather ironic
that he would be too preoccupied with how "safe" he was as his flesh
above his neck were instantly vaporized. His Traid body guards didn't
prove to be too much difficult, for Hit-Man popped them off one by
one. As he squeezed off head-blowing shot after shot, he gave out
visible expressions of joy. Not since teaching Mike "Lips" Forelli a
lesson had he had so much fun.


Chapter 13

Laundry and Crimson Stains

"Yeah, Tony, I fixed 'er up real good. She'll pur like a kitten...hey,
Hit-Man!"

Hit-Man calmly strode into the shop. Joey and Tony Capriani were
standing next to a recently repaired Sentienel.

"Hey Tony, this is that guy I was talking about. He's no Italian, in
fact I don't know what the hell he is, and he ain't no mechanic but
he'll fix anything."

Joey then turned to Hit-Man. "Hey, this is Tony Capriani."

Tony looked right at Hit-Man. "Hey, I'm Tony Capriani."

Joey then continued. "I need you to do a favor for him. When you're
done, come back. I have a job and I need a good driver."

Hit-Man took the drivers seat of the Sentinel. Tony soon occupied the
seat next to him. "Take me to Momma's Restaruante downtown. And don't
get any scratches on this thing; Joey just fixed this pile of junk!"

As Hit-Man pulled out of the shop, Tony just had another thought.
"Take me down to the laundry on the edge of town first. Those laundry
women still need to pay their dues. And remember, I don't want any
scratches, so no fancy crap!"

The black Sentinel came to a stop just in front of Mr. Wong's
Laundrette. Tony took a quick peer inside.

"Damnit, there's Triads in there! I don't like the looks of this, so
you better accompany me."

Hit-Man merely smiled and stroked his E-11. He didn't need the Force
to detect what was going to happen next.

However, he did need the Force to detect just who was going to be
involved.

Suddenly, Hit-Man's memory started flashing like crazy....

The Super Star Destroyer Crimson Blade hung in space just over Earth.
Next to it was the Eclipse Class Star Destroyer Obliterator, its
superlaser fully charged.

"Admiral Kanos, what are your orders?"

"Hold fire! Let's see what the Federation will do next!"

In the dark depths below, the troops were preparing for invasion.

"Lieutenant Hit-Man, eh? We have a special assignment for you."

"Yeah?"

"You're gonna be in the first strike wave. Report to the Fearmeister
at once!"

Suddenly Hit-Man found himself not sitting in the pilot's seat of the
Fearmeister, but sitting in the driver's seat of Tony Cipriani's
Sentinel.

"Hey! I thought Joey said you was good! What the hell are you waiting
for?"

Hit-Man shook the daze off and strode into the laundrette with Tony.
They were greeted by two Triads in the blue uniforms of Turtle Head
Fishing Co. In the back stood the laundrette's owner, a very regal and
commanding looking Asian who looked as if he demanded respect.

Hit-Man couldn't help but stare at the laundrette's owner, Mr. Wong.
His memory soon kicked back in.

"Admiral Kanos, the Federation fleet is engaging!"

"Open fire! Destroy all enemy vessels!"

Admiral Kanos continued to pace the bridge of the Crimson Blade as the
battle raged on around him. He had no real reason to fear the enemy;
the Crimson Blade proved far too powerful to allow the Federation
ships any true avenue of attack.

As Hit-Man looked at this image that danced in his mind, he noticed
Admiral Kanos slowly being phased out of view, and in his place stood
Mike Wong the laundrette owner. It was almost as if the Force was
trying to tell him something....

"Hey, what the fuck are you doing daydreaming? We've got some payment
to pick up!"

Hit-Man's vision shifted back into reality. Except instead of seeing
Mike Wong, he only saw Admiral Kanos, standing by at the counter,
behind his Triad bodyguards.

"Eh, don't mind the new guy. I guess he's just something else. But
about that matter of payment...."

Tony Cipriani could see the two Triads lift their pistols. Before they
could bring their sights level with their eyes, twin blaster bolts
drilled into their chests. Tony ran for his car.

Tony looked behind him, grabbing the door handle. "Hey, you! What the
fuck do you think you're doing?! Get in here and let's get the hell
outta here!"

Instead, Hit-Man remained in the laundrette. He was still drawn to
Mike Wong. He gave a few steps towards the counter, and then dropped
to his knees.

"Admiral Kanos, of His Majesty's Imperial Fleet, I am at your
service!"




Chapter 14

Revelations

"Lieutenant Hit-Man. Your services to the Empire are of invaluable
service at this moment. But like your compainion says, we need to get
the hell out of here!"

Hit-Man and Kanos then made full speed towards the Sentinel.

"'Bout time you came! And...hey, what the hell do you think you're
doing with that piece of filthy Asian scu...."

Tony's hands were clasped around his own neck as he struggled to
breathe. As soon as Kanos got in the back seat, Tony began breathing
again.

"Just who the fuck do you think you...."

A voice sounded off in Tony's head. "You just don't learn, do you?"

Tony once again began to breathe. "Ok, you've made your point, he can
come. But there is no fucking way you're bringing him to Momma's.
You're gonna have to drop him off somewhere."

"I'll just drop him off at my hideout." said Hit-Man as he gunned the
engine. In front of him, a few Triads tried shooting with their guns,
but were met only with the squeal of tires are their blood churned
under the fenders.

A few moments later, the car veered out of control, barely slipping
into the narrow alley without hitting the walls. Kanos soon popped
out, and without sparing much time the car lifted off back into the
streets.

Mere minutes passes as the car pulled up into Momma's Restaurante.
"The Traids think they can mess with me? The triads...with ME?!"

Tony then turned to Hit-Man. "We're gonna make sure they'll pay for
this. They're gonna have to do their own laundry - to get the
bloodstains out! This is gonna be a long one, so come back often, and
we'll have plenty of work for you."

Just before Tony slammed the door shut, he grabbed hold of it again
and turned to face Hit-Man. "And if that friend of yours screws with
us in any way...."

Hit-Man nodded. "He won't. And if he does, I wouldn't worry about him
if I were you." His eyes started glowing a menacing red.

"Don't you dare pull that shit on me, unless you want to see what the
insides of your brain looks like!"

Tony walked off into the restaurante, obviously preturbed at the
questionable reliablility of his hired help. Suddenly, he turned
around, with a different tone alltogether.

"But...thanks for saving my life. Keep the car, you deserve it." He
sheepishly walked out of sight.


Hit-Man drove the Sentinel hard into the alley, placing it inside the
garage. He really liked these Mafia suped-up cars, and he was going to
take special care of this one.

Meanwhile, Admiral Kanos stood outside.

"It took me ten fucking years to get that business running."

Hit-Man looked on with astonishment. "Admiral...how the hell did you
wind up here?"

"We are not the only ones, Lieutenant. There's more of us."

"Who?"

"Many of us. I don't know how many, exactly. The last thing I remember
before ending up here was that I was on the Crimson Blade, engaging
the Federation. Suddenly, there was this flash. When I woke up, I
found myself still on the bridge of the Crimson Blade - sinking in the
middle of the Atlantic.

"The fighter bays were submerged so I had to swim for it. I swam for
about a few dozen kilometers before I almost drowned. I was then
rescued by a fishing boat, and ended up in Liberty City. The only damn
job I could get was in that damned laundrette. Me, an Imperial
Admiral, in a stupid laundrette on 20th century Earth of all places!"

Hit-Man was stilled puzzled at the thought of other Imperials on
Earth. "Sir, what are we going to do?"

"I don't know. I spent all these years basically hiding and starting a
new identity. I left all the technology behind on the Crimson Blade so
I had no way of contacting them. What about you?"

"I crashed the Fearmeister in a feild somewhere and had to abandon it,
but as you can see I managed to salvage most of my gear. I managed to
find a few jobs here and there with the organized criminal element.
It's so fucking cool!"

"Looks like you're really making a name for yourself too."

Hit-Man nodded.

Admiral Kanos stood there contenplating. He then looked up at the sky,
still thinking.

"Hit-Man...whatever we do...we need to find the other Imperials...."


The submarine NR-1 shimmered in the illumination of its own lights.
The civilian captain eyed his monitors with everlasting vigilance, not
quite sure what he was supposed to be looking for. Behind him stood a
mysterious figure in a blue suit.

"You know, we'd probably find this thing sooner if you just told us
what the hell we were looking for!"

The blue suit merely replied, "You'll know it when you see it."

The captain continued his vigliant search. A few moments later, he
nearly jumped out of his seat.

"Jesus! I've never seen anything like that in my whole entire fucking
career! What the hell is that?"

"That...is none of your concern. And it's also the last thing you'll
ever see." The suit then took out a pistol and smattered the captain's
brains all over the monitors. He took out a hankerchief and wiped the
gore from the largest one. The monitor revealed a massive object,
reading at about a dozen or so kilometers long. It possessed an alien,
arrow-like hull, and the outer edge was painted in a deep crimson,
matching the blood splattered throughout the sub's cabin.

The suit took a long stare at the object. Whatever it was, it wasn't
from Earth....



Chapter 15

Back to Business

"Well, do you know where I can crash now?" asked Kanos. "I doubt I can
go back home now...it's probably crawling with Triads at this point."

LT. Hit-Man looked around. "Guess you just crash here for now."

"Thanks," responded Kanos.

"It'll just be a while till I get back, I need to take care of some
business." Hit-Man walked off to find a ride to steal.

"Good luck," Kanos faintly replied. He turned around and went inside
the hideout.

The door creeked open, exposing the interior to the light outside.
Kanos peered in, seeing a plain concrete room, with a mattress on one
side and a TV on the other. A pin-up poster hung above the TV.

"I miss my Admiral days," said Kanos to himself. "And now I already
miss my laundrette days."

The man rapped on his steering wheel, listening to the tunes on his
headset. He was so distracted from actually driving that he didn't
notice the figure ahead of him. He also didn't noitce the same figure
approach the side of his Idaho and open one of the doors. By the time
he finally figured out what was going on, he was flat on his ass on
the street.

"Hey, my car!" he said as he raced after it. He barely reached the
driver's door as Hit-Man was prepared to speed of. He reached in and
attempted to drag Hit-Man out.

"Big mistake asshole." The voice rang inside the man's head.

"Hey, what the fuck's goin' on?"

"Your brain, and it's goin' out...your ass."

After a few gruesome seconds Hit-Man sped off, leaving the bloody mess
behind.

Hit-Man looked at the map on his PDA. Two blips representing both Tony
and Joey, showing the way to their respective locales. He still wan't
sure if Tony had time to steam off yet, so he slammed on the brakes
and spun the car in Joey's direction.

"There ya go baby." Joey looked up when the sunlight hit his eyes. The
shilouette of Hit-Man stood boldly against the fading backdrop of the
sun.

"Hey there, I got another job for you. One of the Forellis got what
was coming to him, and the stiff's now in the trunk of a car. Get that
car to the crusher at Harwood, ok? Shouldn't be too difficult for you,
eh?"

"None too difficult," Hit-Man replied. He had an inkling in the Force
that that was going to turn out to be a total lie.

The Manana with the stiff was parked right outside the diner under the
Callahan Bridge. A hired suit working for the Forellis waited inside
his Sentinel, giving watchful vigilance over the car. If anybody tried
to take it, he'll get his ass run over.

Hit-Man peered through his macrobinocs. "Man, those Forellis are real
dumbshits, staking out in such an obvious place." He moved his head
from side to side in shame, then pulled out his E-11 and took careful
aim.

The suit started to feel the pain of boredom. He started to wonder if
this assignment was just a waste of time, if there really was anyone
stupid enough to take the Manana. He pulled out a copy of Penthouse
and flipped through the pages. He was just about to get to the
centerfold when his world went dark.

Hit-Man casually walked up to the Sentinel and punched out one of the
windows with his cybernetic arm. He groapped through the blood-stained
interior, past the headless body, and picked up the copy of Penthouse.
Shaking off the blood, he rolled it up and tucked it under his arm.

"Gives me something to do during those lull perioids," laughed
Hit-Man.

He began casually walking to the Manana, confident that any obsticles
were wiped out. Suddenly, out from nowhere, Hit-Man was lit up by
high-powered xenon headlights.

"Oh shit" thought Hit-Man as he ducked for cover. The second Sentinel
missed by a mile and rammed the Manana's trunk instead, forcably
popping up the trunk and exposing the gore inside.

Hit-Man grabbed his E-11 and ran for cover. He noticed a large
delivery truck cruising on the road. He ran in front of it, the driver
just barely stopping in time.

"Get the fuck out!" screamed Hit-Man.

"Hey, I ain't leavin'!" exclaimed the driver.

"Boy, you gotta learn to listen" rang a voice in his head. Hit-Man
didn't bother with fancy Force tricks this time; he raised his E-11
squarely at the driver and fired. The bolt shattered the windsheild
unabaited and slammed into the driver's head. Blood and brains rained
everywhere inside the cabin.

Hit-Man wasn't interested in stealing it; he just needed a heavy
roadblock. He ran around in circles around the truck as the Sentinel
tried to follow him in kind.

Hit-Man looked behind him and saw the Sentinel try to ram its way
through the heavy traffic that was building up. Soon it was garnering
heavy damage as it tried to plow its way through the cars. The comical
scene of Hit-Man and the Sentinel going round and round around the
truck continued for some time until the Sentinel's engine finally
caught on fire. As the luxury car exploded, the hapless and brainless
driver jumped out, only to reemerge into Hit-Man's sights.

"I really should spare you," said Hit-Man. "Maybe you'd go back to the
Forellis and tell them to hire guys with brains."

The suit just stared at Hit-Man with a freightened look.

"Awww, you look so scared, maybe I really should just spare you."

The suit felt relieved. This look of relief and gradification remained
on the suit's face, right up to the moment it was vaporized by the red
plasma bolt.

Hit-Man used his index finger to scoop up a piece of cooked brain that
landed on his white stormtrooper suit. "Well, I guess Forelli does
hire guys with brains after all." He flicked the medium-cooked flesh
away and hopped in the Manana unabaited at last.


Chapter 16

Taxi Driver

The massive electromagnet lifted the Manana like a twig. The massive
crusher smashed it like a twig, too.

Hit-Man looked around for another ride to steal. Just driving into his
field of vision was a yellow Cabbie.

"Fuck no," said Hit-Man to himself. There was no way in hell he was
going to be seen in a taxi cab. 

The Force had other ideas, however.

Hit-Man's memory started flashing like wild, just as it had when he
met Kanos.

Suddenly, Hit-Man found himself on the Crimson Blade. He held his E-11
in his hands, and he was walking down a long corridor.

Just in front of him stood the chief flight operations officer,
Commander Ando, known to the crew affectionately as "Wee Mad Ando".

"'Morning, bloke!" said the passing commander in an Aussie accent.

"Go fuck yourself" replied Hit-Man. Only Hit-Man could possibly get
away with such an insult.

Hit-Man turned the corner, then suddenly found himself back on the
street in front of the junkyard. The Cabbie continued on it's way.

Anders Russel whistled as he made his daily rounds. The stoplight in
front of him flashed red, and he gently tapped the brakes. As he
looked into his rearview mirror, he could see a figure race up to him.
The person seemed strange, yet familiar; there was an erily
familiarity about his cybernetic parts and Stormtrooper armor.

"Hey, open up!"

"What the...? Ho-lee shit."

Hit-Man kept knocking on the window. "Ando, it's me, open up!"

It's been 15 years since Anders actually heard anyone call him by that
name. He leanen over and struggled to unlock the rear doors.

Hit-Man immediately stepped inside. As he did so, his memory fired up
again, and he saw an Imperial officer in the driver's seat. After a
few seconds, the wool-clad Aussie returned in his place.

"Hit-Man...is that you?"

"Of course it's not! I'm the Great Dagobah Christmas Ewok telling you
to go fuck yourself."

Ando immediately knew that it was of course Hit-Man.

"What the hell are you doing here?"

"I could ask the same of you, motherfucker."

"The last thing I remember was being on the Crimson Blade, and then
suddenly I found myself drowning. I ended up here and became a taxi
driver."

"Crashed the Fearmeister in a feild somewhere, abandoned it, and got a
few jobs working for the Mafia."

"Sweet!" replied Ando.

"Yeah, it's damn fucking cool."

Hit-Man then remembered Kanos' words. "Do you know anybody else who
might be here?"

"Let's see...I remember Shep, RayCav, Crayz, and Dalton...maybe a few
others too on the Crimson Blade. Then there's Kanos himself, but I
don't know if anybody survived."

"I know Kanos himself survived, at least. He's crashing at my
hangout."

"Cool. Can I go see?"

"Sure. Just take a right here."

The light turned green and the Cabbie pulled to the right. The taxi
continued to gain speed until slamming to a halt as a Makerel delivery
truck stopped in front of it.

"There he is! No fancy crap!"

"What the? What the fuck is going on, Hit-Man?"

"Yeah, well, I kinda made a few enemies too."

"Like who?"

"The Triads."

"Oh fucking great!"

Ando punched the gas pedal as hard as he could. The Cabbie started to
fish tail until it finally took off, turning hard to avoid the
blocking truck. Ando ran over a few Triads along the way.

"You'll want to turn left here, by the way."

Ando turned the steering wheel as hard as he could until coming out
onto the main throughfair. Hit-Man could see the alley way that led to
his hideout. However, just a little way ahead, the Triads' massive
vans blocked the path.

"Oh shit they blocked the main road!" Ando gave another hard turn,
confident that he'll find a way out.

Meanwhile, Hit-Man laid back in his seat. He tried to reach out with
the Force, to try and get some guidance.

"Take that road, right there."

"What the fuck? Are you fucking nuts?"

"Just do it, you motherfucker!"

Ando pulled into the narrow alley and gunned it as hard as he could.
He saw the fence that marked the dead end.

"Holy shit we're fucked!"

"The fuck we are! Just pull a little to the left."

As fast as it could go, the Cabbie hit the ramp with a hard thud. It
launched into the air, right above the pursuing Triads. Seconds later,
it landed on the roof of a mini-skyscraper.

"Oh my fucking God we did it! I can't believe it, but we did it!"

Hit-Man merely stretched his arms. "I told you so, motherfucker."

Suddenly it hit Ando like a ton of bricks. "Um, Hit-Man, how the fuck
are we going to get down?"

The Cabbie threw itself off the roof as Ando still had it gunned. The
car flew for several dozen meters before making a perfect four-point
landing on the street.

"Sweet!" yelled Ando aloud. "I never had this much fucking fun since
the Battle of Yarmouth Prime!"

Ando now swung through the Chinese distict. "It's as crowded as hell
through here. Maybe we'll loose them."

Hit-Man turned around. He no longer saw the pursuing vans.

As Hit-Man resumed facing forward, he could hear shots ring out. He
looked outside as Triads on foot made pot-shots at the passing taxi.

"Oh for fuck's sake! My boss is gonna have my ass on a platter if he
finds bullet holes in this bucket of shit!"

"I'll take care of them." Hit-Man rolled down the window and stuck
half his body out. He unholstered his trusty E-11.

One of the Triads stepped out onto the curb behind the speeding car.
He took out his pistol and shot several rounds into its general
direction. Hit-Man took but few moments to aim, and sent a bolt
popping his head.

"Good work there!" Ando then swerved hard to avoid oncoming
pedestrians, ruining Hit-Man's aim.

"Just fucking run them over if they won't get out of your fucking
way!"

Hit-Man then re-steadied himself, and took several shots at another
Triad. Three bolts hit him in the chest, making his insides explode on
contact.

"Keep 'er steady. Just a few more fuckers to go."

Shots continued to pang in the air. A ragged trail of downed Triads
followed the Cabbie's path. A few up ahead were actually stupid enough
to step in the car's path, firing their guns at Ando. Ando didn't
flinch one bit, but merely kept a steady hand as he rammed his car
right through them. One of them slammed into his windsheild, cracking
it.

"Aww fuck I can't see a fucking thing now." Ando then stuck his head
out the window, trying his best to see.

"Just a few more blocks, and then we're home."

All along the street Triads continued to gather and take pot-shots at
the speeding Cabbie. Finally, Ando made his way back on the main drag
and sped for the hideout. Even then, Triads still popped up
everywhere. It wasn't until the car almost made it to the alleyway
that the Triads finally disappeared for good.

The Cabbie slowly inched its way to the hideout's garage, just
stopping a few meters short. Hit-Man jumped out and prepared to thank
Ando for what he'd done.

Hit-Man walked over to the driver's side. He noticed Ando was no
longer sticking his head out. He looked inside the car and saw Ando
just sitting there, staring into nothingness.

"Hey, you motherfucker! What the hell do you think you're doing?!"

Ando continued to sit there perfectly still.

"Hey, motherfucker! Yeah, you! I'm talking to you!"

Just then Kanos stepped out.

"What's the matter?"

"I found Commander Ando. We just escaped from the Triads together. But
now he won't fucking speak!"

Hit-Man leaned into the driver's side to see what was the matter. It
was then that he noticed the hole in the front of his woolen brim cap,
dyed in its gray-hued plad pattern. When Hit-Man removed the cap, the
blood began to gush from his forehead.



Chapter 17

Picking up the Laundry, Taking out the Trash

"Oh, those goddamn motherfuckers are goin' to pay alright." Hit-Man
strode angrily towards Ando's cab.

"Just what do you plan to do?" chimed Kanos.

"What the fuck do you think I'm going to do?! I'm gonna run down every
fuckin' one I see, I'm gonna fill their motherfucking corpses with
lead, I'm gonna turn their fucking laundry vans into fucking funeral
pyres on wheels! And I ain't gonna stop until every last one of those
motherfuckers is turned to processed meat!"

"Calm down, Lieutenant, and that's an order! Not even you can destroy
the Triads single-handedly!"

"Oh yeah? Why don't you just sit back, knock back a cold one, and
fucking watch me?"

"Lieutenant Hit-Man, stop at once! If you go out there with blasters
blazing, you're gonna get us both killed! Keep your cool on. You know
better than that. You're a fucking Spec Ops Trooper, damnit! Are you
going to throw out every last bit of training you know just for some
instant gratification?"

"Admiral Kanos, sir...with all do respect...hell yeah, you fucking bet
your balls on it!"

Kanos grabbed Hit-Man by the shoulder. Should he had been anyone else,
the cybernetic arm within his grasp would have snapped back - and took
out his arm along with it. Instead, the cyborg stopped in his tracks,
ever so respectful of the Admiral.

"Alright, if you're so lad-de-dah fucking smart, what do you propose
we do?"

"Your friend, what's his name...Tony, I believe, he's obviously got
some beef with the Triads, right?"

"Yeah, so?"

"Meet up with him. See what he has planned for them. If you're gonna
end up in a gang war, you might as well have an army on your side as
well."

Hit-Man gave a heavy sigh. "Ya know, this means I ain't gonna get sole
credit for the carnage. Do you know how fucking pissed that makes me?"

"And I give a damn because?"

"Fine, fine, alright, the world can survive if some of its citizens
are killed by people other than me." Throwing his arms up in the air
in disgust, he got in Ando's cab and sped off.


"Take a seat. Take a goddamn seat." Tony's fist slammed down hard on
the relatively soft plastic of the patio table.

"So what the fuck are we gonna do now? Sit here and play with our
fucking dicks?"

"Look, alright, we need to take those fucking Triads out. But I dunno,
cause you and that Asian of yours...."

"Tony, I warned you 'bout talkin trash like that of my friend. You do
that one more time...."

"Hey, I don't know if I can exactly trust you in this."

"They killed a friend of mine, Tony. Trust me, I'll make them pay,
I'll make them all fucking pay."

"Alright, alright, 'sides I don't want you doing that choking shit on
me anymore."

"Good. Now we're getting somewhere."

"Alright, alright, alright." Tony then stood up as he flung his chair
towards the other side of the restaurante. His fists pounded his chest
in a new fit of rage. "Nobody screws with us, right?!"

"Ya got that straight."

Tony, in his obvious agitation, paced around madly. "Take out their
fucking laundry vans, all of them. Teach them a lesson that no one
messes with Tony Cipriani! 8-Ball will give you all you need."

"Thanks, but I'm fine." Hit-Man rubbed the barrel of his E-11.

Tony laughed in histeria. "You're gonna take 'em all out with that
pop-gun?"

"Trust me on this, Tony. Trust me." Hit-Man paced back to the cab. "At
least one of my wishes will be fulfilled."


The Triad tapped his steering wheel, waiting impatiently for the light
to turn green. The last thing on his mind was the possibility of it
being turned inside out by a plasma bolt. As the red streak pierced
his skull, it traveled onward, hitting the fuel tank a fraction of a
second later. The smell of burning rubber, steel, and flesh permeated
the scene.

Hit-Man felt an empty pit inside. What should have satisfied him
greatly was only a drop in the ocean. He had to think of a new way to
vent his rage.

The remaining Triad laundry van was stuck at another light, oblivious
as to the fate of its comrades. The driver listened to the beats on
the radio, bobbing his head to the rythum. He was quickly forced back
to reality when he felt his shoulder pulled back by such a force, he
could feel its socket being torn apart.

The face of a half-man, half-cyborg sent the Traid into a frightened
mental state. His own face reflected back in the cyborg's glowing
blood-red eyes.

"You fucker. I'm so fucking pissed...I just don't know what to say. So
I'll just let my actions speak for me." The Triad felt as if he lost
all control of his body; not from the Force, but from the pure brutal
rush of his own head being grasped by the hands of that meanacing
cyborg, and of the feeling of being thrust upon against Durasteel
plate and Sith-hardened bone. Hit-Man pulled the bleeding forehead
from his own, and admired the Triad's broken nose and blood slowly
oozing off his face, nostrils and eye sockets.

"You know what they say, you can't have just one!" Hit-Man headbutted
the Traid again, and again as he repeatedly smashed his own skull
against the Triad's in rapid succession. At this point, the only thing
keeping the poor thug alive was the fact that Hit-Man was using the
Force to suppliment his life energy, all for the purpose of prolonging
the entertainment. It wasn't long, however, until the extent of the
physical damaged overpowered even Hit-Man's skilled powers of the
Sith.

The cracked and broken head of the Triad slipped out of Hit-Man's
fingers. Only the busted skin and scalp held the fractured bone
together. His face was beyond any sort of recognition as an individual
or as human. Hit-Man wiped the gore off his forehead, and looked down
at the loose collection of anatomy.

"Nothing's gonna fuckin' make me happy today." He lit a match and
tossed it in the van's interior, walking off as he tried to console
himself.

"Now, now, Hit-Man. You can't be this pissed forever. One of these
days, you're gonna encounter a whole horde of those pussy fucktards,
and then, maybe then, I'll get this fucking monkey off my back. Yeah,
that's it, when that day comes."

Clearly, the Traids' days are numbered.



Chapter 18

Take the Money and Run Like Hell

Hit-Man hardly noticed the force of his own hand slam down hard on the
table, with three sets of keys in its grasp.

"What the fuck are these for?" Tony looked up from his lunch.

"A few trophies I picked up from my last job. Doesn't look like the
Triads are gonna miss 'em."

Tony gave out a light chuckle. "Heh heh, looks like those bastards are
gettin' what they paid for. Hey, speakin' of which, it looks as if our
work finally convinced them to pay up. Guess those pussies can't take
no more of this shit, eh?"

"If they think that's all I have in store for them, those
motherfuckers got another thing comin'."

"That's a damn good thing too." Tony shoved his mouth full of food.
"Here's the location. Get the money, and beware of those Traid
asswipes. If they mess with you, give 'em hell."

"Will do." Hit-Man gave a wide smile as he lifted his E-11 into the
air.


The cab's brake lights lit up, sending the vehicle into a power
swerve. The cab spun around in the tightly confined alley until
finally coming to a stop, in a perfect parellel park job next to the
breifcase. Hit-Man uncerimoniously opened the door and reached for the
breifcase below. His actions were interrupted when the Force told him
that Triad thugs were near. Two sets of three, one on each end of the
alley, and one of their laundry vans had blocked the third and final
exit.

The first set of Traids saw nothing more but a pair of blinding
headlights. As their forearms raised to sheild their eyes, they could
feel only cold steel slam hard into their flesh and bones. The squeel
of tires soon gave way to the squeel of torture and pain. The second
set of Triads saw only the pale light of reverse lights before it was
too late. Garbled screams for mercy echoed off the walls of the narrow
alleyway. These echoes fell only on deaf ears.

The blood began to ooze slowly onto the sidewalks. The short distance
traveled by these crimson streams was interrupted as blood was
splashed onto walls. Hit-Man's cab launched out of the alleyway,
drawing deep red tire tracks onto the main drag.

The driver of the Triad laundry van fell asleep at the wheel,
completely clueless as to the carnage just a few meters away. A notion
to wake up caused him to rise slowly in his seat, giving him just
enough time to open his eyes and notice a pale yellow object blur
itself on a path heading straight for him.

What had been the taxi cab once driven by Commander Ando, known as
Anders Russel on this world, had become a twisted and burning cage of
steel, trapping its mangled and broken Triad target inside. Hit-Man
stretched his arms upon the shadows casted by the flames.

"That one's for you, Ando. I'll get the other motherfuckers later."


Hit-Man slammed the briefcase down with such force, it almost snapped
the table's legs. He looked around for any sign of Tony. All he got
was the voice of Tony's mother.

"He's gone off making people bleed, or at least trying to. He'll never
be half the man his father was! Just leave the money on the table,
that will be fine."

In the meantime, there was other business for Hit-Man to conduct.


"She's gonna be a sweet ride, isn't she?" Joey pulled his head from
under the frame. "Some of my friends are gonna be hittin' a bank. They
need a good driver, and I promised you were the man, so don't screw
this up. Get some wheels to the safehouse in St. Mark's, and get them
to the bank. You gotta be there before five o'clock, not a minute
after."

Hit-Man reached out with the Force. He knew he needed a durable and
capable ride. A Patriot rolled across the street right in front of
him. Perfect.

A construction worker propped his orange hard hat up with his free
hand, his other gripping the steering wheel. He reacted immediately
and slammed the brakes when a frightening, strange creature suddenly
stopped in the middle of the road and gave him the finger. The figure
strode for the driver's door, and with a strong tug the construction
worker's jeans touched cold, dark pavement.

"Hey, my toolbox!"

"You want it? Here!" His toolbox flew out the window, beaming him
square on the forehead. With some manipulation of the Force, the
toolbox fell onto the blacktop, revealing a screwdriver firmly and
deeply lodged in the poor fellow's head.

The garage opened, revealing the interior of the safehouse. Three
masked suits ran towards the Patriot, hurrying to scramble inside.

"Get us to the bank on the main drag."

Hit-Man complied, and with some creative driving skills he delivered
them on time. The Patriot's clock read five o'clock as the bank's
security system went blaring and only two of the masked suits ran out.

"Get us back to the safehouse, now!"

Hit-Man floored it, and the Patriot went full speed, driving over and
crushing the pair of police cruisers in its way. Emerging in and out
of a narrow alleyway at warp speed, they managed to allude most of the
cops. A second pair of cruisers remained in pursuit.

Hit-Man stretched his right arm into the airstream, clutching his
E-11. Twisting his arm, he took a few pot shots at the cruisers. With
deadly Force-assisted aim, each bolt struck their targets with perfect
aim, sending the flaming wrecks high into the air.

The Patriot slid into place, barely missing the safehouse walls. The
garage door opened and the men scrambled back in.

"Well, that was mildy fun at least." Hit-Man spun the wheel, thinking
of what to do next.